#Gear Transformation

[matsmi13]

Where am I ? Everything is black. I can't see anything. I can't feel anything anymore. My body... It's gone. No, it's not true. I feel something. A heat, stifling, humid. A crushing pressure. I'm stuck to something... Something hot.

What happened to me ? I remember... The gym. This man. This perfect athlete. I watched his powerful movements, hypnotized. And then... nothing. Just this emptiness. But... He's there. I hear him. His deep, hoarse breathing. The noise of the machines to the rhythm of his effort. And me, I'm... where ? Stuck against him ? No. It's not possible. My body. Where is my body ?

I want to scream. But no sound comes out. I can only feel. His burning skin against me. His sweat. A musky smell that envelops me. And then, I hear him. His voice. Deep, vibrant.

"Now as my gym gear you can basically worship me forever, I am so kind to repurpose you as something I actually want."

What ? A gym gear. No, it's not me ! I'm a man !!

I can't move. All I feel is him. His body, his warmth, his movements that pull and strain what I have become.

Yet, something changes. Slowly, insidiously. I'm pulled, stretched, compressed around him. And instead of fighting, a part of me begins to give way. It's so soft. It's so warm. The pressure of his muscles against my fibers. Yes, my fibers.

They adjust, marry his skin perfectly. Each movement he makes fills me with a strange satisfaction.

No... I don't want to. But... His words resonate, awaken something in me. My disgust fades and is replaced by a new drive. I want to be useful. I want to belong to him. I feel every drop of his sweat soaking into me.

Every fiber of my being absorbs it with devotion. And that smell... Oh, that smell that was unbearable to me... It now overwhelms me with an indescribable pleasure.

I'm no longer a man. These human thoughts fade away, useless, replaced by a simpler, purer truth. My role is here. Against him. I'm his gear. His second skin.

Yes... That is what I'm. Every stretch, every fold, every rub makes me shiver with ecstasy. I want more. More of his warmth. More of his sweat. I want to serve him. Cover him. Be pressed against him again and again.

I'm nothing without him. Just a clothe. His gym gear. And it's perfect.

At the gym, I met a gorgeous and sexy man the other day. I would so much love to be as close to his muscular body. Would it be possible for you to help me get closer to him? I would be grateful to you.

[catherine-sketches]

For the people saying that Jayce had no motivation to shot Viktor…

Did you not see the fucked up shit that Jayce is seeing?

My man went into the hexcore and saw horrors beyond his comprehension. He called hextech, HIS DREAM, a curse

When he looks at the people on the commune he sees hollow vessels with people faces and the marks of Viktor’s fingers

Jayce caved Viktor’s chest in because he KNEW that the pretty colors and the art deco architecture was a facade. That whatever Viktor is doing is stripping people from their true selves and leaving behind puppets that play a game called community where no one reacts like a normal person because no matter how good you life in your community is

NO ONE WOULD JUST STAND AND LOOK WHILE THE MAD HAMMER MAN NEARLY DISINTEGRATES WHAT LOOKS LIKE A CHILD TO ASHE

These are Zaunites. They would have curb stomped Jayce to the ground

But they didn’t

They stood there

Because their Machine Herald told them to “Suffer no more”

And what is fear, what is love, if not a form of suffering

[patchworkpoison]

Transgirls rule the world!!

[elymansss]

Imagine being in a state of ecstasy, constantly from start to finish, during a battle must be terrifying for Luffy's opponents

Imagine a dude GENUIENLY laughing, giggling and making fun of you in a battle where powers that destroy literal buildings are colliding and haki that would make an entire island worth of people pass out clashing

Luffy isn't taking anyone seriously, joking around and doing shit for fun.

It get so fucking scary when he gets serious. He's still smiling mind you. But he's got that dangeous glint in his eyes constantly now instead of random moments of it appearing.

Red eyes setting off the alarm bells in your head and his giggles probably sounding like hearing a child laughing in an abandoned forest while you're alone in there.

NOT TO MENTION THE FUCKING DRUMS. Just. Random ass drums start playing. You are in a fight that will probably destroy you. And there's fucking music randomly playing in the bg.

[dronifier-b45]

[bigboysfalldeep]

cycling gear

The early morning sunlight streamed through Mike’s window, casting warm golden hues across his bedroom. He stood in front of the mirror, examining his reflection as he pulled on his new cycling jersey. The tight, silky fabric clung to his athletic frame like a second skin, every line and curve of his body accentuated. He adjusted the fit, smoothing it over his chest and down to his hips, his hands moving with meticulous care.

The jersey was new—carbon black with white stripes accents that streaked along the sides, giving it a sleek, aerodynamic look. Mike had always loved the feel of high-performance cycling gear; it made him feel alive, like he was part of the road itself. Today, however, the familiar sensation was different. There was a warmth in the way the fabric hugged him, a faint tingling that started at his chest and radiated outward. He chalked it up to excitement.

Carlos sat on the edge of Mike’s bed, his own gear already on—deep blue with silver streaks that matched his sharp, focused demeanor. He had been quiet as Mike dressed, his gaze steady and unwavering. Carlos had always been like that: confident, self-assured, with an intensity that drew people in. They’d met a few weeks ago during a long ride through the hills, bonding over their shared love of cycling and the thrill of the open road. Since then, their weekend rides had become a ritual, and they often spent hours pushing each other to their limits.

"You almost ready?" Carlos asked, his voice low and steady. There was something in his tone—something calm yet electric—that made Mike pause.

"Almost," Mike replied, his voice slightly breathless as he zipped up the jersey. The tingling sensation surged, spreading across his chest and down his arms, like an invisible current tracing his veins. His mind went blank as he ran a hand across his chest instinctively, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the taut fabric. The motion sent another rush through him, his fingers trembling slightly as they lingered.

“Mike? You okay?” Carlos’s voice was steady, but there was a glint of something in his eyes—concern, curiosity, or something else entirely.

“Yeah, I- I'm.... fine,” Mike muttered. He ran a hand across his chest, the fabric of the jersey cool beneath his fingertips. But the sensation was electric, sending a shiver down his spine.

Carlos stepped closer, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You look… different today.”

Mike glanced at him, his mouth dry. He tried to speak, but his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. His hand drifted over his chest again, almost of its own accord, tracing the contours of his pecs. The tingling was overwhelming now, spreading through his body, clouding his mind.

“Mike,” Carlos said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding. “Doesn’t it feel good? To give in?”

Mike’s head tilted, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. He wanted to respond, to ask what Carlos meant, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a soft sigh escaped him, and he felt his body relax, leaning slightly into Carlos’s touch.

Carlos’s hand slid down to Mike’s chest, his fingers brushing over the taut fabric of the jersey. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You look sharp in your gear. I couldn’t resist.”

A flicker of confusion passed through Mike’s mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the wave of warmth and pleasure coursing through him. He felt Carlos’s hand move in slow, deliberate circles, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

For weeks, Carlos had been subtly planting the idea in Mike’s mind, steering their conversations, guiding their interactions. It had started with innocent compliments, the casual touch of a hand on a shoulder or back, and the shared thrill of their rides. Slowly, he’d woven a web of trust and subtle suggestion, waiting for the moment when Mike would be ready to let go.

Mike’s breath hitched as Carlos’s hand pressed gently against his chest. “You’ve worked so hard to get here,” Carlos whispered. “To become the best version of yourself. Don’t fight it. Just… feel.”

The words sank into Mike’s mind like stones in a pond, rippling through the fog of his thoughts. His body responded instinctively, leaning further into Carlos, seeking more of that grounding touch. A soft sound—half moan, half sigh—escaped his lips, and he felt a bead of saliva slip past the corner of his mouth.

Carlos chuckled, his tone warm and indulgent. “That’s it. Just let go. Trust me.”

Mike’s hands hung limply at his sides, his body pliant under Carlos’s guidance. He barely registered the world around him, his focus narrowing to the sensations flooding his senses: the tight embrace of his cycling gear, the warmth of Carlos’s hand, and the soothing rhythm of his voice.

“You’re perfect,” Carlos murmured, his hand moving to cup Mike’s jaw, tilting his head up so their eyes met. “Exactly as you should be.”

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Mike’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow and uneven. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, he felt a surge of clarity—a sense of rightness he couldn’t explain.

Mike stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath as Carlos’s hands roamed over his body. The firm press of Carlos’s palm on his chest felt impossibly intense, like a flame stoking embers just beneath his skin. Mike’s head tipped back slightly, his lips parted as the sensation deepened, spreading from his chest to his arms, shoulders, and biceps.

Carlos’s touch was deliberate, lingering as his fingers traced the curves of Mike’s muscles through the taut fabric of his cycling gear. “You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Carlos murmured, his voice low and velvety. “All those rides, pushing your limits, building this incredible body. And now, here you are. My perfect cyclist.”

Mike’s mind swirled, his thoughts a jumbled mess as the tingling sensation intensified. He barely registered Carlos’s words, but they sank into him nonetheless, feeding the warmth that radiated through his body.

Carlos’s hands slid back to Mike’s shoulders, squeezing them firmly before moving down to his biceps, caressing the tense muscles as if he owned them. “That’s a good boy, Mike,” Carlos whispered, his tone both soothing and commanding. “Let the tingling spread. Let it take over.”

Mike’s breath hitched as Carlos’s hands moved back to his chest, rubbing slow circles over the fabric of his jersey. The tight gear seemed to amplify every touch, every movement, sending waves of heat coursing through him. His body felt both tense and relaxed, caught in a strange limbo between resistance and surrender.

“Feel your gear,” Carlos coaxed, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Feel your body. The way it moves, the way it reacts. You can’t fight it, can you? It feels too good.”

Mike’s knees wobbled slightly, and he let out a soft, involuntary moan. Carlos chuckled, his hands moving lower, grazing Mike’s waist before settling firmly on his hips. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Mike’s ear. “Oh?” Carlos’s voice held a teasing edge. “Someone’s enjoying himself, huh?”

Mike blinked, his eyes heavy-lidded as Carlos stepped back slightly, his gaze dropping to the unmistakable strain in the front of Mike’s tight cycling shorts. The fabric left little to the imagination, and Mike’s arousal was impossible to ignore.

Carlos grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. “Your gear can’t hide your excitement, Mike. Looks like you’re really feeling it now.”

Mike’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and helplessness washing over him. He tried to move, to say something, but his body refused to obey. Carlos reached out, his hand cupping Mike’s face possessively, tilting it upward so their eyes met.

“There’s no need to be shy,” Carlos murmured, his thumb brushing over Mike’s cheek. “This is exactly where you’re meant to be. Exactly who you’re meant to be.”

Mike’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as Carlos’s words seeped into his mind, soothing and intoxicating. The world around him faded, leaving only the sensation of Carlos’s touch, the warmth of his gaze, and the unrelenting tension in his body.

“Good boy,” Carlos said again, his voice soft but firm. His thumb traced the curve of Mike’s jaw before sliding down to press lightly against his bottom lip. “Just let go. Trust me. Let it all take over.”

Mike’s lips trembled, a small, breathy sound escaping him as he leaned into Carlos’s touch. The tingling warmth inside him swelled, washing away the last traces of resistance. His body felt alive, every nerve humming with sensation as Carlos continued to caress him, guiding him deeper into the moment.

Carlos’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident as he stroked Mike’s cheek, his hand lingering possessively. “That’s it, Mike,” he whispered. “You’re perfect. My perfect boy.”

Carlos’s fingers trailed along Mike’s jawline, tracing the soft curve of his lips with an intimacy that made Mike shudder. His touch was slow, deliberate, lingering just enough to send a fresh wave of tingling heat coursing through Mike’s body. Carlos’s thumb brushed over Mike’s bottom lip, pressing lightly, as if testing his resolve.

“You feel that?” Carlos whispered, his voice low and commanding. “That pull? That need? Be a good boy, Mike. Submit fully. Let it all go.”

Mike’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly under Carlos’s thumb. He wanted to resist, to pull away, but his body betrayed him, leaning into Carlos’s touch instead. The faint stubble on Mike’s chin scraped lightly against Carlos’s fingertips as they traveled upward, tracing the line of his cheekbone, brushing over his temple with an almost reverent touch.

“Good boy,” Carlos murmured, his dark eyes locked on Mike’s. His tone was soothing yet possessive, drawing Mike deeper into the warm haze clouding his mind.

Mike felt Carlos’s hand drift downward, his palm flat against his chest, pressing firmly over his pounding heart before sliding lower. The tight fabric of Mike’s cycling jersey did little to hide the contours of his body, and Carlos’s hand moved with purpose, tracing the defined lines of his torso, his hips, and the growing tension in his shorts.

Carlos’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as his fingers brushed against the palpable outline of Mike’s cock. “Oh, Mike,” he said softly, almost teasingly. “You’re holding back, aren’t you? Don’t fight it. Let it out—all of it. Give it to me.”

Mike’s knees threatened to buckle as Carlos’s touch became firmer, his hand pressing against the strained fabric. The warmth inside Mike swelled, threatening to consume him entirely. His mind was a blur, unable to form coherent thoughts as Carlos’s words sank deep into his subconscious, coaxing him to surrender.

“Feel it, Mike,” Carlos urged, his hand moving with slow, deliberate pressure. “Feel the tension, the heat. Let it take over. Let me guide you.”

Mike’s breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling as Carlos’s grip tightened, grounding him in the overwhelming sensation. He let out a soft, broken moan, his head tipping back as the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled.

“That’s it,” Carlos said, his voice filled with satisfaction. His hand lingered, commanding and unyielding, as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Mike’s ear.

Carlos’s voice dripped with satisfaction as his fingers trailed teasingly along the curve of Mike’s jaw, his dark eyes glinting with possessive intent. “You know, Mikey,” Carlos began, his tone low and almost purring, “I knew I wanted you the moment I saw you in that pretty gear. The way it clung to you, showing off everything. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Mike shivered, his breath hitching as Carlos leaned in closer, his lips brushing against his ear. “And you’re so easy to control, aren’t you?” Carlos continued, his hand wandering back to Mike’s chest, pressing against the tight fabric. “Making this gear your trigger? That was genius. Every time you pull it on, you’ll feel it—the warmth, the sensation, the need. You’ll crave this, just like you’re craving it now.”

A soft, involuntary moan escaped Mike’s lips as Carlos’s hand slid downward, his fingers grazing the unmistakable strain in Mike’s shorts. The tight fabric did nothing to hide his cock, and Carlos’s touch was unrelenting, coaxing another breathy sound from Mike.

“You don’t have to hold back, Mikey,” Carlos murmured, his voice velvet smooth. He cupped the bulge firmly, his hand applying just enough pressure to make Mike’s knees wobble. “Let it all out. Don’t be shy.”

Mike’s head tipped back, his eyes fluttering shut as Carlos’s words wrapped around him like a spell. His body betrayed him completely, leaning into the touch, chasing the heat and the pleasure that came with it.

Carlos smirked, his hand moving with calculated precision, stroking the sensitive bulge as Mike let out another helpless moan. “Good boy,” Carlos whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. “You’re exactly where I want you. Completely under my control. And it feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Mike could only nod weakly, his mind a haze of sensation and submission. His body trembled, utterly at Carlos’s mercy, and as the tingling warmth spread through him once more, he knew there was no going back.

Mike’s world narrowed to the feel of Carlos’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the unbearable tension building inside him. With a final, shaky exhale, he surrendered completely, letting the wave of warmth and pleasure crash over him.

Carlos’s hand moved with firm purpose, his touch both commanding and deliberate as Mike’s body trembled under him. The tension in the air was thick, the heat radiating from Mike’s body palpable. Carlos leaned closer, his breath warm against Mike’s ear as his fingers pressed into the fabric, now damp with the unmistakable evidence of Mike’s pre-cum.

“Can you feel it, Mikey?” Carlos murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper. “The wetness? I can. Oh, I do. You’ve been holding back so much, haven’t you?”

Mike’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping his lips as Carlos’s words sank into him. His body was taut, trembling on the edge of release, and the relentless heat spreading through him made it impossible to think, to resist.

Carlos’s smirk widened as he stroked the damp fabric, his hand coaxing more soft sounds from Mike. “Let it out now,” Carlos commanded, his tone both soothing and firm. “Don’t fight it, Mikey. Stain your pretty gear. Show me how good it feels to let go.”

Mike let out a broken moan, his head tipping back as the last threads of his composure unraveled. His body arched slightly, pressing into Carlos’s hand as the overwhelming warmth and pressure finally spilled over.

Carlos’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt the fabric grow wetter beneath his touch, the proof of Mike’s surrender clear. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice soft but possessive. “You’ve done so well for me. That’s it—let go. Give it all to me.”

Mike sagged against Carlos, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension drained from his body, leaving only the hazy, blissful aftermath. Carlos’s hands remained steady, grounding him as he murmured soft praises, stroking his cheek with a gentle possessiveness.

Carlos’s hand lingered, pressing and stroking over the damp fabric with deliberate care. His touch was firm yet unhurried, a steady rhythm designed to keep Mike caught in the haze of sensation. Each stroke sent fresh shivers through Mike’s body, the wetness against the tight cycling gear amplifying the intensity of every movement.

“Good boy,” Carlos murmured, his voice low and velvety. “Such a good boy. You’ve done exactly what I wanted. Do you feel it now? How much better the gear feels like this?”

Mike let out a soft, breathless whimper, his body trembling under Carlos’s touch. The tight, wet fabric clung to him, every sensation heightened as the tingling warmth continued to spread through him. He managed a shaky nod, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

Carlos chuckled softly, his hand never stopping. “Oh, come on, Mikey. You can do better than that,” he coaxed, his tone teasing but laced with command. “Tell me. Tell me all about it. How does it feel now? How does it feel to give in completely?”

Mike’s head tipped forward slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “It… it feels…” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He struggled to form words, his mind still clouded with the overwhelming sensations.

“Go on,” Carlos urged, his hand pressing firmly over the wet bulge, sending another shiver through Mike. “Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”

“It feels… so good,” Mike finally managed, his voice breaking as another soft moan escaped him. “The gear… it feels better now. Tighter… warmer…” He trailed off, his cheeks flushing as he realized what he was saying.

Carlos’s grin widened, his satisfaction clear. “That’s my good boy,” he said softly, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over the wet fabric. “You’re right—it does feel better, doesn’t it? The warmth, the wetness, the way it clings to you. You can’t get enough of it now, can you?”

Mike shook his head weakly, his body sagging slightly as Carlos continued to stroke him, coaxing out every last bit of his surrender.

“That’s it,” Carlos murmured, his tone soothing and possessive. “Let yourself feel it all. Don’t hold back. You’re mine now, Mikey. And I’m so proud of you.”

Carlos’s grip on Mike was firm yet guiding as he reached down, taking Mike’s trembling hand in his own and pressing it firmly against the wet, sticky fabric of his bulge. Mike gasped softly at the contact, his eyes widening slightly as Carlos moved his hand over the wetness, making him feel every inch of himself.

“This is all you,” Carlos murmured, his voice smooth and commanding. “Feel it, Mikey. The sticky fabric clinging to you. You did this, and it’s perfect.”

Mike’s breath quickened, his hand hesitating for a moment before Carlos’s firm guidance encouraged him to press harder, to explore. His fingers trembled as he traced the contours beneath the gear, the sensations overwhelming.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against Mike’s ear as he whispered, “And the smell? Can you sense it, Mikey? That intoxicating, heady scent of you, of everything you’ve let out. Good. So good.”

Mike let out a shaky moan, his face flushing deeper as Carlos’s other hand slid up to his chest. He stroked Mike’s pecs through the tight, damp jersey, his fingers tracing slow circles over the fabric. “You’re beautiful like this,” Carlos said softly, his hand drifting upward to cup Mike’s flushed face. He caressed him gently, his thumb brushing over Mike’s reddened cheek. “Your face says it all, Mikey. You love this. You need this.”

Mike’s head tipped forward slightly, leaning into Carlos’s touch as his fingers twitched against the wetness. The tingling warmth still coursed through him, making every touch feel electric.

Carlos smiled, his hand guiding Mike’s again, encouraging him to stroke himself through the gear. “Go ahead, Mikey,” he urged, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “Stroke yourself. Feel it all. Tell me how it feels.”

Mike’s lips parted, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he obeyed, his hand moving tentatively at first before growing bolder. His fingers pressed and traced, each movement sending a fresh wave of sensation through him.

“It feels… so good,” Mike whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability and pleasure. “The fabric… it’s so tight, so sticky… it feels… incredible.”

Carlos chuckled softly, his hand moving back to Mike’s chest, stroking and kneading the firm muscles beneath the damp jersey. “That’s my good boy,” he murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Keep going. Let yourself feel everything. Don’t hold back.”

Mike’s moans grew louder, his body responding helplessly to the overwhelming sensations. Carlos’s words and touch grounded him, keeping him in the moment as he surrendered completely, lost in the haze of pleasure and submission.

Carlos’s hand moved swiftly to Mike’s chin, tilting his head upward so their eyes met. The grip was firm but not rough, a silent assertion of control. Mike’s breath hitched, his body frozen under Carlos’s intense gaze.

“Ah, ah,” Carlos chided, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not allowed to cum unless I say so, Mikey. You’re mine to control, and we both know you like it that way.”

Mike whimpered softly, his lips trembling as Carlos’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. His hand stilled against the wetness of his gear, his body caught in a limbo of need and obedience.

Carlos’s lips curled into a sly smile as he released Mike’s chin, his hand trailing down to pat his cheek lightly. “That’s a good boy,” he murmured. “We’ve got plans, don’t we? We want to go on our ride, show you off in that perfect gear. Let the world see how good you look. How irresistible you are.”

Mike swallowed hard, his mind hazy but his body still tingling with anticipation. He nodded faintly, his eyes wide and glassy as he hung onto Carlos’s every word.

“But we can’t forget the most important thing,” Carlos continued, his tone shifting to one of playful practicality. He stepped back slightly, picking up Mike’s helmet from a nearby surface. “Safety first, Mikey. Always safety first.”

He leaned in, placing the helmet gently on Mike’s head and adjusting the straps with practiced care. The intimate, deliberate motions grounded Mike, pulling him slightly out of the haze. Carlos patted his cheek again, his grin widening as he stepped back to admire his work.

“There we go,” Carlos said, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now you’re ready. But remember, Mikey—no cumming until I say so. Let that tension build. Let it drive you. You’ll thank me later.”

Mike nodded again, his body taut with both anticipation and obedience as Carlos’s words settled over him like a warm blanket. The promise of the ride ahead and the electric tension in his body left him trembling, completely under Carlos’s control.

Carlos let out a low chuckle, his hand still resting lightly on Mike’s cheek as he took in the dazed, almost dreamy expression on his face. Mike’s wide, unfocused eyes and slightly parted lips gave him the look of someone completely lost in a world of sensation and command.

Carlos’s gaze followed Mike’s as it drifted downward, taking in his own body as though he were seeing it for the very first time. The way the cycling gear clung to him, damp and snug, seemed to mesmerize him, and Carlos smirked at the sight.

“There you are,” Carlos murmured softly, smoothing his hands over Mike’s chest and down along his sides. He tugged slightly at the fabric, straightening it with deliberate care. Each touch sent a fresh shiver through Mike, who stood still, pliant under Carlos’s hands. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. My good boy.”

Satisfied, Carlos stepped back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window. The sun was bright and inviting, casting a golden glow over the landscape outside. Carlos’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment before a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, we could use something extra, couldn’t we?” Carlos mused, turning back to Mike with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He reached for a sleek pair of cycling glasses resting on a nearby counter, holding them up for Mike to see. “What do you think, Mikey? Don’t you think these would complete the look? Make you even more irresistible?”

Mike blinked slowly, his eyes flickering to the glasses in Carlos’s hand. His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Carlos leaned in closer, slipping the glasses gently over Mike’s ears and positioning them carefully on his face. “There we go,” he murmured, adjusting them until they sat just right. “Perfect fit. Now, put them on properly, Mikey. Show me how good you look.”

Mike’s trembling hands rose obediently, pressing the glasses firmly into place. The tinted lenses added an edge to his appearance, making him look sharp and focused even in his dazed state.

Carlos stepped back, his grin widening as he admired the sight before him. “There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Now you’re ready. The world won’t know what hit it when it sees you like this.”

He placed a firm hand on Mike’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before guiding him toward the door. “Come on, Mikey. Let’s take you out for a spin. The road’s waiting, and so am I.”

[mkat1347]

What do you mean that's your comfort character? They need a bar of soap and a hug.

[starscreamisreginageorge]

Everyone else, standing just fine

Then there's Starscream staggering around like a drunk ballerina

[chrissy-kaos]

If you know.. you know. I hate washing my gear but I refuse to be the smelly one on the bench! But it’s almost that time and I can’t be anymore excited!

T-minus 4 days! 😁😁😁😁

[unichavv]

rate the puffer lads

[coefore]

⭐️STORE IS OPEN⭐️

Some items have very low stocks, so be quick to catch these! The store will stay open until October 10th.

There are also charms for Yakuza/Like a Dragon, Golden Kamuy, Godzilla, and Metal Gear Solid, plus some of my smaller prints. We ship everywhere. 😊

[aichavlad]

Time to serve.

Worshiping an alphas AF1s is all you’re good for in this life. It gives you a sense of purpose…not that you have a choice. It is right. It is your place. It is your duty. You are below them in every sense—on your knees and ready to obey.

[retr0scum]

🎷🎷fuck it up

[cheesarbles]

Ah. I really don’t post art a lot do I…

Here’s some silo doodles

I think silo and bumblebee would be great friends (not a ship)

Here’s a few tfa things, as well as some shockwave and starscream drawings because I was giving them swaggy designs

And finally, as a birthday gift and partially part of an art trade, here’s a transformers sona I had made for my buddy @atlattacus this was fun to do

That’s about all I have

I’m going to make a large comp of all my transformers refs here soon.

Oh hey btw if there’s a transformer, specifically from g1 or animated or prime that’d you’d like to see in my style, go nuts and leave a request in my ask box.

[dcigar]

The Costume That Transformed Me

It all started with a seemingly innocent trip to the Halloween store. Max had always loved Halloween, but this year he wanted to go all out. His friends had convinced him to attend a big leather and cigar-themed costume party downtown, so he figured he might as well dress the part. Though he wasn’t into cigars or leather himself, he knew he’d need a costume that stood out.

He wandered into a small, dimly lit store tucked between towering buildings in the city. The interior had an odd feel, almost like the costumes themselves were alive. A chill ran down his spine, but he brushed it off. As he wandered through the aisles, something caught his eye—a mannequin at the back of the store, clad in a full leather outfit, complete with a harness, biker boots, and most notably, a massive, sculpted beard. The mannequin’s head was completely shaved, its face adorned with the kind of beard that looked intimidatingly masculine. A cigar protruded from its lips, and its bulky frame seemed to radiate confidence.

Max chuckled to himself. “This would be hilarious,” he thought. It was the complete opposite of who he was—a clean-cut, average-built guy with no facial hair to speak of. He reached out and touched the costume.

“Ah, you’ve got good taste,” a deep voice behind him said.

Max jumped. The shopkeeper, an older man with a beard that rivaled the mannequin’s, stood grinning at him. “This costume isn’t just a look—it’s an experience,” the man said, handing Max a large box that seemed heavier than it should have been.

Max looked at him skeptically. “What’s in here?”

“Everything you need to become someone else for Halloween, and maybe for a bit longer if you like,” the shopkeeper said cryptically. He leaned in, the scent of tobacco heavy on his breath. “But beware, it’s not just a costume.”

Max laughed it off and paid for the costume, deciding to try it on at home. The box felt heavier the longer he carried it, but by the time he made it back to his apartment, excitement was overtaking any doubts. He opened the box and was surprised to find not just the leather harness, pants, and boots, but also an enormous, lifelike wig—a big, fake beard, and a cigar.

“Alright, let’s see how ridiculous this is,” he muttered.

Max put the leather outfit on first, the tightness of the pants hugging him in ways he wasn’t used to. The boots were heavy, giving him a commanding presence, and the harness accentuated his torso. He then picked up the wig, which had a perfectly sculpted bald cap attached. He slid it onto his head, feeling an odd tingle as it settled into place. Then he applied the fake beard, the weight of it pulling his chin down slightly.

He turned to the mirror and gasped.

The man looking back at him wasn’t him at all. Max barely recognized himself. His jawline appeared wider, and his face more chiseled under the weight of the fake beard. It was as though his body had somehow started to fill out the leather more naturally. It fit him perfectly, snug in a way that made him feel stronger, more powerful. His bare head gleamed under the dim light of his apartment, making him look menacing in the best possible way.

Max grabbed the cigar from the box, chuckling. “Might as well go all out,” he said, placing it between his lips. He didn’t light it, but just holding it made him feel different—more confident, even a little cocky.

As he stood in front of the mirror, something strange began to happen. The tingle from earlier had returned, spreading across his scalp and face. The fake bald cap seemed to fuse with his skin, disappearing until he couldn’t tell where his real scalp ended and the wig began. His hands shot to his head in shock—his scalp was smooth, completely hairless.

Before he could process what was happening, the beard—fake, or so he thought—started to grow. Max felt a pulling sensation at his chin, and in the mirror, the beard extended, thickening and curling naturally. It was no longer a prop but part of his face. His jaw grew more square, muscles bulging out of nowhere. His body, too, was changing—his chest puffed out, his arms thickened, and his legs became as solid as tree trunks.

He stumbled back, breathing heavily, the weight of his transformation settling in. His shirt tore at the seams as his muscles expanded, and the tight leather pants that had once felt awkward now hugged his powerful legs perfectly. The harness stretched over his newly broad chest as though it had been custom-made for him.

“What the hell is happening?” he whispered, grabbing his face. The beard was real. His head was shaved. His muscles… they were real too.

Panicking, Max reached for his phone to call someone—anyone—but stopped when he caught sight of himself in the mirror again. The man staring back was imposing, dominating even. He looked like he had spent years in the gym, smoking cigars, living a rugged, hardcore life. A wave of desire rushed over him—this body, this look, it was intoxicating.

As the transformation completed, his mind began to shift. He had never been into cigars, but now, the unlit one between his lips felt natural. He grabbed a lighter, his hands steady despite his shock, and lit it. The first puff filled his lungs with smoke, and with it, a sense of calm washed over him. The smoke curled around his face, the smell of leather and tobacco now blending seamlessly into his being.

Max flexed his arms, feeling the power surge through him. He traced his hands over his thick beard and bald scalp, smirking at the reflection. It was as if this was who he was always meant to be. The old Max felt like a distant memory, fading fast.

“Let’s see how long this lasts,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, the heavy thud of his boots signaling his new presence to the world. Max wasn’t sure how permanent this transformation would be, but a part of him didn’t care.

Max stepped out of his apartment building, feeling the cool evening air wash over his freshly shaved scalp. He instinctively reached up to touch his smooth head, the sensation foreign yet thrilling. Every breeze across his exposed skin sent a shiver down his spine, reminding him of how different he was now—how *massive* he felt, both in body and presence.

As he walked toward the street, his boots clunking heavily with each step, Max couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. His body responded to the new sensations—the tightness of the leather around his muscles, the weight of the harness pulling against his chest, the solid bulk of his legs filling out the pants. His beard brushed against the collar of his jacket, thick and unruly, while the cigar between his teeth gave off an earthy aroma, blending with the leather in a way that made him feel powerful. He took a deep drag, savoring the thick smoke that filled his lungs, then blew it out in a cloud that hovered in the air. The cigar felt *right*, almost as if his new identity wasn’t complete without it.

As he approached the meeting spot, his friends stood waiting outside a bar, already in costume. They were chatting and laughing until they saw him approaching. Max noticed how their eyes widened in disbelief, their faces unsure whether to laugh or gasp.

"Dude… is that *you*?" his friend Chris asked, stepping forward cautiously.

Max grinned, the motion tugging his thick mustache over his lips, and took another puff of his cigar. “Yeah, it’s me.” His voice rumbled deeper than before, surprising even him. The smoke curled lazily out of his mouth as he spoke.

“Holy *shit*!” Chris said, circling around Max like he was inspecting a completely different person. "What the hell happened to you, man? You look… massive!”

Max flexed his arm instinctively, feeling the leather pull tight over his muscles. He enjoyed how his friends gawked at him, their eyes flicking between his thick beard, the shaved head, and the cigar that never left his lips.

"Costume store," Max replied with a shrug, though inside he felt an intense wave of pleasure at their reactions. The transformation had not just been physical—there was something else at play. His friends’ admiration turned him on in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and it wasn’t just about the way he looked. It was the *power* he felt. The power to command attention, to *own* the space he was in.

"You really went all out," said Jason, who was dressed as a lumberjack, complete with a fake beard and a flannel shirt that barely fit his leaner frame. His costume suddenly seemed childish next to Max's overwhelming presence.

"Yeah, man," added Zack, who was wearing a goofy superhero costume—his cape fluttering awkwardly in the wind. "Didn’t think you were into cigars, though.”

Max grunted in response, taking another long drag, his thick mustache bristling as he exhaled. The taste was growing on him, and every pull on the cigar made him feel more grounded in this new version of himself. The more they stared at him, the more his body reacted. His cock stirred, pressing against the tight leather pants, and he had to suppress a groan as a wave of arousal hit him harder than expected.

He wasn’t just turned on by his new look—he was turned on by how different he felt. The way his bald scalp tingled in the cool air, the way his beard commanded attention, the way his muscles strained against the leather. Every sensation made his cock twitch, the leather pants doing nothing to hide the growing bulge that pressed tightly against the material.

His friends were oblivious to the internal battle raging inside him as they continued their conversation.

“Man, you put us to shame with that costume,” Chris said, laughing nervously. He adjusted his own costume—a basic vampire outfit with cheap fangs and a plastic cape. “We should’ve known you’d go all in.”

Max smirked. “Can’t do Halloween halfway,” he said, his voice gravelly, the cigar smoke rolling off his lips as he spoke. The weight of the mustache covering his upper lip made every word feel heavy, almost more commanding. He loved it.

But as they stood there talking, Max couldn’t stop thinking about how much his body craved more. He was *alive* with desire—desire for himself, for the power his new look gave him, and the way his friends looked at him. He felt his erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants, the sensation only adding to the pleasure building inside him.

He wanted to feel more of it. He *needed* to feel more of it.

“Alright, let’s head inside,” Zack suggested, waving his hand toward the bar. "Before we freeze our asses off out here."

Max nodded, following them with a swagger that came naturally now. The boots thudded against the pavement with authority, and the weight of the cigar between his lips felt as natural as breathing. With every step, he felt himself becoming more turned on by the way his friends couldn’t take their eyes off him. His massive presence dwarfed them, and he *loved* it.

As the door to the bar opened, Max couldn’t help but grin around his cigar, knowing that tonight would be unlike any Halloween he’d ever experienced before.

[dronifier-b45]

Now item you get your chip! First step to become a drone