responses to an overworked/sleepy s/o [w/ ultra magnus, sunstreaker, & hound]
ultra magnus
Ultra Magnus knows that he’s the biggest hypocrite in this situation, but you’ve yawned four times in the past five minutes. it sends alarms across his processor, observing the way you use the back of your hand to poorly cover such an exhausted gesture. somehow, this less than gentle alert that your body was tired was not enough, yourself shuffling through a stack of papers as you carry on with little qualms. Magnus can feel his optic twitch, unable to quietly fight the urge to knock some sense into you about your health and well-being. adjusting to time and your schedule has come a little easier to him, mostly due to finding himself in your company on a daily basis. understanding what he does now, he finds self-assurance in calling you out about getting some rest, the hour far past the original time you had set to get some rest.
“y/n?” he rumbles, slightly baffled that you don’t even offer your undivided attention, acknowledging him with a noise he can’t quite label. a thought passes him by: is this how other mechs feel when he’s drowning in paperwork? “It is very late. Perhaps you would do better to pick this up in the morning?”
finally, your eyes tear away from the papers to meet his, and then Magnus is whacked with the realization he has to stand firm here. you must’ve been at this for hours, fatigue and enervation translating well enough from your gaze and pouring down the rest of your body. “Sorry. Run that by me again?”
“I will do no such thing,” he’s good at being the bad guy, the one who has to play fair and look out for others. but for you? he’s willing to beg, stand firm in seeing you get some much deserved, and earned sleep. “This will be here when you awake. Rest.”
your pout works on him, and the worst part of it all is you must know it does. “Five more minutes?” you plead, trying your best to stifle a yawn that Magnus sees far too easily. every bone in your body begs you to relent, but stubbornness finds you once more as you think of all the studying that needs to be done before tomorrow.
“No.” he’s caged you between two massive hands, leaning forward until you’re forced to meet his stare and not the copious amounts of work spread out around the berth. “You cannot use my own tactics against me. Bed, now.”
sunstreaker
something wakes Sunstreaker up about three hours into his recharge, and with little investigation he comes to find you on the other side of the room. after you’d said three hours ago you’d join him in ten minutes, that turned out to be the biggest lie in the world. disoriented and mildly irritated, his brow furrows when he calls your name, confused as to why you jump in surprise. everything about you breathes burnout, eyes glassy as they eventually lock with his across the room. were you so consumed and entranced by that textbook that you hadn’t heard him grumble under his breath before calling out to you? how dare such a stupid object hold your attention and not him, slowly losing his already depleted patience.
“Get over here.” Sunstreaker hums, trying once to be nice instead of brash. he’s come to take a second to mull over his words before they leave his voice box, trying his damndest to say what he means the first time. yet, this time, instead of pulling away from your study materials, you only dive deeper.
“I’ll be right there,” you whisper, as if he was still in and out of recharge. “Just have to finish this chapter, and-” you squeak as he abruptly stands from the berth, lumbering over to where you were sitting on his desk. fumbling with the textbook, your finger saves the page before you close it over, trying your best to appear defiant and adamant, but losing miserably. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” Sunstreaker counters, expecting no reply. “You said ‘ten more minutes’ hours ago. Bed, or I throw that book.”
you appear miserable. the happiness that normally contradicts his irritable behavior is nowhere to be found, something that concerns him greatly. you had mentioned earlier in the week about an upcoming test that was stressing you out, but now this studying venture has crossed over into territory that enrages Sunstreaker. you weren’t taking care of yourself, unworried about how a newfound weariness preoccupies you. whenever you speak ill of yourself or doubt your abilities, it seizes him so greatly that he can’t focus on anything else. don’t you know how much he loves you, and knows you’ll do great things, no matter what?
somehow, you know he means it, sighing in defeat. “Fine, fine.” with a small smile, you close the book over with a defeated sigh. “Sorry. The test is in two days.”
to your surprise, Sunstreaker mumbles his words, but the sincerity is overwhelming. “I’ll try to help you study tomorrow. But now, bed, and I mean it.”
hound
you’ve certainly done a lot of typing in the past couple of hours, Hound has noticed. enough that with each hour that slips by, it’s time for him to wrap his tasks up and fully join your company, excited to hear about what you’ve been up to and relax into the evening with no issue. except, that’s mostly thrown out the window as he takes in your body language, surveying the way your palm runs over your face and rubs at your eyes, only to return to your laptop seconds later. the light from the screen illuminates your features, but all Hound can focus on is how your shoulders slump forward, a glasiness overtaking your eyes that he can’t quite decipher the reason behind. you’re clearly spent, drained of the day's responsibilities as they now carry over into time that should be spent away from the computer.
“y/n?” he tries, using the tip of his digit to run down the length of your leg, vying for your attention, selfish as that may be to admit. “Y’alright? Busy day?”
for a moment, you pull away from the laptop, blinking wildy before realizing it was only Hound. everything in you yearned to just shut the computer and set this aside for another time, but the idea of being ahead tomorrow entranced you far too much. “I’m good! I’d just like to finish this up, I swear I’m almost done.” famous last words.
your slight startle at his touch and words worried him, the way you appear so disconnected from reality as you are solely focused on typing a report that didn’t need to be completed at this very moment. though your overworked and tired demeanor concerns him greatly, Hound is willing to yield if only to respect your wishes. he cares so deeply for you that perhaps just this once, he’d overlook the fact that you probably really needed some shut-eye now. it’s like overriding a code, Hound feels as if he’s programmed to look out for everyone and their health, you always residing as his top priority. always number one on his list, finding that sometimes you unintentionally neglect your wellbeing, himself guilty of similar behaviors.
but then you don’t stick to your original plans. more time has escaped you, and Hound’s fretting has skyrocketed to the point where he isn’t ashamed to implore you to get some rest. “Yer exhausted,” he rumbles, broad shoulders drooping as you tear your eyes away from the screen to massage at your temples once more. “Don’t overwork yourself. It ain’t worth it, ah know it first hand.”
doing what Hound asks of you is an easy feat, as forfeit finds you. with a sleepy smile, you power down the computer and set it to the side to be tomorrow's problem. this time was precious with him, sacred and not effortless to come by. “Sorry.” you stumble over your words, trying to stifle a yawn in the meantime. “I’m alright. It’s done for the evening.”
There are two main kinds of hound hunting tactics: Chasers and Clingers. Survivors only ever see the chaser behaviour as they aren’t large enough for the clinger tactics to be practical.
Clingers are a lighter built type of hunter. They jump on large prey and attempt to bite vital parts of them, such as the neck. Chasers are built for running, Clingers are built for jumping and holding on for as long as they can. A chaser’s job when hunting large prey is to seperate a vulnerable (if possible) individual from the heard and protect the clingers from attack by angry herd animals.
Chasers tend to be faster but more solidly built. They look more intimidating. Clingers don’t need to look scary to get their jobs done. They tend to be more lith and agile. Their role means they build up the strength to hold onto a rampaging beefalo for extended periods of time.
For requests, maybe Hound reacting/trying to help a human s/o who gets easily car sick? (Requesting this as someone who gets so easily motion sick lol)
_hound x reader
Hound most definitely is an observant partner, noticing demeanor changes or when his s/o isn't quite acting like themselves. if it's the first longer-distance trip the two of you have taken together, your silence and one-word replies are immediate cause for concern from his perspective. his rearview mirror tilts your way at every red light, catching the way your complexion has gone pale and your lips have pursed, form almost curled into a ball atop the drivers seat. Hound doesn't understand at first, you were fine a few minutes ago, how have you gotten so ill so quickly? straight away, the volume dial on the radio spins all the way to the left, his gentle voice rumbling through the speakers instead.
"What's the matter?" he gingerly inquires, slowly pulling off to the side of the road, likely into a empty parking lot or something alike to provide utmost privacy. somehow, you appear to have gotten worse, raspy yet considerate in asking him to roll down a window. anything to help, Hound does so in an instant, both front windows slipping downward to allow the evening breeze inside. you'd hardly blinked and his holo-form fizzles to life beside you in the passenger seat, if only to try and assess you the best he can. the fresh air helps, leaning your head against the door paneling to try and gather your bearings, attempting to refocus your thoughts on not getting sick. Hound frowns in the next seat over, but patiently waits for the offer of an explanation instead of bombarding you with questions that likely would do more harm than good.
after collecting yourself and extending the reasoning for the rapid change in your behavior, Hound completely comprehends and wants to do nothing else other than to assist. if there's anything he can do, he's on it, holding firm that once he started driving again, his holo-form was going to stay in the drivers seat. ""M the one draggin' you along on this road trip," he'd half-joked, but there was a seriousness to his tone as well, almost as if he wasn't accepting any protests from you, at least not any time soon. even so, you'd still quickly disagree and hold firm in your insistence that you were alright now. you were having fun, and wanted so badly to just be in his company and have some well earned one-on-one time. Hound cares about you and loves you so much that seeing you like this deeply disheartens him, the same feeling whenever you catch a cold or just generally are unwell. even worse, you were trying so hard to keep this to yourself if only to save him from fretting.
back on the road, if there's anything he can do to alleviate the symptoms, he's all over it. not that he isn't ever not careful with such precious cargo in his cabin, but he's extra observant to avoid bumpy roads or overly heedful to not take winding roads too briskly. the fresh air helps, so you've so kindly translated, as well as stopping a little more frequently than the two of you normally would. you try to apologize three times, feeling bad for throwing a curve ball into already hastily put together plans, but Hound won't hear it. "You've done nothin' wrong," he'd speak softly, his holo-form reaching over to pat your thigh affectionately. "Ya don't have a single thing to apologize for."
Hound's also the kinda mech to take a different route if it means a bit of a smoother ride. he wouldn't add mounds of extra time to the trip, especially if it's time-sensitive, but if a more even road pops up on his gps, he is one-hundred percent taking that path. a sense of relief finds him to see your color return, beginning to converse in sentences lengthier than your previous one-word replies. even if you begin to feel car-sick on shorter journeys, Hound can perceive the signs earlier on now, wanting to tend to your ailments and be there for you just as you always are for him. he can tell when something isn't right or you aren't wholly feeling like yourself, withdrawn or not. you are not a burden, and you are not a bother- he truly wants to help in any way that he possibly can.
[a/n: hound being an absolute sweetie part 4503284. as someone who gets car sick all the time, i feel this rq so so so much. ty peach!! 💕💕 ]
the day it occurs, it also happens to be the day Hound typically picks you up from work. it's by total, albeit poor coincidence, perhaps he would have gotten away with dodging you a little while longer if he could have scrounged together a feasible fabrication of the truth. that in itself disgusts him to even think, to feel as if he has to dodge you, when in reality there was no particular justification he had to even formulate such an outrageous thought. if there was one thing he hated more than this, it would be lying to you when he had no real reason to do such a cruel thing, so instead, he pushes off telling you, opting to convince himself that he needed just a shred of more time.
taking in this withheld information from your perspective, it was strange you hadn’t heard from him since the night prior, unaccustomed to the radio silence when you’ve been spoiled with his regularly fast replies. he'd been very aloof all morning and afternoon, even after you had tried to reach out to him on a few sporadic occasions. it was in attempt to break this unfamiliar circle of quiet: asking him how his day was and what he was up to, but all extensions of your steadily rising concern were met with unprecedented silence. while a bit concerning, it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, as often times Hound was pulled from his normal schedule and was left with no time to explain his inopportune disappearance. it wasn't any cause for immediate dread, as one could understand his retreat once he had explained his role and responsibilities not too long ago. perhaps your accidental slip of “I was so worried about you,” was the cause of the conversation, but he’d also relayed how it was important for you to stay in the loop, too.
even with all that recalled and acknowledged, it didn't help the pit in your stomach when you discovered his usual spot empty, a parking lot void of any olive-green jeep. it causes your lips to purse together, that overfamiliar swirl of anxiety resting heavy upon your chest. faintly trembling fingers fumble for the door handle, tugging it shut when the wind threatens to sweep it back open once more, as tired eyes scan the lot a second round as if you’d somehow missed him the first time. as the back door slams over at your heels, a pair of headlamps alight to your left, pulling out of the parking spot and driving up just beside the curb where you stand.
it's a familiar color, a slate-blue sports car that you are always more than happy to see, regardless of the knot that still wrenches tighter in your stomach. you search to stifle your worry, but it quickly becomes a futile task as unease seizes you again upon glancing down at your phone to find no explanation. so accustomed to messages, no reasoning at all was beginning to raise some red flags.
Couldn’t bargain with Cliff enough to cover the rest of my shift, sorry darlin'.
or, you could almost picture a:
Bluestreak is gonna pick you up today, love. Promise I’ll see ya later.
but your screen remains blank, no notification to hush the now rampaging disquiet, terrified to take the step forward to descend the stairs. what if the moment you do, Bluestreak is going to deliver news that you simply cannot handle- your feet now glued to the concrete as if it would delay the inevitable. the mere thought of something being very wrong causes you to swallow thickly, swiftly blinking away a round of tears that rise rather unexpectedly to the surface. no, you’re overreacting, forcing the soles of your shoes off the ground and pushing onwards, observing as the passenger door pops open, Bluestreak's bubbly voice carrying throughout the cabin and out into the chilly air.
"Hi," he starts, knowing you have a plethora of questions just by the look on your face. "I hope you had a nice shift."
"Hi, Blue," you return, happily taking the seat offered to you with zero hesitation, vying to cast aside your climbing unrest. "I did, thank you. How's your night going?"
"Well, that's nice to hear. Mine's been meh." Bluestreak rumbles, closing the door for you once he'd gathered you were all settled in the seat that he’s so kindly labeled as yours. after another handful of seconds or so, he starts down a route he’s taken a few times before, though he’s nowhere near as familiar with it as Hound is, nudging you every so often with the question: do I take a right here, or is it a left?
"Just 'meh'?" you inquire, hugging your backpack to your chest to seek some comfort. "Did something happen?"
if you know how loaded that question is, you don’t give yourself away so easily. they had all expeditiously discovered it was only in your nature to dig for the root of their troubles; Bluestreak knew well how your compassion tended to overflow whenever someone was hurting. it had come initially as a shock to many who were not accustomed to such on the daily, but the benignity you extended knew no bounds, and it made perfect sense how well you and Hound got along. Hound was just the same, adamant about remaining optimistic among this budding mess they'd stumbled into on Earth. so jovial when for the most part, the cards were not dealt in his, or anyone on the teams favor. in an instance where you were brought up in conversation in a praising manner but were not around to hear it, Sideswipe had joked it was almost as if the two of you were made for each other, to which Hound’s cooling fans had kicked on with an instantaneous click.
maybe, if Bluestreak wasn't sworn to secrecy on the subject, then this entire conversation wouldn't feel so painful. still, he’d promised Hound he would let the mech speak for himself, though he just wasn’t ready to do it yet, not with everything still so fresh. Hound was the farthest thing from conceited, but it did make a smidge of sense why he was still a little apprehensive to impart on a rather…glaring detail. but that didn't erase the eagerness that builds within Blue to soothe your malaise, watching the tensity arise within your shoulders as each deafening second ticked by.
"Oh, the usual nonsense," he tries, which isn't a total exaggeration of the truth. "Don't worry about Hound, y/n. He said he'd give you a call later tonight, and explain."
Bluestreak nearly ex-vents in relief watching your body language loosen, body sinking a little deeper into the leather of his seats. "Thank you," you whisper, a faint smile adhered to your lips.
it’s late, long past the hour when he knows you’d normally be asleep.
for conscientious hours, Hound’s been staring at his comm device, digits hovering above the call button, as if bravery might come to him if he just stared at it long enough. he was still punishing himself by not answering your earlier messages, but one Bluestreak had dropped you home, he mentioned that you were immensely concerned by his vanishing for the rotation. Hound desired to see you so badly, to apologize a million times over for making you worry, but at the present moment, he wouldn't be able to handle the fear in your eyes.
instead, another twenty minutes escape him, the circular green button taunting him, the same way his reflection jeers at him in the screen of the device. he tries to smile, searching for approval in the dimly lit room, but there is no one here to soothe him, not a soul to cast aside his doubt- for it seeps from the walls, threatening to drown him in the prison he’s locked himself inside since this morning.
he can’t believe his own servo as it defies every single excuse to not yield to that selfish impulse, gingerly pressing the call button with immeasurable guilt, but still so desperate to hear your voice.
now, having showered and curled up in bed, your tired eyes linger on the black screen of your phone, hoping for at least a good night message from Hound, or perhaps a video call, the kind he liked to make whenever his schedule got hectic. with the lights out, your bedroom is wrapped in darkness, patiently waiting for a response to your missed call and good night text. you didn’t wish to appear overbearing, overstepping a boundary to which he’d find your double-texts aggravating. instead, you opted to act as if he’d answered you all along, playing into the normalcy as if he’d truly bid you good night, and not pry an inch further until he reached out with his explanation.
not that you were necessarily owed one, but Bluestreak's voice kept playing over and over in your mind like a broken record, and for some reason you’d taken his attempt to comfort you as fact. surely, he’d have mentioned if something was truly amiss, and Hound would never shun or scold you for feeling how you feel right now at this very moment. Hound was as gentle as they come, an impressive feat for a twenty-something foot tall mech that lets you pepper his face with kisses and mumble i love you’s across his lips. anything anyone assumed Hound to be, he was was not, truly the embodiment of empathy and benevolence that sometimes, you never quite felt deserving of.
yet, you'd feel awful in the morning if you'd missed his call or text, but conceivably, it was possible Hound had been pulled away from base once more, unable to explain his predicament. tossing and turning did nothing to lull you to sleep, and every time your eyes closed, terrible flashes of assumption flickered through your mind. you couldn’t help but wonder how bad things must be for him to withdraw so completely, so unlike the way Hound would ever handle a situation, at least as long as you've known him.
it took another hour or so as your heavy eyes finally began to slip shut, the same time the screen of your phone alighted, illuminating the whole room. straightaway, now wide awake, you grab the device and answer the call, downright elated to hear the voice of -
"Hi darlin'," he hums, but something sounds slightly off, as if his mouth was muffled by a detail you couldn't quite place. "You have no idea how sorry I am."
“Don’t be silly.” the relief drains from you the same way the blankets pool around your waist, a small smile unable to be pried from your lips. “I was worried, but I’m happy to hear from you.”
a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat. “How was your day?”
the conversation carries, but strays from the normal exchanges the two of you often share so late into the evening. you take immediate notice of the way how Hound finds immense difficulty to keep pace, and thrice you’ve caught him zoned out, a sheepish reply of you to repeat what you just had said. without hesitation, you had tried to reel him back in, prompting him with inquiries of his own day and how he was doing, but every stretch of silence ended with your gentle extension, mumbling his name as if he were never truly there. you had no place to outright ask why he hadn’t met up with you today, but his dance around the subject made you feel that the reason was something far worse than what you had surmised.
“‘M bein’ awful company.” he rumbles after a beat of silence, tone an overly critical one. “You get your rest, y/n, and ah promise, I’ll stop by and see ya tomorrow.”
though not so easily convinced, you concede to his request, parting ways with a soft good night, reluctant still with none of your previous woes pacified. something was amiss, bothering him to the point where distraction was wrapped around him like a vice and refused to let go, a troublesome notion that had that same pit settling once more in the bottom of your stomach.
if Hound could be proud of one thing in reference to himself, it was that he wasn’t a liar. if something disrupted his initial promise, he came clean straight away, never wishing to break your trust when you had offered it to him so kindly, and dare he say effortlessly, shooting him that adorable smile that makes his spark thrum happily in his chest. to lie, especially over something so trivial makes him feel gross, repulsed by his own behavior and inability to just come clean.
Hound never does stop by to see you the next day, nor the day after that.
it appears he’s fully fallen out of touch with you, both in-person and regarding communicating via technology. there was no one else to ask of his condition, because you had no other way to contact the Autobots other than through Hound, per his insistence and assurance.
“Ah’ll always answer,” he’d murmured, extending his over-full sincerity. “No need to get any more wires crossed for no good reason.”
but he hadn’t answered, not for a good forty-eight hours. to make matters worse, there was no option for you to choose, everything from that initial contact onwards left the ball in Hound’s court. you didn’t know where The Ark was, Hound always drove you over there- you didn’t have any way to contact anyone else, Hound had assured you no matter what, he'd answer in a timely manner. without Hound, you had no way to check on him, to ascertain he was alright and not devoured by his own thoughts.
a firm but gentle noise cuts through your thoughts like a knife, the sound of a car horn.
you cross the room in seconds, skating across the hardwood to fumble for the front door, flipping the lock and spinning the knob. your heart just about drops to your feet, eyes in glassy disbelief to find the same olive-colored Jeep you had been looking for three days prior, pulled up against the curb with the engine idling.
but the relief doesn’t last, as a heavy tone settles over his cabin. he isn’t chipper, hardly excited the way you were overeager moments prior, pink knuckles swiping aside a few rogue tears. it’s as if you’ve met a stranger, feeling the coldness radiate off once a warm and cheerful mech, purposely being blunt as if to instill the breaching silence over the course of the drive. you had no idea where he was taking you, terrain unfamiliar and certainly not the same path enroute to The Ark. your eyes temporarily flit to the door handle, wondering if this was a bad idea, clearly he wasn’t in the right frame of mind for company…
that thought is swept away as you squeeze your eyes shut, weakly shaking your head left to right twice as if it would remove the concept entirely. if something was wrong, which it clearly was, Hound was seeking you out for assistance, or even to volunteer an explanation, just having a bit of trouble conveying such.
the drive lasts another ten minutes, encapsulated by a silence you can only describe as unnatural. it comes to completion within an area you were familiar with, though, a grassy clearing amongst woven and thickets of trees that Hound’s brought you to a plethora of times. it appears he’s taken the long way there, a strange feat, but you oblige when the passenger door pops open, a wordless invitation.
for a prolonged five minutes, you stand awkwardly beside him, fingers wringing together as your rock back and forth from your heels to the tips of your toes. your mouth parts to try and scrounge together something useful to say, but such confidence escapes you, swept away by the chilly autumn air.
you can’t help the gasp that leaves you when he suddenly transforms, drawing himself to his impressive height, but keeping his back to you rather adamantly. finally, having had enough, you take a brave step forward, swallowing another round of tears.
“Hound?” you urge, hoping to catch sight of his expression to try and understand just what this was all about, but he’s squared his shoulders, trying to appear larger and ward off anything in his immediate radius. “Is something the matter? You’re…you’re starting to scare me,”
as if someone had punched him in the gut, his frame slackens, his helm yanking upward at the tremble easily detectable amongst your words. there’s a reason for his behavior, and it’s likely if you knew it, the two of you wouldn’t be standing here like this, and he wouldn't have-
he wouldn’t have scared you.
“M’sorry.” he muses, and once again it sounds muffled and slightly distorted. “Ah didn’t- didn’t mean to, I jus’ can’t…”
“What’s wrong?” you entreat, searching to keep the warble at bay within your question. “You can talk to me about anything, Hound. You haven’t been yourself-”
your breath hitches as he turns slightly to meet your eyes, gaze tilted low but there’s an outrageously loud cry for help welled into his optics, filled with a terror you’ve never known him to possess. when you don’t finish your sentence, he exhales sharply, realizing that this is it, he must either face everything now or avoid you for the rest of his life. the latter, he knows full well, is something he could never abide by.
“C’mere, darlin’,”
in the darkness, you don’t catch it right away. it almost melds into the moment, your sole focus on getting as remotely possible as you scramble across the grass, himself carefully lowering to a knee before you with open arms. the absolute relief to see him acting like his normal self temporarily blinds you, the feeling of one servo meticulously cupping your bottom as he stands back upright, overcautious not to jostle you.
“Now ah’ve gone and made you cry,” he rumbles, and the obvious distortion to his words causes your eyes to raise upward, meeting him with overbuilt surprise. as he brings you to his face, a servo tugs free, a knuckle brushing aside a few tears that have slipped free. “S’last thing I wanted ta do,”
a breathless gasp tumbles from your lips, leveraging yourself as one palm comes to rest upon the wound. Hound searches your eyes, hyperfocused and almost hell-bent on finding detestation or fear within them, but all he discovers is overflowing worry, another round of tears threatening to spill over rosy cheeks.
without question, he leans into your touch, his free servo coming to lay overtop your own.
“Does it hurt?” you whisper, thumb ghosting over the exposed metal.
you never ask the how, he recalls. first and foremost, you wanted to ensure he was alright, prompting him if the injury could still cause him pain a few days after it occurred. the how didn't necessarily matter at the given moment, but to you, his emotions certainly did, hoping to be the calm in the rampaging storm that was his thoughts.
“Nah. Not anymore.”
a crude and jagged cut hooks around the corner of his mouth and spans across his cheek, deep and appearing immensely painful. he’s trying to smile, you watch as his lips twitch but never quite raise in full, still studying you with utmost care, as if searching for an ounce of recoil. Hound doesn’t care in reference to his own vanity, he was terrified to scare you. you had never been one for superficial things, a truth Bluestreak had tried time and again to impress upon him, though Hound had always known it. he was certainly aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to handle the aversion or rejection within your colorful iris’ if there was any to be found, wanting to still be yours but afraid to ask.
he loves you, and this distance from you only made him realize just how much he was absolutely devoted to you.
“You’ve got the prettiest smile.” you rasp, tilting your head to the side to match his movement. “I’m sorry you had to go through this alone.”
“Only one ta blame is myself.” he gathers your hand between two digits, bringing them up to his lips to deposit a few kisses atop your warm skin. “Hoist said s’gonna be a while ‘fore he can fix it. Ah guess that’s why I was so hesitant to tell ya…ah didn’t know how to tell you, ‘n keepin’ it to myself was startin’ to hurt so bad,”
“I knew something was wrong when you sent Bluestreak to pick me up from work,” sending him a lopsided smile, a comforting tone permeating through your words. “I just didn’t want to pry. But I did miss you, so much.”
Hound falters, the knot in his stomach pulling tighter at the look upon your face. “How can I make it up to you?”
with null hesitation, you use the tip of your index finger to tap at your cheek, searching for something in particular. “A couple of these would suffice.”
heedful of his actions and keen to make you laugh, Hound happily obliges, leaving a few sloppy kisses over your collarbone and up your neck, finally landing atop your cheek. “Y’sure there’s nothin’ else?”
you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “No, not that I can think of.” you jest, giggling when a digit comes to skate across your belly, ticklish even above your layers.
Hound makes a noise in the back of his throat, holding you impossibly closer. “Ah really am so sorry, sweetspark.”
“There's nothing to be sorry for.” you leave one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, hoping it eases the last of his worries. “As long as you’re okay, we’re okay.”
[a/n: round one of the unfinished fics from the drafts! a heads up: this is unedited, & ends extremely abruptly.]
the day it occurs, it also happens to be the day Hound typically picks you up from work. it's by total coincidence, perhaps he would have gotten away with dodging you a little while longer if he could have scrounged together a feasible fabrication of the truth. if there was one thing he hated more than this, it would be lying to you when he had no real reason to do such a cruel thing, so instead, he pushes off telling you, opting to convince himself that he needed just a shred of more time.
from your perspective, it was strange you hadn’t heard from him since the night prior, unaccustomed to the radio silence when you’ve been spoiled with his regularly fast replies. he'd been very aloof all afternoon, as you had tried to reach out-asking him how his day was and what he was up to, but all extensions of your steadily rising concern were met with unprecedented silence. it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, as often times Hound was pulled from his schedule and was left with no time to explain his inopportune disappearance. it wasn't any bother, you fully understood once he had explained his role and responsibilities to you.
with all that recalled and acknowledged, it didn't help the pit in your stomach when you discovered his usual spot empty, parking lot void of any olive-green jeep. as the back door slams over at your heels, a pair of headlamps alight to your left, pulling out of the parking spot and driving up just beside the curb where you stand.
it's a familiar color, a slate-blue sports car that you are always more than happy to see. you try to stifle your worry, but it seizes you once more upon glancing down at your phone to find no explanation. you've hardly taken a step forward and the passenger door pops open, Bluestreak's bubbly voice carrying throughout the cabin and out into the chilly air.
"Hi," he starts, knowing you have a plethora of questions just by the look on your face. "I hope you had a nice shift."
"Hi, Blue," you return, happily taking the seat offered to you with zero hesitation, vying push aside your climbing disquiet. "I did, thank you! How's your night going?"
"Well, that's nice to hear. Mine's been meh." Bluestreak rumbles, closing the door for you once he'd gathered you were all settled in your spot. after another handful of seconds or so, he starts down a route he’s taken a few times before, though he’s nowhere near as familiar with it as Hound is.
"Just 'meh'?" you inquire, hugging your backpack to your chest to seek some comfort. "Did something happen?"
if you know how loaded that question is, you don’t give yourself away so easily. it was only in your nature to dig for the root of his troubles; Bluestreak knew well how your compassion tended to overflow whenever someone was hurting. maybe, if he wasn't sworn to secrecy on the subject, then this entire conversation wouldn't feel so painful. still, he’d promised Hound he would let the mech speak for himself, though he just wasn’t ready to do it yet, not with everything still so fresh.
but it didn't erase the eagerness that builds within him to soothe your uneasiness, watching the tensity arise within your shoulders.
"Oh, the usual nonsense," he tries, which isn't a total exaggeration of the truth. "Don't worry about Hound, y/n. He said he'd give you a call later tonight."
Bluestreak nearly ex-vents in relief watching your body language loosen, body sinking a little deeper into the leather of his seats. "Thank you," you whisper, a faint smile adhered to your lips.
it’s late, long past the hour when he knows you’d normally be asleep.
for hours, Hound’s been staring at his comm device, digits hovering above the call button, as if bravery might come to him if he just waited long enough. he was punishing himself by not answering your earlier messages, but one Bluestreak had dropped you home, he mentioned that you were immensely concerned by his vanishing for the rotation. Hound wanted to see you so badly, to apologize a million times over for making you worry, but at the present moment, he wouldn't be able to handle the fear in your eyes.
instead, another twenty minutes escape him, and he presses the call button, wanting so desperately to hear your voice.
curled up in bed, tired eyes watch your phone for at least a good night message from Hound, or perchance a video-chat that he liked to do whenever his schedule got hectic. with the lights out, your entire bedroom was enveloped in a darkness, patiently waiting for a response to your missed call and good night text.
you weren't owed a reply, but Bluestreak's voice kept playing over and over in your mind. you'd feel awful in the morning if you'd missed his call or text, but conceivably, it was possible Hound had been pulled away from base once more, unable to explain his predicament.
just as heavy eyes begin to slip shut, the screen of your phone alights, illuminating the whole room. straightaway, now wide awake, you grab the device and answer the call, downright elated to hear the voice of -
"Hi darlin'," he hums, but something sounds slightly off, as if his mouth was muffled by a detail you couldn't quite place. "You have no idea how sorry I am."
the summer crowd was vastly different than the regulars you're accustomed to, finding immense difficulty to keep up with new faces and names when they're exchanged, if at all. if only to make your life easier, you try, eyes skimming the room when it becomes almost impossible to move around, the weekends holding firm to the college horde. you don't think you've ever made so many shots in such a short time frame, yet auto pilot kicked kicks in a little more forcefully than you intend.
with minimal deftness, fingers move on their own volition, eager to hold fast within a rhythm so steady that it causes the clock to move a little faster. this overcrowded room was your first interaction with a rush, lest in the bartending scene, so a clumsiness consumes you, even with an experienced bartender on your left.
suddenly, there was a quiet shift in the tone of the evening, almost imperceptible at first. it began as the crowd had started to thin, somewhere between one or two in the morning, a tall stranger slipping through the door without so much as a sound. your co-worker's side of the bar is full still, mostly of their regulars, yet yours remains sparse. not that you could find it in you to particularly care, fingers wound around a dirty rag as you scrub the sticky counter.
rather smoothly, the man catches your eyes, fingers finding the brim of his unmarked baseball cap to nod your way, a simple greeting. he's got a charming smile, one you fumble to return, alongside the wave of your fingers in a hello. he enters alone, never looking around the room or toward the door as if he was waiting for someone to join him. effortlessly, he takes the stool right to your left, not quite in front of you, but close enough.
upon your greeting, he had asked you what your favorite beer was, something that typically doesn't happen in a bar full of dirty martinis and green tea shots. it had taken you a second to gather your thoughts, caught off guard before ultimately pouring him a draft, your favorite local pour. you can feel an undeniable rosy hue arise to your cheeks as he watches you carefully, dare you say a hint of awe adhered to his face, but that could be misplaced.
freely, he grabs and seizes attention throughout the night, nursing the same beer you’d given him just after he arrived. from the short interaction, the blonde man behaved like a gentleman, thanking you politely in a deep southern accent before staring at the contents of the stein intently.
you never gathered the courage to ask his name that first night, but you had gathered a few things from the quiet man. he was an observer, blue eyes moving around the room but never lingering on anyone for too long, surveying the bars content with some delight, a radiating happiness permeating from him. though, you’d noticed he’d hardly touched his beer, causing a twinge of confusion and guilt to settle within your chest. perhaps he didn’t like it, and your choice didn’t suit his expectations, but every time your lips parted to ask if he wanted something else, another patron called your attention.
it’s half past three in the morning when he leaves a eerily crisp twenty on the counter, tipping his hat to you once more.
“G’night,” he'd drawled, freckles prominent under the soft lights from the tv’s overhead. “Appreciate yer kindness, y/n.”
suddenly, your mouth goes dry, stumbling over a reply. “Get home safe.” you scrounge, fingers raising to ghost over your name tag, partially forgetting you’d ever put it on in the first place.
he returns the same time the following day, and once more your curiosity consumes you. as unassuming as you can, you peer just past the glass door to find a deep olive jeep wrangler, a silver star adorning the passenger door, some mud caked on the tires, likely from the earlier rain. he steps from the vehicle, brown work boots hitting the concrete before making his way across the parking lot, head on a cautious swivel.
the same as the night before, his posture stayed formal, yet his fingers slide in the front pockets of his jeans. as the door opens, you busy yourself with nothing in particular, doing your best to appear nonchalant as he slips into the same stool as the night before..
"Evening, y/n," he smiles warmly. "How's your day goin'?"
briefly, your heart skips a beat, suddenly remembering your name tag was most definitely sitting in the cupholder of your car. he went out of his way this time, and the least you can do is return the favor.
"Evening," you hum, forcing your posture to relax. "So far so good. How was your day...?"
he chuckles, eyes almost alight. "That's what ah like to hear," he rumbles, leaning forward an inch. "All good. Friends call me Hound."
he stares at you earnestly, as if he expected a certain reaction at his revelation. though unconventional, the crucial part to that was he said his friends call him that, surely bypassing some formalities between the two of you.
"Glad to hear it, Hound." you reply, a genuine smile unable to leave your face. "What are we having today?"
"I never caught the name of it," Hound breathes, arms resting atop the bar casually. "But whatever ya poured yesterday. Yer favorite,"
his shoulders sag briefly when you return a look of confusion, brows furrowed. "I thought-" you start, but promptly shake your head to dismiss the notion. "Nevermind. Sure, be right back."
you turn to grab the glass from the shelf behind you, still feeling Hound's eyes as you move behind the bar. he isn't checking you out, he's surveying your hands and the other many bottles along the wall, curiosity always peaked.
the beer is hardly half poured when Hound speaks again, an additional cheery twinge to his words. "'M a lil new 'round here, y/n. You have any recommendations fer some stuff to do?"
"Such as?" you inquire, pulling the glass from the spout and simultaneously grabbing a coaster, setting the beer in front of him. "Not to burst your bubble, but unfortunately, here is kinda the middle of nowhere."
"Thank you." he says, another award-winning smile send your way. "And, ah don't mind about that. Jus' wanted to hear what you like to do fer fun."
"Me?" you respond, dumfounded once more. "How about I put together a list, and I can send it your way the next time I see you."
Hound's entire face somehow brightens even more, fingers holding the glass placidly, yet still never taking a sip. "I'd appreciate that, a lot. Deal."
[a/n: this has been in the drafts for a whilee. i've been putting off polishing it up, but I'll leave it here so maybe eventually a part two :) i love this trope, could not help myself!]
"Y'know," you start, looking over your shoulder at Hound, who was leaning forward to observe your task with an expression you can only describe as intrigued. at your voice, he immediately locks gazes with you, his gentle smile never leaving his face but quietly urges you to finish your thought. "I do feel a little bad."
Hound couldn't be happier if he tried, not that it was even an achievable feat at this point. the entire evening seemed thoughtfully arranged, as if you'd memorized his wishes, most of which remain unknown to any other soul. he longed for this domesticity, to be temporarily disassociated with his responsibilities and just be with you, no distractions. though, it hadn't felt right to bring such desires to your attention, because none of that was your burden to carry. somehow, it's as if you'd read his processor, understanding that he just needed a night off, and wanted to spend it entirely by your side.
naturally, any occasion on which he present and able to spend it with you becomes a cherished memory; however, there was something distinctly special about this evening.
"'Bout what?" he rightens himself, peering down at you with heavy concern, worried why you'd feel bad when you had no reason to.
in return, you halt your stirring and rest the spoon on the counter, beginning to wipe your hands on your already dirty apron. "For baking a cake that you can't eat,"
laughter builds in his throat and before he can stop it, it slips free, entirely in disbelief. Hound watches in heavy amusement as you spin around to face him, fingers still timidly tangled up in your apron. with wide eyes, you look up his way with a confused smile, uncertain but still beaming.
"Did I miss the punchline?" you attempt, but are promptly silenced as two large servos softly cup your face, thumbs resting on the apples of your cheeks.
Hound searches for your approval, already crossing his normal boundary of asking a handful of times if everything is alright. he's often amazed at your patience, never once becoming cross by his hesitancy. internally, he's terrified to hurt you, but you satiate that nervousness with sympathetic persuasion, his fears dwindling over time. you are tenacious and resilient, he is well aware of that, yet irresolution never seems to escape him in a fast enough manner.
even now, standing mass-displaced in your kitchen he still feels awfully bulky and clumsy, afraid to disrupt the peace you've so carefully crafted here. earlier, he'd even offered the use his holo-form, but you'd asked so nicely if you could be with him, how could he deny such a heartfelt and effortless ask?
"Nah, no punchline." he rumbles, leaning forward until your hands are forced to jump up to grab at the counter, now cornered as he stands above you. "What on Cybertron are ya so worried about? Everythin' is perfect, darlin'."
though his hands are cool, they aren't the cause for the shivers that run up and down your spine. Hound's looking for a kiss, he often does so whenever he senses a quiet moment slipping by, always ready to steal a peck or two when the rest of the world isn’t watching. it’s not only by nature; it’s affection, voiceless and deliberate, tucked into every stolen second he could claim with you.
"Nothing," you murmur, but the words barely form before his servos slip away from your cheeks, gliding downward in one fluid, deliberate motion to rest gently at your hips. a squeak tumbles from your lips as he lifts you up and onto the counter, carefully avoiding the mess you'd made directly to your left.
"If ah do recall correctly," he hums, gesturing to the messy kitchen with his helm. "It was me who made the suggestion."
he had, upon finding the box mix sitting atop the table from your recent grocery trip. you had been meaning to make it since you'd purchased it, but got somewhat sidetracked trying to tidy up the place once plans were made for Hound to spend the night. it hadn't crossed your mind initially, not realizing his question of what the box mix was his roundabout way of asking to make it together. his simple request came after your admittance you'd been meaning to since three days go, and only now you'd realized he couldn't even have the results of his effort.
Hound thrived on discovering things that made you happy, hobbies or pastimes that you sought serenity in. your curiosity never fails to strike him, wanting to know as much about him as he's willing to divulge- which only for you, he's an open book. Hound can't help to feel so special that you've let him into a secluded part of your life, and returns the favor tenfold whenever the chance arises.
"Yeah, but-" you try, but are quickly mesmerized by the hazy glow of his cerulean stare. he's waiting in such a forbearing manner that you can't quite find your words, in return the mech at your front simply tilts his helm.
"But?" he searches to gingerly coax it from you, but doesn't expect for you to slip your arms around his neck, nearly sliding off the countertop in the process. though never on his watch, as his servos slip beneath your thighs, holding you close as he corrects his posture.
"Not that ah don't 'preciate the hug, but what'd I do to deserve it?"
"You're so sweet," you breathe, feeling his entire frame relax at your reply. "I just... I missed you, Hound, a lot. I just want to make sure you're having fun, you deserve it."
"Oh, my y/n." he lowers his voice, southern drawl annunciated. "You have no idea how much ah've missed ya. 'M havin' the best time, ah always do when I'm with you,"
Hound gets the kiss he was searching for, smiling in vast content as you in turn cradle his face-plate, touch warm and welcomed every single time. your affection is identical, wasting no more precious seconds as you capture his lips, smile uncontrollable as squeezes you an ounce tighter. Hound's palms remain against your thighs, digits pressing against your skin ever so slightly, as if you'd disappear from his grasp in the blink of an eye.
he doesn't want the moment to end, neither do you, momentum briefly stifled as you tug back an inch, if only to come up for air. your lips hover over his, noses bumping in such a hasty action, but the only thing on your mind is how benevolent Hounds' acts of affection translate.
a mumbled apology ensues on his behalf, to which you shake your head in dismissal. you both forthwith return to your previous position, cake batter fleetingly forgotten as Hound scouts to deepen the kiss, voice box catching with a stuttered hum when your fingers ghost across the contours of his chassis.
Could you write something with Hound x human? He's so cute I want to squeeze him...
_hound x reader
Hound's hugs are a welcome home that you could never quite get over, entranced by his benign touch and warm exterior. there usually aren’t many words at first, if any at all- especially if it’s been some time since you've seen each other. it's a mutual, yet quiet understanding that within that silence, you both are intently aware how greatly each was missed.
Hound had mentioned previously that he could never discover the right words to articulate how he looks forward to these reunions, solely enticed by the promise if only to see you for a short while. it's an instant recollection of wonderful memories, bottom cupped by one servo as the other lightly presses across your back, as if he was afraid you were going somewhere.
your fingers find his respective cheeks, palms splayed out across the cooler metal as you leave a trail of kisses over his lips, and softly across his cupid bow. there's a stalemate at times, where he fights a little harder to return the gesture, but an ungracefulness finds him at the most inopportune times. with some breathy laughter, Hound finds himself yielding, only after depositing a peck or two atop the crown of your head.
Hound, who can't stifle his undiluted joy, the happiest he'll ever be just purely being in your presence. sometimes, that means asking a question he doesn't necessarily want to know the answer to, but must in order to satiate the budding countdown within his processor.
"How long?" he mumbles into your stomach, your cheek resting somewhere between his brow, in your version of a hug.
mindlessly, the pads of your fingers draw mindless shapes over the side of his helm, trying to live presently without dwelling too far into the thought that you did have to go to work in the next few hours.
"How long until what?" you whisper, vying to ignore the idea all together.
Hound laughs once more, a deep chuckle that melts your heart into a puddle of adoration. "You can pretend all ya like that ah don't know your schedule, and you'd be very wrong. Jus'... the time confuses me a bit."
"Mhm..." your shoulders sink in defeat, fleetingly recalling you've left your uniform at home, again, only meaning you had to depart even earlier than your normal time. "Maybe I can call off tonight. Didn't you say something about having the night off the other day?"
"Ah did." but the hesitation lingers, evident with each syllable. "But, that shouldn't matter, yer still goin'."
the inner conflict is eating him up inside, well aware that time was something that was not on his side. he can feel himself tempted to give in, but it would be in disapproval with the agreement he made with himself when he began dating you. there would always be other moments to see each other, someday your schedules would align, he just had to be patient, though easier said than done.
"Two hours, give or take," you grumble, factoring in what it would take to get back home and to get ready. "One day, we'll figure all this out."
Hound understands what you meant with the context, but it hits a little closer to home in a grander retrospect. "Yeah, ah know. Soon, y/n, m' promise."
