#so hopefully i'll work it out somehow

[bubaboos]

good luck buying tickets today!!

[watery-melon-baller]

Lads i have Fucked Up Big Time

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Do you not realize it? Do you... truly not see what this means?"

The next Destiny Bond update is in progress! ❄️✨ –> Check out the latest part here 🔷 –> New to the series? Follow from the start! 💜

[storfulsten]

lol did I just lose 3 followers for mentioning a cool new song? ok

[kapalattee]

doodles from the past week or so yay

new ocs who's this??? mwehehehehe......ok i figured i should start explaining my aus and tagging them so everyone has some kind of context lol

techno!au (every pic except the last)

a sci-fi ish world where teenagers get recruited as "champions" to battle each other to the death and act as underground superheroes. sprinkle in some corruption exploitation idol politics under the surface but currently i'm really just drawing the kids having fun yay

meet june (pic 1 top right, pic 2 left), avery (pic 1/3 top left and bottom right), dahlia (pic 1 top middle, pic 3 bottom right), milan (pic 1 middle, pic 3 top right), and reynold (pic 2 right)! i'll probably have a more detailed doc with their personalities sometime.....hahaha........

under the magnolia tree (utmt) au (last pic)

this is mainly a spinoff of two aus i created last year \o/ it follows the story of a young princess who retreats to the magnolia tree in the castle gardens every night and decides one starry night to make a wish. a boy, seemingly made of stardust (a moon prince O.O) answers her sad cries and decides to befriend her.....and maybe it turns into more?? who knows??? oOoOoO

meet lilian and felix <3 the two sillies i love them so much cries

feel free to ask any questions about them yay

[starpros-sunshine]

Boys will be like "I don't have issues I'm fine" and then be scared to leave the house because they might run into their mother

[midgesrphub]

((why do I always get muse right before I need to go to sleep sfdgfd

[misskamelie]

Already rewrote one chapter, let's go let's go

[apocripha-0]

Ah life it keeps taunting me eh? At this point its fine I guess. . Just an interesting extension of what it is

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Vlogger who gains a following by stalking you.

TW. DDNE ! MDNI ! Stalking, Implied NonCon, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

Sequel here

It started out with a few, weird videos that barely got any views.

He had a shaky camera, and he'd rarely ever talk. In fact, he didn't even show you in the beginning. It was more of videos he took walking in random places without showing his face. Honestly, it looked like he hadn't intended for anyone but himself to see the uploads, yet somehow they ended up floating across the feeds of some people.

| What is this even about lol | This is kind of strange... | What are you doing?

He was surprised to get any comments at all, but the last one especially jumped out at him. Any rational person wouldn't talk about how they'd been secretly following the love of their life to some random stranger, but he was far from rational.

Instead of replying in the comments, he made another video.

Why I Do This

" It's because I love her, and I want to make sure she's safe," he said with a shrug. The camera was propped up on a cafe table, and his face was clearly in view. Well groomed, handsome, young... he certainly didn't seem the type to be a deranged lunatic. "Besides, I like the thought that one day she'll see this and know how much I care." After he spoke, the footage was cut with a shot of his shoes slapping against pavement, wandering in some unknown location.

That one got quite a bit of views. Hundreds this time, out of seemingly nowhere.

| Woah is this guy for Real? | No way is he serious, this is probably just some project or some shit. | Lol who cares if it's real, it's kind of interesting | I wish I had a boyfriend like that | You should show us your partner lmao

The videos would come every other day or so now. There seemed to be a bit more editing involved, and the few glimpses of you that the audience got became like a fun guessing game.

"I never expected anyone to be interested in this," he admitted, this time more quietly in a library study area. " I thought people would think that this whole thing is weird, but there are, what? A thousand of you now? So strange... and here I thought I was the weird one," He chuckled and brushed his hair back gently. Just out of sight in the camera was your seated form, working diligently on an assignment. If only you knew how much he cared. Not only that, if only you knew how many people thought he was cool for loving you the way he did.

| Guys I'm starting to get kind of freaked out. Is the person getting stalked okay? | Nah, it's not real. No way. If he was for real he wouldn't be showing his face | Woah the quality has gone up so much! The sneaking into the house portion of the videos are always so creepy and realistic! Keep up the good work! | You should go into acting man | Our beloved stalker is getting pretty bold lol. I wonder how this series will end lol

Sure enough, he started having more fun making the videos. He invested in a higher quality camera, and he started to become more and more obsessed with not only following you, but documenting the whole thing. He invested in a new camera and bought new editing software. Plus, with the ad revenue he was getting from his growing viewers, he could afford to buy trackers and other things...

"Thanks to you guys, I've finally got enough to bring them home," he practically beamed as he stared into the black lens. He was hidden in a bush, the glow of your house lights illuminating his face. He held up a bundle of ropes and some cuffs. "I really couldn't have done this without your support. I'm really grateful. I might have to lay low for a while after this... but hopefully I'll be putting out some more videos about getting them settled in their new home. Again, thanks for everything."

When a missing persons alert was put out for you, hardly anyone paid any attention. His viewers didn't know your name, and he was smart enough to hide your face, so no one suspected a thing. Soon enough, you were a forgotten statistic to everyone but him.

| Woah new video! | The new set looks great! | They're acting is so realistic lol. It gives me chills. | Hey don't they kinda look like that one person...? | I'm glad to see how this series progressed lol, the stalking was getting kind of boring

"They love you," he hummed as he scrolled through the comments, the screen lighting up the darkened room. You were bound in his lap, whimpering, blindfolded and gagged as he rubbed soothing circles into your hip. "Not as much as I can, but I told you everyone was rooting for us to get together," He smiled and planted a kiss to the crown of your head.

He then stood up, carrying you in his strong arms before laying you down on his bed. He switched on the lighting and turned on the various cameras he had set up to catch your expressions from every angle. His voice was sickeningly sweet as he got you tied down and ready, his eyes flashing with barely contained obsession. "Now... some people have been asking for more... exclusive content. I think it's only fair we let them see... I wouldn't have you if it wasn't for them after all. Be good for me okay?"

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Villainsona ft. Villainsona

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: In Stars and Time

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: ISaT

Thursday:

2:30 PM: Sona general goings-on ft. Villainsona

Friday:

2:30 PM: ISaT

Saturday:

2:30 PM: ISaT (blood warning)

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Star Control II

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[promptedwordsmith]

Hi hiiiii!!

I LOVED the valentine based piece you did!

If you're still taking requests, can I ask for angst-comfort this time where the guys forgot mc's birthday? I'm excited to see your take on this especially for Caleb!

Thank you and I'll be on the lookout for more of your work 💕💕💕

THANK YOU <3 <3 <3

I had SO. MUCH. FUN. writing this it was crazy!

Hopefully its OK!

Caleb

Caleb had been so busy. More than usual. It was one thing to have patrols through the Deep Space Tunnel, endless reports, meetings with higher-ups who never seemed satisfied, but on top of that, he had taken it upon himself to organize an important dinner party.

Or so he thought.

The truth—the awful truth—hit him like a physical blow when he unrolled the custom banner that had just arrived.

"Happy Birthday, [Your Name]!"

The world seemed to tilt. His grip on the fabric tightened, knuckles turning white as his violet eyes darted across the bold, celebratory letters. His mind, exhausted and running on autopilot for weeks, scrambled through his memory, piecing together the moments he had lost. The meticulous planning. The decorations. The food. He had arranged everything… for a party that had already passed.

Your birthday.

It had come and gone, and he—he—had completely missed it.

For a full five seconds, Caleb didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The weight of realization pressed against his chest, drowning out every thought except one:

I forgot your birthday.

The sickening guilt settled deep in his stomach, twisting, tightening. You had waited for him that day. He could picture it—your hopeful glances, the way you had likely told yourself, he’s just busy, he’ll remember soon. But he hadn’t. You must have gone to bed that night thinking he didn’t care, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as important to him as you truly were.

The very idea of it made him feel like the worst kind of man.

He didn’t waste another second. He abandoned everything—work, reports, the dinner he had been planning for the higher-ups—none of it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was you.

By the time he reached your home, it was already evening. His uniform was slightly disheveled, his hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, but the guilt was what weighed on him the most.

You answered the door, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Caleb searched your face, looking for signs of anger, sadness—hurt. And when he found them, faint but undeniably there, the guilt doubled.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "I messed up." His voice was low, raw, as if saying it out loud made the weight of it even heavier.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You think?"

Your words weren’t angry, but the tired disappointment in them was somehow worse. You had already processed it, already come to terms with the fact that he had forgotten, and that made his chest ache.

Caleb was never one to stumble over words, but right now, he struggled. "I didn’t mean to forget. I was planning something. I was—" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not an excuse. It’s just…" He let out a dry, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was so damn exhausted, I forgot what I was even planning for."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

He let out a slow breath. "I was planning your party. That’s what I’ve been doing for weeks." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "But I worked myself into the ground so much that when your birthday came, I just—" His jaw clenched. "I thought I was planning a dinner for the higher-ups. It didn’t even register."

You stared at him, processing. He watched you carefully, waiting, hoping for anything that would tell him how to fix this.

Finally, you sighed. "You’re an idiot."

Something in his chest loosened at that—because you weren’t shutting him out, weren’t furious.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation. "The worst one."

Caleb wasn’t the type to grovel, but when it came to you, he would do whatever it took.

He spent the entire night making it up to you. He didn’t just say sorry—he showed you.

First, he insisted on taking you out to eat, somewhere special, somewhere you liked. He wouldn’t let you brush him off, wouldn’t let you say, It’s fine, it’s over now. No, it wasn’t fine, and he wouldn’t let it be until he saw that light in your eyes again.

Then, after dinner, he walked with you through the quiet streets, hand in yours, holding on like he had something to prove. He was quieter than usual, more thoughtful, stealing glances at you every few seconds like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Finally, when you arrived home, he pulled you into his arms, pressing you close, his chin resting against your head.

"I swear to you," he murmured against your hair, voice rough with sincerity, "I will never forget again. Not in this life, not in the next, not ever."

And you believed him.

Because Caleb may have made mistakes, but when it came to you, he would always make it right.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been locked in his studio for days, unreachable. Your calls went unanswered, your texts ignored. Even when you showed up at his door, knocking, waiting, hoping, there was nothing. Just silence, just the knowledge that somewhere beyond those walls, he was lost in his art again.

And still, despite it all, you held out hope.

Hope that, even in the middle of his artistic madness, he would remember.

But the day had passed.

By the time three days had gone by, your hope had shrunk into something small and fragile. Maybe it was foolish of you to think this year would be different. Maybe you should have expected this. Rafayel loved intensely—when he loved, he loved with everything he had—but sometimes he got lost in his own world, and that love, no matter how deep, could feel far away.

Then, out of nowhere, your phone rang.

"Come over!" Rafayel's voice practically crackled with excitement, as if he hadn’t been a ghost for the last few days. "I finally finished it! You have to see it first!"

"Raf—"

"Ah, don’t say anything yet! Just come. Hurry!"

And then he hung up.

No apology for vanishing. No recognition of the days he had missed.

And certainly, no acknowledgment of your day.

You trudged through the cold toward his home, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. Maybe he had remembered and wanted to surprise you. Maybe this was his way of making up for it.

But deep down, a part of you knew better.

Inside his studio, Rafayel was frozen.

The moment he checked his calendar to see when his next exhibition was, the date jumped out at him like a slap to the face. The realization slammed into him so hard that he nearly knocked over a jar of brushes.

Your birthday.

It had come and gone.

The guilt hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out every other thought.

How could he forget?

He tore through his studio, hands shaking. A gift—he needed something, anything—! His eyes darted across the room, landing on a pile of canvases shoved into a forgotten corner.

His secret.

Bunches and bunches of paintings of you.

Sketches of you laughing, paintings of you gazing out at the sea, studies of your hands, your lips, the way your hair caught the light. He had never shown them to anyone, not even you. They were too raw, too personal, too embarrassing.

But now…

Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed them all. He turned out all the lights, lit every candle he could find, and placed the paintings around the room. The atmosphere had to be perfect. When he was done, he shut the door, smoothing his hair, taking a deep breath.

He had a plan.

Just pretend everything was normal. Show you his newest painting, make you smile, then lead you to the hidden room to surprise you. Yes. That would work.

And maybe—just maybe—it would make up for everything.

When you arrived, Rafayel greeted you with his usual playful grin, grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside before you could even get a word in.

"Look," he said, presenting the canvas like it was the greatest treasure in the world. "What do you think?"

It was beautiful—of course it was. Rafayel’s art always was. The strokes, the colors, the emotion captured in every detail. It was a masterpiece.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not today.

He was watching you closely, waiting for your reaction.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "It’s… incredible, Raf."

The way your voice wavered, the way you didn’t meet his eyes—it was subtle, but he noticed.

And suddenly, the guilt became unbearable.

Without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the hidden room.

"Wait—Raf, where are we—?"

The door creaked open, and the glow of candlelight washed over you. Your breath caught in your throat.

Paintings.

Of you.

Dozens of them, covering every wall. Each one full of emotion, of devotion, of him. Some were unfinished, others so detailed they looked like they could breathe. It was overwhelming.

You turned to him, eyes wide.

"You…?"

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual bravado gone. His cheeks were tinged pink, the tips of his ears burning red.

"I—" He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I forgot your birthday."

Your stomach twisted. So he had forgotten.

"I was painting," he went on, words rushed. "I lost track of time, and I—damn it—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to."

You turned back to the paintings, something warm pressing at your chest.

"You made all of these?" you asked quietly.

His hands clenched at his sides. "Yeah."

"For how long?"

A beat of silence. Then—

"Years."

The confession hung between you.

He had been painting you for years.

Slowly, you turned to face him. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced with something raw, something vulnerable.

"I’m sorry," he murmured. "I don’t know how I forgot something so important. You mean too much to me for that. I—I just…" He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I got lost in making something for you, and I ended up missing the thing that mattered most—you."

The anger, the disappointment, the hurt—they all melted away. Because here he was, standing before you, baring himself in a way he rarely ever did.

You stepped forward, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around him.

His breath hitched.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered.

A shaky laugh. "Yeah. I know."

"But…" You looked up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips. "This is the best apology I’ve ever seen."

Relief flooded his features. "So you forgive me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe if you make me a cake."

He scoffed. "I’m a painter, not a baker."

"Then take me out for cake."

He smirked, his confidence slipping back into place. "Anything for my muse."

And as he pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, you knew—

Even when he forgot the days on a calendar, Rafayel would never really forget you.

Sylus

Sylus prided himself on many things. His sharp mind, his strategic brilliance, his ability to anticipate every move before it happened. He was the kind of man who didn’t forget things—especially not something as important as your birthday.

Which was why, when he saw the disappointed look on your face as you pelted him with soft plushies, something deep in his chest twisted—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation that almost felt like panic.

Almost.

But Sylus didn’t panic.

Instead, he stood there, one plushie bouncing harmlessly off his shoulder, another smacking his chest before falling to the floor. His crimson eyes flickered between you and the growing pile of soft toys you had weaponized against him.

“You forgot,” you accused, arms crossed, hurt flashing in your gaze.

He opened his mouth to deny it. To tell you he’d never forget something so important. But the realization hit him like a slow, creeping dread. He had forgotten.

The meticulously planned dinners. The gifts he had meant to have delivered. The subtle reminders he had given his men—Kieran, Luke, even Mephisto—to ensure he never let today slip his mind.

And yet, here you were.

Disappointed.

Angry.

Hurt.

It was a sight that unsettled him more than any rival, more than any enemy who had ever dared to challenge him. He could handle a hundred assassination attempts, negotiate the bloodiest of deals, and walk into a war zone without breaking a sweat.

But the idea that he had been the one to hurt you? That he had been the reason your smile had faded today?

Unacceptable.

He took a step forward, but you threw another plushie at his face before he could speak. This time, he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around the soft fabric as he exhaled through his nose.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice calm, steady.

You huffed, turning your head away. “Too late.”

His jaw clenched. Too late? No. Nothing was ever too late when it came to you.

Sylus wasn’t the type to apologize with empty words. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d simply say “sorry” and expect you to accept it. He had to show you.

And he would.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

You had expected him to brush it off. To smirk, tease you, tell you that you were cute when you were mad. Maybe even promise to make it up to you later in a way that would leave you breathless.

But Sylus had left.

Just walked out without an explanation.

That made you angrier.

You flopped onto the couch, hugging one of the plushies to your chest, your pout deepening. He had forgotten, and now he was leaving?

Your thoughts swirled in frustration until a knock sounded at your door—not the sharp, precise kind that his men would give, but a slow, deliberate rhythm you recognized instantly.

Sylus.

You hesitated for only a moment before getting up and opening the door.

And what you saw left you speechless.

He stood there, slightly out of breath, his silver hair a bit messier than usual, his blazer discarded, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. In his hands? A massive bouquet—roses, lilies, your favorite flowers all woven together in a way that looked too beautiful to have been bought last-minute.

And then there were the gifts.

Not one. Not two. But an entire armful—beautifully wrapped boxes, all stacked precariously as he balanced them with ease.

Your lips parted in shock.

Sylus? The man who was always cool, calculated, in control? Looking just a little bit frazzled as he stood in your doorway with gifts clearly gathered in a rushed effort to make up for his mistake?

You should have stayed mad.

But instead, your heart clenched.

“I had everything planned,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, controlled but tinged with something you almost wanted to call regret. “Dinners. Gifts. Things meant to arrive today.”

He stepped forward, pressing the bouquet into your arms as his crimson eyes locked onto yours.

“I forgot,” he admitted, as if the words physically pained him to say. “And I don’t forget things.”

You swallowed, staring at him. This was Sylus. The man who could tear down entire organizations with a single whisper. Who could predict a person’s every move before they even knew they would make it.

And yet, he had forgotten.

Because, for once, he had been too wrapped up in things that weren’t you.

You should have made him suffer more.

But then he did something unexpected.

He lowered himself to one knee, not in a proposal, but in something equally as disarming.

A genuine apology.

“I don’t ask for forgiveness,” he said, eyes unwavering. “I don’t need it. But you deserve better than today, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing over your wrist in a touch so uncharacteristically soft that your breath hitched.

You weren’t used to seeing him like this.

Vulnerable.

But maybe that was the point.

Sylus didn’t grovel. He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to.

And yet, here he was, choosing to show you a side of himself no one else would ever see.

“I…” Your throat felt tight as you looked at him, then at the bouquet, then at the ridiculous number of gifts he had somehow managed to gather in an hour.

His lips curled into a small smirk, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “Still mad?”

You should be.

But instead, you sighed dramatically, stepping back to let him inside.

“I’ll think about forgiving you,” you muttered, clutching the flowers to your chest.

His smirk widened as he straightened, stepping closer, hands finding your waist as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“I can be very persuasive,” he murmured.

You shivered, pressing your lips together to keep from smiling. He knew you too well.

And he had forgotten.

But he had also gone through all this effort to make it right.

Maybe you would forgive him.

Eventually.

But first? You were going to make him work for it.

Xavier

Xavier wakes up the next morning with the unsettling feeling that he’s forgotten something important. It lingers in his chest, creeping up his spine as he runs through the previous day in his mind. Work had gone as usual, no missions went sideways, nothing seemed off—so why does he feel like he’s made a terrible mistake?

And then, it hits him.

Your birthday.

Xavier sits up so fast that he actually gets lightheaded. He forgot. He forgot.

The realization settles into his bones like a cold weight, making his usual grogginess disappear instantly. He’s already moving before he can even fully process it, running a hand through his silver hair in frustration. How could he have let this happen? He knows he’s forgetful sometimes—distracted, too caught up in missions or losing track of time—but your birthday? Of all the things to forget, he had forgotten the one day that should have been about you.

His mind races with every possible reaction you might have had. Were you upset? Had you been waiting all day for him to say something? Did you pretend it was fine, even though it wasn’t? That thought hurts. It hurts worse than any injury he’s ever sustained in battle. He imagines you spending the day holding out hope, maybe even giving him chances to remember, only for him to say nothing.

He feels sick.

Xavier doesn’t hesitate. He throws on his jacket, grabs his keys, and heads straight to find you. If you’re at home, he knocks—firmer than usual, as if he’s trying to physically knock away his mistake. If you’re out, he searches, guided by instinct and urgency.

The moment he sees you, his sharp blue eyes search your face for signs of how you’re feeling. Are you angry? Disappointed? Trying to act like it doesn’t matter? He hates that he has to guess. He should have been there. He should have remembered.

"…I forgot, didn’t I?" His voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge. There’s no excuse, no attempt to dodge the truth. Just quiet guilt.

Xavier isn’t the type to panic openly, but his regret is undeniable. He rubs the back of his neck—a rare show of uncertainty from him—and steps closer, as if trying to physically close the distance that his mistake has created.

"I don’t have an excuse. I just—" He exhales, frustration at himself bleeding into his voice. "I don’t know how I forgot. I should have been there, should have made the day special for you. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."

His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he deserves to. He hates the idea of you feeling unimportant because of him. The thought alone makes something tighten in his chest.

"Tell me how to make it up to you," he says, looking at you with the kind of intensity that makes it impossible to doubt his sincerity. "Because I will. However you want. Just say the word."

But that’s not enough. Not for him. He’s not just going to fix this with a single apology. He wants to show you.

Xavier doesn’t waste time. Once he knows where he stands with you—whether you need space, reassurance, or a little payback in the form of making him work for your forgiveness—he immediately starts making things right.

He doesn’t just buy you a last-minute gift to try and make up for it. No, that’s not personal enough. Instead, he recreates your birthday, a day late but no less meaningful.

Maybe he takes you somewhere quiet but special, a place that reminds him of you. Maybe he sets up a stargazing spot on a rooftop, bringing blankets and snacks, telling you it’s because he wanted to give you something that feels like forever.

Maybe he cooks for you—badly, because Xavier and the kitchen are a dangerous combination, but the effort is so heartfelt that you can’t be mad. He’d get flour on his face, burn something slightly, and still look at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Or maybe he brings you a gift—not something extravagant, but something thoughtful. A tiny, carefully chosen charm. A book that reminded him of you. A star-shaped pendant, because you always joked that he had a habit of falling asleep under the stars. He wouldn’t say much about it, just press it into your hands and murmur, "Didn’t want you to think I don’t pay attention."

He watches you carefully the whole time, making sure you feel loved, valued. He doesn’t over-explain or beg for forgiveness—he just shows you.

And when the night winds down, and he pulls you into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, he whispers:

"I won’t forget again."

And you know, in the quiet certainty of his voice, that he means it.

Zayne

Zayne was exhausted.

The hospital had been relentless, a blur of critical patients, rapid decisions, and near misses. There had been moments he thought he might not even make it home tonight—almost being quarantined had only been the cherry on top of the chaos. His body ached in a way he had learned to ignore, but as he finally stepped out into the cold night air, his thoughts were blank, his mind running on autopilot.

That was, until he saw you.

Sitting on the doorstep of his home, your figure illuminated under the soft yellow glow of the streetlight. A glittering dress hugged your form, shimmering faintly even in the dim light, and a sash lay diagonally across your body, its edges slightly crinkled from the way your arms had been folded over yourself. Your head rested in your hands, your posture slumped—not just from the cold, but from something else entirely.

Something in his chest clenched.

He stopped in his tracks, the weight of his coat sliding off his arm. It landed on the pavement with a quiet thud, the sound breaking the silence of the night. You startled at the noise, lifting your head to see him standing there, his expression unreadable.

Then, as if some unseen force wrenched his gaze downward, his eyes flicked to his watch.

2:04 AM.

The date had changed.

It hit him all at once. The cogs in his mind, sluggish from exhaustion, clicked into place, and his stomach twisted with the weight of the realization.

Your birthday.

His breath left him in a slow, silent exhale.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt a crushing, unfamiliar sense of guilt settle over him. He had let the day slip through his fingers, consumed by the chaos of work, and now—now, here you were, alone, in a dress you had probably worn in hopes of celebrating. And he had missed it.

Completely.

He took a slow step toward you, lowering himself to sit beside you on the step. The cold from the pavement seeped through his slacks, but he ignored it.

“You should’ve called me.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was a tightness beneath it.

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “I did.”

His jaw tensed. He had no memory of that. The hospital had been chaos—his phone likely left in his office, forgotten in the madness. That didn’t make it better.

For a long moment, there was only silence. The city around you was quiet at this hour, the world asleep while the two of you sat in the aftermath of his mistake.

Then, finally, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an excuse. It wasn’t a rushed, meaningless apology. It was slow, deliberate—weighted with sincerity.

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to truly see you. The way your makeup had smudged slightly, the way your lips pressed together as if fighting back something you didn’t want to say.

You weren’t just disappointed.

You were hurt.

His fingers curled into his slacks, his mind searching for the right thing to do, the right thing to say.

Then, as if making a decision, he reached for you. His hands—steady, careful hands that had saved lives and stitched wounds—found yours, his fingertips brushing against the chill of your skin before enclosing them completely.

“Let me fix this.”

You blinked. “It’s already tomorrow, Zayne.”

“Then we’ll start over.” His voice was firm, resolute. “Right now.”

Before you could argue, he was already standing, tugging you gently up with him. The world may have declared your birthday over, but he refused to accept that.

Without hesitation, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering at the lapels for just a second before he pulled away. Then, taking your hand in his, he gave the faintest tug, silently urging you to follow him.

You furrowed your brows. “Where are we going?”

His lips quirked—just slightly. “To get cake.”

You stared at him. “Zayne, it’s two in the morning.”

“And you still haven’t had a proper birthday.”

His voice was so matter-of-fact, so Zayne, that you almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

But there was something about the way he was holding your hand, something about the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if grounding himself in your presence. Something about the way he had taken one look at you and immediately decided that no, the day wasn’t over, not until he made it right.

So you followed him.

The city at 2 AM was eerily quiet, but Zayne led you with the same certainty he carried in the operating room, his hand never leaving yours as he walked with purpose. Eventually, you ended up at a small convenience store—the only place still open at this hour.

Zayne scanned the shelves with a critical eye, and you watched, bemused, as this brilliant, award-winning surgeon carefully inspected pre-packaged slices of cake as if they were surgical instruments.

Finally, he picked one. A simple chocolate slice. He held it up to you in silent question.

You sighed, shaking your head, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “That’ll do.”

Minutes later, you found yourselves outside again, sitting on a bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp, the city stretching empty and quiet around you.

Zayne pulled out a pair of disposable chopsticks from his pocket, breaking them apart with practiced ease before handing them to you.

You gave him a look. “Of course you have chopsticks on you.”

He merely raised a brow. “You forgot utensils last time.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh at that—softer this time, real. And when he caught the sound of it, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

The two of you sat in silence, sharing the slice of cake, the quiet hum of the city your only companion.

At one point, he glanced down at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with the utmost care, he reached out, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of smudged mascara.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

It was late. Too late. The moment had passed. But somehow, as you sat there, eating cake in the early hours of the morning with Zayne by your side, it didn’t seem to matter.

And when he finally leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

[sswed]

everybody knows im a good girl, officer

alexia putellas x policeofficer!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut and a g!p reader, thus minors DNI, thanks

a part two to this work: is it a crime?

wc 3k

Your work is far too important to leave for an extended period of time, be it a week or few days. You never take holidays unless it's important... or required.

Yet, Alexia has convinced you to use your precious time off to visit her during her own week-long break in the meticulous training that she does everyday. So, you fly into Barcelona with a backpack full of only clothes to stay there for two whole days. Two days that Alexia promises will be very fun and relaxing.

The first day is slightly boring. You've never been in Barcelona since you insist that Alexia flies to you since you've started dating which means that she takes this rare occasion to drag you around Barcelona.

You see the massive church that Alexia points out, you've seen it in pictures that Lucy sent you when she first got here but it looks more grand in real life than in the pictures. You see a few more things whilst you get dragged along on a full tour with your favourite tour guide, such as the Camp Nou that you see from the outside only because of renovations.

Although you can't go inside the Camp Nou, you do go into the shop which means that Alexia gets slightly bombarded with a few stray fans while you get to browse around. They've got all three of the kits that you've seen Alexia wear on TV and you pick one up to take a closer look.

Then you feel a hand on your shoulder and flitch back automatically, you whip around to see Alexia smiling slyly.

"Are you buying a shirt?" Alexia says smugly and you suddenly re-think ever picking it up.

"No," You put the red and blue shirt back on the rack and try to walk away but Alexia catches your shoulder.

"Wait, that was a joke," Alexia turns you around and loops her arms around your shoulders while you scoff a little.

"Mm and I'm being serious about not buying it," You smile at her small frown.

It's clearly for show, you've dated Alexia long enough to know that she likes to wind you up with trivial things like this, especially now that you've been together longer.

"Plus, I like the shirt I have at home," You kiss her cheek with a smirk and Alexia scoffs.

"That's Lucy's not yours," Alexia complains and you laugh.

"She's practically given it to me so, technically, it's mine." You point out whilst walking away to the exit.

Alexia walks after you and you slow down to let her catch up so you can exit the store together.

"What if I give you mine?" Alexia asks, hopefully.

You chuckle, "I don't think yours will fit me,"

Alexia sighs exasperatedly, "Lucy's doesn't either!"

You laugh and turn to her, then lower your head so you can press a kiss to her lips. It's nice and soft, a reminder for Alexia that you care about her more than she thinks you do.

"Well, maybe I'll get one with my own name on the back then," You joke and Alexia looks at you pointedly.

You shrug with a chuckle and take her hand again.

"Where to next, my very hot tour guide?"

Alexia grins and kisses your cheek before tugging you off to the next destination.

The next day you spend at home, more accurately, Alexia's apartment handcuffed to a chair in her Barcelona t-shirt and your boxers, that already have a clear wet patch in the front from where your precum is leaking.

"Ale," You whine as Alexia stands in front of you in just her underwear.

She's already wet, you can tell by the way she looks at you but, somehow, she insists on torturing you both. She's just standing there by the sofa looking extremely attractive with her washboard abs and muscular thighs that you can't touch.

"Yes, baby?" Alexia purrs before approaching you and putting her hands on your shoulders but otherwise not touching you.

You're already hard from just kissing Alexia earlier and her dragging this out is only making it hurt more. You really want her to touch you, either palm your cock through the boxers or use her mouth because that always feels like heaven on earth but she's not doing anything.

"Let me touch you, please," You groan.

Alexia looks so sexy it makes you feel slightly fuzzy. She's got your favourite underwear of hers on, you have no clue whether that is a conscience or purposeful but it makes your head spin and blood pump faster.

Alexia smirks and runs her hands down your chest, over the mesh material of the shirt and down to your stomach where your core flexes under her scalding touch. Her nails feel so good on your abs as they grate backwards and forwards but it also drives you up the wall, it makes you harder than before and you so desperately want to thrust your hips into the air.

"I don't know, baby," Alexia pretends to think for a moment as she lays her hand flat on your stomach.

You moan at the heavy touch, every ounce of pressure going straight to your cock and at this point, you might as well come in your underwear. Alexia's got you crazy like you're high off seven things at once without even knowing it.

"Fuck Ale," You sigh when Alexia runs a single nail up the middle of your stomach.

Every touch feels like it might be the last, Alexia is playing some kind of game... or she's trying to test your patience and endurance at once, one of which you lack when it comes to sex with her.

She leans forward and you think she's going to kiss you finally but instead, she changes direction just as you're about to close your eyes and her lips reach the shell of your ear instead.

"You look so good in that shirt, I should ask the president to sign you," Alexia murmurs into your ear in a sultry voice that has your hips thrusting into the air at nothing in particular.

Your breathing speeds up until you're gasping like you've ran a marathon and Alexia is smirking at you as if it's the best thing she's ever seen in her life.

"Unhandcuff me, Ale," You groan and Alexia giggles.

"Have you ever been handcuffed, officer?" Alexia backs away to place her hands on your shoulders, squeezing slightly.

You resist the urge to moan at the petting, every touch feels like a step to combustion. You shake your head a few times, unable to speak the words and thankfully, Alexia doesn't push it.

"There is always time for firsts," Alexia smirks.

You want to yell and break the chair because you don't think you're going to survive not touching Alexia or at least not being able to touch yourself.

Alexia looks you over, you look like a mess.

Your face is flushed along with your neck and she's thoroughly surprised that she's managed to get such a visceral reaction from you. The shirt you're wearing is hers, match worn and all and she's been wet from the moment you put it on. It's a little tight around the arms and shoulders but she's not one to complain.

You're completely hard in your grey boxers and it's been extremely difficult not to drop to her knees at the sight, she's thought about it every time she touches herself and now that the opportunity is right in front of her, it's been very hard to stay cool.

Eventually, after a lot of teasing that has you high as a kite on pure want, Alexia hooks her leg over your lap and places herself directly on top of you cock. The sensation is beyond measure after an hour of constant teasing, even through two pairs of underwear, Alexia feels incredible.

"Fuck, Ale, shit," You ramble as Alexia rolls her hips, grinding down on your clothed cock.

The pressure is just what you want but it's not enough, you want Alexia to let you out of these cuffs so you can fuck her properly but she's not budging.

"Ale, please, let me fuck you like you want me too," You whine and Alexia's hips stutter for a moment at the claim.

There is probably nothing else she wants than to be held down and thoroughly fucked by her hot police officer, maybe nothing other than this.

"Shh..." Alexia shushes against your lips before pressing a kiss to them.

It starts gentle and then turns into a battle of bites and bruises. Alexia's tongue traces each of your canines, studying them like an anatomy lesson before she backs away to bite down on your lip.

You hiss in pain as she licks up the little pool of blood. It's got a metallic taste to it but she doesn't care, she wants to see you just as ruined as you get to see her normally.

She pulls away soon after and you let your head lull to the side for a moment. Alexia has you going into overdrive, every sense heightened a ten-fold meaning that each press of her hips feels like the end and each slip of the tonged like a resurrection.

"I thought you were a good girl for me?" You manage to whisper out, you're so overwhelmed, so needy that you can't speak.

"You know I am, officer," Alexia murmurs against your shoulder before sliding off your lap which makes you jolt at the brief contact and then the loss of it.

"Ale," You start to whine before Alexia cuts you off by taking her underwear off.

You stare at her legs which are covered with her wetness and then at her pussy that practically flows like a river. If Alexia allowed you, then you would spend all day eating her out.

She then shrugs off her bra and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sight of her boobs. The reminder that you still cannot touch her remains at the forefront of your mind at the weight of the handcuffs dig into your wrists.

She then drops to her knees in front of you and you take a sharp breath in. Alexia on her knees is one of your favourite sights, she's wonderfully beautiful, borderline angelically perfect.

So much so, that the sight of her down on her knees has your head spinning.

She puts a hand over your cock which is still trapped in your boxers and palms up and down a few times.

"Alexia!" You yelp at the firm contact of her hand while she smirks.

It feels like heaven and hell at the same time and you aren't sure where exactly Alexia has come from.

"You want me that bad?" Alexia looks up at you through her lashes and you moan when she makes eye contact.

"Always, Alexia, fuck... Everyday, I think about you," You cry out and Alexia grins.

"I'm very flattered, officer," Alexia chuckles before hooking her hands into the waistband of your boxers, touching the sensitive skin of your torso.

She then pulls them down in one quick motion and then your cock is free to flatten against your jersey-clad stomach. You watch as Alexia throws the boxers to join her pile of underwear and then licks her lips devilishly.

You groan loudly at the action and then cry out when she finally licks a long stripe from the base to the tip of your cock. Her tongue feels like lava in the best way possible and you are burning to get more.

"Ale, shit, you're so good," You praise blindly when Alexia swirls her tongue around the tip.

It feels ethereal, the pure pleasure liquidises itself in your veins and flows straight to your brain, there is nothing else in this moment, just Alexia. You thrash against handcuffs against when she takes you into her mouth fully, you want to card your hand through her hair like you normally do but instead you're forced to stay put.

"You're doing so well, babe, so good for me," You moan wildly.

Alexia has you thinking of only her.

You're close, you can feel it and you chalk it up to the hours of teasing that Alexia has subjected you to but you don't want this to end too soon.

You want to feel her around you more than you want her on her knees.

"Ale, I'm going to come if you keep going," You sigh out in a half groan, half pled.

Alexia looks up at you and then pops off with a smile. In that moment, you figure out that Alexia is not the angel you've seen so far but a devil dressed in disguise.

"That soon?" Alexia teases without any bite and you don't fall for it.

Instead, you focus on the way that she pops off you, the spit connecting her mouth to your cock before she wipes her mouth roughly with the back of her hand. She stands and mounts your thighs, the front of her pussy pressing against your cock in the most delicious way possible. In that moment, you think you might faint from how hot Alexia has you burning.

"Alexia, please, take these off," You tug against the handcuffs again whilst half begging Alexia to get rid of them.

She smiles and leans forward, her bare chest coming to rest against yours as she kisses you slowly. The kiss is deep like Alexia is trying to suck the soul out of you whilst doing so and you savour each pass of her tongue against yours.

Alexia pulls back and rests her forehead against yours, you close your eyes and breathe out deeply. It's moments like these that make the trip worth it.

"I love you," Alexia mumbles, it's barely audible with your heavy breathing but you catch each syllable like a prayer.

"And I love you, Alexia," You whisper back before Alexia takes her forehead away and smirks.

"So, you'll keep the handcuffs on then?" Alexia chuckles as you groan.

She doesn't let you respond because she quickly grips the base of your cock to line it up to her pussy before sinking down. The second you feel the inside of Alexia, you let out a sickening groan, you'd been waiting all this time and now you feel as though you've ascended beyond this moment.

Your head lulls to the side for the second time today and you ball your fists when you bottom out and Alexia breaths out a breathy moan. Every touch feels unreal, like you've run back to back marathons without a break.

Alexia rolls her hips and your mouth drops open, you gasp for air but the gulps don't satiate your hunger. Instead, you let your tongue stick out like a dog as Alexia rides you relentlessly.

She's got her hands gripping your shoulders for stability and you don't know if it helps ground you or just sends you deeper into orbit. She's lifting and dropping her hips without mercy and her own moans bounce off the walls of the living room.

You don't know how long you'll last like this, with Alexia taking you at your mercy. She's rolling and lifting her hips like a machine, enjoying herself as much as you are, you know it. You can tell by the way that she's groaning loudly each time you bottom out.

You try to lean forwards to capture her lips but the handcuffs stop you. You're immobilized, only able to lean forwards the slightest bit and Alexia is just out of your reach.

"Kiss me, baby," You plea and tug at the handcuffs again.

It's like hell and heaven. Alexia feels amazing, perfectly moulded to you and every touch is like a blessing but all you want to do so come, the blister heat boiling inside you slowly taking over with each passing of hers.

Alexia smiles at you and leans forward, letting you capture her lips. You kiss her hard, taking everything you can, allowing you teeth to graze her lips without care. In turn, she groans into your mouth and rolls her hips which elicits a moan of your own.

Alexia then lifts the jersey up so she can palm a hand down your flexed abs and that's when you know you won't hold on much longer. She's touching you everywhere and the pressure feels like a burn in the best way possible.

"Ale, I'm going to come," You moan into her mouth desperately and she only speeds her movement.

"Fuck, me too, baby," Alexia groans as she pulls away from the kiss, a string of long saliva connects the two of you for a moment.

It despairs when your mouth slacks open into a silent moan and you thrash against in the wooden chair. You come hard, maybe the hardest you've ever come and Alexia tightens around you as she reaches her own climax.

The tightness makes it impossible to relax and you tense with the added pressure, your hands grip the parts of the chair you can reach and you think you might have popped a vein.

Alexia slumps against your shoulder when she rides out the high of her orgasm and you let your own head come to rest on top of hers. You breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath and she does the same.

"This might be my favourite holiday ever," You mumble, mostly to yourself but it reaches Alexia's ears non the less.

You can feel her grin against your shoulder, clearly very happy with herself.

"I told you so," Alexia says smugly but there is evident tiredness in her voice that takes over midway.

"Okay, you know best, we've established it, now can I be let out of these?" You nod to the handcuffs and Alexia lifts her head to look at you.

For a minute, you think you might get lost in her honey eyes and you wouldn't mind that.

"I don't know, let me think about it?" Alexia chuckles when you sigh.

The handcuffs get taken off soon after and you carry Alexia into the bathroom because her legs resemble jelly but you don't mind. You'd carry her to the end of the world if you had to.

Whilst in the shower, you take the opportunity to ponder. Maybe taking holidays is a good idea?

[villainousauthor]

"We can't keep meeting like this." Villain tsks, thoughtfully as they eyed Hero. It's was just their luck that Hero had not once, but twice, been in a building taken hostage by Villain while in their civilian getup.

Last time was in one of the larger banks downtown two weeks ago. Hero had made the choice to not reveal their heroic persona, wanting to protect their personal identity, and the civilians in case a fought broke out.

Villain didn't look at them twice and did not recognize their nemesis. No casualties occurred, thankfully. Hero was able to walk away with their secret intact, and with Villain likely forgetting their face entirely.

Or so they thought. Villain eyed them now with light amusement. Did they know who Hero was? Or did Villain simply remember their face from the crowd of quivering hostages.

Hero gulped as they kneeled on the cool floor of the vital records office. They tried their best to blend in with the other civilians currently cowering low, but they couldn't ignore when Villain's attention was so directly on them. Curse their life. They only came here for a copy of their birth certificate.

"Um." They swallowed, licked their lips, and tried again to speak. Hopefully Villain wouldn't recognize their voice. "Yes I was -"

"At the bank." Villain finishes. "Do you have a habit of finding yourself in hostage situations?" They smirk wide, obviously enjoying toying with whom they believe to be an innocent bystander while waiting for the clerk to get the records they demanded.

"I...have had a string of bad luck lately." Hero chokes out. Villain laughs, voice echoing through the atrium. The other hostages flinch at the sound.

Villain rakes their eyes over Hero as they kneel. A bit of humor can be found in their expression.

"A bad luck streak, huh?" They look over to where the clerk is still scrambling to gather the documents and printing out more information. Undoubtedly, information that'll be used against Villain's enemies somehow. "Well, if we're all not too unlucky, I'll have what I want soon, and you won't be here too long."

Unable to stop the quip from falling from their lips, Hero responds in a tone unbefitting their nervous civilian persona. "Knowing the work efficency of this place, I'll still be here to nightfall even after you leave."

Villain laughs yet again. Not the same usual villainous laugh they have when tormenting someone, but a real laugh. Hero mentally chastises themselves, knowing they need to stop drawing attention themselves. Villain takes another look at the clerk before turning back to Hero and crouching down low, their eyes level now.

"What's your name?" Villain asks with an amused tilt of their lips. Their gaze holds Hero still, burning them in place. Hero's heart hammers in their chest.

They hesitate before finding a way out of answering. "Why do you need to know? Do you think my luck is so bad that I'll end up in a third hostage situation?" They retort, expecting many different reactions to this refusal. Irritation, anger, dismissal.

Hero has no way to predict what Villain actually says next.

"Maybe your luck isn't that bad, but maybe my luck is that good." Their smile widens. "Maybe I just want to put a name to a pretty face."

Oh God. Villain is flirting with them. Hero feels themselves blink in rapid succession as they try and process what is going on right now. Villain, their nemesis, is flirting with them. While holding them hostage. While not realizing who Hero is, to top it off. This is going to make their next fight very awkward on Hero's end.

Hero can feel the incredulous stares of the other civilians as their own face heats up.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?" Hero attempts. They try to ignore the heat in their gut at the way Villain's eyes hold them in place, their gaze almost hungry.

With a snort, Villain shakes their head. "Nice try. Maybe after a few dinners, I'll tell you my real name. Cute try, though." They say in a voice that doesn't sound sarcastic enough. Hero can't believe what their life is right now.

As if sensing Hero's continued hesitancy, Villain stands back to their full height. "Maybe our paths will cross again, and I can get you to agree later. To dinner or to giving me your name." They all but purr, before turning back to where the clerk is waiting fearfully with a thick looking folder. All the while, Hero's mind is reeling as they try and steady their heart.

The other civilians continue to look at them as if they've grown a second head.

Villain strides to the desk, taking the documents and giving them a once over. Whatever it is, they find it satisfactory, apparently, snapping the folder shut with a wicked grin after a moment.

"Your participation made this as bloodless as possible. Thanks for the cooperation." Villain's tone is full of mirth as they speak to the clerk one last time. Hero can only be thankful that, again, no casualties occurred. Small victories, they suppose.

Villain makes to walk towards the exit, but before they do, they kneel down in front of Hero, closer than before. Hero can smell the rich smokey smell of their cologne, as Villain grabs their chin gingerly.

They lean in close, speaking quietly enough that only Hero's ears can pick up the soft, almost affectionate words as their breath fans across their neck.

"It was nice to see you outside of costume again, Hero."

[petew21-blog]

No Pay, No Gain

Hey, my name is Justin and I'll be your new personal trainer.

I work for the company - Getripped. Our company promises you to get in shape without even working out. How? Easy. Body swap with the personal trainer of your choice.

And that's what I do exactly. Whenever someone chooses me to be their trainer, we first set up and contract. The swap isn't cheap, so mostly celebrities choose our service. The contract states that both sides have to respect their bodies, to return them unharmed and well. Our bodies have a tracker to prevent body thefts, which happened quite often in the past.

On top of that, the person in our body has to respond everytime a notification rings on their phone. Its basically like BeReal. And if they don't send you their location and photo, they are charged extra.

Seems fine for both sides, right?

I gave myself a little show in the mirror for the last time before the swap. I really like my body and the way that I keep myslef fit. If everything was right, I would never leave this body.

But I really need this job, it pays extremely well.

I flexed, smiled and proceeded to head out for the swap.

I wasn't sure who I was gonna swap with, but the people who pick me are mostly men in their 40s with a lovely young girlfriend. Yep, you guessed it. They do use my body for sex as well.

The contract doesn't prohibit them to do so, but we can't do anything in their bodies.

I entered my pod and waited. The lights blinked and in the next moment I was on the other side of the room.

I stepped outside and saw my own body get out of the pod. He was shocked, seeing himself from my body. We always let the customers calm down and wait for their initial reaction to pass.

I found out that I was (indeed as I predicted) another actor in his forties wanting to get fit. We had a chat in the waiting room about our new lives.

What followed was a trip to the gym. I would show the client what I would work on in their body and they could get a feel of what it feels like to work out in my body.

Strangely, this seems to he the most efficient to not let them relapse after returning to their own bodies. It somehow changes their mind a bit and after the swap, they tend to follow their new routine more easily.

The actor, let's call him Bill, stood in front off me, watching me lift the weights. I got i to it and didn't even notice that he stepped in front of the mirror and started posing.

Yep. Another one of these. I bet my body is gonna have a lot of sex in the following months.

He lifted my shorts and flexed.

"HOLY SHIT. Am I gonna get this big too?"

Me:"The goal is to get you in shape, sir. So hopefully of all goes well, I should be able to get your muscle mass on my level or a bit close to it."

"GOD DAMN. You really sure about leaving me this body all to myself? I used to be quite the party animal when I was your age. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic."

Me:"How you'll spend your time in my body is up to you. All you need and can't do is in the contract. So my body is for you to enjoy."

"You learned your instructions nicely. I bet that you wouldn't even get your body close to me if it weren't for the money, right? But we all do what we gotta do to survive in this world. Anyway. Don't worry, son. I'll be respectful to your body."

Me:"Glad to hear that, sir."

"Would you mind if I would gl rub one our in the showers? Im gonna do it later anyway, but I really do feel like doing it now after all this posing."

I clenched my teeth, but didn't let him see my frustration. "Of course. I'll continue the workout."

He laughed and with a swaggy walk left the room.

It may seem crazy to let my body be controled by people like he is, but I gotta say that they usually treat it nicely.

We parted our ways. I arrived to my hosts massive house and explored. He was really one of the bigger ones. I checked his schedule of events. For the durarion of the swap it said - shooting the BIG movie. Yeah, right. But besides that my schedule was free. So it was entirely up to me how I would spend my time in this body.

I received his first random update the next day. My body was standing in a lake, flexing. Seems like he is enjoying his time in my body. He replied with a message. He left for 2 months long holiday in Europe.

Maybe he could take some good photos there for me to post on instagram. Or to my page at the company to get even higher paying customers.

It seems like this guy is really decent. He sent another photo in swimshorts. My body really looks amazing. I especially love to watch my pecs.

Maybe after all this swapping I developped some kjnd of fetish. But whenever the customers send photos of my body like knew of these, I get hard af.

I looked down and this time was not different. I exhaled deeply and thrusted my new hairy hand over my belly into my jeans. "Let's get on with it..."

A story from Inbox submitted by @objectifiedhimbo:

Could you do a bodyswap story about a personal trainer who gets paid to deliberately swap? Like maybe he swaps, works out in their body and eats healthy till they have the perfect body and swaps back for huge amounts of money.

The beautiful human being is alexgffitness (insta)