I’m super pleased with the style I went with for this one, as well as the core idea itself - there’s nothing like a big, chubby werewolf, especially one who’s so concerned with looking prim and proper while feasting! The story and base idea for this were slightly inspired by Beauty and the Beast, but for the most part, I just wanted to draw a dapper, doughy werewolf. I hope you all enjoy this big softie - careful though - he bites!
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Heavy, thumping footsteps echoed through the ancient, rundown manor. A dark shadow moved amongst the decrepit ruin - a great, hulking thing, with a low, heaving stomach, a deep red liquid dripping from its gigantic, gleaming claws. Light gurgles and growls rang throughout the house, carrying themselves along the wind, as though they were too lazy to move any faster than their heaving, ever-growing source

To say it was a delightful feast for that beast would be an understatement. The poor creature had been hunting what the game that dwelt in his family’s forest for years now, save for an occasional starved, lost traveler or two. The game was hard to catch, giving him ample opportunity to stretch his muscles and keep in shape. This past month or two, however, was quite a different story. Caravans of all kinds were passing through, bringing with them all sorts of travelers, many of whom were either too drunk or clueless to - a perfect opportunity to feast and binge to his heart’s- and his gut’s - content!

It was delightful, but rather taxing on his middle, especially considering those last two meals he had - for lunch, he supped upon a doughy, drunken donkey - already a bit of a cheat to be sure, and while that would have more than filled for a day or two a mere few months ago, his appetite had grown considerably. He couldn’t help but go out hunting again… and luck would just so have it that one of the fattest foxes he’d ever seen was doddering out alone along the path, apparently having gotten lost while on his way to the next buffet. So, he pounced, trying to make as little of a fuss as possible - and, it was delightful… the fox was beyond scrumptious. The sugar content in his blood made him taste like the sweets he so dearly desired.

The effects of this excessive gorging were becoming very apparent, however. Since he was first cursed, the werewolf had been given an exceptionally bulky frame, yet somehow he could still squeeze his way into his suits (his old tailor must’ve been some sort of occult dabbler, what with how well they had fit) - but now, he could feel his bulk and fur poking out just about everywhere, particularly when conceding the bloated ball of blubber that protruded proudly over his waist. The boards creaked under his weight, the sheer thumping of his bulk kicking up dust as the creature dragged himself towards his study.

He swung open the ancient, etched pine door, nearly swinging it right off its hinges as he stumbled into the room one paw delicately massaging his overburdened stomach as he walked to the window, past the table overburdened with musty books, dented combs, bristly brushes, and near-empty perfumes. Now was not the time for his careful beauty routine. It would simply have to wait till morning, once he had a clearer head and smaller stomach - although, perhaps “smaller” was not the best word, as it had been some time since the wolf awakened to find a smaller stomach in his midst… With little care or patience, he flung open the drapes of the glassy portal, revealing the source of his greatest passions, fiercest feats, and most desperate desires - the great, yellow orb of the moon, wreathed in the ancient pines of his once-noble estate. It was glorious.

Blood dribbled down his cheeks as he looked out the large, ornate window, a wistful smile creeping onto his lips. His curse had not been tied to the phases of his fair, starlit mistress for a time so long as to not be counted - but still, his heart yearned for her. She was what made him the beast he is today - and he could not be happier. The memories of the pathetic, feeble man he once was were not to be dwelt on. The only thing that remained of that wretch was his bizarre fixation with etiquette, his passion for manners stronger than any bestial curse.

He remembers the limping pain that once cursed his every movement, crippled as he was - but the blood of the beasts burnt away his pain in righteous fire. From his right pocket, he struggled to pull out his handkerchief, the once-simple motion being hampered heavily by the sheer tightness of his tuxedo. He growled as his bulk groaned, finally able to shift his weight in just the right way to free the silken cloth from his overstuffed suit. He smirked in satisfaction, before delicately dabbed the blood from his cheeks, a haughty, superior expression glinting off his vicious muzzle.

He lived now, more than he ever could’ve. No longer was he surrounded by piles and piles of bitter manuscripts, sub-par novels, and ancient tomes - the beast no longer wrote fantasy - he lived fantasy. He smiled deeply and truly, for he was more than any man could rightly hope to be…

Hm? The worgen’s visage wrinkled in confusion as he felt a strange sensation in his stomach - a sensation that simply grew and grew. A terrible pressure was building in that doughy globe of indulgence - and building fast! His eyes widened as he gripped his gurgling belly, and, in a most ungentlemanly way, the bloated beast let out a hearty, drawn-out belch - one so powerful as to shake the bones of the mournful mansion itself!

“BwwwwWWWAARRRROOOOOOOUUURRRPRPPPPPPPPP!!”

The wolfman winced as he heard some of the nearby perfume bottles crash to the ground, infusing the room with the smell of dried-out, musty roses. He smirked politely, delicately dabbing his lips, muttering out a low, deep, “Urrgh… Pardon me….” His cheeks were flush in a deep red, the emotion of embarrassment resurfacing for the first time in many years - thankfully, no one was around to see that, except for the vermin in the walls and the owls in the night.

He tucked away his tissue, reminding himself to clean it at the river on his next hunt. The broad, bloated creature massaged his loosened stomach as he trudged towards his bedroom, but stopped just short of turning the knob, his stomach letting out a low, mournful growl. The werewolf scratched his chin as he looked at his stomach pensively, as though listening intently to an argument from one of his long-lost (or long-devoured) colleagues. It growled impatiently at the gentlemanly beast, making its desires quite clear - it asked for, no, demanded more food! The werewolf rubbed his stomach hungrily, clearly seeing the wisdom of its ever-hungry middle.

He stomped away from his bedroom door, down the hall, out the entrance hall, and straight into the night. He stretched his imposing form, head silhouetted against the moon as he sniffed at the air, smelling a light, crackling fire and cooking boar - no, deer, not far from his mansion. The greedy gentleman licked his hardened yet-ever softening chops as he adjusted his collar and turned his head up towards the moon, howling loudly and proudly to a pack he had yet to find.
In the heat of the hunt, he cast off the shackles of his mannerisms, slavering like a dog as he charged wildly into the woods, smelling more than a few wayward travelers at that nearby campsite. His gut groaned hungrily as the wolf indulged in the scents of food and adipose-laden adventures… This next meal would not be a mere, midnight snack - nay, it would a true Feast of Fools! The wolf could already taste the fat, succulent meat that awaited him, his mind already trying to prepare itself for just how much more difficult it’d be to maneuver his enormous form, come morning’s light…