#and personal trainer

[selfcarecap]

I know some of those Instagram accounts that show what celebrities really look like when they’re unedited or going about their day to day life are really toxic, and they must be awful for celebrities, but it’s genuinely so good to see that most celebrities also just look like normal people (or have had so much surgery that they’re unrecognisable from a few years ago)

[rafesheaven]

personal trainer rafe who always compliments your gym fits at every session– especially the leggings that make ur bum look so nice and squishy to touch :3

Rafe complimenting your outfits was nothing new, he's been doing it since your first session. He loved seeing you prance around in your little gym outfits.

However, today's fit was making his cock stir against his workout shorts, his eyes drifting to your ass as he watched you walk away to put your bag in the women's locker room.

When you walked back out, he moved his hand to rest on the small of your back, guiding you. "These new?" he muttered, pinching at the pink fabric against your thigh, "You look good in pink".

"You've really gotta stop complimenting me" you giggle, "Why's that? Are they makin' that little head of yours spin?" he teased, “Just complimenting my favorite client, s'all".

“Think you should keep wearing leggings like these, they fit you like a glove".

Your face flushes at his words, "C'mon, let's do some stretches first".

Rafe guided you into a few stretches and he kept getting distracted because he couldn't keep his eyes off the way your ass looked in your leggings, "Alright, just one more, and then we can start, yeah?".

"I want you to bend down and touch your toes, it'll help stretch your hamstrings" he ordered. As you bend down, he's staring intently at your ass, your ass looks so full and soft, he had to restrain himself from grabbing at the fatty flesh.

"Fuck..." he mumbles under his breath, licking his lips. His cock throbs as his mind is racing with filthy thoughts of keeping you bent over and taking you right then and there.

@oceandriveab @babygorewhore @shawtycoreee @nemesyaaa @drewstarkeys-world @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @starkeyisthelastname @xxbimbobunnyxx @rafesthroatbaby @fae-of-prey @chimindity

[straightmenobsession]

IFBB Pro Bodybuilder, Personal Trainer & Online Coach Dennis Reinhold.

“Time to push more, Boss.”

[shootingstareon]

banging on the wall of my asylum room can anyone hear me.

[atruewarrior]

Drabble challenge 2024 | Day 3: Unhealthy character: bakugou katsuki

"One more."

"I can't," you pant. "I feel lightheaded."

"That's what you get for not hitting the gym enough."

"Working out isn't the answer to everything!"

"It sure is to that unhealthy lifestyle of yours." You roll your eyes. "And didn't you say you wanted a rounder ass?"

"I did," you pout, yelping when Katsuki pinches your butt. "Stop, someone will see."

"So what? You're my fucking wife," he shouts.

"Shut up!"

His mischievous eyes and lopsided grin tell you he won't stop unless you comply, so with a sigh you get in position and brave through another set of squats.

[crabsnpersimmons]

have been feeling under the weather lately, so i daydreamed a silly nurse moon to take care of me

also couldn't decide which i liked better so i leave the choice to you, brave patient. which nurse will you choose?

[milkteabinniechan]

♡muscle memory - changbin

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: personal trainer! Changbin x afab reader

summary: New Year, New You. You signed up for a gym membership and it even includes a personal trainer! But this personal trainer is so sexy and so good with his tongue...

warnings: sex, sex, sex, shower sex, size difference!!, praise and motivation

Just a few more. You're almost there, come on…

Changbin held your ankles as you finished your last rep. Your last set of ten. Sweat dripped from every inch of your skin. Every muscle was screaming at you. Angry. Your body was angry. You let out one final huff and sat up, slinging your arms over your knees. Changbin patted your back.

“Great job, champ.”

“Fuck off, beefcake.” You spat back, an exhausted smirking lingering on your lips. You had paid for a full year membership at your local gym. The sexy, muscular, absolutely gorgeous personal trainer was just a bonus. But something unexpected had happened while you were working out together, you actually enjoyed it. Changbin motivated you in a way that made you feel powerful and in control. He never faltered with the compliments or telling you how proud he was of you.

You had never really spent this much time with a man, especially a “gym bro” that was so positive and sensitive. He pushed you but never too much. The way he touched your body, his hand running down the length of your back, made your head spin.

You knew it was inappropriate to flirt. So you never did. You were strictly there to exercise. But every once and a while, your mind would wander while you did your morning stretches with him. You'd imagine him coming up behind you while you held the downward dog pose, his hands gripping your hips and pressing you into his clothes cock. The bulge rubbing and pushing into the thin material of your spandex shorts.

You okay?

You snapped your mind out of your current daydream and locked eyes with Changbin who was standing in front of you, confusion painted across his soft features.

“Yeah, sorry. I'm good.” You give him a quick smile and a thumbs up before moving to the next workout in your routine.

Changbin watched as you moved over to the chest press machine. You positioned yourself just like he taught you and placed your arms on either side of the padded bars before pulling in towards your chest. Changbin sighed heavily. This workout was always the most difficult for him to watch. The way it spread your arms open, the way you breathed and whimpered softly at each counted rep. The noises. God the noises you would make were enough to send him into an animalistic grunting mess. He clenched his fists tight as he watched you strain and pull your arms together and then back out.

“Good. That's good. Just a few more. You're doing great.”

You breathed heavily at Changbin's words. His praise shooting straight to your tightly wound core. You hoped that your panting would be disguised as just an intense workout and not from you picturing Changbin praising you like that while you rode him like a goddamn elliptical machine.

You let your arms fall limp as you finished your last set. Changbin smiled at you softly and told you to hit the showers as he did every time. You returned his sweet smile and the two of you made your way to your respective locker rooms. You paused for a moment as you saw a cellphone on the floor mat. You recognized the phone right away and knew it was Changbin's. He was terrible at keeping track of his phone, so you swiftly picked it up off of the floor and walked towards the men's locker room.

Whether it was the high from working out or possible dehydration, you walked carefree into the men's locker room without thinking, and came face to face with your personal trainer. Changbin locked eyes with you, only a dark blue pair of briefs covering him now. He stood frozen, his thumbs hooked in the waistband. You registered his entire form. His chiseled body was glistening with a sweat that matched your own. The muscles in his abdomen twitched and flexed as your eyes roamed over his perfect frame.

Everything in your brain was telling you to leave. To apologize for intruding. To politely bow and walk away. But your body; your aching, desperate, needy body was screaming at you again. Screaming and clawing and begging. You knew you couldn't ignore that screaming for one more second. You started slow, walking towards him with caution. You waited for any sign of hesitation or resistance, but there was none. Changbin's eyes moved down to your feet and watched you walk towards him. An intense heat started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

“You left your pho-” but your words were cut short as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his hard body. The rush of endorphins was making it impossible for him to resist you any longer.

Your tongue tangled with his in a sloppy, messy dance as you pressed your body harder into his. His mouth swallowed up your every moan, his hands moving up your back and traveling into your hair. Your hips moved instinctively into his, desperate for more friction. He made quick work of your clothes and pulled them off in one fast motion. He lifted you up and wrapped your legs around him. He held you effortlessly with one arm and carried you over to the showers. You helped him turn on the faucet and shut the curtain, hoping that the sound of rushing water would drown out some of the noise. But the moment Changbin pulled his cock out of his briefs, you knew that no amount of noise could drown out the sounds he was going to pull out of you. He saw the look on your face as you watched with wide eyes, his cock twitching and bouncing to be inside of you. He smiles proudly at your expression before trailing his gaze down to your entrance. He slid in slow, taking his time to fill you properly. You winced and held your breath at the initial shock of pressure. He was huge. And your body needed a minute to adjust to the size of him. You flung your arms around his neck and buried your face into his chest as he continued to slide inch by inch. Opening you up like a flower, he gripped your thighs and took his time.

“That's it, just a little more. You're doing great.” His voice was low and gruff.

That familiar praise rang through you like a bell and you felt your entire body tense up in the most delicious way.

Changbin could feel you opening up for him. The unspoken invitation to quicken his speed a bit. He didn't hesitate at all, his hips rutting into you faster than before. You moaned out loudly and let your head fall back against the cool wall of the shower tile. He continued this pace, pushing you further into the wall, the sound of water echoing around you. This was the only workout you ever wanted to do. You silently wondered how many reps he would make you do.

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[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward. 

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer. 

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣  Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results. 

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles. 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?” 

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

[thunderon]

i was aghast when i found out that at one point melanie lynskey was asked about getting a personal trainer for the role of shauna. like i can’t believe someone tried to deprive us of this

[bigcatbulges]

Source - DANNON_511

(Artist's FurAffinity Itaku Pixiv Bluesky and Picarto)

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

Teal Mask DLC in a nutshell (someone help this kid please! He deserves better!)

[rafesheaven]

personal trainer rafe who got the schedules mixed up and had booked you for an earlier session (because he wants to see you again ASAP) not realising he had another female client already booked at the same time.

Before the session you tell him to treat you both equally, but he just keeps favouring you for some reason— running across the room to spot you “just in case”, loitering around you unnecessarily, takes his water breaks when you do, compliments you/hypes you up but is professional with his other client, his eyes seek you out from the other side of the room etc etc.

You’re just his favourite and he’s not afraid to show it.

•°. *࿐ HIS FAVORITE

pairing: personal trainer!rafe x reader warnings: just fluff + you being rafe's favorite client word count: 433

personal trainer!rafe moodboard

a/n: ugh please, i LOVE this lil au i created sm <3

Rafe was so determined to see you as soon as he could that he accidentally booked you for the same time as one of his other clients. You knew accidents happen and were thankfully understanding, you even suggested rescheduling the session to ensure his other client was getting her money’s worth. Of course, Rafe declined because he’s been looking forward to seeing you, “You’re already here so there’s no need to reschedule, besides, I could work with both of you”. 

As you worked out, Rafe was with his client, instructing her through her workout. On the other side, you were doing squats with the Smith machine. Rafe knew you wouldn’t need help because the machine didn’t require a spotter but he couldn’t help himself as he ran over to you. 

He planted his hands on your waist, “Take it easy, I don’t want you to hurt yourself”. 

“Rafe, I’m fine, you told me the other day this machine was great if you didn’t have a spotter, remember?” you reminded him, “I remember but I wanted to spot you just in case, you’re still fairly new to using this thing” he chuckled. 

Throughout the session, he “coincidentally” took his water breaks when you did, walking over to where you were to grab his bottle. Even after your small break for water was over you’d go back to working out, he’d linger for a few minutes before going to his client.  

When she would take a break, he loitered around watching you do the routine he’s shown you before. His hands occasionally touch your waist, fingers merely grazing the underside of your tits as he corrects your form and he praises you consistently, saying things such as, “There you go, good girl, you’re doing great”. 

Towards the end of the session, he was back with his client, barely touching her and when he did, it was only a small brush against her shoulder to fix her posture, as he helped guide her. You could hear him from where you were across the room, “Good, just make sure your knees don’t go past your toes when you squat”. 

He found himself consistently looking for your whereabouts, the corner of his lip turning upwards when his eyes would land on you. Rafe has always kept it professional with his clients and knew he should be doing the same with you but he couldn’t help it, you caught his attention the first day you met him. He should feel somewhat guilty for treating you differently but truth be told, he wasn’t ashamed, after all, you’re his favorite client.

tagging: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @starkeyisthelastname @nemesyaaa @annoyingassleo @shawtycoreee @drewstarkeys-world @fae-of-prey @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @wearemadeofstardust0 @blckbrrybasket @honeybunniesoobin @spacexdrago @chimindity @spid6y @flvredcas @kisses4angel @rafecameroninterlude

[izu]

the squishy baby .

[flor4de4amor]

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲! 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

click here to support palestine!

my rules n regs

thinking abt personal trainer! abs n gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

personal trainer!abby who’s incredibly handsy and enjoys getting under your skin. she’s never sparse with praise and enjoys watching you get flustered when she calls you a “good girl” for lifting a weight you wouldn’t have been able to lift a month ago. 

personal trainer!abby who stares at you while doing intensive workouts (like, hip thrust and quad rolls) with some of the most guttural moans you’ve ever heard. she can't help herself!

personal trainer!abby who is disgustingly jealous when it comes to you. her eyes glint mischievously when you wear tight leggings, showing off your ass, for her of course. she’s the only one ever allowed to spot you. when eyes linger on you for too long while you’re working out, she sends a harsh death stare to the person. who’re they to watch her girl?

personal trainer!abby who brings new foods for you to try during bulking/cutting season. she feeds you the spoon affectionately, “is it good?” she asks, sparse hairs in her eyes and her voice soft. you nod in eagerly, smiling through your answer. she grins, “good. i’ll bring you a dish of some later this week alright?” she has the proudest look on her face. 

personal trainer!abby who benches double  your body weight and winks at you while she does so. “don’t be shy princess,” she winks at you. “if you ever need someone to carry you around y’know who to call.” she grins watching you get flustered.

personal trainer!abby who does pushups with you on her back, sweat coating her brow, and she grunts. her heart fluttering as you giggle atop her back, asking her stupid questions like ‘am i too heavy?’ she clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “shut up pretty girl.” she retorts while continuing her set.

personal trainer!abby who's like a feral dog watching you do your workouts. she knows you're her client, but she can't help but froth at the mouth when you ask her for help. she should be more professional, but she can't deny your pretty face and sweet smile.

[kagooleo]

the gangs all here!!!

[shootingstareon]

meeting you