aturc

It was easy to hate the local cops when there were only three of them in your tiny village, and all of them were absolute twats. You’d gone to school with them, and now that you were all adults, they’d traded in their unofficial title of bullies, for that of officially licensed, badge-carrying assholes.

Brandon, Ezekiel, and Krystal had gone to basic law enforcement training out of high school, come out of it with guns and an attitude, and promptly began terrorizing anyone they didn’t like. “Anyone they didn’t like” was an alarmingly broad category. If anything, they seemed to have come back from training with more swagger and authoritarian attitude than they’d left with.

People complained, of course. About the illegal searches. The random stops. The intimidation. But who around here had money for a lawyer? Was the governor going to step in? Your little town was a stoplight and a railroad track. You were all poor and, everyone assumed, stupid as a sack of rocks. Nobody cared.

…But they’d made the mistake tonight of harassing your best friend. Tears of fury and frustration stung your eyes, even now. It had all been made up, escalated because the cops were bored. Your friend hadn’t let them violate her rights in silence. And they’d turned it into some bullshit charge of resisting arrest. You’ll never forget the look on her face as Ezekiel shoved her into the back of his ugly-ass Dodge Charger. It was exactly the same as the other two, and where one went, the others followed. They were like a pack of starving coyotes, set loose to feast.

The ancient police chief, perpetually a few months from retirement, was no help. He was usually either asleep in his office, or asleep in his equally ancient patrol car, or asleep in the local greasy spoon. Nevertheless, you had sought him out. You’d found him snoring at his usual booth at the cafe. You’d stared at him through the window for a minute, lost in the gloom of twilight.

That was when you’d noticed the door to his old patrol cruiser was open a little.

You found it not only unlocked but with the keys in it, and decided to engage in a little vigilante justice.

The old car was practically a museum piece. The younger cops always begged Chief Blackwood to drive it. It was in shockingly pristine condition. The interior was spotless, the exterior gleamed. The tires looked like something out of a grainy 80s TV show. But the engine…it sang. That old car had to be modded to hell and back. Cruised like fog even on the bumpiest dirt roads.

Gossip was there was no way it was street legal. Though how the fuck the old man had ended up with it, nobody knew. It had been around forever, as much a staple of the town as the graffiti on the park benches and the blinking red light on the old radio tower.

When the young trio asked, Blackwood famously always refused to let them touch the car. Has a mind of its own sometimes, and you young’uns will just wreck her. Leave your damn Cheeto crumbs everywhere.

It would be useful if he’d had the same attitude about literally anything else they did.

But tonight, oh, tonight.

You couldn’t make heads or tails of most of the boxy equipment attached to the dashboard. There weren’t any laptops or dashcams, and the radio looked absolutely ancient. How in the hell the chief even got to keep this thing around was a mystery.

The siren and lights didn’t sound or look anything like a modern cop car. The seats were roomy and sinfully comfortable. The steering wheel huge but somehow incredibly responsive. The shocks must have been the best of their class, because even tackling backroads, you barely felt a bump. Every time you asked for more, for faster, the car gave it to you. And you weren’t entirely sure how, but even though you’d been driving a while, the old gas gauge needle hadn’t budged from F.

You stuffed another bite of flamin’ hot Cheetos in your mouth, letting the empty bag flutter to the seat as crumbs scattered everywhere. Maybe you should wear gloves like this any time you ate them, you reflecting, wiping the dust onto the steering wheel. No fingerprints and no getting your hands dirty.

You were going to drive the chief’s beloved car out to the middle of nowhere, bang it up a little, make it look like one or all three of the dickish cops had gone for a joyride. Then they’d crashed it, and gone slinking back home, afraid to tell their boss what they’d done. It would be found in a few days out by the lake - people boated and fished pretty regularly this time of year, so it would be spotted soon enough.

You pulled in to the lakefront near the old concrete boat launch. Killed the engine. Popped the door with gloved, Red 40-covered hands. Left sitting on the dashboard: the fallen badge Ezekiel had dropped and not picked up when he’d wrestled your best friend into handcuffs.

Fuckers. You stood staring at the car, its black and white coloration making something primal in you flare like a bonfire. Injustice. Cruelty. This perfect paint job was a symbol of everything you’d come to hate. Something that, on the surface, was meant to help people. Twisted by the worst of humanity’s many failings.

There was a series of concrete barriers around the edge of the boat launch. Making sure cars didn’t accidentally back right into the water. You eyed them for a second, and got behind the wheel again. Those things were thick and solid. So was the car you were in. You’d have to build up some speed to really trash the front end. You look back up to the road’s end…yeah. Swerve off there, like an accident, and crunch.

You turn around, giving yourself some space. Make sure your seatbelt is tight - no way is this thing equipped with airbags, and while you’re willing to risk a little whiplash, brain damage isn’t on the docket. At least you don’t have to worry about an alibi - you’ll have people falling over themselves to swear you’d been at their house all night.

Aware you’re doing something incredibly stupid, you tighten your hands on the wheel. Kick the parking brake on. Gun the engine until the dirt and gravel flies. Release the brake. You barely have a second to brace for the crash, the headlights bouncing back brighter brighter brighter against the concrete barriers.

You don’t even feel the collision.

You hear it: a dusty crunch of concrete crumbling. Then darkness shimmering. A lurch, and then a gentle sinking.

It takes you too long to realize what just happened. It takes until the headlights are illuminating the dark lake water, the heavy engine tipping you forward. Until you feel the cold rising around your feet. Until you look around frantically in confusion and find yourself surrounded by darkness.

Oh god oh fuck.

When you react it’s with unthinking panic. You try and force the door open, but it won’t budge when you pit your strength against the water pressure. The cold is up to your hips as you manually roll the window down. It lets in more gushes of water, making you splutter, but it’s a window to freedom, to life, to not dying doing something that in retrospect was not just incredibly stupid, but suicidally reckless.

How had the god damn car gone through those barriers like they were tissue paper?

You struggle with your seat belt. You start screaming when it doesn’t open. You pound your hands on the dashboard, on the wheel, you accidentally gash your hand open on Ezekiel’s fucking badge. You fight with everything you have. It does nothing.

The car must be horribly heavy, because it’s sinking faster and faster. And you thought you’d have more time, you thought -

- you’d only wanted to make things right.

As the water comes up to your neck, the seatbelt holding you in a death grip, you gather every last bit of air in your lungs and let it go.

HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP M-

And you’re under the dark, the cold.

When something stirs around you.

You can’t see, and that makes it all worse. You can’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe, but you can hear and feel it. Shifting. Metal on metal. Creaking. Then there’s an enormous jolt and you involuntarily cry out, water rushing into you.

The next moments are lost to time and cold and headlights shining in the dark. A wild, startled whoop of the lights and siren. Burning in your lungs. You’re lifted high, high, above the boat launch above the concrete barriers. You cough up lakewater and breathe in air. It was a warm night, but you feel so cold.

You’re moving. You’re carried out of the water and set down on the sandy beach. Bright lights in your face. Are you dead? You can’t stop coughing, and something huge shifts beyond the lights. Gently tips you onto your side and holds you there. Moves your limbs like a doll’s. But it doesn’t hurt. The whatever it is against your back is steady and, if not soft, at least warm.

I’ve put you in the recovery position, human. Stay there until you get your breath back. Statistics show you have an excellent chance at escaping permanent impairment, given the brief time you were underwater. But I must advise you not to be so careless.

It takes a few minutes for you to be with it again enough to grasp that the voice you’re hearing is one, too far above, two, oddly modulated unlike a human voice, and three…attached to the pair of blue lights just barely visible past the headlights.

They seem to realize they’re blinding you, because in the next moment the headlights dim to nothing. But the blue ones glow steadily - no, actually, they flicker ever so slightly.

You blink and cough and gasp, pathetic and shivering. It takes another moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you’re too shocked to say a word.

There, outlined against the spangle of stars in the sky, the darkness of the lake, is a giant black and white robot.

It’s blocky and boxy. Those blue lights…you fixate on them as if they were eyes, set in a mechanical face that is still somehow so, so human-like.

Who are -? You manage to get out, before the wheezing takes over again.

I was about to ask you the same. I am Prowl, tactician and third in command of Optimus Prime’s Autobots. I am here to protect and serve. Do not be afraid. I mean your kind no harm.

His head tilts, blue lights flickering. What year is it by your reckoning? And where are we?

Oh, good. The giant robot came out of nowhere to save you, but it has some kind of robot amnesia. You’re slowly realizing, as your vision adjusts, that it has the police car’s livery painted on its side.

Or, his side…?

He’s patient enough to let you sputter out the answers in your own time, still supporting you as you slowly grab on and pull yourself to a sitting position. You’re holding on to giant fingers, you realize, and your shivering from the cold takes on an added emphasis from fear. Really you should have started being afraid a lot sooner, but the adrenaline and panic of almost dying seems to have shorted out your priority-making abilities.

You add your name to the info, since he’d been kind enough to tell you his - and, you know, had saved your life. But he seems disturbed by what you say.

What’s wrong? you manage to ask, despite your teeth starting to chatter.

I’ve been in emergency stasis lock for a very long time, if this information is accurate. He watches you, curiously you think, as you prop yourself up against his hand. I was pursuing a lead on a Decepticon’s trail, when I was attacked. I was able to flee, but I lost a great deal of energon. I had no time to call for help. The stasis lock took effect to save my life. It seems a human mechanic was able to repair much of the damage, but I had no way to break out of the lock without an Autobot medic’s codes.

He looks to you, and you feel his attention like a warmth. Protective. Until you called for help. It overrode my other protocols, and allowed me to break the lock and regain consciousness. Thank you for your assistance. I could have been trapped in that state for much longer.

That’s a-awful, you say, head spinning. You s-said, call for help. Is there someone you can call now? People missing you?

You try and stand up, only to collapse again. Prowl frowns down at you. We must see to you first. Your body temperature is below optimal. Hold still.

You’re scooped up by those hands - so deftly and carefully that it barely registers- and then there’s another confusing whirl of metal. Next thing you know, you’re back in the cop car, its engine purring smoothly and the heater cranked up.

Better? he asks. You shudder, not really wanting to be sitting in the seat where you’d almost died. But you get the feeling Prowl isn’t going to let you walk away in your condition.

Better, you affirm, and then with no warning you’re sobbing your heart out. Alarmed, Prowl demands you tell him what’s wrong. So you do. You tell him about Brandon and Ezekiel and Krystal, your best friend, your frustration and anger, and finally your stupid plan that had almost gotten you killed.

I’m sorry, you say miserably. I just - thought you were a car. You know, just, property damage. If I’d known you were alive, I never would have tried to hurt you.

You snuffle and laugh. That’s what I get for stealing a cop car, I guess. Or a robot that looks like one.

Prowl seems disturbed by your tale. I am a mech - mechanoid - not a robot. And I am a tactician, not a police officer. I took this alt mode many years ago as a means of fitting in, invisibly, with human vehicles. Its size and specs suited my needs. And, I believed, its meaning paralleled my own philosophy. But based on what you have said, perhaps it’s time I scan a new alt mode. I do not wish to be a symbol of something that your people fear or dread.

You shrug, unsure what he’s even talking about - alt mode?? - but you appreciate that he actually listened.

Now what are you going to do?

He’s silent for long enough that wonder if he’s fallen back into that stasis-thing. Eventually though, he says, I have a great deal of catching up to do. I can see your internet technology has come a long way in the past decades. But it will still take time to locate my team. They are not responding to any of my hailing codes. Likely, they believe me offlined, or…perhaps they are offline themselves. Or perhaps they have returned to Cybertron.

When you make a curious noise, Prowl adds, My home planet.

Ah. You’re an alien. That’s…cool, you say, slowly warming up to the idea. It would probably be a lot scarier if he hadn’t been caring for you like a lost and half-drowned stray kitten.

And, he seemed so earnest. The kind of person who might not be good with getting jokes, but was really smart and cared a lot about doing the right thing. He hadn’t even chewed you out for your little joyride, as if he’d considered it and decided it wasn’t worth addressing. You could almost feel him weighing the options silently.

I am. But I am - or, I was, quite familiar with human society. Though, I cannot say the same now. May I ask your assistance? he asks suddenly.

I will need to begin searching for my team, if they remain alive, and I would have a much higher chance of success if I had a human with me. Many things may have changed and will throw off my calculations until my systems adapt. In the meantime, I do not know what became of the Decepticons who injured me. If they remain alive, they pose a serious threat to your species and must be located.

Your head whirls. Aliens, mechs, bad guys. And you, somehow, with a chance to help. It means walking away from your life here, but hadn’t you always dreamed of that anyway?

But not alone.

You smile and put your seat belt on, your clothes nearly dry. Prowl will keep you safe. The belt seems to squeeze you reassuringly. Supportive rather than restricting.

I’ll go with you to help find your people. It’s the least I can do after what you did for me. But, before we go…

When the sun rises the next morning over your tiny town - your former home, now - its rays shine down on three crumpled, smoking Dodge Chargers, left smashed among the wreckage of what used to be the old brick jail. The jail’s alarm system has been totaled, video cameras fried, computer records of recent arrests completely corrupted, and the lone occupant of the jail? Nowhere to be found.

Your scrolling was interrupted with a knock at your window, it wasn’t loud, not startling — a single measured tap that makes you look up from your phone. Looking from the screen into the shining, but not blinding, light of Prowls eyes — sorry, optics. They had some weird names for things, and you were sure they thought the same for humans.

His voice filters though the given commlink,  “You mentioned earlier you couldn’t sleep,” his voice was calm, but noticeably softer than this usual tone, “Fresh air may assist, get in.”

Hearing him step away from the window as you moved around the house, pulling on a jacket before stepping outside, finding him waiting for you in his car form. White and black metal reflected the moonlight, the door opened automatically when you got closer, eyes not needing to strain as the interior lights were dim and warm.

You climb inside and as the door closes with a gentle hiss, you feel the world go quiet. Only hearing the soft purr of his engine under you, no sirens blaring, no static or music from the radio, just him.

He didn’t speak much, then again he never does. But this time there's no tension in the silence. Streetlights move across his dashboard like water. His voice, when it breaks the silence, was low and steady.

“I monitor the perimeter at this hour regardless,” he says as though explaining with himself, “It’s… efficient to combine tasks.” You couldn’t help but smile and lightly shake your head, Prowl and his efficiency. Although there’s an underlying warmth in his tone, one that tells you this isn’t about patrols.

He drives you along the town outskirts, long and winding roads where the night stretches and stars shine brighter than ever. His headlights sweep over fields and quiet forest edges, the rhythm of the drive becomes hypnotic. At some point you rest your head back against the headrest, the hum of his engine syncing with your heartbeat.

You mumble something, maybe it was a thank you or maybe his name, you couldn’t remember even though you just said it. Letting your eyes shut as they grow heavy, relaxing into the seat. Your breathing evens out and Prowl notices instantly, his sensors picking it up. For a split second he considers waking you, but doesn’t.

Instead, he slows down. The engine softens into a low purr, more vibration than sound. He gently adjusts the interior temperature, making sure you won’t get cold but still comfortable. (He remembered your preferred temperature but will not tell anyone.) Keeping the music station off, routing a faint hum of white noise through the commlink to keep it peaceful. Even dimming his dashboard lights.

There’s something almost reverent in the way he drives after that. No radio chatter, no updates. Just the quiet road, the soft sound of night insects and you, asleep and safe inside his frame.

You wake to stillness, the sky is lighting but not blinding you yet as the colours move. You quickly notice he’s parked at an overlook, one of those quiet rest stops that face the valley below. Feeling the faint hum of his systems, low and content.

When he notices you shifting his voice breaks the silence, smooth and composed but still somehow carries affection. “You were asleep for approximately two hours and thirty-four minutes,” a pause before his voice came through softer, “You looked… peaceful.”

You laughed, sleep still trying to pull you back in. “You stayed here the whole time?” “It was optimal,” Speaking a little too quickly before adding on after a beat, “And preferable.” You couldn’t help but smile, resting a hand on the dashboard.

He doesn’t outwardly react at first but then his engine rumbles louder. The sun starts rising, painting golden lines across his hood, and for a brief and perfect moment, he just sits there. No patrols, no strategies, no logic. Just content to exist beside you while watching the world wake up.

Prowl knew you had some pension of PDA in yourself and he knew to be prepared for you possibly doing just that. A kiss, a hug, a brush of your em field. He’s not the biggest mech on PDA but he can survive it without complaint.

That is until one time when you come behind him while he's in his desk chair looking over documents. He feels you before you actually touch him due to you deciding to walk between his door wings to press against his back from behind. The brush of air makes them twitch lightly but he continues on focusing on his documents, with a say of your designation to acknowledge you.

He's calm- collected. Why wouldn't he be?

At least he was until an unexpected shot of sensation through his wing shoots through his upper back. He tenses and freezes where he is while his door wings readjust. Or one does while the other tries to. It's prevented when it bumps lightly against what he registers as your servo. He's about to turn and look over his pauldron and see for hismelf what you’re up to, before something soft makes him resist a shudder.

He can tell your derma press against the flat of the metal in his door wing. He can feel the outline of it before you pull away. Servo fanning light down the outer edge of his kibble. His plating relaxes were it had tensed so tightly. But Prowl doesn't stop it from flexing when your other servo fans across his other door wing.

Your touch is soft but sure and it only makes him suppress the instinctive urge to make a noise when you proceed to begin kissing down where black meets white on the paint. His digits flex when your servos press firmer. Not harshly but solidly.

His door wings begin to twitch and attempt to readjust under your repeated touch. Each brush, hold, and glide of your servos only making the rest of his armor do the same. Each press of your derma so much the same. Prowl can feel the warmth behind your caressing traveling up his back and along his own neck cables. Even sinking down his spinal strut and between the gaps in his plating.

The longer it goes on the longer Prowl begins to suspect he may have to will his array not to wake up due to the continued touching. There isn't heat behind your affections but regardless there's warmth combined with your continued fondling. Unfortunately his sensitive sensor panels did not exactly care about said intent. So he opens his mouth and says your designation.

You only continued on with your actions even humming against one of his door wings and making the sound travel down to his spinal strut. Prowl resets his vocalizor "I have work I need to finish. And... I cannot finish it if my attention Is stolen by your wandering servos and derma." You hum again and make a sound that makes him think he'll have to chastise you into releasing him. But you do pull away from his door wings finally.

But you also grab his jaw from behind and tilt his faceplate before you lean down and plant another kiss right on his cheek. You tell him to have a good time organizing before you turned and leave out his office.

When the door shuts behind you his door wings flutter lightly before readjusting to a more casual position. The faint traces of your digits and derma still feel like they're against them.

Prowl narrows his optics down at his now neglected datapad sitting on his desk.

He may have to... return the favor, once he finished with his responsibilities for the earth day.

Dividers credit: @/saradika-graphics, @/enchanthings-a, @/cursed-carmine

But not to worry, he has plans for you two this season! (Of course he does, it would be weird if he didn't.) Expect a couple of outdoor seasonal festivity dates, but mostly indoor ones. He views the frigid temperatures as a risk to your health, so no going out too much, and only during warmer days.

One of the dates is pretty much a giant shopping day full of festive cheer! He takes you to all sorts of stores to get decorations for the habsuite, (And maybe a few small ones to place around the ship if someone hasn't already beat him to it.. Optimus.) but also to get supplies for the winter season, like extra blankets and a few spare heaters, just in case you need them. But he hasn't forgotten about holiday snacks and food, of course he's gonna get some eggnog to try and some of those butter cookies! he'll buy many other festive delights as well!

Another date is whatever you wanna do this season, whatever it is, he'll do it.. so long as it doesn't risk your health or his.

Then his final date he has planned for outside is a real treat, during a warmer day in early winter, he sets up a nice little picnic for you two, complete with a big foldable table and chairs.. Though bot sized, you don't mind sitting on the table up high, it makes you feel big. He found the perfect spot too, by a pretty willow tree, it's long viney branches are long frozen over with icicles dripping from them, it looks like an ornate ornament. And he made nice warm soup too, you're favorite kind.. it was lovely!

The rest of the dates will all consist of warming foods and cuddling, no matter what, because despite his calm collected nature, this mech can't handle the cold for shit. He's freezing, any time he goes outside he has to take a nice warm shower for at least thirty minutes just to warm back up, he can't handle it. And even after that, he's totally going to seek you out for cuddles, so be prepared for that. He will just steal you away from what you're doing, whatever it is can wait, can't you see he's in distress?

He'll make many meals for you.. though his cooking isn't as amazing as his brother Ratchet's, it's still extremely good. And he always knows exactly what you need too, whether it be a nice delectable dessert or a mouth watering stew, he always nails it. And if you're lucky, he might even have enough time to stick around and eat a bowl with you.. maybe even feed it to you.

But do be warned, Ratchet might catch a whiff and invite himself to your meals, not that either of you mind, he's a delight to have around, but still, expect it every once in a while. He'd appriciate an invite sometimes too, which Prowl will eventually do.. eventually. He'll make him wait just out of spite. (Brothers, am I right?) But he'll make up for it by cooking something tasty that he knows he likes a lot.

He thought about doing an advent calendar sort of thing for you, but he decided to wait until next year to try to do that, instead focusing on bucket list material this year.

He'll happily snuggle on the berth and watch TV with you, all you have to do is ask. He'll wrap you all nice and snug in several soft fluffy blankets then toss a giant one he sewed from many king sized comforters over himself.. and also you because you're usually draped across his chassis in some way, expect extra warmth from his giant makeshift creation. He doesn't care what you two watch, just so long as you're with him... but he wouldn't mind watching some of the holiday classics, like 'Jack Frost', 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer', and 'The Grinch that stole Christmas'.. the original one, not the live action one.

Yep! You're both going to the ship's Christmas party, (Which everyone totally doesn't know who started, for suuure.) if you refuse to go Prowl will beg and plead, on his knees if he must! He helped orchestrate it and he's so proud of it, he wants you to see his hard work! When you two go it's super fun, you both go as soon as it started.. at like 6 AM, and helped the 'mysterious tall figure who started all this' set up, which was super easy and was finished within like ten minutes. You're really glad Prowl convinced you to go to bed early yesterday, it was worth seeing the party begin.

The hum of the engine purring through the dashboard was almost enough to lull you to sleep at the wheel: something that you knew never to do from the first time you ever stepped into the driver's seat. Something you still should never do, despite the fact the car you were currently operating was sentient and was perfectly capable of moving himself seamlessly within the capacity of adhering to the road rules of earth.

“You were dozing off again, little human,” the voice echoed through the radio at the centre of the consol, “It’s alright. You’ve been awake for far too long, and I am more than capable of taking us to the rendezvous point without your voice to accompany me.” You rolled your eyes at that comment while moving your foot away from the accelerator and drawing it towards the brake pedal.

“Don’t test me, Prowl. I might brake-check you for that,” you threatened him with your toes gently tapping at the centre of the pedal, “Then we’ll see who’s really in control here.” Your standard issue combat boots tapped at him once more before you moved back to hovering over the accelerator and clutch, shaking off the sleep and reforming your posture in the process. The autobot huffed in a grumble before switching the radio to something different and louder than before. “Alright, alright. You don’t have to be a dick about it. You want control, take it. It’s yours.” You removed yourself completely from the pedals and pressed your knees into the leather material of the drivers seat you were comfortably sitting on.

The first time you’d met the autobot, it was an accident. Your car was out of commission after it was totaled in a large-scale barricade to stop a high speed pursuit: the damage was done in extremities you didn’t think was at all possible. Without a car, your job as a police detective on the field was pretty much over, so you’d spent a long time at the lot in various districts until you found a replacement you’d purchased yourself.

He was beautiful. You fell in love with the interior design more than the outside, but the outside was extremely easy on the eyes. A perfect depiction of dark and light, something you knew you would have to fix when you’d make him a standard issue. Hell, you’d almost planned on getting rid of your personal car and keeping him all to yourself - but that would seem a waste of an overwhelmingly powerful engine.

You couldn’t help but feel the way you did about cars, especially with the way your father felt about engines. He had drilled into you at a young age his passion, taking you to spend time fixing things in his workshop until you could take apart an engine, clean it, and put it back together again. It was time you had cherished in every moment, something you’d never taken for granted. Even when you’d joined the police academy, you ensured you still spent that time with your father as much as you could when you’d gotten home. How he loved your new car.

“Daydreaming again, human?” Prowl asked you, cutting you away from your thoughts and trapping you back in the moment with him, “What’s going on in your head? Keep me company with those thoughts.” He snickered before turning the volume down on the radio, slowing the movement of the car while engaging in incoming traffic. “Honestly, do these people here know how to drive, or am I to estimate their trajectory alongside their stupidity?”

“Prowl,” you warned him, attempting to hide your smile in your tone, “Why don’t you let me take control for a moment until we get back onto the open road?” You quirked your eyebrow and slowly stroked along the wheel, “C’mon, big guy. It’ll be fun?” He purred out a small growl, his engine doing the same and causing a passing pedestrian to jump in shock. You gave them a wave and an apologetic smile before you manually took control of the car and began navigating him through the streets.

“You’re far too gentle with me,” Prowl commented, adjusting the wheel while you turned at the intersection, “I can barely feel you change gears.” Waiting at the next set of lights, you softly tapped your thumbs to the rhythm of the music against the steering wheel and hummed along, prompting Prowl to click some gears beneath the bonnet in frustration, “And you are still too far lost in your own mind to pay any attention to the world around you.”

“I am waiting for the light to turn green, Prowl,” you dismissed him, “And I’m gentle because I don’t want to rattle your engine. Unfortunately for me, you’re rattling it enough on your own with your constant need to pester and interrupt.” The light turned green and you adjusted the clutch and accelerator accordingly until you turned onto a barely populated highway towards your destination, “Why must I be the one to keep you entertained, and you not me? Perhaps my ‘dozing off’ was due to the fact you’ve told me very little about what we’re doing or where we’re going.”

“I would prefer to keep Autobot business to Autobots only,” he growled in response, sharply taking control of the steering wheel and jolting your hands away, “Adding you to the equation could be detrimental for the cause. I can’t give you information that can be pried out of you should we become separated.”

“Do you honestly believe the others and their human counterparts have not discussed things like this?” you furrowed your brows and moved your hand towards the toggle beneath your seat, pushing it back to give yourself leg room without touching the gages, “What if your leader… Who was it again? Optimal Prime-?”

“-Optimus Prime,” he corrected you quickly, “And you will do well to learn that name properly before you forget it. Even correcting you was possibly too much.” You felt the toggle move on its own, pushing you back into an adequate driving position as one would tuck a toddler into the dinner table to engage in a meal they didn’t want, “And if you are to be in that seat, you are to at least appear to drive me. Stop behaving petulantly, little human.”

“Urgh, fine,” you rolled your eyes once more and immediately undid your seatbelt and whipped it back away from you, “I’ll move to take the passenger seat.”

“What?” he almost yelped in confusion, “Absolutely not. Get back in your chair, detective.”

“Bite me, Autobot,” you almost giggled in glee, crawling over the police radio at the console to get into the passenger seat, “You’re being a brat. Telling me ‘wake up’ or ‘entertain me’ or even ‘you’re doing it wrong’. Honestly, Prowl. You’re being a big baby.” As soon as you entered the passenger seat, you clipped yourself in and put both feet on the dashboard.

“I’m being a baby?” he scoffed at you. A small switch beneath the steering wheel triggered, offering the hologram of what you believed to be his camouflaged form to blend in whilst driving alone illuminated the seat beside you. “You’re the baby here, Detective.” You took a moment to look at him: carefully inspecting his sharp features with your pointed gaze and fighting a laugh at his quippiness.

“No need to get honked off, Prowl,” you chuckle to yourself and hug your knees, both feet still planted firmly on the dashboard and gazing out the window to avoid the creeping heat slowly rising in your cheeks at how handsome he truly was as even a hologram. It was almost not fair: he was a beautiful car, and a beautiful depiction of his humanoid self. “The, uh… Your holo, Prowl. Who came up with the design?”

“Excuse me?” Prowl asked, confusion in place of his prior defense, “What kind of question is that?”

“One that departs absolutely no information about your affliction with the Autobots, nor does it interfere with my work as a detective,” you shrugged, turning your head and attention back to him, “Your features are quite striking, is all. Straight pointed nose, nice eyes, I can’t tell if your hair is grey, brunette or blonde through the hologram setting.” You raked your eyes along his form and settled on his lips, “Those lips are heart-shaped. Highly sought after by humans. Very pretty.”

“First of all: get your feet off my damn dash, Detective,” he pointed with his index finger towards you and the floor, “Secondly: are you suggesting I’m... Attractive by human standards?” You raised your hands in defense and slowly placed your feet on the floor on either side, planting them in place and fixing your posture.

“I was, but you’re ruining it with that attitude,” you chuckled at him and shook your head, “Are all Autobots like you? Prudish, boring, firm, no-nonsense?” You reached for the radio station and turned the music off, fixing your attention on him entirely, “Or am I just the exception when it comes to engaging in a friendship with you?” Prowl’s hologram smirked at you before turning his attention towards the road: despite the fact he didn’t need to in order to operate himself.

“I am known to be harsh and unrelenting when it comes to the safety of my people,” he commented sharply, but still with that smile he held firmly in place, “I am not prudish, nor am I boring. I’m simply attempting to save my people from dying a painful death and extinction at the hands of the Decepticons.”

“Those are the... Bad ones… Right?” you uttered, leaning over the dash and examining the holograms nose once more, “No, you’re actually really attractive, and it’s starting to piss me off. Especially that nose. Unfairly pretty.” That earned you a laugh from both the engine purring outside and from the hologram himself. You laughed alongside him, finding his joy contagious the longer you spend with him - despite the fact it was offered to you sparingly.

“Yes, they’re the bad guys. And I just wanted to give myself a look as a human for someone that should be trusted,” Prowl moved his eyes towards you, “Do I look like I should be trusted, Detective?” He moved his eyes along you, and you felt almost vulnerable beneath his piercing gaze. He looked at you like he was scanning you: reading you from the inside out and undressing you with calculated precision.

“I trust you,” you smiled warmly at him, sitting back in your seat and staring out the centre window, “It’s you that doesn’t trust me. We’re meant to be partners, you know? Two of us working together in whatever capacity for the benefit of Autobots and Humanity. You don’t trust me enough to tell me where we’re going, nor tell me the names of your friends that we’re meeting.”

Prowl took a moment to mull over your words and slowly drew himself to the conclusion he had been contemplating for a while. He knew he was strict, firm, and all of those things you had named him to be. He wanted to trust you, in some ways he truly did: but there was a little nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him that once that wall came down, there was no way to build it back up again. Once he gave himself over to you, there was no way to return to what he once was.

Once he truly allowed himself to love you, to welcome you into his heart fully, he would likely be called away from you and driven to wherever Optimus Prime decided he would be.

“I will tell you one day, little human,” he uttered affectionately while carefully shifting gears into a slow acceleration in the endless highway, “For now, you just rest. We’ll be there soon.”

"And your entertainment, Autobot?"

"I can keep myself occupied for a blink or two, little human. It's you that I believe would require the entertainment."

His heavy boots left near the door and he heads towards his office to place his suitcase with his armor inside of it.

Once that's done, he slips into your bedroom, seeing you sleeping peacefully on the bed makes it worse, the sight of you all warm and soft in the sheets almost convince him to just get in bed now.

a mental battle of showering tonight or tomorrow takes place, he already knows he will be unable to sleep if he doesn't shower but god, you just are so tempting.

he tears his eyes away from you and steps into the bathroom, stripping his undersuit, placing his glasses on the counter and then stepping into the warm water.

He feels some stinging in some areas where he's gotten banged up, the few "lucky" incidents where he took some hits in the gaps of armor from the day, he winces and looks over the scratches.

he steps out of the shower, he feels like a weight has been lifting off his shoulders, he brushes his teeth and puts on his pajamas and then opens the bathroom door.

Finally, he can get in bed with you, he's wanted nothing more than to just pass out next to you, its perfect, the night is cold, he knows you'll press yourself against him all night long to stay warm, you're already curled up and evading his side of the bed.

he carefully pulls back the covers, slipping under next you and you immediately curl into him, you fist his sleep shirt and nuzzle your head into his upper thigh.

He slides down, laying down officially, you stir a bit before he adjusts you, your head on his chest and your hand now grabs a bundle of cloth on his chest too, he gently slides your leg over his lap and rests his hand on it.

he hears a sigh fall past your lips and smiles, moving his other hand from around you to pet your hair, he kisses your head and presses his nose against your hair, breathing in your scent.

To him, it feels like forever since he saw you, even though he was home this morning, but coming home late always feels like he's been out there forever.

He pulls the covers back over the both of you, pulling it up as much as he could without trapping you underneath, just your head pokes out while the blankets trap the heat of your bodies under the covers.

although he came home late, so late he couldn't even have dinner with you, he still feels happy and comfortable, nothing a better feeling to him than taking a warm shower and going to bed with you after a hard day.

It's an even better feeling knowing he has his day off tomorrow, he can spend it with you, sleeping in, lazying around, he'll make you a nice dinner, whatever he can do to make it up for you going to bed alone and cold.

He falls asleep with that thought in mind, a fantasy of cooking while you sit on the counter and talk to each other all about your week, holding out a spoon for you to taste test while you give him your pretty doe eyes.

Uraraka floated a little closer. “You’re gonna get in. Your quirk is literally made for ocean stuff. Who else can manipulate water pressure like that underwater?”

You smirked. “Exactly. I’m a walking submarine. They’d be dumb not to take me.”

Day 5

Still nothing.

You slammed the mailbox door a little harder than necessary and turned to the small crowd that had gathered.

“Postal service is clearly conspiring against me,” you announced. “I’m starting to think the letter got lost in international waters. Should I swim to California and check myself?”

Kirishima laughed. “You’d probably make it in like three days with your quirk. Just don’t drown on the way.”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t breathe underwater,” you shot back. “I’ve been practicing holding my breath for eight minutes. I’m basically a seal at this point.”

Kaminari grinned. “A very chatty, dramatic seal.”

“Watch it,” you warned, pointing at him. “Or I’ll flood your room and blame it on a burst pipe.”

Day 8

The hype was getting ridiculous.

Half the class was pretending to casually loiter near the mailboxes again. Midoriya had brought a notebook with updated statistics on the program. Tsuyu was sipping tea like she was watching a drama unfold.

You opened the box.

Empty.

You stared at it for a long moment before closing the door with a click.

“Still ghosting me,” you said, turning around with a dry smile. “This program is really committed to the slow-burn enemies-to-lovers trope.”

Mina groaned. “I’m stressed and it’s not even my application! How are you so calm?”

“Because if I let myself freak out, I’ll start vibrating the entire dorm with my quirk,” you replied. “And Iida would write me up for property damage.”

Iida adjusted his glasses. “I would, in fact, have to report such behavior. However, I fully support your ambitions. Your dedication to marine heroics is admirable.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Thanks, class rep. I’ll try not to cry on the mailroom floor. Yet.”

Day 11

You were starting to feel the cracks, but you refused to show it.

When the mailbox was empty again, you leaned your forehead against the cool metal for a second before straightening up and facing your friends.

“Still nothing,” you said lightly. “At this rate, I’m gonna have to start writing them love letters back. ‘Dear SDMBI, please notice me. I’m very charming and my quirk can make really cool whirlpools.’”

Sero snorted. “That might actually work. Your application essay was basically a love letter already.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged. “If they reject me after all that, I’m swimming to San Diego and personally haunting their admissions office.”

Bakugo, who had been silently observing from the corner, finally spoke. “Stop acting like it doesn’t bother you. It’s annoying.”

“I’m not acting,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I’m coping. There’s a difference.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t push it.

Day 14

The entire common area felt electric.

Word had spread that “today might finally be it.” A ridiculous number of your classmates had gathered — Mina with snacks, Midoriya with moral support, Kirishima hyping you up, even Todoroki standing quietly in the back.

You walked up to the mailboxes with your usual confident stride, but your stomach was twisted in knots.

You opened the door.

Thick white envelope. Navy blue seal. Gold lettering.

San Diego Marine Biology Institute

The group went silent.

You pulled it out slowly. “Well… here we go.”

Mina was practically vibrating. “Open it! I can’t take the suspense!”

You tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter. Your eyes scanned the first paragraph.

The smile you’d been wearing for two weeks finally dropped.

You read it again. Then folded the paper neatly and slid it into your back pocket.

“Waitlist,” you said, voice flat. “Not in. Not out. Just… waitlisted.”

The silence was heavy.

You forced a smirk. “Guess I’m not quite main character material yet. It’s whatever. These programs are brutal. I knew the odds going in.”

Uraraka looked devastated. “But you worked so hard…”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “Hard work doesn’t always win. Shocking, right?”

You turned and headed toward the stairs before anyone could say anything else.

For the next three days, you went quiet.

Not in an obvious, crying-in-the-corner way. You still showed up to class. You still trained. You still answered when people talked to you. But the usual spark was gone. Your jokes were shorter. You stopped lingering in the common area. You ate quickly and went back to your room.

The class noticed immediately.

On Day 17, they’d had enough.

Mina cornered you after training. “Okay, that’s it. We’re doing an intervention day. No arguments.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Intervention for what? I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Kirishima said, appearing beside her. “You’ve been closed off since the letter. We’re not letting you stew in it alone.”

You tried to brush past them. “I’m not stewing. I’m processing. There’s a difference.”

“Processing by avoiding everyone?” Midoriya asked gently, joining the group. “That’s not like you.”

You sighed. “Look, I appreciate the concern. But I don’t need a pity party.”

“It’s not pity,” Uraraka said firmly. “It’s us refusing to let our favorite bubbly gremlin stay moody. We’re doing a beach day. Tomorrow. Mandatory.”

You stared at them. “A beach day.”

“Yep,” Mina grinned. “We already cleared it with Aizawa. Pack your swimsuit. We’re dragging you there whether you like it or not.”

The next day, they actually did it.

The entire class piled onto a bus and headed to a secluded beach a couple hours away. You sat near the back, arms crossed, trying to stay closed off, but it was hard when Kaminari kept making terrible ocean puns and Jiro kept sharing her playlist.

When you finally got there, the ocean stretched out wide and sparkling. The sight made something in your chest ache.

Kirishima bumped your shoulder. “C’mon. You love this shit.”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever.”

They didn’t let you stay closed off for long.

Mina and Uraraka dragged you into the water. You used your quirk to make a small wave that knocked Kaminari on his ass, earning laughs from everyone. Midoriya challenged you to a “who can make the coolest water construct” competition. Even Bakugo joined in, creating small explosions that made the water jump.

By the time the sun started setting, you were exhausted, wet, and laughing despite yourself.

Kirishima sat down next to you on the sand, watching the waves.

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck,” he said quietly. “But you also don’t have to shut us out. We’re your friends. We’ve got you.”

You stared at the ocean for a long moment.

“I really wanted it,” you admitted. “And getting waitlisted feels like… almost. Like I was close but not quite good enough.”

“You are good enough,” he said firmly. “One program doesn’t get to decide that.”

You bumped his shoulder lightly. “When did you get so wise?”

“Been hanging around you too long,” he grinned.

The rest of the class slowly gathered around. Someone started a small bonfire. Snacks came out. Jiro played music. Slowly, the tight knot in your chest started to loosen.

You weren’t magically okay. The disappointment was still there.

But sitting on the beach with your loud, chaotic, ride-or-die classmates, you felt a little lighter.

And for now, that was enough.

˙ ✩🫧°🪼˖⋆🌊｡˚꩜

A/N: I wanna be a marine biologist SOOO bad, writing this cz I had the same experience (not San Diego tho)

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