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Chubformers drabble #22!

Character: Optimus (G1)

Word count: 479

“Hmm…”

Optimus stood in front of the mirror hanging in his quarters, a disapproving frown tugging at his faceplates. He turned this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse at himself from all angles. Despite how he moved, however, the view always remained the same. Spilling from worn plating was a generous amount of pudgy mesh, and Optimus couldn’t even begin to imagine how it had come about.

His concern had first come up after hearing the term “dad bod” from one of his fellow Autobots. After discussing with Ratchet and finding the medic to be rather hesitant about giving out any explanations for the title, Optimus had decided to conduct his own research. This was likely where he’d gone wrong, though, and now that he was on the other side with the knowledge at hand, he almost wished he would’ve never pushed.

It wasn’t an awful look, but it certainly didn’t suit someone like him. Optimus pinched at the flab hanging from his front, years of hardship and troubles almost having been completely erased by the presence of a well-rounded belly that sagged from his middle and extended all the way around to his back. His abdomen wasn’t the only place affected, though. On further examination, Optimus found that his thighs had grown larger, too, as well as his hips. Even his chest, which was typically tucked away under the plating protecting himself and the matrix, had grown too tight for his plating.

According to Ratchet’s word, the sudden change in size was to be expected for a mech of his age. Optimus had certainly been around for some time, and he did know the Matrix to have some unexpected effects on a bot’s body… but still, this seemed almost ridiculous.

With a deepening frown—and yet another sound of disapproval—Optimus continued to paw at his belly. The change wasn’t an unpleasant one, he supposed. It was unexpected, of course, and a little embarrassing at first, but… it wasn’t all that unfortunate. Years of study had led him to understand the wealth and wisdom endowed to Primes before him and Primes to come, and while it was a little out of the ordinary to be seen in such a blessed state, Optimus wasn’t necessarily against the change.

He could grow to appreciate it, maybe. Even grow to like it. Earth’s culture and language may have something going for the whole “dad bod” idea, he thought. If this were what made him look like the ideal father figure and leader for his team, then so be it. Optimus could grow to become used to it—maybe even enjoy it.

“So this is what they refer to as a dad bod,” he said allowed, slapping both servos against the swell of his middle. Soft mesh jiggled from the touch, and Optimus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not too bad.”

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Chubformers drabble #15!

Character: Devastator (six in one! Heehee)

Word count: 560

The transformation of Devastator was an impressive achievement, and one the Constructicons managed to do seamlessly every single time. At least, it had been that way up to a point.

Theories were still up in the air about who was responsible for the most recent gain in Devastator’s mass, but one thing was for certain: the shift from war-ready Constructicons to soft, fattened gluttons hadn’t happened overnight. As it stood, each member was more than content to blame the other for their slow and steady downfall.

Their struggle (or Devastator’s struggle, more specifically) had begun that morning. After Megatron—face bright and frame shaking with poorly concealed anger—came bursting into their private habsuite to tell off the six lounging mechs for overindulging in the energon rations yet again, the combiner team had been let off with a warning: form Devastator by nightfall, or they were benched for the foreseeable future.

This posed quite a few issues, of course, with the main problem being that Devastator hadn’t been formed in… well, weeks. Maybe even months, if they recalled properly. Still, orders were orders, and the group of Constructicons grumpily pushed themselves up from where they were curled up together on the couch.

For a group of bots who frequently combined into a larger being, the process was pretty simple. They’d done it for eons, of course. By then, their frames were practically made to connect. However, what they soon realize was that an increase in weight (and size) among each member of Devastator would, in fact, cause quite a few issues in performing a seamless transformation. How they hadn’t come to this conclusion before, given the fact that most of the group had become far too fat for their altmodes, was a mystery.

“No, no, no!” Mixmaster spat. “You’re doing it wrong. Devastator’s arms shouldn’t be that long!”

“It won’t fit any other way,” Hook said from somewhere below him. “I… umph-! Stop moving!”

“Both of you shut up!” Came Bonecrusher’s roaring voice followed by the sound of a pained squeak from Long Haul. “Everyone stop talking for a second. Let me focus.”

It was challenging to move when his fat frame had been squeezed into place, but Mixmaster managed to free himself just enough to whip around and glare in Bonecrusher’s general direction. As if he wasn’t already struggling to keep them from falling apart, his subordinate just had to prove himself to be another source of distraction. Mixmaster grumbled under his breath, a soft and low sound that almost went unnoticed.

Well, nobody but Long Haul noticed, and he just had to say something.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we, Mixmaster?” The Constructicon said.

“We are not! Just… just give me a second! I’ll figure something out.”

Mixmaster gave a grunt of effort, desperately struggling to squeeze himself into place—along with the rest of Devastator. If they could just reach that sweet spot, then…

The sound of creaking metal suddenly split the air, followed by the pained cries of more than one bot. It was then Mixmaster realized the whole ordeal was never going to work, having looked down long enough to see the five other Constructicons lacked in just as tightly, guts spilling free and mesh straining against tight plating, threatening to pop free at any given moment.

Frag it all, they were totally screwed.

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I apologize for the brief hiatus!

Chubformers drabble #12!

Character: Shockwave (G1)

Word count: 497

The room was quiet, save for the sound of fingers tapping at a datapad and the soft, hissing pulse of a fuel pump. It was almost too quiet, but for a mech like Shockwave, there could never be such a thing.

For someone who prided himself on the constant and successful separation of logic and emotions, Shockwave was struggling. It had been easier in the beginning. When he’d first made the decision to move from occasional rations injected into his fuel lines to hooking up the pump and fueling himself straight from the source, he’d prioritized his work ethic and results above all else. Now, however… he was trapped.

In his shortsightedness, Shockwave had made a grave mistake. He was intelligent—very much so. He’d known that the benefits of constantly filling his frame with rich, nutritious energon would far outweigh any negative impact on his systems. At least, he’d thought he’d known. Every calculation, every rundown, it had all pointed to one thing: efficiency. He was intelligent, and he was devoted, and… he was mistaken.

Primus above!—if Primus even bothered listening to mechs such as him. He was so far gone, after all. Shockwave had done what he’d thought was right, and it had backfired. He’d made a calculated, scientific decision, and it was wrong.

His movements were sluggish, his frame now heavy from the weight he was forced to carry. In his eagerness to improve, Shockwave had made the mistake of indulgence, and it was a costly one. Now, with the pump flowing freely, hooked to an outside source Shockwave could no longer reach (he was practically bedridden at this point, stuck to his chair with no room to move), Shockwave was trapped. Destined to accidental gluttony, his biggest mistake had been assuming a constant source of fuel would solve his problems.

Rather than promote an increase in energy, Shockwave merely felt weak and sluggish. His systems ached from the effort it took to ventilate, weighed down by the tons and tons of mass that had accumulated on his frame. Shockwave was stuck, now, as well as fat. Even for a tank such as himself, the influx of such rich fuel had done more than a little damage to his frame.

He was still a scientist, after all, and a devoted one. The Decepticon cause was an important mission to him, and though his newfound situation posed many challenges, Shockwave did everything in his power to continue serving Megatron. However, he was starting to slow.

With each passing day, the pump seemed to grow louder as more and more thick, fattening fuel pumped into Shockwave’s frame. He’d fought it at first, determined not to fall into the trap of becoming a blob of a mech, but as the days passed and the pounds increased, Shockwave’s resolve began to waver. It was almost nice, he thought, allowing himself to indulge, to grow fat and idle. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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Sunstreaker Chubformers/Valvplug post- don't like, don't look!

Inspired by the lovely @mr-miss-anonymous's chubformer drabble about sunstreaker here, keep up the awesome work!

Teaser here, full art and lineart/sketch under cut ^^

Will hopefully post my own little drabble with vore/weight gain for this piece sometime ^^

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been feeling ALOT better lately i'll try and finally get through my requests

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Chubformers drabble #11!

Character: Prowl (IDW)

Word count: 498

There was a benefit to private quarters, Prowl had decided. Between using his rank to his benefit and having a reputation for holing up in solitude for hours at a time, he’d accidentally given himself a daily excuse for gorging in private.

Regardless of what his day entailed, Prowl always had something hidden in his top drawers to snack on while working through the ever-growing pile of work on his desk. It helped him focus, he told himself in between bites of sweet energon candies and fattening oil cakes.

The excuse usually worked, and he’d found his work efficiency had improved. However, minutes spent sitting at his desk began turning into hours, and though he tried his best to keep an even balance each day, sometimes things just slipped through the cracks.

It was never that big a deal… until it was.

Nothing ever changed in his private quarters, so Prowl immediately knew that the issue was him. After the simple task of hauling datapads from the archives to his desk had left him breathless, he had begun to wonder if a quick visit to the medibay was in order. He was in peak condition, after all. Sure, increases in fat deposits around his midsection, his thighs, and his… well, just about everywhere had certainly increased, but it seemed strange to him that a simple exercise would leave him feeling so weak.

Prowl was sure to take a few minutes to assess his overall health and allow himself a chance to regulate his system’s core temperature before settling in for a shift. He didn’t want to risk falling ill on the job, after all. But as he pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down, he ran into a bit of an issue.

The chair creaked and groaned beneath his weight, threatening to give out any second. It was startling—he’d heard the same sounds from the poor thing over the past several weeks, but they always stopped once he’d gotten himself comfortable. This time, however, no amount of movement made any difference in the protests from what should have been properly reinforced furniture.

That didn’t sound good. With a jolt of fear, Prowl tried to stand, but found himself stuck between the armrests. His anxiety quickly turned to panic, and Prowl began to squirm—at least, he tried to squirm. The pudgy mesh around his aft and thighs had all but suctioned itself to the metal sides, and despite his best efforts, no straining seemed to do anything to free him.

“Slag,” he finally spat.

Primus, he was stuck fast. It was an unfortunate situation overall, but he was at his desk, at least, and so were the datapads. With a huff of resignation, Prowl scooted himself and the chair further towards his desk. His snacks were there, too, he realized after checking the top drawers. That was a relief.

Well then… he supposed he’d just have to make the best of his newfound situation.

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rise n shine babygirl

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Chubformers drabble #3!

Character: Swindle

Word count: 456

Warning for implied emeto (no vomiting). Read with caution.

Primus, how had he managed to land himself in such a sticky situation?

Swindle wasn’t naive enough to trust any of the mechs he catered to, nor he was ignorant of the specific dangers that came of each individual interaction. This particular deal, however, had most definitely blindsided him—and that was an understatement.

The conmech’s cheeks puffed out with another sickening belch as he struggled to sit upright. Torn between the roiling discomfort that came from any movement and the desperate need to get out of his vulnerable position, Swindle was internally panicking. On the outside, his bloated, distended gut’s discomfort was almost visible as it gurgled and groaned.

The the first several minutes after being forced to sample his own tainted product had been the worst, but even now, as his tanks angrily began to settle in for an attempt at digesting the massive influx of toxic fuel, Swindle still felt ready to purge. His client had been kind enough to leave him alone in his misery, though not without giving the rounded belly a slap and a chuckle as he wished Swindle luck with the aftermath of his greed.

“Oh, slag,” Swindle hissed, bringing a fist up to his mouth as he choked on another belch.

The thick, hot left a bitter taste in the back of his throat, and he could almost feel his belly recoil at the foul sensation. Slag, he thought silently. If he couldn’t get himself out of this situation, and fast, he was screwed.

Slowly, Swindle braced his palms against the cool concrete and pushed, forcefully heaving himself up into a sitting position—or at least somewhat close to one. As expected, the simple motion caused his belly to slosh and groan, the gurgling mass burbling audibly. He grimaced in disgust, struggling to take his optics off of the swollen mesh long enough to watch for any signs of a threat. Not that it mattered, really. He could hardly move as it stood; how on earth would he be able to fend off a nosy bystander?

The air was cool, and the sky was dark. Thankfully, he had chosen well in their meetup location. Up until that point, Swindle hadn’t seen a single sign of any other living being outside of his customer. He could take things slow, he decided.

With careful movements and a servo pressed against his gut, Swindle slowly rose to his pedes. He swayed at first, caught off-balance by the new added weight, but quickly grew accustomed to the feeling of his swollen, stuffed belly hanging low against his thighs.

“Well,” he said with a huff, servo still gently pressed into the soft mesh of his belly. “I suppose that could have gone worse.”

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Chubformers drabble #2!

Character: Megatron (TFP)

Word count: 492

Everyone who managed to live until then readily admitted that Megatron had done well to earn his name as one of Cybertron’s most fearsome. Whether this was to blame for his willingness to indulge in more recent habits was still up for debate, but given his reputation, Megatron was certainly not against letting things slide here and there.

He had grown fat on earth, as much as he didn’t care to admit it. The tense check-ins with their resident doctor and frequent stares from his boisterous subordinates certainly confirmed it for him. Well, there was that, but there was also the fact that as of late, he had found it becoming increasingly more difficult to leave his private quarters.

As he studied the screen before him, Megatron slipped another bite of a rich, creamy jelly past his lips. The sweet energon treat practically melted on his tongue, and hardly a second passed before he was reaching for another. Sure, his refueling habits had become much messier since he’d arrived on the Nemesis, but Megatron was more than happy to chalk it up to his years-long absence. Gone for weeks, months even, without a single drop of energon had left him weakened, and it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat.

Besides, he’d been far from weak since he’d returned, and he wasn’t keen on falling back into such a feeble state.

There were certainly downsides to indulging so heavily, and one of the biggest issues currently lay splayed out between his thighs. After only a week on the Nemesis, Megatron had found himself growing large from the constant tube of fuel being funneled through his veins. It was a startling surprise, of course, and he’d quickly tried to combat the issue after returning to his normal health, but no matter how hard he tried, the excess weight always seemed to stick with him.

It had certainly been an issue at first… until it wasn’t. Truth be told, Megatron almost enjoyed the way his gut swelled after each refueling. He especially enjoyed the added attention that seemed to be drawn by his new appearance, though it was expected. A frame such as his own was built to carry excess amounts of weight, and Primus, did he carry it well. He knew, if he tried, he may very well be able to reach levels he hadn’t thought possible before then.

It all came down to his willingness to indulge, he supposed. As his gaze drifted from the monitor’s screen and down to his swollen belly and thick, massive thighs, Megatron couldn’t help but smile. He stroked at the swell of his gut and pinched the flab that poked out between the seams of his plating (though there wasn’t much, given that he’d shed most of his excess plating long before reaching this size), fully embracing and appreciating the soft mesh that met his fingers.

He had grown fat, and quickly—and he was pleased.

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Chubformers drabble #1!

Character: Sunstreaker

Word count: 500

Vanity was a shortcoming, according to some. For Sunstreaker, however, it was what kept him afloat. Rising the ranks of the Autobot army and keeping his name respected while also adopting the title of an important part of the team was his goal, and while he’d began to struggle in some areas of this regard, Sunstreaker still did his very best to keep the name he’d earned himself pure… even if it came down to locking himself up in his berthroom to avoid being seen in such a frenzied state.

Success meant keeping himself in peak condition, Sunstreaker knew, which oftentimes meant avoiding indulgence whenever possible. Sure, every so often he’d catch himself lingering at the bar for far too long, or maybe idly sipping on some cocktails in the comfort of his quarters when he knew he should be doing something more productive. These weren’t frequent happenings, though. He was still in control, and that wasn’t going to change.

At least, he hoped it wouldn’t change.

As Sunstreaker stood in front of his full length mirror and pinched at the pudge spilling out from between his plating, his mind began to race. When had that started forming? A bot like him wasn’t usually prone to such a poor silhouette, and yet… here he was. Sunstreaker’s musings were briefly interrupted by the rattling of the door as someone—likely Sideswipe, who always hated being locked out of their shared room—pounded on the metal.

“Give me a minute!” Sunstreaker snapped, his panic making him irritable. He was busy, for Primus’ sake.

“Sunny, open the fragging door!” Sideswipe snapped back, having thankfully stopped knocking long enough for Sunstreaker to go back to studying his reflection. “It’s late, and I’m tiirrrred.”

“That’s not my problem,” Sunstreaker muttered to himself.

He went back to pinching and prodding, his fingers slipping between the seams of his armor to pull at the flabby mesh tucked beneath. The more he played with his belly, the sooner he realized that he was practically fat beneath all the plating. He couldn’t quite determine a cause of the sudden weight gain outside of decreased holds on rations and a sudden drop in Decepticon activity, but still… surely he couldn’t have gained this much weight in such short time, right?

Despite his inherent frustration at the new body shape, Sunstreaker couldn’t help but admire his figure in the mirror. Sure, he wasn’t nearly as sleek and foreboding with rolls of belly fat poking through, but kneading at the soft slab felt rather nice. He could almost imagine himself sitting down for a nice meal after hours, anticipation high as he attempted to gorge on as much fuel as he could handle before someone caught him.

The mere thought was enough to get his systems warm and array twitching, and Sunstreaker quickly clapped a servo over his mouth to keep any stray sounds of contentment from escaping.

It wasn’t exactly ideal, but… well, who could blame him for exploring his options?

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DRAWING ANYTHING U WANT IN EXCHANGE OF NITRO PLISSS😞😞😞😞 D/M IF INTERESTED!!!!

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this blog is 18+ btw..... minors please get ouuutt idc if the stuff i draw isnt explicit i get off to this stuff pliiisss

ive said it before and i will repeat myself as many times its necessary

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I think u would feel rlly gross after eating a swerveger and idk I think that makes it alot hotter

yeah. The swerveger is full of grease, cheese, oil, it’s all together a filthy, meaty mess. What little veggies are present cannot disguse the fact that you’re eating a heart attack. If a bot were to finish one, they probably wouldn’t want to get up from their chair for a while. They feel so gross and full. There’s grease and cum on their hands, and so much of it dribbled over their chest and onto their thighs while they ate, and they’re filthy... There is nothing for them to wipe their hands on, so they have no choice but to lick the sauce off their fingers, all while Swerve is watching with his spike pulsing behind his panels <33

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im thinkg about. really rich surgeon ratchet who got fat off of fancy foods and his sexy prettyboy arm candy drift. everyone thinks drift is only dating him for his money but drift is actually independently wealthy and he's just Really Into ratchet. he regularly hand feeds him ridiculous elaborate fancy meals. he likes how heavy ratchet is above him when he fucks him or rides him

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Tfp!Rat/chet getting hella fat after the planet ls restored ,He deserves it

Maybe he sometimes just can't help himself and just plays with his belly, squishing it, kneading it feeling it's weight can u guys imagine it.....

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ive been mostly working on myself so i apologize for the lack of posts but i rlly prommy im trying to get back to drawing more again now that ive been feeling better <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

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ratchet so fat he can barley move 🤤 hes sooooo fat he gets to lie down in bed all day and eat snacks and get tummy rubs.... boing boing boing (the sound of my weiner while writing this)

got off my ass to finish this just 4 you <3