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erodasfishtacos · 22 hours

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Melt Your Cold Heart

prompt: harry’s been alone for years. a bland, bleak life where he needs nothing but his dog then he stumbles upon someone who gives him a purpose…even if for a few hours. word count: 8k

warnings: heavy angst, emotionally unavailable harry, suicidal/depressive thoughts, mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, discussion of sex work

authors note:

There is 3 more parts to this up on patreon (and currently being updated this month!).

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 3 mini one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

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Harry hadn’t wanted to pull over but it was impossible to continue on the highway without potentially causing an accident.

The snow was coming down hard enough that it was a white sheet, the high speed winds were making it to be a tornado of pure smokescreens that made it impossible for his windshield wipers to work.

The semi-truck had eighteen wheels but they were all at risk of hydroplaning or losing grip on the layers of black ice that covered the asphalt without a second thought.

With such a heavy piece of equipment, he didn’t have to only look out for himself but anybody else on the road because one wrong judgment call could turn the semi into a weapon of destruction.

It meant that he was going to be at least twelve hours behind on his delivery which was making him on-edge as it was because he hated having to deal with the dickhead client that he was delivering to.

The town he stopped in was small, nothing to note, and not unsimilar to the towns he had stayed in before in his twelve years on the road.

A small Midwest town that had a truck stop with a twenty-four hour gas station, a diner that was already closed for the night, and a pavilion of bathrooms for truck drivers to clean off.

It was just about midnight when he parked his rig, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair, it was getting long and he was due for trim next time he was home but fuck, he was tired.

He never really stopped working, constantly moving across state lines and delivery shipments as a self-employed hauler - he was his own boss and he pushed himself like no boss would (who wouldn’t want to be violating labor laws).

This wasn’t one of the nicer stops.

The buildings were outdated, looking like they hadn’t been renovated since the eighties, and that was being generous.

The parking lot lights were flickering like in a horror movie, not that it frightened Harry, he has dealt with his fair on the road, and has seen a lot of things that he would have preferred not to.

It’s why he always carried, just on his hip, in case.

He would wait until the next stop to shower, at one of the more luxurious, updated places where the showers were actually decent, there was privacy, and it didn’t feel like bathing in a back alley.

For now, he just needed the restroom and a drink.

The bathrooms were just as foul as he expected, washing his hands with extra hot water to give himself a sense of cleanliness before he’s trailing over to the gas station next door.

The wind was insane, blowing the snow directly into his face, and sticking to his eyelashes.

His eyes burned with the freezing temperatures, blinking harshly as he tucks his head down until a warm gust of air hits his face as he enters the building. The lights were blindingly fluorescent and he had to adjust for a minute after driving in the dark for hours by now.

There was an older man at the counter, sitting on a stool and watching a static-filled rerun on a small television next to the register, and his skin was a sickly yellow, most likely from working the graveyard shift for far too long.

The man nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Harry walks towards the back, towards the line of coolers to grab something to drink, a soda that he normally didn’t drink but he was craving carbonation, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He was definetly a bit too skinny.

Truck drivers were normally the opposite, out of shape, and overweight from lack of movement.

They were sat in trucks all day, every day with nothing to do but snack.

Harry was the opposite, though he was too lean, he took pride in his appearance and maintained his muscle from strapping down, unloading, and all the physical work of the job that he did himself (unlike most drivers).

He did not eat well, he knew that but found it hard to care.

Harry was in a slump, he had been for the last few years.

With being on the road, missing all major holidays, and never sticking around one place enough to settle down - he was depressed, an understatement but no one was around to listen or care.

He was alone, truly, and at some point, that had become comfortable to him.

Harry went through the motions, driving, hauling, delivering, sleeping, and repeating it over and over again.

The only thing he had was a Fire Bird (Birdie) his cattle dog who was named after his favorite car growing up, one that had been in his grandfather’s shed, and was only taken out on the town on very special occasions.

Birdie kept him sane, gave him a reason to get his ass moving every morning, and to take breaks because though he was convinced that his dog was the laziest bag of bones. Every few hours, she required a field, her ball, and Harry throwing it for her for at least twenty minutes before she passed out on the passenger seat for a few hours.

It was his routine.

Their routine.

He had found when she was a puppy.

Some trucker at a stop in Milwaukee had left the pup in the field next to the lot after she’d chewed through one of his seats.

She was malnourished, overheated, and covered in fleas.

Harry had never had a dog on the road, never thought it practical but the first time he had seen this spotted puppy with the saddest brown eyes and its tail wagging timidity on the ground.

Well it was the first time Harry had felt anything in a long time.

That was eight years ago, Birdie was a bit slower now, a gray coating her muzzle, and an attitude of a spoiled queen.

A lot more days than Harry would like to admit, she’s what keeps him going because it’s definitely not work or the money.

Harry had a hefty sized bank account from all his hard work but it sat and sat, he never spent it on anything but bare necessities so it continued to stack and stack which wasn’t a bad thing but it was nothing that brought him excitement.

It wasn’t the dream life of a thirty-three year old.

Harry had grabbed a coke before snagging a bag of overpriced jerky off the nearest display - he can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t heavily processed.

There was a girl in the store too.

Harry had just caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stood by a cooler on the other side of the store, browsing the energy drinks.

She was out of place.

Harry hadn’t seen a car parked in the lot, only two other semis, and she wasn’t a truck driver by the look of her outfit.

It wasn’t weather appropriate at all.

Not for winter in the Midwest.

The woman had on a fitted black dress, it wasn’t overly fancy but it hugged every inch of her body, and high heels of all things.

Harry wonders if she was with one of the other drivers.

He doesn’t pay much mind to her until she faces him, a purple can in her hand, and she’s noticeably pretty, more so than average.

Harry wasn’t trying to be an asshole but women who hung around these areas weren’t typically most attractive.

This woman was.

Albeit the makeup she had on was too much, thick eyelashes, her blush too heavy, and a rouge lip that contrasted the complexion of her skin in an off-putting way.

Her heels click as she steps over to the counter, putting the drink on the counter, along with a protein bar, and rifling through a small purse on her shoulder.

“Eight thirty-three,” The cashier announces after scanning it, his eyes crudely running up and down the woman’s body before focusing on her face again.

The woman is rustling through her purse, pulling out crinkled bills that had been shoved carelessly in the clutch.

Harry stands a safe distance behind her, in line, watching as she smooths out the one dollar bills hastily as the cashier looks completely unamused.

“I only have five,” The girl mumbles embarrassed after she comes up empty with no more money to be found, “Can you please take off the protein bar?”

Harry doesn’t feel much often.

Tonight, he does.

A little glimmer of compassion.

But very much like himself, the girl is too skinny, not eating enough, and from what he can infer - not being able to afford food to feed herself.

“I got it,” Harry interrupts, stepping up next to the woman, and putting his stuff down aside hers, taking his wallet out of his back pocket to pluck out his bank card.

It’s the first time they make eye contact, “Oh, you really don’t have to. I’ll be okay with just the drink-“

“I’m not asking,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his card to the screen when the total rings up before tucking his wallet away and grabbing his items.

“Here,” She insists, trying to hand him the crumpled bills that she had laid on the counter, five dollars that she needed much more than him.

“Keep it,” Harry waves her off, refusing the money before walking towards the door without another look her way.

He was drawn to her.

He wouldn’t offer most, really anyone a handout - he never got one.

Harry can feel the woman’s eyes on his back as he stalks out of the station, hugging his jacket tighter against his body as he walks back to his truck to sleep for the night.

“S’fucking cold, Birdie,” Harry had complained as he locked the doors, placing up all the blinds to keep wandering eyes out.

Birdie was currently dead to the world, unbothered by his words as she snores softly from her fluffy dog bed on the floor of the cab.

Harry had just tugged off his winter jacket when he hears a knock at the driver’s side door - for a moment, he’s convinced that it’s the wind but then a few seconds later, it comes again.

“Fucks sake,” Harry grunts with annoyance, he much prefers when people leave him the fuck alone, and he has a hunch it’s the gas station cashier or another driver.

However, when he opens the door, after unlocking it, and having to use a good amount of effort to push it against the force of the wind - it’s neither.

It’s the girl from the gas station.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her lips were quivering as she tried to prevent her teeth was chattering, blinking harshly through the wind up at him.

“What?” Harry asks, it wasn’t overly friendly or friendly at all.

“Are you looking for company?” The woman replies but she’s the furthest thing from confident, eyes darting around but not meeting his, “I…My rates are reasonable.”

And oh, this is what she was doing here.

Harry couldn’t tell you the amount of times that he’s had a knock on the door and been propositioned for ‘company’.

Most drivers indulged in it, they were lonely and usually away from their spouses for long spurts of time that led them to pay for the replacement.

Harry had never.

Nor did he plan to now.

As he said, this woman was fucking gorgeous, would be even more so without the cakey makeup and slinky outfit.

But he wasn’t ever going to be that lonely.

He grew up with a mom in that line of work, he felt like it was disrespectful to put a monetary price on a woman’s worth, and he had never been into casual hookups.

So yes, he would absolutely love her company but not ever under these circumstances, where she’s offering out of need and not desire.

Harry can’t remember the last time he’s had sex but the depression had killed his sex drive for the most part anyways.

He didn’t seek it out.

“No,” Harry responds flatly, not indecisiveness in his voice at all, “Not interested.”

Typically when Harry turned a proposition down, the woman wouldn’t be too thrilled whether she delivered him a ‘fuck you’ or spit on the door of his truck - that was normal response.

However, not for this girl, her face drops in a twist of embarassment and shame, and it’s also the first time someone apologizes for offering.

“I’m sorry to…to bother you. Um, have a good night. Safe travels,” She stutters out, it was obvious that she was flustered and mortified which again, made him feel just a twinge of empathy.

Harry’s about to assure her that it wasn’t a big deal but she was already turning in her heel, walking briskly back to the pavilion and disappearing inside.

He shuts his door, slumping down in his driver’s seat for a second as he rubs his hand across his face with a groan, he was too tired for this shit.

However, the thought of that girl offering her services to the other drivers or having to sleep in that dirty, run-down building wasn’t acceptable to him.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” Harry mutters to himself as he tugs his jacket back on, he never cared about any before.

Why now?

Harry’s body detests being lured back into the frigid weather, missing the warmth of his cabin instantly as he shuts the door behind him.

By the time he’s walking toward the building, the girl had disappeared inside, and wasn’t visible to him anymore.

What was he even doing?

He should turn around and go back to his truck.

But he finds himself tugging open the door, it was warmer than the outside but not by much, the heater must be in its last leg, and it was sticky - almost humid.

Harry’s nose twitched in disgust at the smell of cheap disinfectant, a half-ass cleaning job, and garbage that hadn’t been taken out soon enough.

He doesn’t see her right away, figuring he may have to go towards the women’s restroom - he follows the sign towards the back of the building.

Harry finds her, tucked into the corner of an alcove, resting against the side of a row of vending machines - smushed and hiding.

She had taken off her bag, bundling it up, and pushing it between her head and the machine to create a makeshift pillow.

Harry wishes it didn’t make his chest ache, he was so used to not feeling, and it was pissing him off that he wasn’t feeling numb to it.

Her eyes were closed but her body was tense like he knew shouldn’t couldn’t full let herself relax because she wasn’t safe.

Harry clears his throat, standing in front of her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She startles as she hadn’t heard him approaching, bumping her head off the hard plastic of the machine covering and wincing as she tenses.

“Let’s go,” Harry waves his hand impatiently.

Yeah, his communication skills were not the best.

The woman blinks up at him in confusion, reasonably nervous as she shuffles off the floor, stumbling as she pushes herself up on a knee, uncoordinated and clumsy as she tries to get re-oriented.

Harry sighs impatiently, sticking out his hand for to take, and when she very gingerly puts her freezing cold one in his, he yanks her up to her feet with little effort - she couldn’t weigh much.

”Did you…uh,” The girl’s voice is shaky as she grabs her purse, a backpack, “Did you want to know my rates?”

Harry stops, turning back towards her, and starting to unzip his heavy, down winter coat as he shakes his, “Don’t need ‘em. I’m not interested in your services.”

The girl pauses too, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, “Why did you come get me then?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he shoves his jacket unceremoniously towards her, “Put this on.”

She accepts it but doesn’t move to, “Why?”

Harry grunts out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands in jean pockets, “S’not safe for you to be sleeping in a place like this. It’s freezing in here, you’re not dressed for the weather. You can stay the night in my cab before I head out.”

YN swallows anxiously, weighing out her options before there’s a banging noise.

Someone barging through the front doors of the pavilion, a large middle-aged man that had dirty overalls on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a scraggly graying beard.

When this trucker sees the woman, he smiles like a cat who just got the cream, and doesn’t hesitate to ask in a raspy, smoker’s draw, “How much for the night, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widen in unwelcome surprise, lips twisting as she struggles to find a response.

”Um…”

”I already got ‘er,” Harry gives the man a hard, faux-possessive look (maybe it wasn’t as fake as he thought it was because he really did feel a protectiveness over her for some reason), “Tough shit.”

”Let me know if you finish with her early,” The man laughs, his gaze was predatory and foul, it made even Harry feel unsettled to just see the way he was looking at her - like an object.

“Fuck off,” Harry dismisses the man easily, though Harry was skinner than he’d prefer, his muscles were still prevelant and enough to intimidate, especially the out-of-shape man.

The girl tugs the jacket on hastily, the other trucker clearly motivating her not to stay in here.

”That’s why you shouldn’t try to sleep in here, you think he would think twice before dragging you to his truck?” Harry scolds as he steps forward, without thinking, he zips the jacket for her because the zipper can be finicky at the best times - it was old and needed replaced three winters ago at least.

”I know you could lie,” She says softly, the most she’s really said thus far, “But you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

It was dumb question, on her end.

Why would anyone tell her the truth if their real intention was to cause her harm?

Harry really should be questioning what he’s doing.

Never once in the past has he ever taken it upon himself or felt the need to do what he was doing for this girl.

He should mind his own business and realize that she isn’t his responsibility.

“No, I’m not going to. You can get warm, get some sleep, and tomorrow at five in the morning I’m kicking you to the curb,” Harry informs her, trying to maintain the coldness that he normally keeps in his tone but he feels guilty even talking to her like that.

“Okay. I…Thank you. I’m YN, by the way,” She tells him, still shy as ever and really a contradiction to how a sex worker is - outgoing and assertive.

“Harry,” He replies as he walks them towards the exit, not looking forward to having the freezing temperatures hit the bare skin of his arms nor have the wind throwing icy clumps on snow in his face but he would take it if it meant YN stayed a bit warmer.

YN’s face pinches up when the door opens, the cold hitting her aggressively enough that her hair goes flying behind her in the wind, every which way as it tangles into a bird ‘s nest.

Harry is lucky he turns around to check on her because right as he does, she slips on a patch of ice which has her nearly falling backwards.

He grips her forearms tightly, a gnarled frown on his face as he gripes, “Who the fuck wears heels in below zero temps?”

He expects a snarky response back.

And he feels even more like a piece of shit when she tucks her chin down, mumbling an embarrassed apology as he guides her, keeping a hold of her arm.

Harry unlocks his truck, swinging open the door, and steps back, “Go ahead.”

YN hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the pavilion and seeing the truck driver from early emerge, winking at her.

She hurries inside as quickly as she can in her outfit, trying to tuck her dress to her thighs to avoid it flipping up and giving Harry a view.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locking it tightly, and double checking both side of the doors before he’s unfastening the blinds - blocking the outside world.

Last step is to put up the privacy screen along his windshield as YN keeps tucked carefully by the corner of the driver’s side.

“C’mon, I have a dog. She doesn’t like anyone but me so just leave her alone and she won’t bother you,” Harry informs her as he pushes back the curtain to his cabin, it was always spotless, and clean which was probably surprising to her.

It was a luxury sleeper, it wasn’t anything extravagant but Harry had put his savings to good use about three years ago.

A small kitchen, a dining room table that folded his bed out, and a television mounted on the wall that was usually on for background noise more than anything.

“This is really nice,” YN stands timidly in the breezeway of the front of the truck, unsure, and looking out of place.

Harry just grunts in agreement, questioning what exactly his plan was, and he grabs fresh sheets out of a small cabinet.

“You can have the bed,” Harry tells her as he strips off his sheets, they weren’t dirty but he had slept on them a few nights, “I’ll take the lounger.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable chair but he’d survive.

“No, no. I can take the chair,” YN insists sincerely with a shake of her head, her teeth still clenched as her body shook from the cold.

Harry ignores her, tugging the new fitted sheet onto the mattress, changing the pillowcases, and the comforter - he’s lucky he had a spare.

He doesn’t say anything else before gathering the comforter he’d just taken from the bed and tossing it on the lounge chair.

“Go to sleep,” Harry signals impatiently because she’s just standing there, shaking with how cold she is and he moves over to bump up the heat.

YN listens, walking slowly towards the bed, her eyes catching on Birdie’s sleeping form (who hadn’t even stirred) - what a shit guard dog.

YN sits on the edge of the bed, her hands were trembling from the cold and nerves, fingers stiff, and when she leans down to unstrap her heels - she can’t get a grip.

Harry watches for a moment before stalking over, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around her ankle to hold of still.

YN watches him quietly as he slips the shoes from her feet, annoyance prevalent in his words as he asks pointedly, “Why the fuck would you wear these today? Do you have no self-preservation? You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

She shuts down again, like earlier when he had questioned her clothing choices, and doesn’t respond for a long second, voice soft when she does, “They’re the only pair I have.”

And…well Harry didn’t think of that.

Harry doesn’t have anything to reply with so he makes quick work of taking them off her freezing feet and she needs socks - they felt like ice under his own cold fingers.

He stands up, turning to a built in storage unit to his left as YN nervously moves to lay down, completely unsure as she lift the comforter.

“Not yet,” Harry gruffs as he digs out what he was looking for - a waffle-knit henley, a soft pair of flannel pajamas pants he never wore because he much preferred his underwear, and a pair of thick wool thermal socks, “Here. It stays relatively warm in here but it’s freezing outside. Put these on.”

“Thank you,” YN replies quietly as she stands up, without hesitation she reaches for the hem of her dress and begins to pull it up.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters as he quickly turns, giving her the privacy she deserved, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m dressed,” YN tells him after a minute of rustling as she changes into the clothes provided, “I didn’t mean to, um, make you uncomfortable. Most men want something in return, I figured you wanted to see me…change.”

Harry feels disgust seeping through him.

Not at her.

But at the deplorable men she had to be in the company of when at these types of stops.

“I told you, I don’t want shit from you. M’just trying to be a decent human being and I’d rather not see your picture on the morning news tomorrow. This is a horrible part of town,” Harry was too blunt, was constantly scolded for it during his upbringing but he never got better at it.

YN was still nervous, trembling at that as she sat down on the edge of the bed - all of the clothes were hanging off of her, the shirt slipping down her too-thin shoulder.

“I really appreciate it. I haven’t been able to sleep somewhere even half this nice without…you know, working,” YN sniffles as tears start to gather in her eyes, “I’m so tired.”

Harry feels that same tug on his heartstrings, a sensation that reminded him that he even had a beating heart.

“You’re safe. I know you just have my word but I won’t let anything happen,” Harry promises, feeding his own need to keep her safe and also make her feel that way too.

YN nods as she wipes her eyes, the makeup smearing around the edges thay has him sighing and getting up to head to the small bathroom.

He runs a clean washcloth under warm(ish) water before wringing it out.

Harry steps out to walk closer to her again, her chest was heaving as she let out emotion that Harry didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything - he wouldn’t even know what that would be because he hadn’t had real communication with anyone other than the other truckers on the radio for years now.

Harry is slow in his motions so that she’s not taken surprise at any point, with barey any pressure, he cups her face with one hand.

He brings the cloth up to wipe gently at the layered, tacky makeup that comes off in a thick muck, wipe after wipe.

When her face is clear of the overdone eyeshadow, harsh blush, spidery mascara clumped lashes - its startlingly how beautiful she is.

Her skin is perfect or nearly close to.

Smooth, clear, glowy in the dim light of the sleeper.

Her lips a puffy, delicate rosé pink - full and pouted.

The clean face takes at least a few years from her, that makeup had accentuated every wrinkle and crevice - aging her more than she was.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Harry tosses the cloth in his hamper, walking towards the lounge chair and kicking off his heavy, steel-toed boots.

He wasn’t obviously going to sleep in his briefs tonight and he had just handed her his only pair of pajama pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his jeans nor the last, some nights he was too tired to strip them off before collapsing in bed.

“Goodnight, thank you,” YN murmurs after a mute snuffle, he watches out of the corner of her eye as she wriggles down into his bed - looking like she fucking belongs there.

“Sleep well,” Harry rumbles as he shuts off the lamp, throwing the cabin into darkness - the only light filtering through the curtains of the neon gas station sign - bright enough to grab the attention of people on the highway.

Harry reclines the chair, he didn’t normally sleep on his back but he would manage for tonight - for her.

The wind was gnarly, scraping against the sides of his truck - the occasional loose tree branch hitting, the sleet pattering against the windows.

Harry didn’t sleep in, his body didn’t allow him.

He ran on five hours of sleep at max before he needed to get up, move around, and get on the road.

When he blinks his eyes open, blearing at clock on his wall - three fifty-four am.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t waste much time.

He’d be on the road within the next thirty minutes after letting Birdie out, getting her breakfast, and popping into the gas station to get the biggest size coffee they had.

However, when he glances at Birdie’s bed, he has to do a double take because she’s not in there, and his heart starts pounding instantly.

Harry didn’t care about much on this earth, really barely anything but he cared about his dog - the snappy, crotchety thing.

She was always in her bed.

Harry sits up quickly, a horrible thought that the girl he let sleep her had stolen her but as soon as he is standing - he hears a telltale snore from the dog.

He follows the noise and to his utter dismay, literal dismay, because Birdie didn’t like anyone but Harry (and she didn’t like him sometimes either).

The mutt is currently being spooned by YN.

It was the most absurd thing he had ever seen.

YN was on her side, facing towards him with her face half-smushed in his pillow, her arm was slung over Birdie as the pup was nuzzled into the shape of her body.

Birdie was relaxed as can be, snoring up a storm, and pillowing her head in the crook of YN’s shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

The dog hadn’t even woke up when YN had entered.

Traitor.

Harry tucks back into his boots, tugging on his winter jacket that YN had discarded on the back of the kitchenette chair.

As he fills the disposable coffee cup, black - no cream or sugar, he tries to map out his course to Washington state.

He had done the trip many times before but having to account for horrible road condition would tack on at least a day of travel - if not more.

Harry had to get on the road as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be later than that extra day.

The weather hadn’t changed, granted, it was only nearing four in the morning but he swears that the temperature dropped even further.

As he steps back up into the cabin, his eyes trail to YN and Birdie, all cuddled up like this was their home together.

Harry needed to wake her up, kick her to the curb like he had told her (and himself) but he couldn’t imagine waking her.

Not when only a few hours prior, she had cried as she told him how tired she was, and fuck - where did his heartlessness go?

He didn’t mess with sex workers, not that he judged the profession but Harry was never a casual sex kind of guy.

And anyways, the depression that was nearly constant killed his sex drive to the point where he rarely got the urge to take care of himself - let alone pay someone to do it for him.

Harry sighs as he contemplates his choices, he was going to be behind, and he couldn’t find it in him to shake her awake.

He decides to shower, even though the rest stop was foul because he had the time and he sure he has showered in worse places.

The water doesn’t get as hot as Harry would like but the pressure get good on his aching back, he’d always had a bad one, and sleeping in the lounger would make him sore for days.

Harry takes him time, washes his hair extra well, shaves off his stubble, and he’s not doing it to be more presentable to YN - he’s not.

By the time that he’s dressed in clean clothes, it has to be close to five in the morning, he refills his coffee on the way back before he’s unlocking his truck again.

Harry’s met by Birdie, who was acting strange, she rarely waited at the door and didn’t often whine like an injured pup.

However, Birdie was clearly upset as she anxiously paced in the small area, these high pitched yowls coming from the back of her throat - head upwards as she howled.

“What is it?” Harry asks her, automatically concerned as his eyes dart to the bed.

She was gone.

The bed had been made as neat as a pin, the clothes she had borrowed were folded on top of the comforter, and it’s like she’d never been there.

Harry should feel relief because he wouldn’t have to wake her up, kick her out but it doesn’t feel anywhere close to relief,

Not when he had this vicious, innate urge to protect her.

He didn’t know what made her so special.

Harry had stumbled upon countless women down on their luck before, it was part of working around the country, stopping as places were those people tended to populate, and he had never felt any desire to help them.

He knows she must have either went to the gas station or rest stop, she didn’t have a jacket so she couldn’t have gotten far.

A sickening thought of her getting into the scumbag from last night’s truck makes him close the door and head back toward the building.

He was just in the gas station to get another coffee, he would have seen her, and when he goes back into the dank rest stop - he walks towards the women’s bathroom.

Outside the door, he can hear the patter of water streaming from one of the ancient showerheads, and knows that has to be her showering.

And so he waits.

He hears the telltale signs of heels clicking and he has to laugh when she exits the bathroom.

Her hair was sopping wet because she didn’t have a towel, her black dress was waterlogged where the ends of her hair were kissing the fabric - all while wearing those god damn shoes.

YN’s eyes go wide, scared instantly as she stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry’s replies, brow knit in confusion.

YN’s face contorts, eyes darting away for a moment, “Um, I don’t know? You look upset with me. I-I left as soon as I woke up like you said.”

Was Harry upset?

Yeah, he guesses he actually was.

But not with her, not really.

He was upset that she was in a ridiculously small dress with wet hair (and clothes) in sub zero temperatures.

“What is your plan?” Harry answers instead, watching as goosebumps erupt all over her skin - it was a sticky humid in the cinderblock building but the cold couldn’t be ignored.

“My plan?” YN repeats, he hates how nervous she is around him - he understands but it’s so unnecessary, he wants to keep her safe.

He should leave.

Let her do her thing.

It’s not his business.

“Where are you going? What’s next?”

YN picks at the skin of her thumb with her index finger, chin tilted down, “I am hoping to get enough cash today to get a jacket, maybe a hotel room? That, um, that guy yesterday is still out in his truck and offered me a hundred and fifty so that’s why I was..showering.”

Harry wanted to be sick, his stomach was actually churning the coffee he had chugged down because she deserved better than that.

“No,” Harry says without thinking.

YN’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I don’t know-“

“Three grand,” Harry interupts her, “I’m going to Washington. I’ll give you cash today to do the trip with me. Five or six days overall. I’ll buy your food, get you clothes, anything you need. On the way back, I’ll drop you off here again.”

YN is rightfully confused, biting at her bottom lip, “And what do you expect of me?”

“No sex,” Harry assures her, “I won’t try anything.”

“But why? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s just wasting money,” YN points out, she was starting to tremble from the cold.

Harry tugs off his jacket once again, this time he holds it out, and YN slips her arms in without complaint - she was freezing.

“You seem easy-going. I’ve been on the road for five years, guess I’m lonely and some company would be nice,” Harry shrugs, a rueful smile as he adds, “Also I’ll be damned if you’re getting in that scumbag’s truck. You deserve better than that.”

YN does something that shocks Harry.

She steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around his middle, her face burying in her chest as she hugs him.

The tips of her hair are dampening his own shirt but he cannot find it in him to complain.

This hug makes him realize just how long he’s been without human touch.

Harry is stiff, still processing, and YN must realize that because she starts to pull back with wide eyes, “I’m sorr-“

He shakes his head, finally moving his arms to wrap around her back, and he pulls her back into the hug - just for a moment.

“I got you, alright?” Harry rumbles as he pulls away, taking a step back, “Do you have a cell phone? Is there anyone you need to let know that you’re leaving for a few days?”

“No to both. I don’t have a cell phone, it broke a while back, and I couldn’t afford a replacement. And no, I don’t have anyone who will be concerned,” YN replies quietly, her voice was soft and sweet and filled with hurt.

“Okay,” Harry responds because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he doesn’t understand why she’s in a place like this, with no one.

She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

Harry guides YN back to his truck, as he opens the door he tells her, “I’m going to run Birdie for a few minutes. The clothes are still folded on the bed. I’ll get you new ones on the way. There aren’t stores for the next long stretch of miles.”

YN nods in agreement and as soon as Harry opens the door, Birdie is down the four steps and bounding towards YN.

Birdie jumped up on her hind legs, tail going wild as she accepts ear scratches and coos from YN, leaning down to kiss her snout.

And that’s another thing Harry doesn’t get, Birdie doesn’t do that with other people, normally she growls and bristles, bares her teeth and barks to get them away.

Birdie gets her love before bounding into the snow-topped fields, swallowing her up until Harry can only see flashes of black and white as she darts around.

It’s too cold to give her the normal amount of time and plus, he didn’t have his jacket so Birdie only got ten minutes before he whistled for her to come back.

Birdie’s whiskers are ice-tipped, snow dusting her beard, and she races back into the cabin with no issue in escaping the cold.

YN was already changed again, sitting on the bed.

Harry would be okay if he never saw her in a tight black dress or high heels again.

“I’m going to go refill my coffee, do a quick check of my truck, and then we’ll get out of here, okay?” Harry asks as he wipes Birdie off with a towel to get her dry - her fur was coarse and pretty water-resistant as it was, “Do you want food, a drink?”

YN shakes her head, declining as if it’s the polite thing to do, “No, thank you.”

Harry nods before disappearing back out of the truck.

The gas station is as desolate as it’s been the other two times that he’s gotten his coffee but now he had an armful of things.

Juices, water, hydration drinks, granola bars, a breakfast sandwich, a few cellophane-wrapped pastries.

The same clerk is still behind the register, his skin almost translucent from how pale he was, purplish veins contrasted the yellowish tone of his skin.

The man is old, his name tag reads ‘Gary’, and he scans the items with a bored expression, eyes blearing up to Harry at one point.

He had a rough, mid-western accent that made him harder to understand as he spoke, “Never a good idea to fall in love with a hooker.”

Harry is taken aback, startled by the comment as he replies, “What did you just say?”

Gary nods towards his truck out front, he clearly had seen YN going back and forth from the rest stop to his rig.

Then he nods down at the snacks, “M’just saying, son. Don’t put your eggs in her basket. They’re all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say and do just about anything for cash. Remember that.”

Harry is silent as he taps his card to the screen, he wasn’t in love with this girl, he had just met her mere hours ago under weird circumstances.

He didn’t feel anything towards her.

At least that’s what he was going to continue to tell himself so that he can remain headstrong on the promise he made to himself that he doesn’t need anyone.

He’s fine by himself.

Just him and Birdie.

Harry doesn’t give him a reaction nor a response, grabbing the plastic bag, and trudging back out into the cold.

Ready to get the fuck out of here.

YN is still where he left her but Birdie had finished her breakfast and was currently nuzzled up next to her thigh like she was her mother.

Harry unceremoniously drops the bag of items next to her, opposite of his traitorous dog, and doesn’t say anything - awkward and unsure.

YN opens the bag, glancing inside before looking up at him.

“It’s for you,” Harry waves his hand dismissively before moving to rub the back of his neck, why the fuck was he acting like this?

Like he was trying to court her with cheap gas station food and his clothes.

“Do you do this often? For girls like me?” YN wonders out loud, it’s not necessarily judgemental but curiously confused.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before, so no,” Harry shrugs, unable to hold eye contact because she’s pretty and he’s embarrassed.

“Do you…” YN hesitates, glancing down at her hands, “Nevermind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Harry doesn’t have much of anything to hide, “S’fine.”

“You don’t have a wife and kids at home, do you?” YN is timid, like she’s worried about how he’ll react to such a question.

Harry snorts, nonplussed, “No. I don’t have any family and I call this rig my home. No wife or kids.”

“Guess we’re both alone,” YN picks at a loose thread on the pajama pants, it was a fact for both of them, and the air was solemn between them.

“Well, for the next few days we have each other, right?” Harry huffs as he turns to the cabinet, out of sight, he punches in the code to his safe, and takes out the cash he promised, “Here’s the money.”

YN’s eyes go wide, taking it after a moment, running her thumb nail under the bills as they flutter before she’s tucking it into her backpack.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness but I am so grateful,” YN said earnestly, her eyes were doe-like and molten like heated caramel.

And Harry realizes for the first time since he’d met her that he hadn’t thought about his depression, about how he didn’t want to be here most days, and how most days had been all of his days lately.

She had given him a reason to keep on going for at least the next few days because he had her to take care of, protect.

Birdie was the only thing that had kept him here for the last three years, when it’s started to get really bad because he’d never abandon her.

Even if it meant enduring his own suffering for her - he would do anything for that dog, his lifeline, his lifesaver when he’s drowning.

He’s getting that same feeling with YN and he knows that’s dangerous because she could want to jump ship tomorrow and he’d be alone again.

Despite Gary’s forewarning, Harry might be putting his eggs in the basket of a girl he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

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cozzzynook · 2 months

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TFP idea

Since Smokescreen's creators are Prowl & Jazz I can only image the sheer panic they have when they hear their sparkling isn't on Cybertron where they left him. They search high and low for their missing bitty fearing the worst while also hoping He is safe. When they final get word that Smokescreen is on earth they take ship and drive there as fast as they can they almost crash it into a cliff.

Team Prime barely get to say 'hello' to their old friends before Prowl marches up to Smokescreen ranting and raving while Jazz tires to calm down Prowl while also hugging Smokey since they are glad he is alive.

(Just Protective mama bear Prowl and chill dad Jazz :> )

😭 poor Jazz probably didn’t get a wink of peace while they were on their way to get smokescreen and Optimus didn’t get a wink of peace when they got there nor Ratchet because Prowl was getting every single injury log & report of Smokescreen while tugging his audial for endangering himself and not telling them anything.

Optimus now understands how the others feel when he & ratchet hound them about his bitty Bumblebee.

#transformers #prowl #jazz #smokescreen #tfp prowl #tfp jazz #tfp smokescreen #tfp optimus prime #tfp bumblebee

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fiber-optic-alligator · 1 month

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(Not a request dw)

Re: Knock Out's human managing to escape during the game of Hide and Shriek via an Autobot helping them out.

My first thought is that the Autobot who winds up helping them out is probably Bumblebee, Arcee, or Smokescreen. Somebody fast enough to not get caught in the rescue process, or leave a significant amount of evidence behind that it was them.

For the sake of further discussion, I'm just gonna say that it was Bumblebee. So, he's patrolling when a human in rough shape, that smells a Whole lot like a certain Decepticon trots up to the side of the road waving him down. Now, Optimus has told him, and the rest of his allies that they are to remain hidden from humanity lest the Decepticons track them down sooner. But it seems Knock Out has already threatened this one so not helping them out just isn't an option.

After listening to the shortened version of their story about what happened, he pans through the radio stations to cobble together a response. "Hop on in, Baby! I'll get you -somewhere safe!" And then he pops open the passenger seat door. The human doesn't seem thrilled about the prospect of being inside of Another unmanned, probably alien car, but can't find it in them to refuse the offered help. So they get seated inside, and buckle in. Apologizing for the mess they're making inside as it's been quite the night.

Bumblebee closes the door quietly, and drives off towards Jasper. His radio piping up once more to say; "You're fine. -It's all good. -Where's your stop anyhow?" The human pointedly doesn't comment on the shifting voices, hoping that if the stranger elements of the vehicle went unmentioned, the "Driver" won't turn hostile. "You can drop me off by the grocery store, I can walk home from there."

"Well alright! -Do you mind if I ask -What happened -to you -out there?" Bumblebee hopes that it wasn't the kind of encounter he been hearing about lately. The kind where humans go missing, and if they ever turn up again, they're covered in solvent. A Decepticon looking for a quick snack, and a sentient pet, no doubt just snatching any ole' human they can find. The human tilts their head, feigning confusion.

"But I thought I told you what happened already?" Bumblebee ex-vents quietly, and tries again. "I know you were -cuttin' pieces out -of your story. It's alright! -I won't snitch if you won't." It's the human's turn to sigh, but this one sounds tired. "Fine. But it's gonna sound weird, yeah?"

"Go right on ahead."

"I was walking home when a red Ashton Martin pulled up next to me, and apparently had a taser? Of some kind? It zapped me, and I passed out. Only to wake up in the car, far outside of town roughly around that old trainyard, you know? I did my best to crash the car, and after some mild success, I bolted into one of the train cars." They pause to collect themselves a little, in utter disbelief about the whole thing. Though, unbeknownst to them, Bumblebee is dreading the confirmation about his prior theories.

"After a few minutes, I was found by a giant robot. An arrogant, 20-something foot tall bastard of a giant robot named-"

"Knockout!"

... ... ...

"You-uh, you wouldn't happen to be a friend of his, would you?"

"Nonono -He's an -aft -hat -and an enemy of mine. You're safe -with me. I'll get you -home safe." Bumblebee sighs again before explaining himself. "He's a real bad dude. -On the opposite side -from me, and my friends. -We're trying to protect -this -Planet Earth! -And the creatures that live -on it. Are you sure you don't -want to -lie low somewhere -safer? He may -know where you live." Bumblebee didn't want to scare them further, but if this is Knock Out they're talking about, he's probably looked into them enough to deduce that they're worth whisking away. It's better to be certain about things.

The human sits in silence for a moment, registering the idea that they might've been targeted in particular by the giant robot. They decide to derail the current conversation for a moment so they could think over his offer. "You, uh, are you the same... Species? As this Knock Out guy?" There's a notable pause before the self-driving car responds. "Yeeeeeaaahhh.... I'm sorry for -not mentioning it earlier. You already seemed -shaken -and I didn't want to -rock the boat -further"

The human sighs deeply, and throws their hands up a little. "Ey' you know what? At least You aren't forcing me into a game of Hide and Seek, or threatening to Eat me. ... I... I think I'll take you up on the offer to lie low somewhere safer if that's alright." They huff out a laugh before continuing. "As long as 'somewhere safer' isn't Your stomach. Haha" Somehow, Bumblebee doesn't find the idea of taking advantage of their awful situation very funny.

"I'm not that kinda guy -Honest! I just wanna make sure that you're okay!" The duo make it into town unfollowed, and they both seem to relax a little. "I can -hook you up -with a place -you can stay -where he -can't find you. After that, we can get -you -moved -outta town! -And far from -his -nastiness. Okay?" They sag in their seat a little, hoping he's telling the truth.

"Sure, that sounds great... Um-" "Bumblebee" "Yeah, that sounds great Bumblebee. Thank you."

"No problem!"

-Not a Request Anon

THIS IS SO CUTE!!! Bumblebee would definitely fit perfectly into his scenario!! Awww and the human gradually forming friendships with the Autobots while Knockout just seethes over the fact that he lost his human to Bumblebee of all mechs. It was supposed to be him! Don’t think you’ve seen the last of him, because even with the Autobots protecting you, he isn’t going to give up that easily.

#gator answers #knockout x reader #bumblebee x reader #tfp knockout #tfp bumblebee #transformers x human reader

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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months

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Brainrot and possibly crack-ish thought that I spent too much time thinking about: The Forge of Solus works a bit too well, and now everyone who has been a Prime has been revived. The Fallen, who through some miracle, also ends up on Earth and dragged into family shenanigans. In short, pure chaos with all the Primes.

Heck yeah, this could go a thousand and one ways and I could even make it angsty if I try. I love this.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus had not expected to be saved. He was dying and he had largely accepted that fact as the Allspark welcomed him. However when the Forge of Solus Prime repaired him, he felt something else be dragged along back to his fallen form along with him. He was not sure what it was when he woke in his new frame, but something felt... off. He did not question when he flew to Darkmount and collected his team after driving his foe back, but once his team was settled in Hanger E, he was absolutely certain there was something wrong. Ratchet already wanted to do a scan on Optimus after his near death, but when the Prime came to him in minor terror, the medic all but tripped over himself to get scans completed.

The team ended up gathering around to watch as Optimus had his scans taken, and they were all shocked and in awe at what they saw.

Within Optimus's spark chamber were fifteen small sparks, each fluttering around Optimus's lovingly. They were tiny, still developing, and yet had none of the unsettled energy of sparks in need of a host. It was... unsettling for Optimus, largely because he never felt any spark ignite within him, nor had he taken on the role of surrogate for a mech waiting on a frame to inhabit. He knew the Matrix had creation capabilities, but he had not at all expected it to be so extreme. Ratchet chalked it up to the Forge possibly causing the Matrix to use some of its power to ignite newsparks, but deep down Ratchet, Optimus, and the rest of the team did not believe that at all. Sparks do not come from nothing, nor do they come from a frame transfer totally stable. The newsparks within Optimus were far too controlled and powerful to be the result of the Matrix, at least in theory.

There was brief discussion of extinguishing the newsparks, but that idea was shut down the moment Optimus registered familiarity amongst the lives that orbited his own. He did not understand entirely, but they felt like family. And so the Prime opted to keep them, but to the dismay of Ratchet and the combined confliction of the team. Ultra Magnus was ready to accept the young without a moment's hesitation. Their people were lacking in numbers as it was, they needed every life they could to ensure their kind did not join countless others in extinction. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack were largely neutral, if a little worried about getting enough energon for fifteen new lives. Smokescreen and Bumblebee were elated at the prospect, if concerned over taking care of more young bots in such a dangerous situation. Ratchet refused to state his opinion and focused on making sure Optimus got enough energon to support himself and his charges.

Things went well enough for a few months after the matter. The children were not alerted to Optimus's state and only commented on the situation when they noticed the team taking more hits for the Prime than usual. But with time, the newsparks grew more demanding and needed frames. In turn, since there were no protoforms to be collected, Optimus needed more energon to prepare to make protoforms himself.

That was when things got tight. Optimus needed more, regardless of his stance on the matter. The team needed to find more energon for him and continue the fight. Rations grew smaller and Optimus grew more and more agitated with receiving greater quantities. Just as things were reaching a breaking point however, something unusual happened. Optimus grew mad with the team for their offering of more energon. He could see that they were tired and he knew the limits of his frame. He could go a few cycles without, especially with how strong the newsparks were. There was debate and anger over the situation, leading an argument that ultimately ended with Optimus emitting an EM field flare that synced up with a pulse from his spark. It didn't seem to do anything at first. The team were startled, but that was all.

Then, two weeks after the fact, an object of Cybertronian origin came careening into Earth's atmosphere, landing in the middle of Alaska of all places. The team quickly hurried to investigate and were promptly met by a mech who towered over all of them, even gaining a solid head on Optimus when he came through. Covered in black and red accented plating, the mech wielded a deadly looking blaster and vaguely reminded the team of Megatron. He bore no factional marks, he carried no sign of any allegiance, but after a while of standing and staring, the mech spoke.

"Thirteen, I sensed your distress... along with the calls of our kin. Where are Solus and the others? I know they are near."

It took a long klik for Optimus to figure it out while the team reeled, but once it settled, he almost choked in pure shock. Megatronus, the Fallen Prime stood before him and evidently believed that Optimus somehow had the other original Primes with him. There was a great deal to unpack in his singular statement, but Optimus did not deny the Fallen access to Hangar E to explain. The team were given to explanation as to who the Fallen was and were only given the name of Megatronus to work with. But it did not take long for things to make sense as the Fallen Prime spoke with the current Matrix bearer.

"You carry them within you? Fifteen sparks... it should not be possible." "And yet it is. I did not know they were Primes, but they felt familiar."

"They will need frames, and you do not have enough energon to produce them."

"Yes, but we are doing what we can-"

"You require protomatter and energon. There is no need to play with words Thirteen."

"Then you are correct."

"I will get you what is required for their survival. In turn, I wish to play a part in Solus's development in order to... make up for my prior mistakes."

"..."

"That is acceptable."

Confusion radiated from all of the Autobots as the Fallen nodded like nothing happened and promptly fragged off again, not to be seen for another three months while Optimus patiently waited and explained exactly nothing. But of course, not being fools the team started to put things together. Ultra Magnus worked with Bulkhead to create a conspiracy board while the rest of the team collectively tried to not think about the deeper implications of Optimus being called 'Thirteen' and supposedly 'carrying all of them within himself'. So when the Fallen returned with stupid amounts of energon and surprisingly healthy amounts of protomatter, the team opted to not look a gift horse in the mouth, especially considering Optimus seemed calm.

The team shut up and watched as soon enough, Optimus had his fill of energon, received protomatter injections, and within two additional weeks, vanished into his room and did not emerge. The team hovered around nervously for days on end while the Fallen watched human TV shows without a care in the world. It went on for about a week, with Ratchet nearly busting down the door in fear for his leader before Optimus quietly stepped out of his room with plenty of small sparklings in his arms and on his frame.

Ratchet: Optimus, what are those?

Optimus: These are my sparklings. Nominus, Nova, Guardian, Sentinel, Solus, Prima, Quintus, Vector, Micronus, Amalgemous, Nexus, Alchemist, Onyx, Alpha Trion, and Liege Maximo.

Arcee: Sir with all due respect, what the absolute frag-?!

Megatronus: Finally. Now let me see the reincarnation of my beloved.

Fifteen small sparklings, each looking startlingly similar to their namesakes all clung to Optimus as if he were a jungle gym. the Prime simply smiled with all the patience in the world and offered up the one who carried Solus's name with a happy sound. Fifteen sparklings, fifteen sparklings who looked like fallen Primes of times long gone by.

There was no way this was going to end well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #megatronus prime #the thirteen primes #nah I aint tagging all of them #transformers sparklings #crack idea #this was just a goofy thought but I enjoyed the prompt #fifteen demigods wandering around causing chaos #yup I am here for it

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dragonridernoobie · 5 months

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hey so for transformers prime how do you think Ratchet, Optimus and Smokescreen would deal with a human reader who is 30 but looks like they’re in senior year of high school and they constantly get confused for a child cuz of their looks and they connect with the kids well? But they’re also able to fully get into adult talks with fowler and the bots and be mature about it. The kids would be the first and be like “You know how school is”. “I haven’t been there for the past decade so no, but keep complaining. It sucked back in my day too”. And the kids are shocked. Some adult human’s calling them kid and reader looks like their age has caught up to them, they look tired of this and they’re like “I’m 30. Do I need to get myself a giant pin that says I’m 30 on my forehead?” Flip side: the rare times someone gets the fact they’re an adult right without being told, reader looks so overjoyed? (I just think this’d be a funny idea. Not every human suddenly ages the moment they hit 30. So how do these three react to human biology and a human’s unique reaction to it).

Sure, this is intresting thing but I will try my best!

TFP x Neotenic Reader

Optimus

So, first things first.

Optimus would immediately think reader is a child because he does know much about human biology.

So when he first met reader after he ran her over

Yes, I mean that.

He wasent paying attention and accidentally hit reader.

Once at base, he would explain that he was sorry and that reader should go home for school.

He would be so fucking confused when reader tells them they are 30.

He dident believe them ar first but when he saw their ID, he would apologize the second time that day.

He will definitely not treat reader as a child.

I can also see him also giving reader more attention.

Reader will always be by his side, helping him when he is stressed.

Ratchet

Ratchet would meet reader optimus brought them back after rescuing them from the decpticons.

He would do scans on reader and be really fucking confused.

Reader looks at 17 but the scan scans said she is 32.

He will ask reader about this and reader explains that they just don't age as fast.

He would be amazed and more confused by human biology.

He would definitely research it more.

He would make sure to correct the children about readers age.

He is secertly happy that there's another human that isn't a child.

He definitely has a favorite human.

Raph has his own place.

Smokescreen

Ok, so when smokescreen meets reader, it was on accident.

Smokescreen was only 1 week on earth and he already got his coverd blown 😑

What happened was when reader was walking home from work, smokescreen accidentally hits them.

He transformers and ask if reader was OK.

Que reader passing out, smokescreen panicking, smokescreen returning to base with reader, and getting yelled at.

After everything calms down, smokescreen will call reader "kid" and other things like that.

Reader would correct him and he would think it's a joke.

Intel reader shows him their ID.

Ya, smokescreen is so fucking confused.

Why are humans wierd.

He would definitely ask you to prank people with you're looks.

#headcanon #transformers tfp #optimus x reader #tfp optimus prime #x reader #ratchet x reader #tfp ratchet #tfp smokescreen #tfp smokescreen x reader #smokescreen x reader

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quitealotofsodapop · 6 months

Text

more Cicada Lily au details:

Sequel to this LMK AU post where Bai He is raised by Tang and Pigsy alongside MK.

Going by MK's rough size as a babu (a little awkward cus Lego designs) when he showed up at Pigsy's, we can assume he's like at least two or three years old.

Then again it's also likely that he's *just been "born" aka sculpted* so no matter what his apparent physical age is, he has the mental age of a newborn.

Add in some monkey-demon traits, and Pigsy and Tang have their hands full with a super-mobile baby who likes to shove whatever he can find into his mouth.

Now onto Bai He...

*A couple of years later...*

LBD: (*manifests a baby*) "Take this child. And protect her until she comes to an acceptable age. Once I return to this world, I will require a suitable host."

Macaque, just revived: "Huh!? What!? Why!? Where did this baby come from!?"

LBD: "See to it."

Macaque: (*is now suddenly alive on earth holding a newborn baby human(?) and a skeleton key*) "UHHH..."

Baby!Bai He: *starts crying*

Macaque pretty much panics and tries to find *somewhere* the little cub can stay and be safe away from LBD (cus he sure as hell ain't releasing the bone demon anytime soon).

He then senses *The Monk*.

Well more specifically, he senses the Tang Monk's soul resting inside the body of a nerdy, very tired-looking, man struggling to wrangle a fussy toddler into a winter jacket. The shadow monkey snickers to himself, guess the "Great" Monk didn't escape the cycle of rebirth after all- hey he's actually pretty good at taking care of his kid...

Macaque watches the Not-Monk and his cub carefully over the next day or so. He quickly learns that the Pig has reincarnated as well, and is the Not-Monk's mate. And that they're adoring and protective parents to their messy (possibly demonic) adopted cub.

Macaque makes a tough decision that he knows Wukong would mock him for if he knew.

He puts his trust in the Tang Monk he so despised in his previous life.

So on a rainy nighy, as Tang was trying to make it home from University - Macaque strategically places LBD's sacrificial host inside a box where he knew she'd be found.

Macaque doesn't just let Tang find the baby out of selfishness/lack of options though; the Golden Cicada has the pure opposite magical energy from LBD. The protective holy magic acting as a smokescreen in case dark forces sought the child out.

Tang rushes home that very night holding a soaked newborn. Lots of Deja Vu occurs over the next couple of weeks as the couple have to make a bunch of phone calls to CPS and file adoption paperwork. Xiaotian/"MK" bounces around happily the whole time, glad that his wish for a baby sibling had been granted.

Macaque watches on for the next dozen or so years, telling himself that he's just "keeping an eye on things". Even as he transforms himself into a friendly street cat to give the little girl company.

Wukong and Macaque collide into eachother at some point and their visits to their respective wards gets awkward fast.

#cicada lily au #lmk aus #freenoodlesshipping #freenoodles #lmk tang #six eared macaque #lego monkie kid #lmk #liu er mihou #lmk lbd #lmk mk #qi xiaotian

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hardygalwrites · 2 years

Link

Originally posted to FFN around the 13th of February, 2017

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 26 (SS) – Week 28 (SS) →

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

—

Trying Not to Pace

Smokescreen had overheard a Council member discussing something incriminating with an unknown party. Not ten hours later, the same Council member asked Smokescreen to meet him in his office.

The office was empty when he arrived - the Council member was running late, leaving Smokescreen more time to his nervous thoughts. Did the Council member know that Smokescreen had overheard him? What should Smokescreen even do with the stuff he had overheard? And if the Council member did suspect him, what then?

The office door slid open. "Hello, Smokescreen. I am sorry for being late."

Smokescreen bolstered himself, and nodded impassively. "No problem, sir."

How Hard Can it Be to End this War?

"The 'Cons are trying really hard to win, huh?"

Prowl didn't look up from his work as he replied, "We all are."

"I heard the others talkin' about how they don't know if we're ever gonna win..." Smokescreen turned towards him. "Do you think we're gonna win?"

Prowl said nothing.

"Well, I think we're gonna win," the sparkling declared, arms crossed high over his chest. "You're smarter than the 'Cons, and the others are really good at fighting. And when I get really good at fighting, I'm gonna take down as many 'Cons as possible to help us win!"

Prowl continued to say nothing.

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #365 drabbles challenge #a post tfp fic and a sparkling!smokey fic these two really are at opposite ends of a timeline arent they?#maaaaaan i really do love these two pieces #i enjoy thinking about what smokescreen's occupation would have been post war with me mostly thinking he would remain an elite guard #and hey guarding the new council of cybertron is bound to have some moments of intrigue even after the war huh?#and then of course there is me contrasting smokescreen's eternal exuberance (amped up when hes just a smol boi of course)#against prowl and his older wiser more experienced and more cynical/tired self #smokescreen #tfp smokescreen #tf prowl #wfc prowl #transformers #transformers prime #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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anon-e-miss · 6 months

Text

Touch of Sight - 11

A Cornerstone’s bells rang out calling the faithful to worship. Prowl lay on his belly, face buried in his pillow and listened to them ring. There was no mistaking the call of lesser temples for that of a Cornerstone. Minor temples had only a single bell in their bell towers, where Cornerstones had three octaves at least of bells that were not rung haphazardly, but in a score written by some ancient temple musician. He should not have been able to hear them at all, tucked away as he was in the market. Might the wind be blowing in just the right directions? With the haze of recharge still thick in his helm, Prowl listened. It was odd, he had never heard a Cornerstone’s call so clear and yet they sounded one dimensional, flat. There was something missing. Prowl stretched out his doorwings to “hear” a little better, only to realize he could not “hear”, could not “feel”, could not feel his doorwings, could not move them at all. He was blind, truly, completely blind. Imm. His audials heard his strangled cry as he tried to push himself up, digits clawing at the berth under him. He tried to reach behind himself but Prowl was not strong enough to hold him even partly upright.. His whole frame ached and his arms trembled. His voice was hoarse as he keened. A gloved servo brushed his helm and Prowl collapsed back down on the berth, the keen fading into a weak sob.

“Shh,” it was Jazz. Prowl felt the berth sag as Jazz sat on the edge. Prowl could almost feel tears wet his face, but he had no optics. He had no tears. Jazz’s gloved servo left his helm and covered Prowl servo. It took a long time before Prowl realized Jazz was writing glyphs against the back of his servo, only then did the panic roar fade in his help enough that Prowl could actually hear and understand. “Y’re okay. Y’re doors got burned in the fire. Ratch, my medic friend’s lookin’ after ya. He turned off yer relays so ya don’t gotta feel as yer sensors heal.”

“Fire...” Prowl frowned as his whispered the glyph, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded and how raw his voice felt. He remembered. The madmech, he had set fire to the apartment, set to killed them all, to kill him, the mech he had declared a demon. “My mechlings?”

“Are perfect,” Jazz promised and Prowl prayed he was true. “A bit o’ smoke was all they got, Ratch made sure their intakes are good. Got’em in class. Ori thought it was important for’em to have a lil normalcy.”

“Where am I?” Prowl asked. His sentio-metallico still prickled with anxiety as the panic ebbed. He was blind, wholly blind but he was not alone. Still, his spark continued to race. How was he supposed to live on like this? How was he meant to care for his creations?

“The Celestial Temple,” Jazz replied. Prowl felt the scarred sentio-metallico of his face strain to stretch as he raised his brow ridge with surprise.

“Why?” He asked. His spark pulsed out of control and he trembled with fear. Had Smokescreen said something? Had they discovered who they were, who they had been? The Celestial Temple was not just a Cornerstone, it was the Prime’s residence. Why would paupers be brought here for medical treatment?

“It’s sorta Ratch’s home base,” Jazz replied. “He runs other clinics but his apothecary is here. My home base too. Seemed like the best place to put ya were ya could be safe.”

“There is no more danger,” Prowl replied. He rested his helm on the pillow. How had he ever mistaken it for his own? It was far too luxurious and its cover too soft against his scarred sentio-metallico. “The voices haunting that mech told him to jump into the flames.”

“Sounds like ya feel a lil sorry for ‘m,” Jazz said.

“His processor was broken,” Prowl replied. He was tired. He had only just woken up but he was so tired. “He genuinely thought I was a demon. He genuinely thought Primus and the angels were telling him to cleanse me. He never should have been let out of the sanitarium. Let me guess, they deployed mnemosurgery, erasing the voices from his memory and declared him fit?”

“That’s right,” Jazz replied. “How’d ya guess?”

“Because that is what they do,” Prowl said. “They address the symptom without searching for the cause.”

“Sounds like ya got some history with mneumosurgeons,” Jazz replied.

“I have a processor glitch,” Prowl explained. “Every time I would crash, they would erase the thought or feeling they thought triggered it. It took until I was a mech grown and could refuse the mneumosurgeons that I was actually able to learn to manage my affliction. I do not know what would have helped that mech, but I know mneumosurgery was not it.”

“Y’re a wise mech,” Jazz replied.

“Mm,” Prowl hummed. He turned his servo around around to touch Jazz’s palm. It was not gloves Jazz was wearing. His servo was covered it gauze. “What happenened?”

“Servos go burned climbin’ the buildin’,” Jazz explained.

“You were hurt saving us,” Prowl said, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. “Punch... he tried. The sheets I tied, they tore. He said he was going to try the stairs.”

“He did, they’d collapsed, he didn’t think he could make the jump,” Jazz replied. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, I think he woulda gone back in ‘n risked it anyways. Y’re bitlets are worth it. So are ya.”

“I am sorry you were hurt,” Prowl said. “I am sorry Punch was in danger because of us.”

“It was nothin’ ya did,” Jazz told him. “I’m just glad Swindle put more into that place than I thought. Fire didn’t spread near as fast as it coulda and when the floor collapsed, the walls still held.”

“I think he invested in the struts of that building and not the facade,” Prowl replied. “If he had done the latter, he could have charged more for the habsuites and no one would have thought any of it.”

“He did good,” Jazz said. “‘N I told’m that. He was there, when the fire was goin’. Helped me wit yer mechlings. He’s terrified o’ poverty. ‘N I understand why, since we come from the same corner o’ the Pit. Sometimes he makes bad choices but he’s a decent mech o’erall.”

“Are you bothering my patient?” A new voice, rumbled. Prowl flinched. He had never been easy to sneak up on. It had become even harder since he had been blinded, when his doorwings had taken the place of his optics. Was this how he was to live for the rest of his life? It felt unbearable.

“Smokey wasn’t bout to leave’m alone, ‘n rightly so,” Jazz replied. He did not sound as if he felt any fear towards this new mech. “I stepped out for half a klik to speak to Hide ‘n he was awake ‘n right terrified.”

“Fine... what did I tell you about using your servos?” The medic asked.

“They’re fine,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t putting pressure on’em or nothin’.”

“I have no faith in you,” the medic said. “I know better.”

“Ya wound me, Ratch,” Jazz replied, with a chuckle in his voice. “Ratchet’s the best medic on Cybertron, Prowl. He’ll want me outta the way to look at yer doors. Mind if I sit at yer peds.”

“If you have business to attend to, do not delay it on my behalf,” Prowl said.

“I got nothin’ goin’ on,” Jazz said. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t be more important than this.”

Prowl could not help but believe him and it was a strange. He should have been nothing but a potential new minion to this mech and yet, Jazz had brought him and his creations home to his originator, not just for a meal but for friendship and... for Punch’s approval. Rather than discourage any attachment from Punch, his originator, Jazz seemed to encourage it and... Smokescreen glyphs echoed in Prowl’s memory banks. Though he had denied it to his creation, the observation felt like a peculiar truth. When Jazz had all but danced with him in the field, there had been pleasure and warmth in his field. It made no sense. Prowl was not a beauty. He had been... simply unremarkable before the blinding where Nightstalker had been the beauty. Their procreators had called him the Jewel of Praxus. Prowl, he had been an udder disappointment. How could Jazz look had him now, with a mottled face with two empty pits and feel anything like attraction? Pity did not explain it. Heavy pedsteps signalled the medic’s approached as Jazz moved to sit at Prowl’s peds.

“I’m Ratchet, Prowl,” the medic formally introduced himself. “I’m sure the miscreant told you but both your mechlings are in good physical health. It’ll take them some time to process the fear and trauma. I think they were both brought back to the Cataclysm, especially your little one.”

“What do I do for them?” Prowl asked.

“What you’ve always done,” Ratchet replied. “Love them and listen to them. It’s done wonders.”

“I have not been able to help Bluestreak find his voice,” Prowl countered.

“Traumatic mutism is difficult for anyone to treat,” Ratchet said. “You gave him a voice with chirolinguistics. You’ve done more than a lot of medics would think to with that alone. You haven’t focused on his spoken voice. You empower him by adapting to his needs.”

“Ya done right by them,” Jazz told him.

“I’m going to change your bandages,” Ratchet said. “Despite your sensory grid being offline, you may still feel pain.”

“I understand,” Prowl said. He remember the agony when the farm’s creation cleaned his infected burns and applied dressings. Every dressings change had been a renewal of that agony, pain that had been worse than the original burn.

There was a throbbing pain across his back as Ratchet pealed away the bandages. It was unpleasant yes but nothing compared to what he had already endured. Jazz would be suffering far more with his treatments and Prowl felt guilty. He was relieved as Ratchet disposed of the used dressings, he smelled medicinal ointment, not festering metal. The odor of his facial burns had been a terrible thing and something he still smelled in his memory-purges. It felt more like an itch he could not place, that bounced all over his frame. Jazz brushed his bandaged sevo over Prowl’s ankle and it was grounding. Prowl smelled the ointment Ratchet took out to apply to his burns and distracted himself in separating the smells and narrowing down what crystals he believed had been used in the blend.

“It’s looking good,” Ratchet told him. “No infection. Luckily, you only suffered partial thickness burns. Most of your doorwing sensors should heal to within normal parameters. You may have some holes in your perception but your processor will fill those in so you don’t even notice.”

“That is a relief,” Prowl sighed. “I could not imagine how I would live completely blind.”

“Ya woulda found a way,” Jazz reassured him. “For the mechlings.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

“Are you hungry at all?” Ratchet asked.

“A little,” he replied.

“Good,” Ratchet said. “Punch took it upon himself to make a melon soup. He thought you’d be up this cycle.”

“Ori’s got good instincts,” Jazz declared. “Not feelin’ too banged up?”

“I am fine,” Prowl asked. “Sore. Just sore and tired.”

“Ya fell through the floor,” Jazz explained his concern. “Maybe it was a good think the smoke already had ya in stasis ‘cause ya was relaxed when ya fell ‘n that helped ya not too get too hurt.”

“I do not remember that at all,” Prowl said. “The last thing I remember is giving Bluesatreak to you.”

“Probably not a bad thing to forget,” Jazz said. “Important thing is ya made it out.”

#valveplug #maccadams #tf prowl #tf jazz #anon-e-miss writes #mechpreg #tf punch #a touch of sight

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