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anonymous1233211 · 8 days ago

Note

There's this straight guy at my job that has just the juiciest ass. it's a shame he's straight if only he was a bit more open minded he could put his assets to good use

"Dude! I can't believe they closed the gym next to my place." You overheard Alec saying one day, "Where am I supposed to go now?"

Alec... god why did he have to be straight? Good personality, killer smile, and an ass that was truly wasted on a straight man. If you had an ass like that... or if any of your hook-ups did... You couldn't help but let your fantasies run wild. Shame about his gym though... but than an idea popped into your head.

"Aw man, that sucks about your gym closing," you said, and before you could second guess yourself, you blurted out, "Hey, I actually have a great gym recommendation if you're looking for a new place!"

Alec raised an eyebrow curiously, "Oh yeah? What's the place called?"

"It's called Flex Fitness, downtown near the park. Really nice facilities, good crowd... and it's super LGBTQ+ friendly too." you added casually, gauging his reaction.

Alec's eyebrows shot up and he hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"LGBTQ+ friendly? As in..."

"I mean, yeah, it's popular with the gay community." you confirmed with a shrug, "But seriously, it's an awesome gym regardless."

Alec looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged, "I mean, I guess I'm open-minded enough to try it out. Can't hurt, right? As long as the equipment is good." He flashed you a grin, "Thanks for the tip, bro. I might check it out this weekend."

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe you'd get to catch a glimpse of him working out. The thought made you smile- guess admiring from a far would have to do.

____________________

The following Monday, as you walked into the office, you did a double take when you saw Alec. He wore a fitted short-sleeve polo shirt that clung to his muscular torso, showcasing his toned forearms and biceps. His pants were also much tighter, highlighting the curve of his ass and the thickness of his thighs.

"Morning!" Alec greeted you cheerfully, turning to face you fully. The movement made his pecs strain against the fabric of his shirt, "How was your weekend?"

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your gaze from roaming over his newly accentuated physique.

"Uh, hey man. Weekend was good. Yours?"

"It was pretty great actually," Alec said, leaning back against his desk, "Started going to that gym you recommended - Flex Fitness? Holy shit, it's amazing. Top notch equipment and the atmosphere is dope." He flexed almost imperceptibly, making his biceps pop, "I've been hitting it hard and I think it's already paying off. What do you think?" Alec asked with a playful wink.

You felt your face flush as you struggled to maintain eye contact with Alec, your gaze continually being drawn to the way his clothes hugged every sculpted inch of him.

"Y-yeah, you're looking great man. Love the haircut" you managed to stammer out, "The gym must be really good for you."

Alec grinned, pleased by your reaction, "Just the haircut?" He smirked and punched your arm playfully, "Between you and me, I think the 'gay-friendly' vibe is pretty cool too. Makes me feel... appreciated, you know?" You nod lamely, "Anyway, got to get back to these reports. I have a date with Amy later and need to get out of here on time."

____________________

Later that night, while browsing social media aimlessly, your thumb scrolled past the familiar blue logo of Flex Fitness and immediately stopped dead in its tracks. Staring back at you from the screen was none other than your coworker Alec, fresh from a workout session judging by the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

"Welcome to our newest member @aleclikes_lifting and thanks for this AMAZING post-workout selfie!" read the caption beneath the photo, "Check out that body - look at THAT ASS, amirite guys? 🍑 We're so lucky to have this hunk join our family at #FlexFitness. Give it up for the BEAST!"

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the notification pop up - Alec had commented on the post! With shaking fingers, you clicked to read:

"A huge THANK YOU to everyone at @flex_fitness for making this straight boy feel SO welcome and accepted! 🏳️‍🌈💖 Never thought I’d love working out this much! Hope you like my post-leg day selfie."

His comment was flooded with likes and supportive replies from the gym’s followers, many expressing how happy they were to have him there, some expressing they were hoping to see more of him soon…

____________________

It was a day later when Alec approached you at your desk. His clothes seemed tighter. His perfect ass straining against his dress pants.

"Hey there stud!" Alec greeted you brightly as he approached your desk. You couldn't help but notice his eyes seemed off... glazed over... no gears turning behind them. "Gotta say, sending me to that Flex Fitness was the best thing you ever did for me!" You blinked in shock, noticing how Alec swayed his hips subtly as he leaned against your desk, "Girl, I have NEVER been treated like royalty before. The whole vibe is ELECTRIC!" Alec gestured expressively, seemingly high on his newfound fitness fame, "They took me in, loved on me, praised me… I feel like a whole new man!" His tongue clicked disapprovingly, "Too bad none of these uptight prudes here appreciate perfection when they see it!"

"Alec are you...?" Suddenly, as if realizing how he sounded, Alec's eyes widened and you noticed his eyes shift... no longer glazed over.

"Whoa... that was... I don't know what came over me, man." He ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered and confused, "I gotta... I gotta go. Something's not right, I feel all..." Alec shook his head vigorously, as if trying to clear it. Without finishing his sentence, he turned on his heel and hurried away, leaving you stunned and perplexed.

____________________

Late that evening, as you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, another post from Alec caught your eye. The image was a close-up shot of his bare ass, perfectly rounded globes on full display. He wore a tiny pair of pink briefs that left little to the imagination, the thin fabric disappearing between his cheeks.

"Shoutout to @flex_fitness for helping me embrace my true self! Alec wrote in the caption. Something big is coming soon… stay tuned! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈"

As you read further, your eyes widened in shock. Alec had tagged Bare Essentials, a popular local gay strip club, in his post! Scrolling through the hundreds of thirsty comments, one stood out:

"Damn girl, you finally come out and play on our side? 😜 Are you, like, actually gay now or what?"

Alec replied instantly: "Duh sis, OBVIOUSLY! Couldn't hide this fabulously gay ass any longer. 🍑 Time to let my freak flag fly at Bare Essentials later! Who wants to be my first dance partner? ☺️🎉"

Your eyes widen. Was this real? What the fuck happened? You quickly text Alec asking him what the happened. Awkwardly congratulating him on coming out. Within seconds, he replies.

"Thank you for everything. I owe you big time for introducing me to Flex Fitness. Turns out, it helped me discover my TRUE self! 🌈 I'm officially out and proud now. Quit that boring job and ended things with Amy. She didn't deserve the real me anyway. I want YOU to meet me at Bare Essentials tomorrow night, 10pm. Let's celebrate together, cutie!"

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Something was wrong... there was no way... yet you couldn't help but pull up Alec's latest thirst trap. Taking in the sight of his impressive ass. Fuck...

____________________

The next evening, you nervously entered Bare Essentials, your heart pounding as you navigated the dimly lit hallway to the locker room. You pushed open the door and spotted Alec immediately, hunched over in front of a locker.

"Alec? Is that really you?" you sputtered, hardly recognizing your formerly strait-laced coworker. The piercing... the tattoo above his ass... the slight stubble...

Alec spun around, a brilliant smile spreading across his face, "I'm so glad you came!" He enveloped you in a tight hug, his bare chest pressing against you, "I know, I know, it's a lot to take in. But I feel so free, so alive!"

He turned slowly, letting you drink in the changes. The new piercings glinted in his ears and a tattoo adorned the smooth skin above his pert ass.

"I got these yesterday, to celebrate my new life. My authentic self." Yet you noticed his eyes were glazed over again... this time more evidently... not a single gear turning in that brain of his...

Alec shimmied into a glittery G-string, the scrap of material barely covering his manhood.

"So, whaddya think of the new me? Ready to watch me slay on stage?" He winked salaciously, striking a pose.

"Alec, I..." You do your best to keep eyes from glancing down at that incredible ass, "Something isn't..." But the words die in your throat as he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"After the show, I'll find you. My place is close by." His voice dripping with lust, "Now, what were you gonna say?"

You gulp, your dick straining in your shorts, "No-nothing... I..." His lips collide with yours and you stifle a moan as you lean into the kiss.

"See you later..." He breaks the kiss and winks.

You can only watch as he saunters away to the stage. His ass jiggling with every step. Something was wrong. Something wasn't right. But later that night, as he threw you into bed, you weren't going to ruin the moment.

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anonymous1233211 · 17 days ago

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Hey I really wanna be a cool mofo like my neighbor. He’s always decked out in leather like a Tom of Finland Character, tall black boots, leather jacket, riding on his motorcycle… can you help

“I wish I was like my neighbour,” you breathe, rubbing the mysterious thrifted lamp with near-desperation.

There’s a burst of thick smoke that stinks like gasoline and smoke. “Well, he had to earn it, boy,” says a genie right out of a Tom of Finland fantasy, with a bulge the size of your head and a lantern jaw to match. “He had to fuckin’ train for it. And I think,” the genie pauses, hearing the revving of a motorcycle engine outside, “he’s ready to take on his own apprentice.”

There’s a rush of wind on your face and, when it fades, you find yourself in an alien bedroom. Racks of leather gear line the walls, black and shining to match the dozens of boots lined up neatly in front of them. The sight and smell of all that leather has you chubbing up in the confines of your leather jock…

You look down, and gasp to see a pale, slender chest and belly leading down to a slutty leather jockstrap. You rush to the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed, unstable in your creaking chaps, and look at the leather boy you’ve become. Handsome, but in a pretty way, with angelic curls framing your face and barely hardened by the sluttiest possible leather gear.

Loud footfalls on the stairs. Gruff voices in the hall. You remember you’re in Daddy Tom’s house, your boring old bedroom in the next house over. The door swings open, and Daddy Tom looks you over, his muir cap shadowing his eyes so that he’s all bushy handlebar moustache. “Ready boy?” he asks.

Behind him, a leather daddy who looks suspiciously like the genie steps into view, a cigar clamped in his jaw.

“Time for your special training,” your daddy purrs, and your cock and hole twitch.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.

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anonymous1233211 · 18 days ago

Text

Bad Boy to Prep

Deck leaned against the wall, puffing away on his cigarette with a nonchalant air as if the school and its rules were miles away. The morning air was crisp, but he was enveloped in a haze of smoke and indifference. Deck heard firm footsteps approaching, knowing immediately it was Mr. Thompson the school guidance counselor. Deck, barely glancing his way, sighed with annoyance, exhaling another plume of smoke.

“Declan, would you please put that out and come to my office?” Mr. Thompson asked.

Deck rolled his eyes, “It’s Deck. And yeah whatever I’ll swing by later.” He exhaled another puff.

Mr. Thompson made eye contact and stated firmly, “I meant now.”

Deck, for a split second, felt a tingle down his spine. He put out his cigarette and said “Lead the way, dude.”

Mr. Thompson motioned for Deck to sit in the seat across from his desk. Deck slumped down, not wanting to be here any longer than he needed to be. Mr. Thompson took his seat at his neatly organized desk.

“Thank you for joining me Declan,” Mr. Thompson began.

“Not like I had a choice. And it’s Deck.” Deck said curtly.

“Right. ‘Deck.’” Mr. Thompson said hesitantly, “I wanted to talk to you about some things.”

Deck sighed, “Get on with it.”

“You need to stop smoking, Deck. It’s bad for your health. You also need to start dressing better and acting appropriately.” Mr. Thompson replied.

“Fuck that. This is who I am.” Deck said.

Mr. Thompson made direct eye contact with Deck, “Do not curse.”

With another slight shiver down his spine, Deck responded, “Okay.”

Deck felt weird. After Mr. Thompson told him not to curse, it’s like he suddenly was not able to. He couldn’t even think of a curse word. Deck brushed the weird feeling away and asked,

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

Mr. Thompson cracked a small smile. He made direct eye contact with Deck and said, “Start by using your real name. You are not ‘Deck’, you are Declan.”

“... I am Declan,” Declan mumbled. For a split second he could’ve sworn he got another weird feeling...

“You think you can do that Deck?” Mr. Thompson interrupted his thoughts.

“It's Declan, I don’t go by ‘Deck’. And do what?” Declan replied.

Smiling Mr. Thompson, made direct eye contact once again and said, “You need to change your clothes. You hate being unkempt and dirty.”

Before he could process the weird feeling, Declan stood up and looked down at his clothes with disgust.

“What am I wearing?” Declan exclaimed. “Dude, do you have a change of clothes? These are awful!”

Mr. Thompson, making eye contact with him said, “I do. You will wear them. They feel perfectly correct.”

Declan nodded and immediately grabbed the clothes. Not caring for Mr. Thompson’s presence, he immediately stripped to his underwear. He immediately began to put on the pastel polo shirt. He felt the comfort of the collar on his neck and thought, wow this feels great!

Following the polo, he pulled up the khaki shorts and absent mindedly tucked his shirt in. Mr. Thompson also provided new shoes too, boat shoes that he quickly put on.

“These clothes are so much better. Uh, thanks man.” Declan said to Mr. Thompson.

Mr. Thompson looked into his eyes, “You speak respectfully and eloquently.”

Declan paused for a second and responded, “Thank you, sir. I greatly appreciate your generosity.”

“You’re welcome Declan. You are a changed man. Respectable for society.” Mr. Thompson continued looking into his eyes.

“Yeah… respectable…” Declan trailed off.

“Declan. You need a better haircut, one suitable for a preppy like yourself. Allow me to provide it.” Mr. Thompson continued.

Declan let the words register before saying, “Mr. Thompson, would you be so obliged to provide me with a haircut suitable for me?”

Mr. Thompson nodded and pulled out a set of clippers from his desk. He began to make quick work of “Deck’s” hair, crafting a preppy hairstyle for Declan.

Declan stood proudly, now sporting a preppy hairstyle. Mr. Thompson beamed at his work of art. Mr. Thompson enjoyed “guiding” students to become better versions of themselves.

“Declan,” Mr. Thompson made eye contact, “You have always been a good preppy boy. You are respectful and do no wrong. Off to class.”

Declan smiled, “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Your words are truly meaningful. Have a good day!”

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anonymous1233211 · 18 days ago

Text

"Hi!"

"Aehm, morning."

"Hard work, isn´t it?"

"Yeah ..." - is this guy fliting with me?

"Thanks for your service!" Uuuh what a hottie!!

Wow, this is heavy, but when I help this sweet muscle guy, he might talk to me again ...

Oh shit!!!!

"Need a hand, lad?"

"Oh god, this is so embarrassing! I am just not as strong as you are ... thanks a lot! Do you want a tea, maybe?"

"Sounds good to me ..."

"You are sweet, you know that?"

"Oh, and you are hot ... uuuh, did I really say that??"

"You think so? You like my gear?"

"Look great - on you!"

"I have a spare outfit in the car. Just in case you want to try...

"I don´t know ..."

"See, looks great!"

"Haha, it's fun for sure!"

"And with that outfit, you should drink a beer, no tea!"

"Okay, cheers!"

"Just keep drinking!"

"Feeling better already? Don´t answer, just drink up!"

"Filling the gear nicely!"

"That will finish the look ..."

"Yeah, dude, I mean ... fuck, shave that wool off!"

"Already happening!"

"See, and that's how we recruit new members!"

"Yeah, dude, why not ... you have more beer?"

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anonymous1233211 · 22 days ago

Text

Hey posh boy!

Oh, leave me alone you scum!

Scum? Oh, really?

Oh, bloddy hell!

Let's see, who's scum, poshy!

What have you done to me, you freak???

Me?? Nothing, poshy ...

FUUUUCK!

DUDE, make it stop!

Stop what?

Hehe, looks like you are 'scum' now, too

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anonymous1233211 · 22 days ago

Text

„Ole, hiding doesn’t protect you,” Samir said gently, his grip warm, steady. “It just traps you.”

Ole didn’t meet his eyes. His curly hair fell like a curtain, as if he still hoped to disappear behind it.

“But I’m not like you,” he murmured. “I don’t look—strong. I don’t feel proud. I just feel… wrong.”

Samir smiled. Not mockingly. Not even knowingly. Just solid, calm, real.

“You don’t have to look like me to be proud. You don’t have to be loud. You just have to show up. For yourself.”

He held Ole’s hand a little tighter.

“Pride isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming fully yourself. Come on. Step out of that curtain. I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time, Ole didn’t let go.

Ole sat perfectly still, shoulders tense, as Samir gently parted his curls.

“Trust me,” Samir said, voice calm and warm. “You don’t have to be like anyone else. But you deserve to feel free.”

The cold tingle of the oil kissed Ole’s scalp. He shivered. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe something else. Something beginning.

He wanted to ask again if this was reversible. If this was smart. If this was him. But Samir’s hand was steady. And that smile—genuine, proud—said more than words could.

Ole exhaled. Just once. And let it happen.

Ole’s face was frozen in a mixture of disbelief, panic, and awe. His hands clutched together like he was praying for it all to be a dream.

“Permanent?” he finally managed to croak, staring at Samir’s gleaming dome. “As in… forever?”

Samir only laughed, clapping his friend's broad back. “Forever, brother. Fresh forever. White forever. Proud forever.”

Ole’s fingers slowly reached up to touch the top of his own head—slick, smooth, not a hint of stubble. Not even a shadow.

He had made the decision. But he hadn’t quite understood what it meant.

Now he did.

Ole stood in the late afternoon light, the sun catching the smooth, pale arc of his scalp. One hand rested on his head—as if searching, maybe even hoping, for some trace of the curls that once defined him. There was none. Just a blank, pristine surface.

The cigarette hung loosely between his lips, forgotten.

The voice in his head whispered doubts: Was this really pride? Or just pressure?

But the wind against his bare crown felt... freeing.

He didn’t have the answer. Not yet.

One year later, and Ole’s head still gleamed like polished marble under the lights—untouched by sun or stubble. The tan line, stark and unapologetic, had become part of him. Like the leather shirt. Like the cigar. Like the quiet, new confidence behind his furrowed brow.

He didn’t need to say it aloud.

Pride wasn’t loud.

It was smooth. It was permanent. It was his.

Two polished crowns, two beating hearts, one moment—undeniable.

The leather, the strength, the transformation—none of it had been about style alone. It had been a journey, through fear, through pressure, through permanent choices. But here they stood, Samir and Ole, skin gleaming in the sun, lips meeting in a kiss that didn’t care who watched.

Because pride wasn’t about appearances. It was about truth. And it was love.

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anonymous1233211 · 22 days ago

Text

Commission for a friend.

A body suit and mask theme with Derek Hale from Teen Wolf becoming David from Dead by Daylight.

Derek could hear Stiles in his gaming room. Talking to himself as he played his game. It was cute, Derek would think. Hearing Stiles commentary, especially whenever his boyfriend would get jumpscared in his game. Derek wasn't one for video games himself, but he was supportive of Stiles and his hobby.

“Ugh he's so fucking hot.” Derek's ears perked up when he heard Stiles saying this.

“Dude, did you see how his ass looks in those pants?” He hears Stiles ask the friend he was gaming with.

“I know! The designers knew exactly what they were doing when they made these pants for him.” He hears Stiles laugh.

It wasn't the first time Stiles has been attracted to a video game character. His boyfriend often had crushes on several different characters based on whatever game he was playing. Derek normally didn't mind. In fact he was happy to listen to Stiles ramble on about the characters he liked. Sometimes he even agrees and can see why the character is attractive.

Derek wondered what character Stiles had become engrossed with this time. Curious, he gets up and goes to join Stiles in his game room. Opening the door, Stiles would usually greet him. However this time Stiles seemed more focused on the game. It didn't bother him since Derek assumed he was fixated on his match. But he notices on the screen that Stiles wasn't in a game. No, Stiles looked like he was on some character screen where a muscular man was featured. Derek pauses, eyeing the man from behind Stiles.

The character was a little buffer than Derek from what he could tell. His brown hair cut in a short style with an equally short beard covering his rugged face. The guy's face looked a bit rough in Derek's opinion. Like the guy had been in one too many fights and wasn't your conventionally attractive type of character.

Stiles was spinning the character's model around as the character wore these white pants. His boyfriend still going on about the guy's ass.

“Dude they should have jiggle physics in this game.” Stiles comments to his friend.

“If I'm playing killer and have a David in my lobby dressed like this I'd just follow them around the whole match watching those ass cheeks clapping as he runs.” Stiles and his friend both laugh.

Derek clears his throat after a moment of still not being noticed by Stiles. The smaller man turns and gives Derek a quick. ‘oh hey Der.’ Before he turns back to his computer screen. Derek bristles a little, feeling a little. Well he wouldn't say jealous because that would be absurd.

Derek rolls his eyes and moves to sit on the chair near Stiles. Derek would sometimes sit here to watch Stiles game. But this time he did so to see just why Stiles was fixated so much on this fictional character.

‘Have you seen how he looks in his rugby shorts?’ Stiles’ friend. Who Derek realizes is Danny that Stiles, is playing with. says over the mic.

“Oh no let me look real quick.” Before Stiles could though the two must get pulled into a game. Because Stiles mentions how he will have to look after the match starts. Derek sits there and watches. Stiles running around the map as this David character. Danny too was playing as this guy because he would see another different version of David come on Stiles computer screen.

Derek grew annoyed for some reason while hearing Stiles continue to talk about this character's attractiveness. With Danny encouraging it with his own infatuated comments about the character. Hell, Derek was getting so bitter he was wanting the killer of this match to find the two and take them down just so he could see the character Stiles was obsessing over being injured.

To Derek's dismay though, the killer of the match seemed to take a liking to the pair. Because Derek sees the killer nodding their head at them and Stiles laughs and comments how even the killer must love David.

‘Stiles look at his charms!’ Derek hears Danny says.

Derek groans to himself and gets up. Trying to ignore Danny and Stiles fanning over how the killer has a David King charm on his hook.

‘Get yourself together Derek.’ the werewolf scolds himself.

There was no reason for him to be acting this way all because of Stiles finding a video game character hot. It wasn't the first time his boyfriend was attracted to a character and it wouldn't be the last. So Derek just needed to get over whatever this bit of jealousy he felt was over it. Besides, Stiles tended to jump from character to character whenever he played a different game. So Derek is sure this would be the same as before. With Stiles jumping from being so into this David King character when his boyfriend would find another attractive character to fawn over.

Only Stiles' obsession over this character seemed to grow from there. Over the week Derek found Stiles on his computer more often than he would be normally. With him and Danny playing that damn Dead by Daylight game and the pair still rambling on about David this and David that.

Stiles has even started to buy merchandise of the character that he uses to decorate his gaming room with. Derek opens the current piece of mail to see it's an artwork someone drew of David in his rugby uniform. The werewolf scowls down at the artwork as if it personally offended him. He extends his index finger's claw tempted to scratch the artwork. Nut he refrains from doing so to avoid upsetting his boyfriend. Instead he just growls softly to himself and then marches into the game room to deliver the artwork to Stiles. Who of course, was playing that damn game.

“Yeah, I think if we keep playing as we have been we could both get him to prestige 100.” Stiles says over his headset.

Derek had no idea what he was talking about. He comments about Stiles having mail and hands it over before leaving. Not caring to hear Stiles fawning over the artwork. The werewolf is curious though what Stiles meant about prestiging. So he googles it. Learning that in Dead by Daylight perstiging a character to 100 was to show how much you loved that character. As well as how it tended to be a long grinding process that could take someone months to do.

Derek felt his eye twitch with agitation. The idea of Stiles being so obsessed with this character for months really annoys him. Surely Stiles wouldn't be right? There has been several characters since this David one that Stiles was fixated on. Only for Stiles to then lose interest in the character.

‘Get over yourself Derek.’ The werewolf tells himself.

He needed to stop being so bitter and jealous and just let Stiles have his fun. Derek was acting like David King was a real person and not a character in a video game. It wasn't like Derek had to worry about Stiles dumping him for a video game character after all. So he had no reason to be acting like this towards a fictional person like they were competition. So despite being annoyed still Derek doesn't let it bother him, mostly. He listens to Stiles rambles, letting him show off his merchandise he gets of David.

Derek does like seeing Stiles happy like this. Telling himself that it's worth it to see his boyfriend so happy like he is. However when Dedek wakes up one night and finds Stiles had dozed off in his computer chair he carries the smaller man to bed.

“Hmmm thanks David.” Stiles murmurs in his sleep.

Derek froze, his mouth turning up into a silent snarl. Oh he was tempted to drop the smaller man on the bed. Because did Stiles really just call him freaking David?! This was it for the werewolf he was trying to indulge in Stiles' interest here, but enough was enough. He was going to have a talk with him about being a little too invested in this game and the character he was lusting after at this point. While Derek felt himself loathing the character even more now.

‘Stupid British bastard.’ Derek thought to himself as he got back in bed and tried to get some sleep.

The next morning Derek found he overslept than he normally would. So Stiles had already left for work that morning. He did find a cute little note his boyfriend left for him and that did help quell some of the annoyance Derek felt towards the younger man from the night before. It wasn't a big deal getting worked up over Derek supposes. So he doesn't bother talking to Stiles like he planned to. He goes about his day doing the house work when a knock comes to the door. When Derek goes to answer it the person had already left. Leaving a large box leaning against the side of the front door.

‘Odd, he doesn't recall Stiles mentioning having a package being delivered.’ Derek thought to himself.

He would think Stiles would tell him at least. Especially with this being a rather large box. He checks the name and sees it addressed to him weirdly enough. Derek frowns because he knows he certainly hadn't ordered anything. He brings the box inside and lays it on the couch. Using his claws to cut through the packaging tape. Derek opens the box to pull out another box.

This secondary box was black with a familiar logo on the front of it. Derek pauses because he knows this logo from somewhere. It clicks a moment later that it's from Stiles’ Dead by Daylight game that he plays. Had Stiles ordered something from them but had used Derek's name?

The werewolf opens the box and he startles, jumping back a little when he sees a face staring up at him.

“Oh shit.” He mutters, calming down when he realizes it's just a mask.

A very realistic looking mask. Derek then notices the full contents that are in the box. Seeing that it seems to be a full body costume of a man. Not just any man no, but a very familiar man.

“Oh you have to be kidding me.” Derek groans.

Of course it's a skin suit of David King. No doubt Stiles had ordered it, but still it was odd that his boyfriend ordered under Derek's name. No, what was weird was why Stiles felt the need to order this monstrosity. Derek grabs the mask and looks at it. Feeling the leathery latex of it under his touch.

“Ugly bastard.” Derek murmurs to the mask. Dropping it to the side on the counter.

He rummaged through the box, pulling aside the rest of the rubbery suit. Derek wanted to see if there was any sort of card or note within the box. But it didn't appear to be anything like that. Nor a receipt that would tell him just how much Stiles had spent on the suit.

It must have been somewhat expensive since from what little Derek felt of the suit it wasn't made of a cheap type of leather. Nor did it feel like it was made from any kind of pleather either. It felt thick and somewhat smooth to the touch. Showing how the suit had been made with high quality materials. Even the hair and beard on the mask looked realistic like the rest of the skin suit. Derek picks the mask up and runs his hand along the hair and then the beard of the mask.

The hair didn't feel fake or unpleasant. It sort of felt like how his hair would feel after he washed it and his hair dried. Derek wonders why Stiles would order this since it looked too big to fit the smaller man. So it wasn't like Stiles intended to use it for a cosplay.

Derek recalls Stiles having cosplayed some characters in the past, so the suit could be for that purpose. But why would Stiles order a rubber-latex based suit of David if he planned to? No doubt wearing this out for a while would make someone feel hot.

‘Unless he ordered it by mistake.’ Derek muses.

“Ugh, who cares the damn thing is freaking creepy!” Derek exclaims.

His boyfriend was an oddball so it shouldn't be a surprise he would order something like this. It was a reason Derek loved Stiles. Being unique and doing things differently. He sighs and goes to put the mask and suit back in the box to take a photo of them. So he can send them to Stiles to let him know it arrived. However he pauses when he catches a strange scent. Leaning down he sniffs the mask and recoils when he realizes that the mask has this musky scent to it.

He picks up the suit and sniffs it as well. Making a disgruntled expression when he smells how it too smelt very musky. Almost like whoever made this suit had worn it and sweated a lot while they wore it.

“That's disgusting.” Derek says to himself.

He grabs the mask and suit with the intent to try and clean them. How he would clean them he doesn't know. Nor does he know why he had the idea to try. He guesses it's so Stiles wouldn't have to do it himself.

Although wouldn't it be better if Derek told Stiles and they just send the suit back to get a new one? Since this one was obviously used. That would be the most logical, but Derek feels almost compelled to just clean the mask and suit himself. He is sure Stiles would appreciate it after all. This way if Derek can clean it and remove the weird musky scent scent from the suit and mask. Then Stiles could do whatever it is he has planned for this thing.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs. “The things I do for you.” Derek says to himself.

Derek grabs the suit and mask. Carrying them through the apartment into their bedroom. Derek intended to take them into the bathroom but he pauses once he's in the bedroom. He swore he heard something just now. It was like this faint noise. He sets the mask and suit on the foot of the bed and checks his phone. Thinking maybe it was a notification of some kind. When he sees that there wasn't one his frown deepens.

He knows he heard something, didn't he? He shakes his head telling himself he may have just been hearing a neighbor or something. He lays his phone on the dresser and goes to look for what he could use to clean the mask with first. When Derek gets back to the bedroom, the David mask seems to have moved. Derek swore he tossed it on top of the body suit. Yet it laid next to it by itself. Again, Derek tells himself maybe he is mistaken. He has been a bit stressed out lately and in his own emotions over Stiles antics.

‘Stop overthinking things.’ He tells himself.

Derek grabs the mask and recoils a little. He swears the musky scent has gotten more pungent. Before it was just this faint aroma. But not the musk was more prominent.

“Yeah, you definitely need a good soapy soak.” Derek says to the mask.

He finds himself just standing there for a moment. Looking into the blank eye holes of the mask. Derek feels like he is staring into someone's gaze. Which was a crazy thought given how Derek was looking at a mask. He tugs a little at the mask and sees how stretchy it is. Before running his fingers through the soft brown hair and then the beard. The hair and beard did feel rather nice to touch. Derek isn't sure why he gets the idea. Or why he humors the idea of putting the mask on. Especially given the stench that is coming off of the rubber mask.

Something in Derek tells him to disregard that. How he could always shower afterwards. Telling himself he should try the mask on now when it's just him at the apartment. Since Stiles probably would make too many jokes if Derek were to wear it in front of him. With that as the reasoning, Derek pulls the mask carefully over his head. He takes a moment to properly adjust the mask. Making sure he has the mask aligned with his face so he can see through the eye holes well enough. It was weird since the mask was a bit loose.

So the mask drooped a little on Derek. Making it clear he was wearing a mask with how exposed his eyes, nose, and mouth were through it.

“Well, this is something.” Derek mutters.

He walks over to the mirror to look at his reflection. Sure enough as he thought he looks like an idiot. It was like Derek was a freakish face stealer like one would see in a cheap horror movie. He couldn't help chuckle to himself, turning his head side to side as he looked himself over. Making comments about what a dumb brute David looks like and how the mask captures that fairly well.

Derek even go as far to say a few ridiculous comments in a fake British accent.

“Oi! Yeah wanna fuckin go mate?!” Derek blurts out, his voice coming out in a deeper tone. As well as having this thick English accent to it.

This of course startled him with the angry emotion he put into that impression. Not even knowing he could do an accent that sounded as good as that.

How odd he acted out like that. He quickly disregards it and goes to take the mask off. But he ends up pausing when he gives himself another look in the mirror. Looking at his reflection Derek finds that the mask doesn't look too bad on him. In fact if it was his size he probably would look even better wearing it.

“I mean, my hot body and this mask make for a good duo.” Derek comments.

He sticks his tongue through the mouth of the mask. Licking it along the mustache. A shudder goes through Derek over how good that felt. His cock throbbing in his pants with how much he enjoyed it. Prompting Derek to do it a few more times as he brings his hand up to rub along that mask’s beard.

“Mmm feels nice.” Derek says to himself.

Derek could admit that he did enjoy the way beards felt. That being a reason he would sometimes grow his beard out. But this? This feels so much better than that. Derek moans softly to himself while his hands continue to gingerly rub through the mask's beard. Doing so just makes his cock throb more and become erect. Absent-mindedly Derek's hand drifts down to his crotch and he begins to fondle his erected cock through his pants. Seeming to be lost in his own little fantasy at that moment.

This was quite nice the more he let himself indulge. He was so invested in what he was doing that the musky stench that the mask was covered in didn't seem to bother Derek anymore. It was oddly enticing in a way the more Derek inhaled the potent musk. Derek takes a deep breath to inhale the stench of the mask. Another moan escapes him and he can't help but smile to himself.

“Look at me. So fucking sexy.” Derek comments.

He wasn't a vain man. So for Derek to stand here in front of the mirror and be so engrossed in his looks was out of character for the werewolf. In fact Derek didn't like people who were so self absorbed. It was why he never liked Jackson. Yet here he was slowly undressing himself and tossing his clothing aside until all he wore was the David mask.

He starts to flex his arms. Thinking about how he should start hitting the gym again to get his muscles bigger like they used to be. His attention of course then quickly shifts to his aching hard on. With his attention falling back to the David mask he was still wearing. Derek adjusts it a little and thinks it looks better on him.

“Damn, I'm so fucking horny.” He grunts. He turn his attention behind him and his eyes fall to the body suit. He sees the ass of the suit is facing upwards. The ass of it looked like it had some padding in it. Giving Derek a silly idea. The werewolf saunters over to the body suit. Positioning himself as he pulls the suit further up on the bed. Moving it so it was perfectly underneath Derek. With the werewolf slowly grinding his hips against the back of the suit. Treating it as if it were a man.

“Tch, think you're a big tough guy?” Derek begins with.

“Stiles rambles on and on about how tough a man you are, yet you're just a piece of fiction.” Derek had no idea why he was talking to the David body suit like it was a person. But he rolls with it anyway. The taunting comments seem to be turning him on more.

“I’m a literal alpha and you're just a skin suit of nothing.” Derek smirks and begins to hump the backside of the David suit. Any shame and embarrassment he might have felt by acting on these urges towards an inanimate object were fleeting from Derek’ mind. His lust gets the best of him the more he thrusts into the body suit. Grunting and moaning deeply. His tongue lulled out of the mouth hole of the mask.

Derek is so caught up in his actions he doesn't realize how the mask is starting to constrict around his head. Slowly the mask becomes less baggy and loose as it starts to properly fit around him. Although it was still a bit loose on his head, not like it was before. Derek starts licking around his mouth. Once more enjoying the way the fake beard tickles his tongue. His eyes go cross and heavy amounts of saliva start to run down Derek’s tongue. The werewolf seemingly consumed by his intense lustful haze he has put himself into.

“Yeah. Yeah take my fucking cock!” He growls.

His thrusts become more vigorous. His noises are deeper. His hands twisted in the bedsheets and he didn't let up his thrusts. Swearing it feels like he is actually fucking David’s ass instead of a flat body suit. The suit must have been entangled in his cock, since Derek feels it enveloped around his cock as he reaches his orgasm. That made this even more enticing for the werewolf. Feeling like he was wearing a condom around his sensitive shaft.

Derek has no idea why he is doing any of this. This isn't like him to act on such emotions. Especially ones like he currently was that were of character for him. It just felt too good for him to stop now. When he can feel his heavy balls starting to churn. His orgasm slowly builds up within him.

“Yeah. Oh Yeah!” he exclaims.

“Damn, this is so fucking hot.” He grunts, his voice sounding deeper.

I'm so fucking hot!” Derek then boasts about himself.

Derek’s thrusts become vigorous as he grows desperate to experience his orgasm that has been building up. He’s very close, his mind filled with images of dominating David King. Imagining how the fictional man would be a groveling pleading bitch as he begs for Derek’s cock. Derek’s smirk widens, his eyes flaring red, before going cross eyed as he slams his hips into the bodysuit once more.

Derek roars loudly, uncaring who hears him. His load gushes from his cock, spraying all inside the bodysuit. Derek keeps thrusting the suit a few more times as he pants like an exhausted beast. He starts to come down from his lustful daze. Realizing how snug the mask fits on him now. How it feels unpleasant and making him feel all hot. He starts to tug at the mask to pull it off.

Derek had to work the mask some to shimmy it up and then with a grunt finally pulled the damn thing off of his head.

“Must have gotten stuck to me when I sweated.” He muses.

Derek tosses the mask aside near the bodysuit. Wincing when he realizes how carried away he got with this. No doubt having even more of a mess to clean up now. He starts to get off the bed with the suit dragging behind him as it's still stuck to his crotch. For a moment Derek questioned why he had been so carried away and why he acted like that. None of that was how Derek would act even if he was that horny.

He figures it's just from all the pent up anger he's had with Stiles' fixation on David King and such. When he stands up the werewolf notices how the body suit doesn't drop to the floor like he thought it would. It remains stuck onto his crotch.

“What the hell?” He mutters.

Derek curses, wondering if really fucked the suit so hard that he fucked a hole into it. He goes to pull it off, immediately panicking when he realizes the suit is stuck to him.

“Shit!” he exclaims.

Using both hands Derek tries to pull the suit off of his dick. He wonders for a moment I'd his body sweating is what made the suit stick to him like this. However that can't be it since Derek should easily be able to pull the suit off.

“Ha! Looks like ya in a predicament huh mate?” A deep and familiar voice echoes in Derek's head.

Making him pause and look around. Who, or what said that? Derek wonders.

“I don't have time for this!” Derek snarls in frustration.

He goes back to trying to pull the suit off him. It stretches outwards with his efforts, and like a rubber band it stretches enough before slipping from Derek's grip and smacking into him. He makes a disgruntled noise from the impact of the suit smacking him. It then dawns on him that the suit seems to be more stuck on him. Before it was just his dick stick inside the ass of the bodysuit. But now the suit somehow was stuck to his upper thighs as well.

Derek is caught up with what is going on and he doesn't think about the voice he hears. He tries to pull the suit off him once more. But like before it shows to not do anything. He stands there thinking what to do. He needed to get this off him and cleaned up before Stiles got home. Derek’s pulled from his inner thoughts by his lower half tingling.

Glancing down he swears he sees the bodysuit starting to stretch and mold around more of his legs. Derek’s eyes widen and he wonders if he's seeing things. But the voice from earlier echoes in his head.

“Not a daydream mate.” The voice. Why does Derek feel he knows this voice?

He looks at the mask and sees it looking at him. The cold realization smacked him right then.

“I guess ya ain't as thick headed as I am.” the voice says and then laughs.

Derek shudders and dread pools through him. There was no way this was real. There was no way that the body suit of David King his boyfriend bought had entrapped him like this. Was this some kind of dream? No, it couldn't be a dream. Derek ran his hand through his hair. Trying to wonder what to do about this.

“Oi, nothing ya can do mate.” The David voice says.

“Might as well kick back and enjoy the take over as you become me!” David laughs.

“Shut up!” Derek growls at the mask. Baring his fangs at it. He would tear it to shreds but he worries if touching the mask now would have it getting stuck on him like the body suit was. The suit part of the costume still feels it crawling on him. His right legs became fully wrapped up in the pants legs. The rubbery material started to stick to the skin of his leg. Feeling like Derek was wearing a too small pants leg over it.

Derek tries to extend his claws to destroy the suit to get it off of him. Slashing at the suit proved to do nothing. Almost like the suit couldn't be torn and destroyed in any way. This adding to Derek’ frustrations and his panic grows when his left leg is then consumed by the pants leg of the suit.

The rubber suit knits along his back side and Derek feels it slowly starting to cover his ass. While it did he felt his ass jiggle with both his cheeks ballooning up slightly in size. His hands move to grab along his asscheeks, feeling just how thick the suit has made his ass.

“Damn, and I thought you had a perfect ass before!” David's voice comments.

“But no surprise I'd make ya even better.” He adds tauntingly.

“Listen here, I don't know what's going on or what dark magic this shit is, but I'm not going to be taken over by a fucking bodysuit!” Derek exclaims adamantly.

He falters a moment after speaking when he feels his cock throbbing. Glancing down he sees his dick thickening in size. Getting longer and the girth of it becomes a lot fatter. No doubt Dere would need to really take the time to prep a guy’s ass if he wanted to fuck him. The idea of having a dick this big was very enticing he could admit. However, he couldn't let himself fall for this obvious trap. He needed to keep his head clear and be resilient to not let himself be tempted.

Derek thinks the suit’s take over will be a lot slower now since he wouldn't think it could reach his upper body. He's then proved wrong when the suit moves on its own. The left arm sleeve of the body suit lunging up and ensnaring around Derek’s left arm. Coiling around it like a rubber serpent. Derek reacts on instinct and tries to pull it off. The more he tugs the more the suit sticks to his left arm and hand. He tries to use his claws again. Thinking the they might pierce the suit if it tried to swallow his left hand in it. But Derek is proven wrong when his sharp claws immediately retract into dull fingernails and become fully engulfed by the left sleeve of the body suit.

“It was a nice try though so give ya self some credit there!” David’s voice was really starting to annoy him.

Derek feels the sleeve fully overtake his arm. Fitting over it like a glove. He opens and closes hismfist. Looking out how larger and rougher looking his hand was now covered in the suit. His skin prickles within the suit sleeve, the rubbery material clenching around his soft pale skin. Derek tries to pull at it and at first it was like tugging on something elastic. The more he tries the less stretchy the suit gets until he winces when he feels it starting to pinch him now.

His, his arm fused to the suit, which meant his lower half had done the same. The realization makes him realize he doesn't feel the rubber suit anymore on parts of his body that are covered up by it. It feels just like normal skin. Derek feels the room enclose around him and he tries to not panic. How can he not though? His body was being high jacked by a fucking freakish body suit of a fictional character he hated.

A dark thought crosses his mind. Did, did Stiles plan this? Was his boyfriend responsible for setting this all up for Derek to end up in this situation? It could explain why the package was addressed to him. As a way to get Derek to open the box.

‘No, Stiles wouldn't do this.’ Derek tells himself.

‘Something or someone else had to be.’ He is sure of it.

The right sleeve grabs ahold of Derek's right arm while he is distracted.

“Get off of me!” Derek shouts. Fighting with the suit. Refusing to allow himself to be consumed by the body suit.

“Why do you fight so hard Derek? I'm only trying to help you out here.” David says to Derek.

“Look at how much I've enhanced ya so far. Don't you like your bigger ass, your fatter dick, and the muscles I've granted you?”

‘Muscles?’ Derek thought.

He then feels a rippling sensation pulsating through his body, his left arm expands, his biceps getting larger. As the right arm is consumed by the rubber sleeve he feels the muscles within his right arm growing bigger as well. Once it has fully been pulled into the right sleeve of the suit does Derek feel his bicep expand like his left one did. Derek couldn't help thinking how comical he must look. With his arms so muscular and the floppy torso section of the suit still drooping lower on him. Since it hasn't latched on to try and fully take over the rest of his upper body.

With that thought Derek then feels it doing just that. The tickling sensation he had been feeling rippling through his bare torso. The torso section of the suit rises up as it sticks to Derek's pale skin. This time Derek can't bring himself to pull at it. Knowing now it'll just be him wasting his energy. As the rubber splits part to cover around him he feels it crawling up his chest and his back. Stopping just at the base of his neck. Derek’s nostrils flare, feeling his upper body fully expanding now with new muscle.

His chest and back widening outwards as he becomes more broader. His pecs ballooning outwards with them gaining mass onto them. The werewolf couldn't help but groan and think how this does feel nice. But then he berates himself for enjoying it.

Derek let out a frustrated groan, his mind conflicting now and was confused as to what he should do. He realizes something then. While he can't remove the body suit from himself he doesn't need to put the mask on. So there was no way for David to overtake him. This way Derek can enjoy his new body while he still is himself.

“But you enjoyed wearing me.” David tells him.

“No I didn't.” Derek snaps at the mask.

“Ya did, I know ya did. Ya can lie to yourself Der, but ya can't lie to me.” David says.

Derek refused to acknowledge the stupid mask. He wanted to turn away and leave. However his feet walk him forward towards the bed rather than to the bedroom door. Derek hovers above where the mask is laying. Starting down at the mask with a look of disgust.

The mask looks up at him with unblinking empty eyes. He recalls how it felt wearing the mask. The way it stretched around his head, how nice the beard felt when he licked his tongue along the mustache. His cock throbs in attention with these very intrusive thoughts. Derek tries to disregard them, but he can't seem to help himself.

He replays them in his head. But he stops himself after a moment. Knowing that this had to be some sort of trick. That the David mask was trying to influence him to put it on.

“Oi, ya say ya the best huh? Well why not prove it then.” David's voice whispers in Derek's head.

“I'm not humping this anymore.” Derek snaps.

He snatches the mask off the bed and is able to finally move how he wants to. He goes over to the window with the intention to throw the mask out of it. Only before Derek could the mask somehow stay firmly in his grasp. Derek looks at it, like before staring into the empty eye holes of the mask.

The pleasures Derek felt earlier when he first wore the mask hit him right then. It makes his dick sputter and a spurt of precum oozes from his fat dick head. Derek has to force himself to not bring the mask closer to his face. Knowing that is what it wants him to do. He ignores David's tempting words the mask is echoing in his mind.

“Come on mate, just put it back on.”

“You loved it. Don't you want to feel that pleasure again?”

“Imagine how much better it would feel this time now that you got a hotter body.”

“Think about it. Put the mask on and we can become one.”

As Derek listened to the mask talking in his head he slowly brought it closer to his face. He took a deep breath, his cock was painfully erect at this point and Derek couldn't deny his urges any more. He brings the mask up and starts to carefully pull it over his head. Immediately feeling the mask shimming downwards as if to help him put it fully on. He adjusts the mask when it has it fully on. His face felt warm from the rubbery mask starting to massage and stick to his face.

“Ooooh fuck!” Derek moans.

His tongue sticks out through the mouth hole again and he licks across the mustache of the mask. The bristles of the fake facial hair taking root through the rubber mask onto Derek’s skin. Slowly the hairs become real. While the mask starts to infuse itself to Derek’s head. His and David’s features start melding into one. Derek brings his hands up, gently massaging his face. Helping to have the mask stick to him quicker.

“Hey, it feels good doesn't it?”

“No more fighting each other. But we work together instead.”

David’s voice stops echoing in Derek’s head as he speaks then. Instead his voice comes from Derek’s mouth. As if it was him speaking instead.

Derek wanders over to the mirror in the room. Looking closely at his morning face. His features at the moment look like a perfect fusion of himself and David’s. But as the moments tick by Derek can see more of David’s features starting to take over. To the point it doesn't even look like Derek is even wearing a mask. His hands touch his face and he doesn't feel any rubber texture anymore like before. Only the soft skin of his new handsomely rugged face. Derek grins, wondering why he was being such a coward about denying himself this.

“Fuck, I’m hotter than ever now!” He says with a deep laugh following. He lifts his massive arms up, revealing the thick underarm hair he has. Leaning his face closer he inhales his own ripe musk. Sticking his wide tongue out and licking his own sweaty pits.

“To think I was so against this. When I'm even better now as both.” Derek still recalls his old self, yet he feels he likes the idea of being David King more. It was exciting, seeing the rush of memories of David as they filled his head. His desires and wants become Derek's own. Urges that Derek finds himself that he would gladly indulge himself in.

He thinks about Stiles wondering how his boyfriend will react when he sees that Derek has turned into his fictional crush David King. He grins widely at the idea of Stiles seeing him. Of the smaller man worshiping David while David has his fun with the smaller man. It had been so long since David had fucked another man and Stiles would be the perfect guy to break this dry spell. Now that David had a body of his own he was going to relish in doing all the things he used to do. More and more as he thought these things, Derek’s old identity started to face further into the back of his mind.

David’s mental influence taking over the body. So it was as if Derek had always been David King. Even his werewolf side started to evaporate. The beast in him is dismissed into nothing but a distant memory now. Truly making Derek Hale nothing but a long forgotten memory while David King takes his claim.

“And just like always. The King reigns supreme.” David says and then lets out a deep boastful laugh. Going back to standing in front of the mirror to admire himself. His hand gripping his fat uncut shaft and pleasures himself to his new physical body he has taken for himself.

He places a hand on the mirror and leans in close so his forehead is resting against it. Replaying how good it felt as he took over and changed this body. He grunts and growls under his breath, jerking his cock vigorously. David uses Derek's memories and old self in general as a sort of fuel to strengthen his new body. His muscles expand more with veins bulging against his skin. Thick hair sprouts along David’s formally bare chest till he gains a thick hirsute covering his torso.

“Yeah, yeah more!” David growls.

He licks his lips, drools trickling from his mouth. His orgasm builds up deep within him and he doesn't dare hold it back. Thrusting forward, David roars loudly as he sprays the biggest load he has ever done all over the mirror. Expelling whatever might be left of Derek’s identity. Truly leaving only his new self as host of his new and improved body. David stands there panting with a grin on his face. His ears twitch when he hears a noise behind him. Turning to look he grins like a predator who has just caught his prey.

“Heyyy there love.” David says to a startled looking Stiles.

“Fancy a taste of your King?” David asks him. Not letting Stiles answer him as he stalks towards his new plaything.

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anonymous1233211 · 22 days ago

Text

Samir stood still, jaw clenched, as the voice of his coach cut through the heavy gym air like a whip. „You look like a shampoo commercial, Samir! You think the judges care about curls? They wanna see definition, symmetry – power! Not that prince-of-the-desert fantasy you’ve got going on up there!“

The trainer’s finger jabbed toward Samir’s forehead, then swirled in an impatient circle near his hairline. „I’m telling you this for your own good. You’re going to the barber. Today. No arguments.“

Samir didn’t answer. Not immediately. He was proud of his physique – and of the cascade of black curls that framed it. But in the rigid world of pro bodybuilding, where presentation was everything and queerness still had to be coded, his hair had always been his silent act of resistance.

And now that, too, was being challenged.

Samir stood in the locker room, fists clenched, jaw tight. His body radiated heat from the last round of posing drills, his muscles still gleaming with oil and effort. But it wasn’t the burn in his triceps or the ache in his lats that made his chest rise and fall like a storm surge.

It was the insult.

The command.

Cut your hair.

He stared at his reflection in the small, scratched mirror above the sink. The curls – thick, wild, powerful – cascaded over his shoulders like a black mane. They weren’t a distraction. They were his armor. His identity. His pride. He had grown them the moment he came out – a visible symbol of all the things he had once been told to hide.

And now this straight, steroid-dry coach wanted to take that from him too?

“I’m not a machine,” he growled to his reflection. “I’m not your idea of what a man should be.” The anger burned behind his eyes – but beneath it, a defiant fire had already begun to glow.

He wouldn’t go to the barber. But he would show the world what a real champion looked like.

One with curls.

Samir sat at the edge of the waiting bench, hands clasped so fest, his knuckles whitened against his dark skin. The smell of product, the faint hum of hairdryers, the glint of scissors – all of it made his stomach churn.

He didn’t fear pain. He didn’t fear failure.

But this? This felt like giving something up. Like losing a part of himself that had fought through shame, sweat, and silence. His curls were defiance. Freedom. A crown earned in a world that didn’t hand out thrones to men like him.

But Coach's voice rang in his head like a cracked whip:

“Fresh. Sharp. Competitive. Or you’re out.”

He had trained too hard to throw the season away. And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he cut now, he might be what gets thrown away.

A stylist called his name. He stood. Swallowed hard.

And walked toward the mirror.

The stylist’s voice was gentle, but confident.

“Don’t be nervous, man. We’re keeping the power, just making it fresh. Trust me—this is gonna look incredible.”

Samir gave a weak nod, still gripping his hands tight in his lap. The mirror before him reflected a man who had bent iron, lifted titles, and stood proud in every crowd—and yet here he was, feeling twelve years old and on the verge of tears.

“Just... don’t make me look like every other guy on stage,” he muttered, his voice rough with tension.

The stylist smiled knowingly, placing a reassuring hand on Samir’s broad shoulder.

“No chance. We’re not cutting your power. We’re shaping your statement.”

A quiet breath escaped Samir’s lips. He wasn’t sure if it was relief, or resignation.

“Okay. Breathe. It’s just hair. Hair grows back.”

Does it though? Will it ever feel the same? Will I feel the same?

The stylist didn’t say a word. Just focused, deliberate hands—parting, lifting, weighing. Samir’s eyes darteten zum Spiegel.

“What if I lose the look? What if I just become another ‘big guy’? What if I look... normal?”

He clenched his fingers tighter. His traps twitched.

“I worked years to be seen. To be exactly this. And now I’m trusting a man with clippers to define my outline?”

The stylist’s calm, professional focus only made the moment more intense. He hadn’t even picked up the scissors yet.

And still—something about the silence… Something about being cared for. Something about letting go.

“Maybe... fresh doesn’t mean less. Maybe it means forward.”

Still no scissors. Still no turning back. Just breath. And hair. And trust.

And there it was—the moment of no return. No angry protest, no last-minute mirror check, no “Yo, I changed my mind, bro”—just a drop. Then another. And another.

The oil, thick and golden, landed on Samir’s scalp with the ceremony of a sacred rite.

"For the scalp," the barber had said. "Helps with dryness. Makes things easier."

Of course, Samir assumed: It was just to detangle the curls. To cut. To take away. But then there was that tingling. Just a little. Like a gentle current seeping into his skin.

He sat still. Of course he did. Men like him always sat still. But inside?

"This is... weird."

Not unpleasant. Not painful. More like a whisper of a promise. As if something inside the oil was saying: "You think this is just about your hair. But it's about so much more."

What exactly—it wasn’t clear. But something had just begun.

Something was wrong. No snipping. No clippers. No buzzing shears.

And yet—his curls were falling.

Not being cut. Just… letting go. Sliding off his scalp like autumn leaves in slow motion.

The barber said nothing. Not a word. Just combed.

And Samir—Samir sat frozen. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Heart pounding.

He tried to speak. To shout. To protest.

But his voice? Gone. Like the hair that now clung to his cape.

Whatever had been in that oil… It was working.

Gone. All of it.

Not just the curls. Not just the volume. Not even the faintest hint of stubble.

Samir’s scalp was smooth—unnaturally smooth. No shadow, no trace, not even the ghost of a follicle.

The barber dabbed his head with a clean towel, as if polishing a gemstone. Whatever was in that oil… it didn’t just remove hair. It erased it.

Samir’s breath stuttered. He wanted to speak, to ask, to scream— But all he managed was a whisper in his head: What the hell was that stuff?

And more terrifying still: Was this… permanent?

"And there we go," the barber said cheerfully, placing both hands gently on Samir’s shoulders. "Perfect. You're not just fresh now—you're permanently fresh."

Samir blinked, eyes wide, mouth halfway open. "Permanent...?" he croaked.

"Oh yes," the barber nodded, admiring his work in the mirror. "The serum works right down to the follicles. No more hair. No more stubble. Ever." He smiled proudly, as if Samir had just won a trophy.

"And the best part?" He leaned in with a whisper. "Your scalp will always stay this smooth, this bright. Like it's been freshly shaved every morning. No tanning, no shadow. Just… clean."

Samir didn’t know whether to scream or sob.

Gone were the curls. Gone was the ritual. Gone was the mirror-staring, the oiling, the way he liked to flip his hair post-shower like a shampoo model with biceps.

Now… he looked like a marble bust. A very muscular one. And he had no idea if that was a good thing.

The barber gave him a wink. "Now go win that competition, champ."

One month later. No stubble. No shadow. No sign of change.

Samir stood in the middle of the street, hand resting on the smooth curve of his scalp, heart racing with the same disbelief he’d felt the moment the last curl hit the floor.

It hadn't grown back. Not even a hint. His scalp was still pale, polished like marble, unnaturally untouched by the sun. As if the follicles had never existed.

He had asked the barber. Twice. Three times. The answer had always been the same: “Permanent means permanent, my friend.”

He hadn’t believed it. He thought maybe it was an exaggeration, maybe something he’d sweat off after a few gym sessions. But no. This was real. Final.

Forever fresh.

And now he had to decide if he could live with it. If he could still be him. Without the hair, the flips, the glow.

Was he still Samir?

People stared as they passed. Some admired, some glanced and moved on. A few looked at him like he was some kind of sculpture.

He exhaled slowly. Then lowered his hand.

Maybe he was.

Another month passed. Still bald. Still smooth. Still pale.

But something had shifted.

Samir now ran his hand over his scalp not with disbelief—but with pride. It was a perfect dome, impossibly clean, always fresh. The contrast to his bronzed skin only made it more striking. And then there was the mustache. Oh, that mustache.

It had started as a playful rebellion. A bit of control reclaimed. But it grew thick, bold, and unapologetically masculine—an exclamation mark on a face now framed by confidence instead of curls.

He had lost his hair. But gained something else. Presence.

And wherever he went now, people turned. Not because they pitied him—because they admired him. Because they felt him coming.

He smiled.

Maybe this was the real transformation.

Pride Month came—and Samir didn’t hide.

He stepped into the light, smooth scalp gleaming like polished marble under the sun, leather shirt tight across his chest, arms crossed with calm defiance. The mustache? As thick and sculpted as ever, a bold signature on a freshly rewritten identity.

He didn’t look like who he was a few months ago. He didn’t feel like that man anymore.

Because Pride wasn’t just a flag. It wasn’t just a parade. It was this moment.

Owning every inch of himself—pale scalp, powerful body, leather, sweat, strength, softness, truth.

No hair. No shame. No compromise.

Just pride.

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