You come downstairs, as usual, ignoring Optimus. You skip to the cabinet, standing on your toes to reach the box of popcorn tucked inside. Optimus’s optics narrow as your thin tank top and tiny pajama shorts ride up, exposing your skin. It’s clear you’re being a brat again. He loudly clears his throat when his team of Autobots' optics linger on you for too long while you put the bag of popcorn in the microwave. The Autobots quickly return to their card game, not wanting to upset their leader further. They know how he gets when you’re around, always causing a stir.

Oblivious, you bend over the counter and start reading while waiting for the popcorn to finish popping. Optimus observes you, noticing how you suck on a lollipop and your eyes scan the pages, trying to look as tempting as possible. He can’t take it anymore. Excusing himself from the card game, he pulls you aside, blocking the Autobots’ view as he reprimands you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing princess?” he asks, his voice a scolding whisper. You place the book on the counter and look up at him, your head cocked to the side in feigned confusion.

Your voice is sweet, innocent. What a little actress, he thinks. “I don’t know what you—”

“Upstairs, now,” Optimus orders. You reluctantly obey. Once in your bedroom, he scolds you. “What do you think you’re wearing {{user}}?”