Ended up taking my time with this one because Optiratch… and body worship… two of my biggest weaknesses as well, anon. This was such a great request—I hope you enjoy!
Chubformers drabble #392!
Characters: Optimus & Ratchet (TFP)
Word count: 1.9k
The metal tables pushed together beneath them that acted as their little shared berth were growing uncomfortably warm from the weight of their frames lying atop them for so long and the heat radiating off of Ratchet’s charged frame. Optimus could almost feel the electric pulse thrumming through the layers of metal and mesh covering Ratchet’s chest as he lay there panting, his stuffed belly distended and swollen against the massive meal Optimus had so carefully fed to him.
It would have been too hot to stay there much longer without moving to the washracks if it weren’t for the cool touch of Optimus’ frame pressed close against Ratchet’s side, and as his medic came down from the high of being pushed past his limits and packed fuller than he’d been in ages, Optimus stayed close, a servo propping his helm up as he watched the flush in Ratchet’s faceplates dissipate while his other servo gently ghosted across the taut mesh of Ratchet’s midsection.
Sometimes, the stuffing sessions ended in frantic touches and their frames pressed so close together Optimus could feel the pulse of their sparks syncing up. Other times, it was routine care, an occasional thing he lovingly forced onto Ratchet for the medic’s own good. This was both of those things and neither at the same time, because sometimes, the only purpose behind filling Ratchet up with food and holding him close afterwards was to just enjoy it for a while, and to enjoy the little moment together they’d managed to sneak in.
Optimus seemed to like those the best out of the three. During nights like this, there were no expectations, no concerns, and no plans. He could just lay there, his engines rumbling idly as he watched Ratchet melt into their cocoon of blankets beside him, his servos slowly stroking up and down Ratchet’s sides as his optics lazily roamed across Ratchet’s frame.
There was something so special about the silence after the fact that made Optimus love it more than anything. It was just feeding Ratchet to feed him, admiring Ratchet to admire him, silently gushing to himself about how beautiful Ratchet was, how soft he had become, how well he took to Optimus’ lead and how easily he ate what was given to him.
It was a tender moment between them for once, and Optimus knew damn well that they needed more of those moments together. Still, he had to take what he could get, and right now, he was enjoying every last bit of it down to the very last second that they had to get up and leave to return to the rest of the team.
At first, they simply lay there on the constructed berth together, Optimus’ silence filling the empty space that Ratchet’s heavy breaths and quiet, pleased groans didn’t fill. When Ratchet had gone silent, all of the food in his belly finally settling enough for him to really enjoy it, Optimus moved in closer for the next part of their special night together—cuddles, kisses, and even more quiet admiration.
Or, quite up to a point, because when it came to Ratchet, Optimus couldn’t help but eventually speak his mind.
“You look full,” he said, his arm gently curling around the curve of Ratchet’s belly before his fingers bent to press into the mesh on the other side. He shifted slowly, taking care not to jostle the tables beneath him, before settling down with his front pressed against Ratchet’s side and his face nuzzling into the top of Ratchet’s helm. “How do you feel?”
“Full,” Ratchet snorted in return, “but good. I… I think I needed that.”
“You need a lot of things, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “You just won’t let me give them to you.”
His mind was already wandering to the impressive sight Ratchet’s belly made. It had grown a lot bigger since they’d begun this little routine of theirs, and he was happy to see it. Ratchet had always been built to bear a bigger amount of weight than most of them, whether he liked to admit it or not, and it became clearer from the way his frame so easily adapted to Optimus’ insistent and increasingly consistent attempts at stuffing him silly.
The improvement was nice to see. All of his hard work at filling Ratchet back out again was even nicer.
His optics dimmed as he pulled his arm back again and returned to tracing his fingers over the swell of Ratchet’s belly, catching his fingertips under the seams of armor that warped and stretched to make the extra weight gain fit. He hummed soft and low as his fingers dipped lower, the pudgy mesh growing softer, until he stopped suddenly, his optics going wide again and his brows raising at the sight of something strange marring the surface of Ratchet’s frame.
It was thin and light, like streaks of lightning stretched across the dark gray surface of Ratchet’s belly fat. His brows furrowed then, and he sat up, his curiosity turning into concern as he assessed the new sight with both servos.
“What are you doing now?” Ratchet huffed as he lifted his helm up from the tables. “That tickles, Optimus—hey!”
Clearly it wasn’t painful, whatever it was, but Optimus was concerned. He’d all but committed Ratchet’s belly to memory now, and he could’ve easily mapped every dip and curve of the soft rolls of mesh and fat stretched taut after a stuffing session with his processor turned offline. He would’ve noticed this before, then, wouldn’t he? These marks, the vertical white lines slashing across the expanse of Ratchet’s lower belly, the prominent fade in color when Ratchet stretched out of his reach—
“Wait,” he said suddenly, a servo shooting out to hold Ratchet in place. He traced the marks with his other servo, the cycle of emotions he experienced crossing his expression all over again. “Are those… stretch marks?”
“No!” Ratchet quickly retorted, balancing sitting up and shoving Optimus away in a single fluid motion. “No, no, they’re… they’re just—“
“Hm,” Optimus simply murmured in response, dissuaded by his partner’s attempts at breaking free. He looked closer, his confused expression softening. “They look like stretch marks to me.”
It was shocking at all to Optimus, of course, but he was a little surprised that he hadn’t noticed them sooner. With how quickly Ratchet had grown and how much he had gained… how long had they been there, exactly, and how long had he gone without getting to gush over those, too?
He expected a flustered sound from Ratchet as he cupped the medic’s chubby belly in both servos. Maybe a laugh, a scoff at his ridiculousness, a jab at him for not noticing sooner, but instead, he got something short and snarky in return.
“Well, what did you expect?” Ratchet said, his flushed face and dazed optics twisted into his best attempt at a scowl. “You’ve been fattening me up like I’m the next chosen mech to carry on our lineage, Optimus. Of course I’m going to start breaking out around the bottom.”
The shift in atmosphere was a little startling, but Optimus wasn’t surprised. He was starting to feel a little bad about pointing them out like he had, but he knew Ratchet well enough to know when the heat in Ratchet’s was directed at him and when it was directed at himself.
He paused for a minute, taking a chance to regroup. Ratchet was upset, and he was concerned, but he didn’t want to broach the subject any further if it was going to cause Ratchet more discomfort. He had been here before, at the start, when Ratchet first started noticing the gaining from their private feeding sessions together, and it left an ache in his spark as he watched Ratchet struggle through that same self-conscious embarrassment.
Luckily for them both, soothing that shame and replacing it with the same affection towards himself that Optimus held for him had quickly become one of Optimus’ greatest strengths, and Optimus was more than happy to find yet another detail on Ratchet’s frame to worship.
“I expected to notice it a lot sooner,” Optimus started smoothly, his servo stilling over top a large cluster of small stripes on Ratchet’s side. “Now that I’ve finally discovered them, I’m afraid I’m just going to have to make up for lost time.”
Optimus didn’t wait for the sound of Ratchet’s intakes catching in his throat on a failed cycle. He simply moved across their little bed with slow, steady precision, making it obvious the way his optics raked over the parts of Ratchet’s exposed frame that weren’t hidden by the sheets covering the two tables.
“They suit you,” he said, his arms slinking forward to slide beneath Ratchet—one under a thigh, the other around his back—as he bent his helm down low and peppered slow, hot kisses over the mesh on other parts of Ratchet’s frame. “It’s a sign of growth, Ratchet. It’s a sign of healing.”
He inched up further and further, crawling the way across Ratchet’s legs and over his lap before he ended up straddling Ratchet’s thighs, his helm never lifting unless he heard the soft, sweet sounds of pitiful protest from his blushing medic. He pressed a kiss to the left side of Ratchet’s hips, then to the right, then nuzzled his face against the underside of Ratchet’s big ball of a belly before working his way up, taking his time throughout to kiss each and every new stretch mark he found along the way.
“You look so different like this,” Optimus purred.
A kiss to a cluster of stretch marks on the side of Ratchet’s belly landed gently. Another kiss to the space between two slabs of armor followed.
“You’re soft,” he said.
Kiss.
Ratchet groaned.
Kiss.
Kiss. Kiss.
“You’re healthier,” he continued.
His arms moved to hold either side of Ratchet now, his fingers sinking into the fat.
“You’re glowing, my old friend. You’re perfect.”
Optimus didn’t need to stop and ask if Ratchet was finally starting to believe him now. He could feel it in the way Ratchet’s engines rumbled, and he could hear it in the sounds Ratchet struggled to suppress as he helplessly squirmed with delight under Optimus’ tender ministrations.
“I want to see those changes on you,” Optimus finished once he had made it past Ratchet’s belly and up to Ratchet’s face. He lowered his helm down until their foreheads were touching, and he closed his optics, breathing in Ratchet’s contented sigh. “I want to see you fuller, Ratchet. I want to see you happy.”
“I know,” Ratchet said, soft and breathless. “I know.”
Optimus opened his optics again. After a moment, so did Ratchet. Only then did he pull away.
“Good,” he said, “because now that I know there’s something more to love on you that needs my attention, I’m going to have to extend this session until I’ve finished giving it to you.”
Ratchet didn’t protest against that. He didn’t pull away this time when Optimus dipped back down to praise the soft streaks and marks on his belly with renewed devotion, either. When Optimus was finished with him, his frame was warm all over, each kiss leaving a blazing trail of heat in its wake, and their makeshift berth was back to being uncomfortably warm beneath them as Optimus pulled his overheated frame back in for another cuddle.
This time, the warmth was tolerable. This time, it was perfect.
roommate came up with the idea that optimus would find this custom cute, so he'd find like, a monster truck tire with the rim and turn that into a ring. I had to draw them because PRIMUSDAMNIT THEY"RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR!
I kept promising myself I'd draw them together someday, and I finally did! I think it was a good start. Don't worry, I'm seeing the questions you're sending me, I just haven't answered them because I've been busy with several other drawings (including the continuation of the comic).
That's okay, I'll answer them, I just can't guarantee it will be quick.
I feel like Miko from TFP would absolutely and I mean absolutely love the Precure franchise
"Oh, but she likes fighting and action! She would not like that magical girl anime—" WRONG! In the Precure series, they use like 90% of ass kicking and punching other than those whimsical magic which is like 60% at that time and Miko loves it how they kick ass on the monsters
Miko's fav Precure season would either be Suite Precure or Futari wa Precure (The Original one)
