#patchy pants

[cat-lady-spinster]

Honestly my most proudest achievement

[bubacorn]

and i miss the man i was

[karakulialiny]

Another 25th anniversary of another my favorite cartoon. Once again, I'm catastrophically late with this special but again, I was betrayed by my tablet's charge and the complexity of the drawing. But meant to be complex because I wanted to express all my love to this cartoon by drawing some of the most iconic characters and items from the show. Yes, a lot of other iconic things are missing on this canvas, but then painting it would have taken me two thousand years.

[patchyworx]

I saw big man's frostfest outfit and had to draw it under any and all circumstances so woe fish man be upon ye

I am not bothering to remove petch from this btw.

Closeup of his face + dumb notes under the cut

I was really struggling to draw this, not because it was difficult to draw, no, but because i kept giggling and kicking my feet at the way i drew his expression

It was like playing a stealth game irl because i worked on parts of it in front of my family and no way in hell am i telling them that I'm giggling and blushing because of some manta man design that i made for gay paint fortnite

[bluekittyyoyo]

a beautiful man offered to tilt the water cooler to get the last few drops for me so yeah I guess you could say my heat cycle came early today

[korovamlecznybar]

purchased a pair of shoes.

[cannibalkissies]

POV: you bump into me on the way to the bathroom after I spent a whole day online saying I'd suck the life out of Stu, Bubba, and Hannibal

[plum-pudding-everywhere]

my favorite fashion crime that I commit regularly is wearing legwarmers over pants. but specifically legwarmers that i made out of a pair of pants i didn't like and decided to cut at the knee. i flip them upside down with the ankle part at my knee and wear them over skinny jeans, because i like pants that are tight at the hips and thighs but loose and folded at the ankle. i just like the silhouette okay

[cat-lady-spinster]

My first round of beaded painted patches are done and secured to my knockoff JNCOs

Original art by Vegan Patches

[dmitriene]

cw: perhaps ooc simon.

simon ghost riley as your sugar daddy, a considerate man, all luxury things and expensive gifts just to see your pretty lips splitting wide in a giddy, dazing smile, wrapping your arms around his thick, bent neck and peppering his rough, prickly face with delicate kisses and whispers of little giggles that mirror the joy in your sparkling eyes, as blinding as the new jewelry he picked out for you, falling in beady, gleaming drops down your collarbone.

you are his refuge, with how carefree you behave and cling to him, charming and affectionate like a cat, whiny, as well, all for his attention and barest of touch, accompanying him to various meetings, even when simon insists that you will be bored, sit among a bunch of people and listen to incoherent speech, but you settle over at his muscular lap and tuck against his chest, melting in the warmth of the solid body behind you, letting a calloused hand span over the entire breadth of your waist when something pisses him off.

simon cups the back of your head so you'll hide away in his squaring shoulder, when someone peeps out with amused question at who you are, and instead of answering, he twitches with his hand in the air to mimic for the meeting continuation, except, still leaning over to nose sharply in the sensitive nape of your neck, huffing in the light, fresh scent of the perfume he gifted you just couple of days ago, before planting a tentative kiss there, searing in your skin as you shudder and whine, complaining quietly for teasing you.

he gives you plenty of his time when you get back to the sanctuary of your apartment, greedy, tender touches mapping over every dip and plushness of your wriggling, arching body, not walking further than the living room couch, tugging you over his lap yet again, but now, with teeth biting, spit coated kisses and fevered gasps, calloused, broad fingers tugging and clawing up at your shirt, guttural, unrestrained groan spilling from simon's lips, raw and bruised pink, at just a single sight of your stomach, ribs expanding in hitched, strangled gasp.

simon let's you cling to his face, soft hands cupping the sharp edges of his flushed cheekbones, thumbs stroking over the jagged scars that slice a healed pale against his skin, stubble patchy, and you call him a pretty man, moaning as he licks against your slack mouth with white hot need, dizzy at the feeling of your tight, slick cunt spasming around his rutting cock, at how sweet you are, panting and whimpering his name, bouncing up and down through shallow, small rolls of your hips forward, pressing as close as possible.

his sugar baby, indeed, and he'd swallow you whole.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[mattsmedusa]

✎ 𝐛𝐬𝐟.ᐟ𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 ✯ 𝐦.𝐬

matt sat beside you with his hand holding one of your thighs to his own while his other hand moved between your legs. his fingers slowly circled your clit through your soaked panties, gliding smoothly due to your arousal having made the cotton fabric slick. he let out a quiet groan at the feeling of your wetness coating his fingertips.

your hips twitched involuntarily, threatening to buck into his hand the more he circled your engorged nub through your panties; your clit was swollen due to being sooo turned on from the sounds and expressions of him getting a handjob.

matt gently pulled your panties to the side and touched your clit directly, eliciting a hiss from you, followed by a soft noise that sounded like a moan. a small smirk tugged at the sides of his lips, his fingers slipping lower to part your folds before teasing your entrance with the tip of his middle finger, slipping in slightly before pulling away and circling the small opening.

a whine escaped you before you could stop it.

"hm? you need something?" matt questioned innocently, as if he isn’t teasing you. your face flushed subtly, another quiet whine leaving your lips. "c’mon, matt." you barely held back from whining his name. "you-you promised to teach me, not tease me." you mumbled, looking up at him, your breath hitching when you saw the pure desire in his eyes.

matt finally stopped teasing you and slowly slid his middle finger inside, making you moan softly — quite sensitive due to being so damn turned on. "hm? sensitive aren’t you?" he chuckled, his smirk widening as his finger slid in deeper until his knuckles grazed against your cheeks.

you moaned sharply when he suddenly curled his finger, rubbing insistently against the spongy bump in your gummy walls.

"watch." he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "you wanted to learn, right?" he slid a second finger in — his ring finger, and started to pump them in and out of you, setting a steady rhythm.

matt made sure to curl his fingers to rub against the spot that made your eyes roll back. his breath caught in his throat when he heard the increasingly loud wet squelches from his fingers fucking your sopping cunt.

your moans were enough to make him grow hard again.

a few more minutes of his relentless fingers sent you over the edge with a loud moan, your hips bucking wildly as you felt immense pleasure that you’ve never felt before. matt’s dick jumped in his pants at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his digits, sucking him in greedily like you wanted more.

he would be lying if he said that he didn’t wish it was his dick instead, but he wasn’t sure where you would set the line on things, and therefore, he slowly slipped his fingers out of your sated pussy and fought the urge to suck it clean as he stared down at his hand.

matt quickly shook away the thought and wiped his hand on a tissue he took from the tissue box before turning to look at you. "did you learn?" he asked, chuckling at your dazed "yeah". he wondered if you would let him fuck you, but he scrapped the thought.

maybe next time he’ll ask; if there’ll be a next time that is.

୨୧

𝐰𝐜. 𝟓𝟔𝟐 «𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭»

[𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞! 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞�� 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞!]

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @chaossturns @mels4ngel @lypsiiii @sydneyylainn @sturniolozbae @hearts4werka @strnilolover @matts-sidepiece @hearts4sturniolo @ivysturnss @bumbl3b34 @sophand4n4 @sagesturns @gwennybenny @whore4mattsturniolo @sturns-mermaid @christmastreecake @il0vey0um0st @summersturni @ashleysturn @unknvhx @nateismybf @lizzymacdonald06 @sleepiibunniiii @plrlvssnz @patchy-icey @greekgirldreaming @moosegirl96 @sllutty-sturniolo @rinnsgalaxy @urfavvt4ylor @pasteldreams @heartsonlyforchris @jas06sposts @elizabeth8483 @starkeysturniolo

© 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐚

[occamstfs]

Trendy Mustache

Grant was sick of seeing hot guys with mustaches. After being summarily mocked by his friends he opts to grow one, but after clicking on a targeted ad it turns out that facial hair isn't the only thing growing.

Short and simple ode to hot men with mustaches. Muscle growth and mind/reality change. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Grant had just gotten home from a massive blowout argument with his friends. After seeing one too many clout-chasing gay gym influencers on his for you page touting a brand new mustache, the man without a muscle on his bony body swears he’d look just as good with some new facial hair. He was thoroughly mocked.

In fact, Grant was almost laughed out of the room. Both for suggesting that he could pull it off, but more importantly, for the fact that he couldn’t grow one even if he wanted to. Rather than admitting defeat and taking it in stride, he left early from lunch and is now sulking to himself on the way home. It’s on this small trek that he comes across an ad that must’ve been generated for him after hearing their argument. “Be a new man! $25.99! Start growing some new hair today!!1!” 

Half curious he purses his lips he clicks on the clear spam just to see what ai-generated garbage the ad must be serving up. Obviously this wasn’t the move as the app immediately scans his face and confirms his purchase. Twenty six dollars lighter, Grant curses the rotten scam and starts tabbing his way over to his banking app to demand a refund.

Before he gets there though he stumbles forward as he’s suddenly struck woozy. Stumbling onto a bench nearby, Grant is far too light headed to notice the slow regrowth of patchy peach-fuzz he’s scarcely let grow in a decade beginning to poke out of his upper lip. Eyes almost crossing he groans as he falls to his side on the bench, losing consciousness as his phone clatter to the earth.

He can’t tell if it comes from the speaker of his fallen cell or if it is simply echoing from some deep pit of his mind. But a deep voice that sounds uncomfortably close to his own cries out, “Gotta start growin now to prove ‘em all wrong…”

He awakens in his own bed, shooting up sweaty and panting as his mind is foggier than it’s been during his worst hangovers. Groaning, he wonders if he has a cold as his whinging sounds slightly deeper to his ears. Stumbling to his feet he rubs his face with his arm and almost falls to the floor as he feels the unmistakable scratch of stubble cut through the haze.

He stumbles into the bathroom and stares in shock at his reflection. Slightly darker than the hair on his head, decidedly thicker than it’s ever been before he balks at the clear beginnings of a mustache starting to decorate his upper lip.

His gaping mouth quivers into a smirk as he imagines how good he’ll feel rubbing his new look in his friend’s faces. Only then does he pause to realize that there’s something else strange about his reflection. Leaning in close he tears his eyes away from his new facial hair to notice the other oddities. It’s almost like he’s standing taller in the bathroom, is his jaw sharper too? 

Before he can inspect too closely however the fog returns to his mind in full force as his mind rings with a headache once more. The voice he can only faintly remember calls out once more, “Need to head to the gym. Get a pump in so we can show ‘em we can do it.”

He nods to himself, agreeing with this thought he didn’t think. Ignoring how his throat feels dry, how his quiet grunt sounds even deeper as he wordlessly moans to himself. Shaking off his stupor he looks down to find himself already dressed for the gym, in clothes that are far too big. His shorts barely hang on his waist, his shirt drapes across his thin shoulders, and his shoes have so much extra room it’s a wonder they’re even able to stay on.

Nevertheless, any thought to change or remove a piece of clothing is met with immediate distraction. Soon enough he forgets his discomfort with the outfit at all. He just shakes off the delirium and begins to head out, slightly stumbling on the too big shoes. Reaching for his keys his hand stings as a static shock, trying again his arm locks up a few inches away, “Nahh nah. Gotta run. Get cardio out of the way.”

Again, Grant finds himself nodding along. Yeah, better to run, it’ll be just like when I was back in high school track. Stepping out of his apartment it isn’t until his stumbling steps hit the concrete does he begin to  question the strange thought, he wasn’t in track was he? He was more a mathlete than any kind of track star. That he knows.

And yet, with each step that idea begins to change. Just as soon as his legs begin to adjust to his shoes being too large do they begin to feel fitting, comfortable even. He continues to try and remember if he was in track or not and with each pounding step forward his lower body begins to  make the answer more than clear.

Grant grimaces as he feels his growing feet truly fill the tennis shoes they were once drowning in. His calves slowly begin to bounce larger as they are bulge tight with lean, baseball sized muscle. Above them the shorts that barely hung onto his waist are filled with thighs that punch as powerful as pistons, almost stretching his new shorts to tearing as he finds himself unable to stop his jog to the gym.

Panting, Grant looks down and furrows his brow in shock as he sees a lower body unrecognizable to the legs he went up with. He bounces higher as they continue to lengthen and grow, all the while his heavy breaths sound deeper to his ears. These are not the only ongoing changes. 

The mustache on his face that presumably began all these strange changes has continued to thicken. Launching well past peach fuzz and stubble, it has continued to grow. In the few minutes since he left his house it has become something that would have taken months, no years of growth. Sweat drips down his forehead as his brows change in turn, darkening as the sweaty hair on his head begins to restyle itself as well. 

Growing weary from his short jog, his body struggles to begin its next round of changes as the deep voice in his mind begins anew “great work so far. Now you gotta pump up what our fans are all about. Show the world your massive new pecs dude.”

Stumbling onward on wider feet, his foggy brain struggles to decide which part of the strange statement to get hung up on, he absolutely doesn’t notice how underneath his new stache that his lips mouthed along to the voice that is not his own growing louder in his mind. As his newly furry brows knit together in thought, his grand transformation continues unimpeded.

The whole of his upper body begins changing at once, slightly chaffing nipples begin to burn as they are rapidly pushed into a tank top growing tighter with each racing step. Grant tries to remember a single moment in his life where he exercised enough for any muscle to pack on his chest and at first comes up with nothing. As the pecs continue to pump larger with every gasping breath and swing of a lengthening arm, memories begin to race through his mind.

Obviously he’s been working on those bad boys for years! Looking down seeing how his juicy pecs glisten with sweat he knows that’s what it’s all about. There’s a wide smirk on his face as he imagines his legions of fans obsessing over his perfect picturesque chest. He flexes them to himself and almost starts drooling as he too can’t help but admire them.

At the same time, his arms cutting through the air begin to do so with far more precision and strength. No longer the pathetic stick thin bones they have always been. No. they are his pride and joy. A lifetime at being mocked for weakness is erased from his mind as he can just picture how many times he’s shown some tough guy what it’s like to lose in an arm wrestle.

Biceps emerge from his noodle arms, hanging from a back bursting wider. In no time at all they surge into something to truly be proud of, something that anyone attracted to men couldn’t help to obsess over. He almost falls as he struggles to grow accustomed to just how massive his upper body now is. He clearly recalls men that he once was intimidated by coming to him for tips. Realer than anything he recalls showing off for them, flexing and watching stars fill their eyes before he showed them how it’s done.

His mouth falls open as he continues to pant as he tries to remember why he was ever intimidated by those big men. After all, he’s always been a king hasn’t he? He’s always been a star. Wiping his mouth, from drool or sweat it’s unclear, he again feels the mustache on his face and smirks.

To think those bitches thought he couldn’t pull it off. He can pull anything off! The voice that has been whispering orders and fanning flames in his mind laughs louder than anything, well, almost anything. The guffaws issuing forth from his mouth in reality are quite a bit louder, easily covering up the two inner monologues becoming one as he comes to a stop at the entrance to the gym.

Sloppily drinking water from a bottle attached to his shorts, he wipes his face with the underside of his tight tank as he wanders inside. He wonders why he’s come in just now. Looking down at his massive arms almost shaking with weariness, at his sweaty chest quivering with spent effort, it’s more than clear he just finished up right?

Looking across the lobby and seeing his whole form reflected, he laughs again. He’s gotta take some post-workout pics, obviously. Stumbling his top heavy self across the gym and into the locker room, he discards the sweat-stained shirt he was almost trapped in and shoots away.

He records a quick vlog explaining his progress, his routine, his plans for the rest of the day. For a moment at the edge of his mind there’s the faintest idea to tell his fans the story of his friends saying he couldn’t pull off a mustache.

Obviously that can’t be the case, he’s had his lip candy for years! If anything he’d say he inspired all those other posers to grow them himself. Flicking through his feed he smirks as he sees countless men who look just like he does, massive, mustached, and full of themselves.

Cockily posting himself he wonders what trend he’ll set next. Of course it’s ridiculous to suggest Grant somehow brought mustaches into vogue. Though as every pair of eyes in the gym trails over to look at the massive man posing and guffawing to themselves, as their hands reflexively go to their own hairless upper lips, perhaps the twunk is setting a trend after all. Perhaps any man is simply waiting to follow his lead.

 His bulge is as unmissable as the mustache on his face as he continues to pose in the gym’s stained mirrors. Behind him he sees how he catches the eyes of a man who’s clearly just starting out. Sending a flex that way he imagines what the young jock would look like with a mustache as he begins to make his way over. Got a thing or two to teach the wanting bro about being a man.

[punkitt-is-here]

Had to write a three-page screenplay script for a "Discovery" for class. Didn't have any further instructions. It's super off-the-cuff, but I wanted to share it. Happy pride <3

INT. COLLEGE DORM - NIGHT.

A college student sits at his desk, sketching. It's a one room apartment, and his roommate is sound asleep. He's sketching in the light of a single lamp, being quiet. The student, GABE (male, 19) is drawing a cartoon version of himself. He's studying outfits from a fashion catalogue, drawing himself in different ones. He bites the tip of his pencil, not feeling the piece he's working on. He rolls his chair back, reeling away from the desk. Gabe puts his hands in his hair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale. It's late.

After a moment, he rolls back to the desk. Tapping the pencil to his head, he flips through the pages. It's an unremarkable task, stopping on a random page. Oh, the women's fashion section. It has simple, practical outfits for girls, including a jean skirt. Gabe peers at it. Fuck it, it's late. He erases the pants of one of his drawings and pencils in a skirt instead.

He pauses.

He stares at it.

Something here is weird.

He goes to erase it, but once he does, he just draws it in again. This time with more care. More detail. He stares at it again.

Tears well up in his eyes.

GABE

(whispering)

…what the fuck?

Gabe, confused, touches his hand to his eye. He looks at the tear on his finger. Huh? He stares at the drawing again. He looks back at his roommate, sound asleep. He's having some sort of moment, but he has to be quiet. He frantically looks back at his sketchbook.

GABE

(whispering)

Uh…

A beat.

Gabe starts drawing himself again. In the women's fashion this time. It's like a whole different world. He's drawing like crazy. It's all flowing out of him. He draws another.

And another. Slowly, details start to adjust in his art.

Longer hair. Longer eyelashes. Daintier poses. More smiles.

He's got tears running down his face, but he's not wearing any emotion. He's not sure what to think.

CUT TO

An indeterminate amount of time later. Gabe stares at his notebook. It's full. It's lots of drawings of him.

As…well, he guesses as a girl. But he's not one. He flips through the book again, then turns towards the dark window his desk resides next to. He looks at himself. Patchy facial hair and a shaggy haircut.

CUT TO

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Gabe rushes down the hallway, looking frantic. He's carrying a bag.

INT. DORM BATHROOM - NIGHT

It's quiet inside the bathroom. No one else occupies the space. It's just him and his reflection. His reflection? Maybe their reflection. Her reflection? No, that's not right. Is it right? Gabe stares at himself intently. The whirring of a trimmer cuts through the silence. He brings it up to his facial hair, shearing away a week's worth of fuzz.

He looks at himself like it's not him in the mirror. He holds a hand up to his face, feeling it.

It's not enough. Not yet. He has to know.

He gets out his phone and starts typing.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFHG

He frantically types, misspelling. He backspaces like his life depends on it.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFF ALL

THE WAY

He quickly scans an article and then gets to work, pulling some miscellaneous bathroom supplies out of his bag. Shaving cream. A razor. Gifts for cleaning up at college. He wets his face. Applies the shaving cream. Does careful strokes down his cheeks and neck. Slowly, someone reveals themselves.

They lean down, splashing themselves with water. They look up, and it's a different person. She's completely shaved her facial hair off. Gabe hasn't seen herself like this since she was in freshman year of high school, before facial hair was even an option. She reaches up and touches her face, smooth to the touch. She stares, enamored. A moment. She grabs a towel and dries her face off, and then looks again. She's so…different. But that's her! That's Gabe! Is it Gabe? She doesn't know anymore. A close up to her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her neck. It's all so new. She starts laughing. She laughs, and tears well up in her eyes a little. She laughs some more. In moments, she's full on crying tears of joy. She doesn't know why. But she is! That's her!

CUT TO

INT. SECONDHAND - DAY

Gabe is at a clothing rack, searching for something. She looks around, a little embarrassed. She browses for a moment before finding what she wants. She passes by some more racks carefully, trying not to be too obvious. She slips into the changing room, then locks the door.

GABE

…okay.

Gabe unbuckles her belt. In a moment, she's wearing black leggings. She hikes them up, then unclips a gaudy skirt from the clothes-hanger. She stares at it, a little scared of it and what it represents. She bites her lip. She stretches it out and then steps in. She looks up at the mirror.

Oh shit, that's her! That's her!

Gabe is wearing a long, patterned skirt and a tee-shirt. The colors don't match at all, and the patterns don't either.

She looks a bit like a yard sale of a person. But it's her!

She spins around, watching the fabric flow out from her hips in a whirlwind of stripes and insignia. She laughs again.

This is her! This is her!

This is her!

[ewmily]

fallin’ all in you.

negan smith x fem!reader

word count. 1.7k

synopsis. your “enemies-with-benefits” situation is turning into something more, or at least that’s what negan thinks.

notes. smut — slightly angsty sex but also kinda soft?, fingering, making out, unprotected piv, negan’s caught feelings, yearning!! (i’m so delusional)

gif by sweeetestcurse & divider by enchanthings

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

It’s a cruel thing to say in bed—or in your case, the back of his stolen RV. Left in nothing but your undergarments, your bodies were already melded with sweat and fervour, limbs entwined into a tangled frenzy. As if the way you were kissing him back was impersonal—Negan knew you wanted this just as much as he did. The patchy stains of the old leather couch and the low growls of walkers nearby didn’t seem to be obstructing factors; he was simply too engrossed in the taste of your lips, the raw scent of anticipated sex filling his lungs.

You see, your words always said one thing, but your body would say another. With one hand cupping your cheek, locking your swollen lips against his, Negan only needed to sneak his other hand beneath the soft material of your panties, run his fingers through your folds to find that you were absolutely soaked to the core.

At the evidence, he couldn’t help but let out a low, conceited chuckle, pulling away from your mouth as his warm breath feathered over the shell of your ear. “You keep tellin’ that to yourself, darlin’. But just know—” Teasingly, he grazed his two fingers against your walls, coating them with your juices. “I’m exactly what this fuckin’ pussy needs.”

His face hovered over yours as his eyes eagerly scanned your features, searching for even the slightest reaction while his deft fingers continued to stroke your clit. You’ve always tried to remain stoic upon hearing his provocative words, unfazed by his risqué nature, but he just knew you were affected by it all—be it a small shift in your stance, the way you’d swallow as if something particularly hard was going down your throat, or when he inched closer to observe your pupils dilate—the movements were subtle, but the signs were telltale.

This time, it’s when he’s stroked a particularly sensitive spot, that your mouth slightly gaped open, and you elicited a sharp inhale. Your grip on his shoulders tightened. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy under his touch, and his grin grew wider when he felt you slowly beginning to rock yourself against his fingers.

“Look at that,” Negan cooed with a triumphant smile, knowing you were begrudgingly trying to hold back a moan. He glanced down to watch the up-and-down motion of your hips, while his fingers relentlessly stimulated the wet heat between your legs. “Don’t mean anythin’, huh? You’re fucking yourself on my—”

In a sudden, unanticipated movement, your hands flew to his cheeks, pulling his gaze forward as you slammed his lips back against yours. His eyes widened, stunned that for once, you initiated the kiss, and in a heartbeat, his lips started moving in sync with yours.

But no sooner had his mouth caught up to speed than you whispered harshly against his quickening breath, and Negan then recognised it had been nothing more than an effort to silence him. “You never shut up, do you?” you panted, beads of sweat trickling down your furrowed eyebrows.

So often had he allowed himself to believe you saw him as something past an enemy, that this clandestine arrangement was not just purely transactional. It may have started as just that, but as the nights carried on, there was an undeniable, gradual shift in the atmosphere—something weighty and unspoken, maybe even akin to love-making. He found himself wondering lately if you felt this way too, that the act itself was no longer just senseless self-gratification—if feelings were becoming involved. Surely, you must’ve.

But for now, he chose to put those spiraling thoughts to rest. He’s been waiting the whole week to have you beneath him again, and he could definitely puzzle over your feelings later. Plus, with the growing friction between your communities, tensions rising to an all-time high on both sides of the war, who knows? This may very well be the last time he’ll get to have you in his arms.

Your snide remark long-forgotten, Negan dived back into your lips, devouring you once more. Too caught up in the kiss, he doesn’t realise that his movements in your clit had stopped, and his hands had moved to cradle your face, absent-mindedly stroking your jaw with his thumbs.

You must’ve expected him to move past the foreplay by now, because when he suddenly felt you buck against his bulge, a deep groan clawed from the back of his throat, and he knew it was your body’s silent, frustrated plea to speed up the tempo. You parted from his lips, and your hands hastily shifted down to palm the tent in his boxers, earning another throaty groan from Negan.

“Patience, baby,” he exhaled shakily, moving to enrapture your neck with open-mouthed kisses, then feeling you shudder when he nipped at your collarbone. Tonight just felt different—he deliberately wanted to savour your taste, sweetly caress your skin like real lovers would.

You, on the other hand, grew annoyed. “You’re taking your damn sweet time,” you chastised, eliciting a sharp breath. Too impatient and unbothered, you merely slipped your underwear halfway across your thighs, before you reached into his boxers to free his length.

Negan hissed against your skin, just as you guided the tip of his cock to your soaked entrance. Then, in one slick motion, he pushed past your folds, and hearing the soft moan you let out was always like a hard-earned reward.

“Fuck—” he cursed with a shaky breath, feeling your walls taut around him, sending his mind pooling in ecstasy. “You’re so fucking tight.”

And when he began to roll his hips forward, another pleasant whimper escaped from your lips. It spurred him on all the more, wanting to keep extracting all of your sweet noises. Your bodies started to undulate with each thrust, as Negan buried his head in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses all over your skin. Meanwhile, your hands frantically raked through his dark curls, pulling your naked chests impossibly closer.

“Negan.”

A fiery ache swirled in his chest upon hearing the adoring slip of his name from your tongue.

All these nights, it felt as if your bodily reactions were his only form of reassurance—that underneath all the hatred and contempt you harboured towards him, there was still a carnal desire, however forbidden, that only he could satisfy.

He knew what you tasted like, knew all the right ways to get you aroused, all the sensitive spots to draw out a precious mewl. Yet, it wasn’t enough. He had all he could of you, physically, but it just wasn’t enough. This had undoubtedly grown beyond the simple release of pent-up stress, the stimulating sounds of skin slapping against skin, the feeling of a blissful undoing.

Negan came to a realisation. He wanted something visceral, something intangible—something he knew was utterly impossible.

Your affection.

His rhythmic pace stopped as he stilled inside you for a moment, shifting to rest his forehead against yours, noses nudging against each other. He fiercely met your gaze, but the words came out in a gentle, uncharacteristic plea.

“Tell me you don’t hate me.”

He saw the way your eyes slightly widened in surprise, the crease between your eyebrows softening. For a second, he thought he stood a chance of hearing the words he craved for. But when your lips parted, you only responded with confusion. “Wh—what?”

“Tell me,” he punctuated with a sudden, deep thrust, moving within you once more, making your breath hitch. He shut his eyes, a fire rekindling in his abdomen, as the words became contorted with an edge of despair. “Tell me you don’t hate me. Please.”

“I…” The relentless rocking of your bodies cut short your hesitant response, releasing a string of whimpers as your pleasure intensified, and your hands moved to cling onto his shoulders.

Negan felt your walls convulsing madly around him, and in turn a fervent heat building in his pelvis. “Please,” he croaked, hearing his own voice turn hoarse. “Just say it, please.” He plunged his length in and out of you, and as if in a final, desperate act of tenderness, he showered feverish kisses all over your features—your nose, your cheeks, your jaw.

“Negan, I…” you feebly murmured, your breathing turned erratic. He knew you were on the precipice of your climax, and in tandem, he began to chase his own orgasm. But just as he gave one last thrust—his hips jerking to a halt, and a white, hot release pooled between your thighs—he heard you whisper out, “I can’t.”

Somewhere along the night, you had knocked out from all the action, but Negan had chosen to remain awake for the past few hours. He had reached for a blanket to cover the both of you while you slept, but other than that, he made minimal to no movements, even as the early traces of daylight began crawling through the window blinds.

He wasn’t a man who knew peace ever since the apocalypse, but as he gazed into the sunrise, with the feeling of you snug against his chest, maybe it had found him for once. If only this was what he woke up to every day—you cuddled in his arms, your face nuzzled into his neck as he heard the soft rise and fall of every breath. What wouldn’t he give, just to stay in this moment forever? You were sleeping so soundly beside him, as if you didn’t resent every fibre of his being, as if all the words you spoke to him weren’t intended to wound.

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, brushing his knuckles past your cheek in a feather-light caress. When you stirred, he stiffened immediately, wincing at the thought of you waking up with a start, scrambling to put your clothes on and dashing out of the RV. But when you only nestled further into his embrace, blissfully unaware, a soft smile tugged at his features. With more courage this time, Negan planted a tender kiss on your temple, his lips lingering there for just a moment longer.

Maybe once all the fighting was over, he’d claim you for real.

notes. so.. it’s been a hot minute, but i’ve still been lurking on tumblr! if anyone’s wondering, i have been trying to write a few fics these past few months, but sadly they’ve all accumulated to incomplete drafts, and somewhere along the line i lost the motivation to finish them :’( my perfectionism and imposter syndrome hasn’t been helping either, but hey, maybe it’s all in the process of writing, which is something that’s still relatively new to me so we’re not giving up just yet!

speaking of which, this was intended to be a drabble and is actually my first attempt to write smut after a few years of avid reading. i’m happy i saw this through, and i hope this was okay! if you made it this far, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[rafeandonlyrafe]

moonlit beach

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, face sitting, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fluff, vacation, proposal, bratty!reader for the first bit lol

you walk over to the boys, already in a bad mood from having to redo your makeup as it kept looking patchy.

you step between the couches, interrupting their conversation as you stop in front of rafe. you place your hand out, looking down at your boyfriend.

“card.” it's not a request, not a question.

“what's wrong baby?” rafe coos, causing kelce to snicker at his pout.

“give me your credit card. im going to buy myself a birthday gift on your dime since you didn't get me anything.” you say, lowering your hand more to get your point across.

“baby, i told you it just got delayed. it will be here friday, i promise.” rafe takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. he used to care about showing affection in front of his friends, but not anymore, his focus always solely on you whenever you're in view.

“yeah right.” you roll your eyes. “you forgot. come on, card.”

rafe reaches into his wallet with a sigh. he truly does have plans for your birthday, it just landed on an awkward day of the week for celebrations.

he places the credit card into your hand, watching you turn on your heel without another word.

“dude, just tell her you're taking her to the maldives.” kelce says, topper nodding in agreement.

“that would ruin the point of the surprise.” rafe rolls his eyes. “what, do you also want me to tell her that i bought a diamond ring and that im going to propose to her there?”

“well, guess you'll just have to deal with her being mad at you.” topper shrugs.

“it's alright, i think it's kinda hot.” rafe adjusts his pants not so subtly.

“ew, dude!” topper looks away suddenly while kelce makes a gagging motion.

--

“wake up, princess.” rafe presses kisses along the bridge of your nose until your eyes flutter open. you look happy for a split second before remembering rafe didn't get you anything for your birthday, a frown spreading across your features.

“baby.” rafe coos out, pressing a kiss to your still lips. he's planning to tell you later today so you have time to pack before the flight tomorrow evening, but rafe can't help himself, wanting to get inside of you while you're still pissed at him.

“fuck off, cameron.” you roll over, intending to get more sleep when you feel rafe push himself against you, his morning wood evident in his pants.

“come on baby, i told you ive got a really good gift for tomorrow. don't be mad.” rafe presses kisses to your shoulder, tugging the strap of your pajama shirt down to give him access to more skin.

you hate your traitorous pussy as it floods with wetness. you flip over suddenly, pushing rafe onto his back.

“you're gonna eat me out then im gonna ride you. i don't wanna hear you complain.” you say sternly. it has been a couple days since you slept with rafe on your birthday morning, happy and glowing as he gently thrusted inside of you, muttering how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.

“take those shorts off.” rafe just smirks, watching as you quickly disrobe before crawling on top of rafe. you usually would kiss him, but you bypass his lips to place your cunt down on his face, knees on either side of his head.

rafe grabs your hips, not even giving you a moment to adjust before he pulls you down onto his awaiting mouth.

you let out a moan and reach forward to grip the headboard as rafes tongue snakes through your folds before lapping at your clit.

you press yourself further down onto his face, a mess of juice and spit covering his chin and nose, but rafe couldn't care less, loving the way you take effortless control as your hips rock back and forth.

rafe pushes his tongue into your cunt, feeling the way your walls clench around him. you let out a moan as his nose bumps against your clit as he begins to thrust his tongue in and out. 

as much as you'd like to cum all over his face, you want rafes cock inside of you.

you turn suddenly, crawling down his body with your ass to his face as you pull his pajama pants down to reveal his cock, standing straight up and ready for you.

you position yourself over top, not caring when rafe whines out.

“turn around baby, i wanna see your face.”

you roll your eyes despite him not being able to see, sinking yourself down on his length with a moan.

your hips begin to buck, only focusing on your orgasm as you rub your pussy with the hand not on rafes thigh for support.

you blame having gone without an orgasm for a few days for how quickly you can feel your high building, but clearly rafe isn't far behind as his hips begin to thrust up into you.

his hands reach out to grip your ass as it bounces in front of him, the plush flesh too tempting not to touch.

you let out a growl, pushing yourself to move faster up and down on his cock until your high suddenly breeches and you fall forward into the mattress between his legs with a moan.

rafe moves quickly to his knees, pushing his cock deep inside of you as he cums as well, flooding your pussy.

“im gonna take a shower.” you say, kneeling back up as you look back at rafe. usually you love to allow him to keep his cock buried inside of you after you both cum, but not when you're mad at him.

“alright.” rafe says, sighing when you move away and his cock slips free as you climb off the bed, legs clearly tired from fucking. “just don't take too long, you have to pack.”

your footsteps stop. “pack for what?”

“im taking you to the maldives tomorrow. happy birthday.” the words barely leave rafes mouth before you're turning and jumping back onto the bed, kissing him between mumbles of thank you and how much you love him.

--

“i can't believe i was such a bitch to you and you had this planned the whole time.” you pout, burying your head further into rafes bare chest, rubbing your face against him as a cat trying to mark their scent would.

“baby, it's okay.” rafe coos out, not brave enough to say that he liked it. he likes you like this even more, glowing and happy.

“i love you.” you coo out, looking out onto the ocean, keeping your ear against his chest to hear his heartbeat, your favorite sound in the world.

“i love you too baby.” rafe runs his hand over your back, up until it meets the string of your bikini, then back down until his hands hits your bottoms, then occasionally over that to squeeze your ass. “i know i took you out for a birthday dinner back in the outer banks, but would you allow me to take you out again tonight?”

you pout, nodding quickly. “of course.” you pick your head up to press a kiss to rafes lips.

--

“how did you like the food?” rafe asks. there's really no point in questioning it, your moans every time you took a bite and asking for seconds told him everything.

“so good… can we go back there again tomorrow?” you squeeze rafes hand that's entangled with your own as you walk down the moonlit beach.

“anything you want. this trip is for you.” rafe says, hoping you can't tell that his palm is sweaty as you get closer to the spot he chose, just having to round a bushel of trees to see the lights.

he didn't expect to feel nervous, but with every step his worry builds. what if you say no? rafe knows it's ridiculous, but the small nagging voice in the back of his head is growing louder every minute.

“oh my gosh!” you squeal out as you see the string lights set up on the beach, over wooden slats placed on top of the sand for an even surface. “it's so cute!”

rafe smiles gently, glad he chose a cool color for the twinkling lights to match the moonlight. you change your path to walk around it, but rafe pulls you closer.

“rafe-” you begin to say that you probably shouldn't go onto random peoples set ups on the beach, but he just looks at you with a comforting gaze that would make you go along with anything, trusting him implicitly.

it doesn't hit you until you're under the lights. the realization suddenly sinks in as you look at rafe. he nods gently, like he knows the thoughts running through your mind.

rafe sinks to one knee, confirming your suspicion. he reaches into his pocket and delivers a beautiful speech before showing you the gleaming ring, a speech you are both bound to forget in your excitement and nerves.

“will you marry me?”

“yes!” you don't even wait for rafe to stand up, launching yourself to the ground with him as your arms fly around his shoulders. you managed to hold in tears until this point as you cry into his shoulder.

rafe holds you close, allowing you to feel every emotion in his steady arms.

“come on baby, let's make sure the ring fits.” rafe helps you stand easily before he pulls the ring out of the box, managing to snap it closed when you flung yourself on him so it didn't get lost in the sand.

you hold your hand out, a fresh batch of tears coming as rafe slides the ring onto your finger, hoping the photographers hidden in the treeline got good shots.

“oh my god, we are gonna get married!” you squeal out as it hits you all over again.

“you're gonna be my wife.” rafe smiles as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“im gonna get to call you husband.” tears flood in your eyes as you kiss him again, again, and again.

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[bigification]

Sports Car - A TF Short

Carl frowned at the sight of his reflection in the mirror. His thin arms struggled to show any definition despite his efforts to flex. He had been going to the gym for months now, but it yielded no results. He even bought a loose tang top as encouragement to grow into, but it only made him sad that it looked just as loose as the day he bought it.

He held his head down as he left the locker room of his local gym and headed to the exit. Any time he looked up, he was met with the sight of massive guys with bulging muscles.

He left the building, debating whether he should ever go back. All this work, and all it's gotten him is more pain. The decision weighs heavy on his mind as he walks the maze-like parking lot. He unlocked the car and got in, completely missing the fact that it was not his car at all. He threw his bag in the bag seat, ignoring the shiny leather seats. His nose twitched as he got a whiff of the musky smell that permeated the car, but once again decided to ignore it. Pressing the start button, the car somehow started, despite the fact that he only had the keys to a completely different car. His eyes lit up as the futuristic display on his dash came to life, a stark contract to the set of broken manual displays on his car. Despite all this, Carl remained oblivious to the fact he was in another man's luxury sports car.

He pulled the seat belt over his scrawny body. As he locked in the seatbelt, the click echoed throughout his body. Suddenly his flat chest started to rise like a loaf of bread, creating two solid mounds of muscle. His pecs continued to grow until his tang top wrapped tight against his skin, leaving very little to the imagination. Then his shoulders broadened, complementing his massive pecs and further tightening his tang top. It didn't take long for his biceps to grow, expanding until they were nearly the size of his head. Even his hands grew into thick man hands that matched his hulking biceps.

His spine started to grow longer until his head nearly reached the roof of his car. All the while the muscles on his back swelled until there was a landscape of defined muscles covering his entire back. Also, his waist slimmed down while a perfectly defined six pack formed on his stomach, giving him a top heavy body shape. Continuing downward, his flat ass started to inflate, growing with the perfect amount of muscle and fat to make his ass juicy and perky. And his unimpressive 5 inch dick also began to grow, snaking its way down his gym shorts. Every second it surges forward, finally stopping at 8 inches in length while soft and leaving a permanent bulge in his pants.

Aaron wouldn't dare skip leg day, as a result his thighs started to thicken, growing until they threatened to burst through his tiny gym shorts. His legs also grew longer, further adding to his newfound height and leaving him at a staggering 6"4. Unsurprisingly, his feet grew 8 sizes to reflect the hulking size of his body.

Finally his face started to change. His patchy stubble evened out into a well trimmed beard, perfectly showing off his much sharper jawline. His cheeks thinned out and his brow bone became more pronounced, making him look manlier. And his hair started to darken from a dirty blonde to dark brown, better matching his tanned skin.

As Aaron settled into his body, a few of his gym bros walked by. He decided to put on a show and bounce his pecs for them, something he often did for his boys. They all flexed in response, prompting a smile from Aaron. After all, how could he be sad after a good workout with the boys.

He revved his engine and sped out of the parking lot, showing off his over confidence with his loud sports car. He was rich and he was hot, life could not be better.