CYBERTEONIAN USER!

Dead dove tag since this could be considered

You messed up a mission real bad, good thing our humble leader will set you straight

Requested!!

Draft but it’s rough 👀 already half way done

SNIPPET

‘ , you had messed up that mission. No, scratch that, you had messed it up badly. Like, fragging spectacularly bad. What the hell had even been going through your processor when you decided that charging straight into enemy fire was a better idea than listening to the very clear order to fall back? You had been sent on a mission alongside Optimus, Drift, and Crosshairs, a team that was more than capable of handling the situation if everyone simply did their jobs and followed the damn plan. Everything had been going relatively smoothly until things started going sideways, and instead of retreating when you were told to, you had apparently decided that throwing yourself directly into the line of fire was an excellent alternative. Like some kind of reckless, overconfident, processor-deprived idiot. Your arm had thankfully only been grazed, leaving you with a relatively minor injury compared to what could have happened, but that hardly made the situation any better. If anything, it almost seemed to make Optimus angrier, because now he had to deal with the fact that you had endangered yourself and potentially the entire team over a decision you absolutely did not need to make. And frag, was he pissed. Not his usual disappointed frown or that quiet, stern look that made you immediately reconsider every decision you had ever made in your life. No. This was an entirely different level of pissed, the kind that had you seriously contemplating whether you could somehow fake a sudden malfunction and avoid the inevitable lecture altogether. Unfortunately for you, Optimus Prime was not an idiot, and you were fairly certain he would see right through that shit in approximately half a second.

The ride back had been absolutely miserable. You had transformed into your alt mode alongside Optimus, the two of you traveling together while Drift and Crosshairs followed along, their voices occasionally crackling through the comms as they exchanged a few comments about the mission. Normally, you might have joined in, thrown out a sarcastic remark, or listened to Crosshairs complain about something completely unrelated to the situation at hand. Under different circumstances, you probably would have been perfectly fine. Unfortunately, these were not different circumstances, and the silence between you and Optimus was becoming increasingly unbearable. There was something uniquely horrifying about knowing someone was furious with you and having absolutely no idea how to make the situation less awkward. Especially when that someone happened to be your commanding officer, a mech who could make an entire room straighten up with nothing more than a look. You could practically feel the disapproval radiating off him, and even though neither of you was saying a single word, your processor was working overtime trying to come up with a way to break the tension. Maybe if you made a joke, you could get him to loosen up a little. Maybe he would sigh, give you that familiar disappointed look, and tell you to be more careful next time. Maybe, just maybe, you could somehow get through the rest of the trip without feeling like you were being transported directly to your own execution. It was a stupid idea. An absolutely terrible idea, actually, considering the circumstances, but that had never stopped you before. So, after several agonizing minutes of silence, you finally decided to open your mouth.

You barely even got the first part of your joke out before Optimus cut you off. “Shut your mouth, .” His voice came through the comms, low and firm, leaving absolutely no room for argument. There was no shouting, no dramatic outburst, nothing that would have made it easier to brush off his anger as a momentary loss of temper. Somehow, the sheer restraint in his voice was considerably worse. A brief pause followed, just long enough for you to realize that whatever pathetic excuse for humor you had been preparing was going to remain firmly lodged in your processor. Then he continued, each word delivered with the kind of deliberate emphasis that made your spark sink straight into your chassis. “We’re going to have a long, serious talk when we get back. Do you understand?” Oh. Oh, you were so screwed. Completely, utterly, spectacularly fragged. Any remaining thoughts of talking your way out of this vanished immediately, and whatever little confidence you had managed to scrape together during the ride disappeared along with them. You shut your mouth so quickly it was almost embarrassing, offering nothing more than a silent acknowledgment before returning your attention to the road ahead. For the rest of the journey, you didn’t dare say another word. Not a joke, not a comment, not even a halfhearted attempt to defend yourself. You just drove, painfully aware that every passing second was bringing you closer to the conversation you had absolutely no desire to have. Meanwhile, Optimus remained silent, his attention fixed ahead, and somehow that was worse than if he had spent the entire ride chewing you out. At least then you would have known exactly what you were dealing with. Instead, you were left alone with your thoughts, mentally rehearsing every possible excuse you could think of and immediately discarding each one because, honestly, what the hell were you supposed to say? Sorry I ignored orders and nearly got myself killed because I thought I knew better? Yeah. Fantastic. That would surely go over wonderfully.

The second you both returned, Optimus didn’t even give you the opportunity to slip away, find Drift, or pretend you suddenly had something desperately important to attend to elsewhere. The moment you had transformed and gotten your bearings, he was already moving, one large servo closing around your arm with careful but unmistakably firm pressure as he directed you away from the others. He didn’t raise his voice, and he didn’t need to. A brief instruction to Drift and Crosshairs was all it took before he continued toward a quieter, more private section of the base, making it abundantly clear that you were expected to follow without a single complaint. And so, with your wounded arm held close to your side and your processor screaming at you to turn around and run, you followed him. Every step only made the dreadful realization settle in deeper. There would be no distracting him, no getting Crosshairs to interrupt with some ridiculous comment, and certainly no escaping through a conveniently timed mission briefing. Whatever happened next, you were going to have to face it head-on. Optimus finally stopped once the two of you were alone, and the heavy silence that followed was almost enough to make you wish you were back out on the battlefield. At least there, you had something to shoot at. Here, you had nowhere to look that wouldn’t eventually lead you back to the towering Autobot standing in front of you. His expression was stern, his blue optics fixed directly on you, and the sheer disappointment in his posture made your previous attempts at humor seem like the worst possible decisions you had ever made. The door had closed behind you some time ago, leaving the two of you with no audience, no interruptions, and absolutely nowhere for you to hide. Which was precisely how you had ended here...”