Nessora

HE SAID IT! HE SAID THE THING! FAUQQQ IM SO EXCITED!!! By the way. What I have of part 2 is posted! This chapter is going up soon! Not Final ⚠️

A blow to his willpower had to acknowledge his current position, making his spark rate increase. He went to the other thigh, holding in his venting, massaging the lather through. A stinging heat formed in his face plate, making him narrow his optics in defeat. He abandoned the sponge.

With all the proximity, Ratchet had not only gotten used to Wheeljack's frame… he actually started to like it.

number 1: AU Fanfic fanart (Because I plan on putting some pg-16 body worshiping teasing in part 2!)

number 2: Finally a reference sheet for how I draw Ratchet and Wheeljack (there backsides were sketches out but im just gonna finish that later)

After around 2 months of writers block, i think I finally pulled through! There were too many things to keep track of that I started loosing my mind, and so I decided to forget it all for once and write what my heart desires (while piggy backing off of what I remember 2 months ago). This is what I spat out! Not final ⚠️

Ratchet put a servo on the least damaged surface of Wheeljack's chassis. "Holy Primus, how are you still functioning?"

A horrible noise came from his pipelines as Wheeljack gasped for air, then, an electric spark ignited the power in Wheeljack's optics. They wavered before settling into a dim gaze, flicking around to take in his surroundings. He spotted Ratchet.

"R—" Wheeljack started speaking with a corrupted synthesizer.

"Yeah…" Ratchet's servo rubbed Wheeljack's chest for support, less than ready to admit these could be his final moments. "It's me, Ratchet."

Wheeljack hacked out a cough. Pain receptors kicked in, slowly bringing a searing ache throughout his frame. He shuttered, enduring it with gritted denta until he released a guttural cry. Ratchet retracted with alarm. Warnings blazed through Wheeljack's frame, overwhelming his HUD until all he saw was red. Panic enveloped him, somehow managing to back himself closer to the wall. Confusion turned to desperation; his system couldn't comprehend what was happening to it.

"You're going to extinguish your spark if you keep doing that!" Ratchet blared.

More uncanny noises came from Wheeljack, staring at Ratchet as if he had just remembered he was there. He sneered, a flash of hatred buckling under the weight of his situation. There was nothing he could do except continue to wail in pain. How stupid he must look—broken and defenseless; even in his delirium, as the world started to cut out once more through his flickering optics, all he wanted to do was hide. Yet, he was sane enough to realize death was in his passenger seat, and if he wasn't able to drop his act, it would soon be taking the wheel. The cascade of his conflicting thoughts and the waves of blue agony dripping from his chassis, he began to cry. Oil fell from Wheeljack's optics, leaking out of the ghastly face wound, tapping the gravel below.

"I don't want to die," Wheeljack whimpered.

Ratchet shook his helm as his servo held to the back of Wheeljack's neck. "I'm not going to let you do that."

my version of shattered glass TFP Wheeljack for future references.

Part 1 is out and beta read! Hurray :D! Now, enough of all this enemies stuff. Part 2 will be the lovers side! Here is a sneak peak of the first chapter of part 2, (chapter 8), which features... ANGST!? I thought we were done with the angst! Well, some things need to be addressed between Ratchet and Optimus first, and the thought of it gives Ratchet an anxiety attack.

Not final ⚠️ "Ratchet," Optimus kept the garage door from dropping closed.

Ratchet's vents shivered as he touched his metal berth with the tip of his digits. "Leave me, Prime."

Optimus jolted, his vents freezing in shock. He hadn't heard Ratchet utter the name 'Prime' in eons. The garage door crept downward, meeting the floor in a soft thud.

Pitch darkness surrounded Ratchet. He lowered his back on the berth, wiping down his wet face plate. He waited for his systems to relax, to let go whatever needed to be let go, but as the silence surrounded him, something else grew; dread balanced itself at a terrifying height for far too long. A ring had entered his audials, his venting quickened, and his sensors grew fuzzy. Out there was his team, waiting for him, hurting—mentally and physically. The faster he repairs them, the faster they could find out if Wheeljack was alive. If he was, he couldn't image what his frame must look like—how much pain he was in.

He wrenched upward with a pounding spark, dragging himself backwards against the wall. His frame trembled; servos gripped his helm, curling up, holding back an urge to scream. Quiet profanities left his intake, but nothing could override this feeling.