Irreplaceable you || TFP Ratchet x Femme reader

3. Losing it all

Just like every single day, the sun set peacefully over the mountains, inviting the moon to finally come out and shine down above the base, much to Ratchet's dismay.

He groggily scratched the side of his face as the monitors brightened his faceplates, the doctor slowly closing his eyes as the familiar feeling brought him back into another memory he kept locked, his servo resting gently on his cheekplating. Yet he wished it wasn't his own appendage comforting him like this, but the very own bot whom he shared said memory with.

~

"Come back here you big-!"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you." Ratchet smiled, ducking under the bar, much to the bartender's liking.

"Get over here then, and maybe I won't." Y/D smirked, half-tempted to just dive right over the bar as Ratchet re-emerged.

"Sir, you can't be behind the bar." An impatient Swerve leaned on the side of his bar counter, impatiently ticking his digits on the flat surface stained with spilt drinks. Ratchet eyed the pissed mech, debating whether or not he should move. His younger and athletic stabilizers could've taken him far, but probably not far enough.

"Right..." Ratchet said to himself, not breaking optic contact with his femme from behind the bar.  Y/D sparkled with the bright pink substance, her glass lay empty right next to his full shooter. She squinted her optics, focusing solely on the dumbaft who thought it would be funny to drench her in the cocktail, then, get this, had the audacity to say "You're intoxicating to me."

"But it's the truth! You are covered in high grade, aren't you, love?" Ratchet laughed to himself, before seeing his lover lunge to him, of course not quite exactly reaching to him, courtesy of the thick bar counter.

"Sir, I'm not going to tolerate this much more. Please, just get out." Swerve had the most deadpan look washing onto his faceplates, ripping the towel from his waistline gear and started to clean the bar.

Y/D reached over and grabbed Ratchet's shooter, throwing the bright golden liquid all over his chassis. "There, we're even." She climbed down from the counter, nodding to the bartender before she grabbed her stuff, looking to Ratchet.

The medic-in-training slowly backed out from behind the bar, making sure to leave a bigger tip on the counter for their troubles. Hopefully they don't get banned from this bar now too.

It was cyber-raining outside, as the musty weather fogged up the streetlamps. The oil washed the sticky residue away from there frames as they walked side by side in the desolate part of Iacon.

Y/D turned to him, stopping him dead in his tracks. Before he could even question what her intent was, her servo rested peacefully on his left cheekplating, her thumb digit rubbing away to tiny hint of his high grade that didn't wash off yet. His servos held her wrist joints as he gave in to her touch.

"You could've complimented me another way than humiliating me and wasting my expensive drink, jack-aft" Y/D tilted her helm. "Although I think it was cute."

"Cute? Y/D I thought you were gonna offline me by your stare." Ratchet laughed.

"Well, now that I cooled my circuits down I think it's cute. Don't do it again, though." She warned, chuckling. Ratchet smiled at the crazy femme he got to call his, loving every second of their crazy young life. He melted into her touch.

"When we age our forms one day, we're gonna look back at our youth and laugh at times like this, when you got mad at me for no point."

"Or when you, we, were doing something stupid like we usually do." Y/D patted his chassis as if praising him, picking up her pedes to quickly peck his dermas. "Come on, we gotta get home."