hyppntf

[hyppntf]

The Wrong Towel

Ryan was the kind of guy who shrank into the background almost by default. Early twenties, skinny, pale skin, and a little bit of a nerdy vibe that came out when he adjusted his glasses mid-sentence or nervously smiled when someone caught his eye. His hair was always a little messy but clean, like he’d run a comb through it absentmindedly at best. Today at the gym, he wore a soft cotton tee and faded joggers—nothing flashy, just comfortable.

He had a small ritual: after working out, he'd dry off meticulously, wrap his towel just so, and then hit the locker room for a quick shower before heading out. But today was different.

Ryan reached for a towel from the stack in the corner by the treadmills, and without thinking, grabbed the one folded on top. It was thicker, heavier, and smelled… different. Maybe a bit musty? He shrugged it off as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

As he moved through his routine—light cardio, stretching, some machines—he felt a strange heat creeping through his body. Nothing alarming yet, just a growing buzz, like an energy spark. But there was something else too: a dull tension knotting in his shoulders, a tightening in his jaw he hadn’t noticed before.

He glanced at his reflection in the glass wall by the weights. His face looked the same—still shy, still timid—but his eyes had shifted. There was a sharpness there now, a kind of challenge lurking beneath the surface. He blinked, trying to shake it away, telling himself he was just tired.

When Ryan settled onto the bench press, the transformation started small, almost imperceptible. His usual careful movements became sloppier. He grunted louder than necessary, the sounds rough and crude, slicing through the calm gym atmosphere. Each rep was harder, more aggressive, his arms flexing with new strength, veins popping out like cables.

He caught sight of a group of guys nearby, all the usual gym-bro types: big, loud, their conversations peppered with crude jokes and flexing. Ryan’s gaze locked onto a guy’s bicep as he slammed a dumbbell down with a satisfied grunt.

A sudden surge of desire bubbled up inside Ryan, unfamiliar and unsettling. His mind, usually filled with worries about whether he looked awkward or had spinach stuck in his teeth, started shifting gears.

“Damn, bro… check out that ass,” a voice echoed in his head—not his own, deeper, rougher, dripping with arrogance. Ryan’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk before he caught himself. No way, that wasn’t him.

But the voice didn’t fade. “Bet you’d wreck that chick in the pink tank. Tight little body, begging for it.”

Ryan’s heart hammered, but it wasn’t fear this time. It was a raw, impatient hunger. He felt his posture straighten, chest puffing out involuntarily. The soft curves of his frame started to harden, muscles swelling beneath the fabric of his shirt, his shoulders broadening.

He wiped his face again with the towel, and now it was unmistakable—the smell wasn’t just musty; it was heavy with sweat and something sharper, a musk that clung to the fibers. Ryan frowned but didn’t stop.

“Bro, you gotta own it,” the voice pushed. “Less nerd, more beast. That’s how you get what you want.”

Ryan’s fingers clenched the towel harder, knuckles whitening. His brain fuzzed out, thoughts scattering until only blunt instincts remained. The once-shy twink was receding somewhere deep inside.

In the mirror, the reflection was changing too. His eyes darkened, brows thickened, jaw squared. His lips curled into a dumb, cocky grin—half challenge, half stupidity.

He dropped the towel on the bench beside him, the damp fabric leaving a faint, pungent trail behind. It was heavier now, soaked in a scent that screamed ‘not clean.’

Ryan stood, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths, and headed toward the weight rack, the dim outlines of his old self already fading like a ghost.

The clang of weights echoed through the gym like battle cries, but Ryan didn’t just hear it — he felt it, pounding through his veins, shaking his whole body. His breaths were thick and heavy, chest puffed out like a prize fighter, eyes narrowed with a mix of determination and something else: raw, unfiltered hunger.

The towel lay crumpled on the bench, soaked and rank. Ryan ignored the sting of sweat dripping down his spine, the slick slickness coating his skin. He no longer cared about neatness, or smelling nice. Hygiene was for losers, and losers didn’t get what he wanted.

He reached for the dumbbells with a grunt that ripped from deep in his throat, muscles bulging, veins throbbing like ropes under his skin. His fingers, once delicate and precise, now looked thick and scarred, rough from years of hard work—even though they hadn’t been until minutes ago.

“Yo, bro, you gotta push harder,” a voice inside him snarled, low and dumb. “Show ‘em who’s boss.”

Ryan flexed, feeling a strange, new confidence flood him. His thoughts were shallow, almost numb, boiling down to the essentials: look big, talk loud, get what you want. Words felt unnecessary; little grunts, smirks, and cocky nods said it all.

He caught sight of a girl tying her hair by the water fountain, petite and sporty in tight leggings. His gaze locked, and without thinking, his mouth curved into a stupid, leering grin.

“Damn, baby, you know you want this,” he muttered under his breath, voice thick and rough like gravel.

The awkward, stammering Ryan who might have blushed or looked away was gone. Instead, an obnoxious, sweaty beast stood in his place—horny, predatory, and confident in a way that made his old self want to scream.

He wiped his face again with the towel, grimacing at the smell but not enough to stop. In fact, the stench seemed to fuel him, a badge of raw masculinity. His armpits were slick with sweat, hair thickening and curling wildly as if rebelling against any grooming.

Ryan’s jaw clenched, muscles rippling as he turned back to the bench press. Each rep was harder, louder—his grunts deepening into guttural roars that turned heads and earned some smirks from the other bros.

“Yeah, that’s it, bro. Own the fuckin’ gym.”

The voice inside him laughed, stupid and cruel. It whispered dirty jokes about “milking bitches” and “stacking plates” but Ryan barely understood the words anymore; all that mattered was the feeling—the power, the heat, the endless, aching need.

He was bigger now—thicker arms, broader shoulders, chest rising in solid waves beneath his soaked shirt. His boxers clung to a swelling cock that throbbed without shame, and the stupid grin never left his face.

As the final rep slammed home, Ryan tossed the towel back onto the pile near the lockers. It was soaked through, smelling like a swamp of sweat and gym funk. The perfect bait for the next unlucky soul who grabbed it without thinking.

Ryan didn’t care. He never cared about that kind of thing anymore.

With a cocky grunt, he slapped his sweaty chest and swaggered out of the weight room, already eyeing the next target—the next girl, the next bro to challenge, the next gym to dominate.

[hyppntf]

Swipe, Zap, Swap

Matt wasn’t supposed to still be scrolling Tumblr.

It was late. Like, really late. But the comfort of his small studio apartment, the soft hum of his fan, and the glowing blue light of his laptop screen made it easy to ignore the ticking clock. He was curled up on his couch, hoodie sleeves tugged nervously over his palms, quietly flipping through a curated tag of gay art and porn gifs with that familiar cocktail of guilt and excitement tightening in his chest.

He was 22. White. Kind of cute, people said — in a geeky way. Shy. Didn’t get out much. Still lived in his college town. Still used “uwu” unironically sometimes. He wasn’t out to his family, but all his close friends knew. Most of his nights ended like this — Tumblr, tea, too many feelings.

Then he saw him.

A reblogged clip from some straight porn site, posted for “ironic” reasons — supposedly — but Matt clicked anyway. The video looped. A tanned, jacked Mexican porn guy, grunting while pounding a bottle-blonde girl with the grace of a gorilla and the sweat of a sauna. The guy's abs flexed like steel cables. His face was all squinting, lip-curling intensity, thick brows and a sculpted jaw covered in a trim, wet beard. He had an accent, too — at least, the caption claimed he did. “Yo, this pussy feel too good, mami, fuck!” it read.

Matt blushed. He would never go for a guy like that. Like, ew. So straight. So gross. So… smelly-looking. And yet, some shameful, small part of him lingered. Not with attraction, but curiosity.

“What the hell even goes on in a guy like that’s head?” he muttered, shaking his head.

That’s when it happened.

A sharp, stinging zap! hit his fingertips as they hovered over the play button. His laptop screen pulsed — not flashed, but throbbed. His eyes widened. The room tipped. The air grew humid. He opened his mouth to gasp, but—

He groaned.

The sound that came out wasn’t Matt’s soft voice. It was deep, cocky, dripping with sleaze.

His eyelids fluttered open. The ceiling above him was off-white and cracked. A ceiling fan spun slowly, barely moving the thick, wet air. His head throbbed. His skin was hot.

And he was lying naked.

“Wha…?” he slurred. Except it didn’t come out like a question. It came out as a grunt.

He sat up. His chest heaved. Gone was his flat, hair-dusted torso. In its place was a bronzed, sweaty slab of pecs, firm and lean, beaded with sweat. Two dark, tiny nipples pointed outward like cocky exclamation points. His skin was completely hairless. Not shaved — bare, like waxed smooth all over. His armpits reeked, tangy and masculine. Even that had changed.

His hands — holy shit. Calloused. Tanned. Veiny. When he brought them to his face, he felt scruff. A beard. Thick mustache. He whimpered again — no, moaned. But it wasn’t fear. His cock twitched.

A mirror on the dresser caught his eye. The guy in the reflection wasn’t Matt.

It was him. The straight porn star.

Matted black hair slicked with sweat. Brown, slightly bloodshot eyes. Faint acne scars. And a stupid, cocky smirk that curled at the corner of his lips even though he felt panic swelling in his throat.

“No, no, no, bro, this ain't right,” he tried to say.

What came out was: “Puta madre… what the fuck… why I so fuckin’ hard, bro?” The accent was thick. Lazy. Drawling. Straight from some cheap LA amateur studio.

He stumbled to his feet — legs shaky, dick rock hard, slapping his thigh. He had on nothing but cheap white boxer-briefs that were damp with sweat and pre-cum. His cock was massive. Uncut. Pulsing. Veiny. The sight made him gag — but instead of recoiling, his body flexed, hips grinding forward on instinct.

He looked around the room. No books. No plush toys. No LED lights. Just a single mattress, dirty sheets, a gym bag on the floor, and a giant calendar tacked to the wall with one word scrawled over every day: “SHOOT.”

His phone lit up on the nightstand. A notification from someone named Vato69.

“Yo bro u good? Mia’s outside. We doing that DP scene at 3.”

His fingers tapped the screen on muscle memory. “Hell yeah, bro. I’m hard already.”

His jaw locked. He tried to scream, tried to say “help,” but instead, he licked his lips and murmured: “Mmm, hope her pussy’s tight today.”

Tears welled in his eyes. He wasn’t into girls. He had never been into girls. But now? The only thing his brain kept looping was tits bouncing. Pussies clenching. Faces moaning as they got sprayed.

He grabbed his cock, unable to stop himself. “Mmmf… fuckkk… gimme dat throat, baby…” His free hand rubbed across his abs, smearing sweat across his tan chest. His eyes glazed over, mouth open, tongue flicking the air like some dumb, horny dog.

No thoughts. Just sex. Just sweat. Just porn.

His name wasn’t Matt anymore.

It was Javi.

The van smelled like cum, weed, and AXE body spray.

Matt—or Javi, as the thick-necked driver kept calling him—sat in the back seat with his legs spread wide, the tip of his uncut cock barely restrained by his damp boxers. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But all he could do was scratch at his sweaty crotch with a grunt and squint at the screen of his cracked iPhone, where a low-res thumbnail of a girl gagging on a dildo made his cock twitch again.

He hated it.

He loved it.

“Fuck, bro,” he muttered in that greasy, nasal voice, Mexican accent thick and lazy like it oozed out of his mouth between tongue and lip. “Hope she takes both cocks today. I don’t wanna wait long. Gotta nut hard, hombre.”

He cringed on the inside, but outwardly, his lips curled into that same crooked grin. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a meaty knuckle. His face was stubbled, slightly greasy. He could smell himself—strong. Sour. Musky. Not in a bad way, though. In a dominant way.

When he stepped out into the daylight, he barely registered the shift. He was too focused on the blonde waiting outside the warehouse door. Big fake tits. Tan lines. Lips like a cartoon. He drooled. Literally.

“Hola, mami…” he grunted, lips parting into a crude, horny smirk. “Mmmph, you lookin’ like a snack.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile said she was used to it.

He wanted to ask her name, ask if she was okay, if she liked doing this—but all that came to his tongue was: “You ready to get this fat dick in your guts or what?”

“God, Javi, same shit every time,” she laughed. “You gonna actually remember your lines today?”

He blinked. “Lines?”

“Yeah. Not just ‘fuck yeah, take it, bitch.’” She laughed again. “You say that in every scene.”

He chuckled—loud, guttural, stupid. “Shit, that’s ‘cause they always do, mami. Fuckin’ love it.”

Inside, the lights were hot. Cameras ready. Crew milling around. And the moment he stripped down, the last of his resistance tried to rise up—only to be steamrolled by the wave of horniness that seized his body.

His balls felt full. His cock ached. There was no shame, no anxiety. Only a need. A dumb, primal urge.

He looked at himself in the mirror before the director called action. The body was still shocking.

Bronzed, lean, wiry muscle. No hair. Not on the chest, not under the arms, not even below the waist. Just sweat. And that face: lined with sleaze, beard trimmed like a porn parody of machismo. His tongue dangled from his mouth a little. His brow furrowed in that signature fuckboy focus.

He tried to say “please stop, I don’t want this” but his mouth opened and the only words that came out were: “Ayyy, let’s fuckin’ GO, baby! Javi gonna ruin that pussy today!”

The shoot was brutal.

Raw.

He was a machine. Groaning. Sweating. Saying the filthiest things in a ridiculous accent he couldn’t shake even if he tried. Every time he tried to think about who he was before—what he was doing the day before, where he grew up, his real name—all he could think about was tits. Pussy. His own smell. Fuckin’ breedin’.

By the time he came — all over the girl’s back, his balls empty and swinging — he was lightheaded and happy.

The director clapped.

“Nice job, Javi. As always.”

He grinned, slapping the girl’s ass. “Told ya. Javi always delivers that leche, bro.”

As he pulled his boxers up over his still-slick cock, his reflection caught his eye again.

There was nothing left of Matt.

No softness. No shame. No trace of the quiet, shy boy who liked tea, books, and guys with soft eyes.

Only Javi remained — horny, smirking, swaggering. Dumb as a brick and lovin’ it.

He flexed his pecs in the mirror and muttered:

“Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ hot, bro. Gonna jerk off again in the van. Can’t wait to fuck another bitch tomorrow.”

Somewhere, deep inside, Matt whimpered.

But Javi just laughed.

[hyppntf]

Pump Pass: One Free Trial

Harry didn’t remember signing up for anything. But there it was: a thick, matte-black envelope in his mailbox when he came home from the office. The return address was blank, and the words on the card inside were sleek, simple, and strange.

“PUMP PASS — One Free Trial. Get Out of Your Head. Get Into the Game.”

He blinked at it, standing in his postage stamp of a kitchen, tie still cinched tight, plastic bag from Trader Joe’s dripping condensation onto the linoleum. Probably junk mail, he thought. But something about the embossed chrome letters made his fingers trace them twice before flipping the card over.

“Membership begins automatically. Check-in required. Results guaranteed.”

The next morning, the card was gone from his countertop, but there was a barcode tattooed faintly onto his wrist.

Harry was 38. Average in height, in looks, in libido. He worked in a beige office and went home to a beige studio. His last date had been three months ago, and even then, it ended in an awkward hug outside a Korean BBQ place. He’d all but given up. His libido had dried up. Porn didn’t even do much anymore. All he wanted was to feel something.

That’s why, on a lonely Tuesday after another forgettable Zoom meeting, he found himself outside TitanZone Gym, staring up at its flickering LED sign. It wasn’t his kind of place — all glass and steel and loud reggaeton beats leaking through the sliding doors. But the barcode on his wrist glowed faintly when he approached. The scanner let him in with a satisfying beep.

The gym reeked of sweat and iron. The air was thick. And the moment he stepped through, his head swam. His fingertips tingled. A bored-looking Asian guy with a clipboard at the front desk barely looked up.

“Trial member?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

“Nice. Locker 88. Towel's in there. Gear too. You’ll want to change.”

At first, Harry chalked it up to gym anxiety. His shirt was clinging strangely to his chest, his slacks felt tight around his thighs. The locker room mirror looked fogged, distorted. But when he peeled off his work shirt, he stopped short.

His shoulders looked…wider?

He brushed a hand across his chest and flinched. His pecs had swollen—subtly, but definitely. They looked… puffier. Like a guy who actually lifted. Not a lot. Just enough to notice. His skin was a shade darker too — faintly bronzed, even though he hadn’t seen the sun in days.

Locker 88 contained a tight black compression tank, sweat-stained gray shorts, and a pair of chunky neon sneakers. Not exactly his usual vibe, but… he felt compelled. He slipped them on.

The scent of the clothes hit him first. Not disgusting — just ripe. Testosterone, sweat, Axe body spray. It made something in him twitch.

He was hard.

“What the f—”

The mirror caught him again. His jawline was squarer. His short, thinning brown hair had grown slightly longer, darker, thicker. His eyebrows were straighter now. He didn’t look like Harry anymore.

“Ey, bro. You hittin' chest today?” someone asked as he walked out of the locker room.

Harry turned to see a massive Chinese guy in a stringer tank, sweaty and grinning, earbuds dangling. Harry was about to say, “Sorry, I’m new here,” but what came out instead was:

“Yeah, bro. Gotta get pump in da pecs, y’know?”

His voice had changed — heavier, with a thick Hong Kong lilt. He blinked, confused. He wasn’t from Hong Kong. He was born in LA.

Right?

Over the next hour, the transformation accelerated. Every rep on the bench press made his arms swell, his veins bulge. He grunted like a beast, not even caring. His skin deepened into a dark bronze sheen, coated in sweat. His nipples stretched wide over meaty, growing pecs. His face changed with every flex — high cheekbones, a square jaw, heavy lids, and a cocky smirk that wouldn’t leave.

By the time he went to the locker room mirror again, his old self was nearly gone.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered in his new voice, flexing in the mirror. His accent was thick now, heavy with swagger. “Shit, look good, bruh.”

He grinned stupidly at his own reflection, bouncing his massive pecs for no one in particular. His thoughts were slowing. Growing… simpler. Narrower.

Big chest = good. Girls like chest. Must train more. Girls like cock. Gotta fuck girl.

That last one made his cock throb.

He groaned and grabbed it through his shorts, the fabric already soaked in pre. No thoughts now — just the smell of his own sweat, the sound of weights clanking, the taste of Axe on the back of his throat.

And one word in his head, louder than all others.

“BANG.”

“Yo, you done?” the same dude from earlier asked.

Harry blinked. No… not Harry. That wasn’t his name anymore.

He turned, thick muscles glistening, a tattoo of kanji now covering his right shoulder. He smiled dimly.

“Call me… Jax.”

He said it without thinking, then scratched his thick neck, adjusting his massive balls in his soaked shorts.

“Gotta go smash some fuckin’ puss, bro. Legs tomorrow.”

He slapped his new bro on the back and left, earbuds blasting EDM, the sound of his own dumb chuckle echoing down the hallway. He didn't know who Harry was.

He didn't care.

Jax had gains to make. Girls to wreck. And a cock that needed constant draining.

[hyppntf]

Fugitive From Outer Space — Part 1

I lived in this old cabin near the woods. No nosy neighbors. No traffic. Just birds, wind, and the occasional howl at night. The internet’s shit, but I don’t mind. Solitude suits me, I just hate dealing with people. But sometimes I couldn't help but wonder... would it be that bad to share this cabin with someone else?

One lonely morning, I was sitting at the counter sipping my hot black coffee, lazily spooning oatmeal into my mouth, when the news anchor’s voice pulled my attention back to the TV screen.

"The search continues today for Jeremy Cale, a 32-year-old firefighter and father of two, who vanished without a trace during an early morning jog last Sunday.

Cale was last seen around 5:30 a.m. leaving his home in the Oakridge neighborhood, wearing a gray hoodie and black running shorts. According to family members, this was part of his usual routine—but this time, he never returned.

Local and state authorities have been working around the clock, combing nearby trails and wooded areas, while also reviewing surveillance footage and following up on community tips.

Jeremy’s family is pleading with the public for any information that might lead to his whereabouts. If you saw anything unusual in the area last Sunday morning, or have any relevant information, you’re urged to contact the police department or local Crime Stoppers line.

Again, Jeremy Cale is 32 years old, approximately 6 feet tall, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He is a respected member of the local fire department and a devoted father. His disappearance has shaken the community—and many are hoping for his safe return."

A picture flashed on screen of Jeremy. Shirtless, smiling, flanked by his wife and two kids at what looked like some summer lake trip. The man was fit. Square jaw, perfect beard. He was really hot—I thought as I took another sip of my coffee.

"Mr. Cale's last known location was near the forest trail on Lark Pine Road," the anchor added. I looked out my window. Lark Pine was practically my backyard.

I lived near a small town, where the most shocking news would be of a raccoon that bit an old lady. So, a man suddenly going missing was like a huge deal, becoming the only subject for the entire week among the citizens... Me? Honestly, I had better things to worry about, like finishing the new season of my favorite show.

Later that day, as I was watching my show, I heard a loud knock at the back door. Knocking was actually a kind term; it was more like someone trying to break in. So I grabbed a baseball bat—just for precaution. No one ever visits me out here, and I don't have friends or family. The UPS guy leaves packages at the front door, and even raccoons know to steer clear. Either that was a bear wanting to eat me, or a robber—I didn't know which one was worse. I slowly cracked the door open. And nearly dropped dead.

Standing on my back door, completely naked, was Jeremy Cale. The missing firefighter. But he didn't have the warm smile from the family photo I saw on the News earlier. His face was blank, his body was covered with sweat, and his muscles glistened. And yeah—he was huge. Everywhere.

I didn’t know where to look first. My mouth opened, but no words came out. Jeremy scratched the back of his head.

"What planet am I?"

I blinked, confused. That was a question I never thought I would have to answer. "Jeremy, you..."

"Planet Jeremy—what a peculiar name." He said in an emotionless voice.

"No, you are Jeremy Cale. Your family has been looking for you! Are you okay?"

"So that's how my vessel is called? I don't care about how he is called. I want to know what planet I am on."

"You're on planet... Earth?" I answered, now seriously fearing he had hit his head while jogging and gone completely insane. Jeremy looked behind him for a few seconds, as if he was unsafe, then turned back to me. Those vulnerable, yet empty eyes stared right back at me.

"I need to come inside your primitive ship." Without another word, Jeremy walked right past me and into the house. Just like that. Like he owned the place. My brain froze, trying to catch up. I should’ve said something—asked something—but all I could do was turn around as he passed me. And I caught a full view of his perfect ass.

Jesus Christ. It was sweaty and muscular, just like the rest of his body. He walked slowly, taking in the surroundings of my cabin, completely unbothered by the fact that he was naked in a stranger's house. Then, finally, he turned to me. "I am not Jeremy," he said plainly. "Not anymore. I am an alien lifeform. A neural crawler. I entered this vessel through the ear canal and migrated to the brain, where I now reside and control all his biological functions."

I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I didn't know what else to do. At that moment, I thought he was crazy, or maybe I was going crazy myself.

"Okay, Jeremy... sure. Maybe let’s get you some clothes and water first? Maybe call someone to help you, does that sound good?" I reached for my phone, but before I could unlock it, Jeremy took the phone from my hand and threw it on the floor, smashing it into pieces. I took a few steps back, scared for my safety. Jeremy, the family man, had gone completely insane.

"I didn't mean to scare you. But no one can know I'm here." Watching the fear on my face, Jeremy tilted his head slightly like a curious dog. "You don't believe me, do you? Let me show you." Then he opened his mouth and a tiny blue alien creature hopped off and landed on his finger.

"HOLY SHIT!" I shouted. "What is that?"

"This is my real form. I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to stay in the safety of your primitive ship." Jeremy spoke in a robotic voice, "I can control my vessels even when I'm out of them. I can't speak your language, but this vessel will translate automatically everything I send to its brain. He's not the real Jeremy anymore, but a dead husk that only serves me."

"I can't believe this..." was all I could mutter.

"You still don't believe me?" Jeremy asked.

"I do believe you! It was just a way of... anyway, how did you turn Jeremy into... this?" I asked, slowly approaching Jeremy. I caressed his handsome, bearded blank face, pulling his eyelids a bit, to check his eyes—his pupils were unmoving. I then gently opened his mouth to inspect inside.

"My spaceship just crashed on this primitive planet, and I was in search of a vessel to use as a ship for protection," Jeremy explained as I caressed his sweaty chest. "That's when I saw this human running. I quickly jumped on his body and took him over. He was wearing some weird uncomfortable fake skin, so I ripped that off to show his natural body. Much better, don't you agree?" Jeremy asked, gently putting the tiny alien on his shoulder and then giving me a double biceps pose, his cock swinging at the small shift.

"That 'second skin' is called clothes. And you need to wear them if you want to pass as a human. Believe me, a guy walking naked here is just as alien as a real alien like yourself."

"I didn't know that. My kind never wore clothes." Jeremy looked around the cabin, he grabbed a mug from a shelf, inspected it for a while, and then dropped it on the floor, breaking it into pieces.

"There it goes my favorite mug. Can you please stop breaking my stuff?"

"Do you live in this ship alone?"

"This is my house. And yes, I live here by myself."

"Why don't you live together with the others of your species? Are you an outcast, just like me?"

"You could say that... I'm different from most. I'm attracted to the same sex of my 'species' and that's not very much accepted around here... Hey, I didn't ask your name, like, your REAL name." I asked, looking straight at the tiny alien on his shoulder.

Jeremy smiled, "You can call me Lazul."

"Nice to meet you, Lazul. I'm Remy." I suddenly frowned as I felt a smell. "What is this smell?" I sniffed the air again and then realized that the strong smell was coming from Jeremy's body. "When was the last time you showered Jeremy, Lazul?"

"Showered? My species doesn't need to shower, we lick ourselves clean."

"Well, Jeremy is still very much a human, if you're staying at my place, you will have to follow my rules, so I will give him a bath. Follow me to the bathroom."

"No, I'm not doing that," He said, crossing his arms.

"Can't you lick him clean then? Like you said your species does?" I tried to argue.

"I'm too tiny, I can't lick a vessel this big, but you are half his size. You could use your tongue to clean him if his smell bothers you so much." Jeremy sat down on my couch, his broad, muscular body sinking into the cushions, with Lazul, sitting confidently on his shoulder like a commander. I watched, still a little stunned, as the alien casually raised his tiny arms—and, as if tethered by invisible strings, Jeremy followed suit.

His expression kept blank as he lifted his muscular arms up over his head, exposing his hairy, sweat-slicked armpits. The rich, earthy musk hit me like a wave. Lazul's words came from Jeremy's lips in that robotic tone, "I believe this is the primary source of the odor you mentioned. You should begin here."

I swallowed hard. My cock throbbed as I stepped closer, drawn by the scent. I sat on his side and leaned in, burying my face in the soft, wet jungle of hair under his right pit. It was pungent, masculine, and intoxicating. My tongue darted out, licking up the sweat. Jeremy didn’t move. He remained still, blank-eyed, arms held high.

As I licked, I watched Lazul climb down Jeremy’s chest like a tiny explorer scaling a sweaty cliffside. He made his way over Jeremy’s defined abs, then stopped at the base of his thick, flaccid cock. Lazul threw a leg over it and sat on it like it was a beast to ride. Then he slapped it, making Jeremy's cock twitch, then swell with blood. Slowly, like something coming to life, it grew. Seven... Eight... Nine inches. Thick. Veiny. Cut. The skin stretched tight as Lazul hugged the shaft, his little, long arms wrapping around it.

Lazul then crawled toward the head and, with no hesitation, slid headfirst into Jeremy's slit. I gasped, pausing in my licking. Jeremy moaned deeply, a low, brainless groan vibrating from his throat. The sight of it—the huge cock pulsing, the alien disappearing inside like a worm entering its burrow—was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

I knelt between Jeremy’s thighs and moved down, licking and worshipping his musky balls, savoring the strong taste. Lazul’s tiny blue head popped back out of the slit, blinking at me.

"What are you doing in there?" I asked.

Jeremy's mouth opened, and he spoke, "I feed on a substance similar to your species' semen. But I always find it hard to make this vessel expel the semen, so I have to crawl to the main source where the semen is stored."

"There's an easier way, you know?" I said, slowly inserting a finger into Jeremy's tight hole, Jeremy remained sitting frozen. I then ordered Lazul to make him play with his nipples as I inserted a second finger. In less then three minutes, I had four fingers inside him, Jeremy became overwhelmed by so much pleasure and started cumming.

"This is amazing. You made him expel everything!" And then Lazul disappeared back inside with a wet plop.

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

He stayed in my cabin the entire time, he was forbidden to come out. Jeremy's body, sweaty and naked, became a common view. It was bizarre at first—eating breakfast while a lifeless-eyed firefighter sat across from me, robotically spooning cereal into his mouth as an alien had breakfast with his cum. But the more time we spent together, the more... intimate it became. Lazul had no idea how to be human. He didn’t even know what cereal was. He didn't have Jeremy's memories, just control over his body. He said he still had to learn how to absorb human memories. So every reaction had to be learned, every muscle movement practiced.

I taught him everything.

We spent hours talking. He listened intently. I told him about Earth: its food, its people, its languages, its rules. But mostly, I taught him about pleasure. Sexual pleasure. Lazul was fascinated by how much sensation human males could experience.

We tried every position I could think of. Missionary, doggy, reverse cowgirl with me on top of Jeremy's strong thighs, even standing up against the wall. Lazul always watched from within, fascinated by the way Jeremy's body reacted to touch and friction. He would moan in Jeremy’s deep voice, sometimes awkward, sometimes too robotic—but over time, more natural. More real.

Some days, Jeremy would do chores while naked, muscles flexing as he chopped firewood, the sun glinting off his sweaty back. One day, I had Jeremy on his knees, sucking my cock as I watched the news of his disappearance. When they showed a photo of him in his sexy firefighter uniform, I came inside his mouth, and Lazul started feeding.

One peaceful morning, we were having rough sex, like we had every morning. Jeremy was wearing a firefighter costume I bought online. He was plowing my ass hard with me lay on the bed, when we heard a knock on the door.

Jeremy looked at me, just as confused as I was. He pulled his thobbing shaft from my ass and I put some clothes back on. "I wonder if its another alien with another sexy vessel," I joked "I will be right back, don't make him cum yet!" I gave Jeremy a kiss.

When I opened the door, I was shocked to see a police officer standing outside. The officer gave me a long, hard stare. He was very muscular. But it was the eyes—vacant, unfocused, yet somehow... threatening—that sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Good morning, sir. I’m Officer Hayes," he said, voice deep and emotionless. "We’re conducting a follow-up on the Jeremy Cale disappearance. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious in the area recently?"

I forced a smile. My heart raced. You mean Jeremy Cole? The brainless vessel with an alien inside his head, waiting patiently for me in my room with a rock-hard cock ready to destroy my ass?—I couldn't really say that.

"Uh, no. Nothing strange, Officer," I said, casually stepping outside and pulling the door halfway shut behind me. "I live alone. Kinda keep to myself out here."

His eyes flicked over my shoulder, scanning the inside of the cabin. He saw two mugs on the table.

"You sure about that?" he asked.

"Absolutely. Unless you count a raccoon stealing my trash last week. But I doubt that’s what you’re looking for."

Officer Hayes tilted his head slightly, and his nostrils flared as if he were sniffing the air. For a second, his mouth twitched into a smirk. Then, just as quickly, his face went blank again.

"Strange smell," he muttered.

Shit. Of course. Jeremy’s musky scent still lingered in the cabin. I tried to laugh it off.

"Y-Yeah, I burnt some bacon this morning. Guess it stuck around."

He nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t buying it. There was something predatory in his stillness. Then his gaze locked onto mine, too intense for comfort.

"If you do see anything," he said slowly, "or anyone—please contact the station. We’re very interested in finding Mr. Cale."

"Will do, Officer."

He lingered for a moment too long, then finally stepped back and returned to his patrol car. I waited until he drove down the dirt road and out of sight before I slipped back inside. Jeremy was standing naked by the window, watching him leave.

"That wasn't a cop," He said flatly. "That was a tracker. They know I'm here."

"What do you mean they?"

"So, there was something I didn't tell you. Remember when I said I was also an outcast? What I really meant was that I am a wanted criminal by the intergalactic police. The ship that crashed on your planet was a ship transporting intergalactic criminals. The crash allowed me to escape."

"YOU ARE WHAT? Why are you just telling me this now? Was that cop even a human?"

"That officer wasn't a human anymore. He was just a husk being controlled by an Intergalactic alien officer. That one was probably a Tracker. Trackers are an alien species with high intelligence and extra senses that work like detectives."

"What did you do to become a wanted criminal in space? Were you speeding in your ship? Did you abduct the wrong cow?"

"We don't have time! I will explain everything to you later, right now we need to get out of here and find me a new vessel!"

"I'm not going anywhere. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Besides housing an intergalactic criminal for weeks? Yeah, you should try convincing the intergalactic court that you're innocent. I'm sure they will love to hear that. You will get lucky if you only spend the next three thousand years behind bars."

"Humans don't even live that long."

"Too bad they already have a technology for that."

I was shocked by how such a small, cute creature was a wanted criminal by the intergalactic police. Would I have helped Lazul even if he told me the truth from the beginning? I started asking myself.

"Wanna give these musky armpits one good bye sniff? I will set this vessel to autodestruct once I'm out. Can't leave any trace behind." Jeremy asked, flexing one bicep and displaying his hairy armpit.

"That's so sad. I really like Jeremy..." I took a long, sniff of his armpits, and hugged him.

"Don't you worry, you will have plenty more of vessels to play with. Now let's go." Lazul jumped out of Jeremy's mouth and landed on the palm of my hand. I carefully put him inside my shirt pocket and ran away towards the woods. Jeremy mindlessly walked back inside the cabin.

We were running on the road when Lazul suddenly started freaking out in my pocket, he was pointing his hands to the tress, he was trying to say something. Without Jeremy to translate his words, all I could hear were high squeaky noises.

I started hearing the sirens of approaching patrol units, so I quickly hid behind a tree. Suddenly, three cruisers raced past us at an incredibly fast pace towards my cabin. When they were out of sight, I took off into the woods. While running, I heard a loud explosion in the distance. I looked up at the sky and saw smoke rising from the direction of the cabin… my poor cabin.

"I can't believe what you got me into! You know how much I paid for that cabin?" I shouted at Lazul, who just responded with a squeak. After a while, I came out on the other side of the forest onto another road. As I was crossing the road, a car was coming right in my direction. I flinched. Luckily, the car stopped a few inches from me. I sighed in relief.

"Are you ok?" A deep baritone voice came from the handsome muscular Daddy in the car. He had his head out of his car, looking at me with concern.

I then heard Lazul's squeaky sounds from my pocket, he was pointing at the Daddy inside the car. I didn't need Jeremy this time to understand what he meant.

I approached the car and looked at the man inside. "I'm really sorry, but we need to steal your body..." I apologized to the man. The man didn't have time to react, Lazul jumped from my shirt pocket right to his face and crawled into his ear. The man's eyes rolled back and his muscles tensed, his biceps flexed as his hands got tighter on the wheel. I felt bad about the man, I really did, he seemed to be a nice guy. Unlike Jeremy, this time I took a direct role in helping turn the man into a brainless puppet. But on the other hand... he was so fucking hot!

I walked to the other side of the car and opened the door. The Daddy was already staring at me with a reassuring smirk and a thumbs-up.

"Get in, we need to get as far as we can," he said in his deep voice. I slipped into the passenger seat beside him. The Daddy had thick biceps, and a tight black polo hugging his muscular body. His silver-streaked hair was styled perfectly, making him look ever hotter. He flexed his biceps at me before putting the car into gear.

We drove in silence for a few miles. I should’ve been grateful. We were unharmed. Lazul had a new hot body. We had escaped. But I couldn’t stop shaking.

My palms were slick with sweat, and my chest was tight. My heart became louder with every passing mile. Every bump in the road felt like it could shatter me. My mouth dried, and the edges of my vision blurred slightly.

I was having a panic attack.

Lazul glanced at me and noticed something was wrong. "Are you alright, buddy?" He asked, his voice was soothing but still filtered through the Daddy’s deep baritone.

I didn’t answer. I couldn't talk. My breathing quickened and I turned my face to the window, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants. Everything was catching up at once. My home—gone. My life—over. And now I was a fugitive by association. A pawn in something far bigger than I could even comprehend.

Without saying a word, Lazul slowed the car and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder of the road. He put the gear in park and turned toward me. His big hand reached out and rested gently on my trembling thigh.

"You're safe with me. No one will hurt you. I won’t let them, alright?" His hand squeezed gently, grounding me. I turned toward him, eyes wide, chest still heaving.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was deep. Wet. Passionate. His lips were warm, his hand slid up to cup the side of my face, and I melted into his warm embrace. Just for a moment, the fear slipped away. I let myself fall into that kiss, into the feeling of safety and dominance that this vessel seemed to radiate.

As we made out, I reached up and stroked his thick, muscular biceps—hot and solid under the fabric of his polo. He broke the kiss and gave me a cocky grin, his fingers moving to his zipper. In one smooth motion, he pulled his pants down just enough to free his hard cock—thick, veiny, and a full eight inches of uncut perfection. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and began stroking slowly.

"If there's one thing I've learned about you over these past few weeks," The Daddy said, voice deep and sultry, "it's that nothing calms you down quite like a good cock." He gave me that sexy grin again, "C'mon, suck it," he whispered.

I didn’t hesitate. I leaned over, my mouth finding the tip of his cock, already leaking. I licked a slow circle around it, tasting his salt and sweat, before sliding my lips down over the head. He moaned—just a low, primal rumble from deep in his chest.

My tongue explored every inch, teasing the underside of his shaft as my lips slid down further. He was thick, stretching my jaw, but I took more of him, slowly bobbing my head up and down. One of his hands came to rest on the back of my neck, guiding me, not forcing—just steady, firm.

I could feel his thighs tense beneath me, the heat radiating off his body. I sucked harder, letting my tongue swirl and flick while his cock throbbed deeper in my throat. Saliva dripped from the corners of my mouth as I worked him over, sloppier and more desperate with each motion.

Lazul groaned again, this time with a grin. "That’s it. Good boy. Just like that." He started the car and continued driving.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—I was lost in the taste of him, in the weight of his cock on my tongue, the way his hand kept me grounded in place. Eventually, he gently pulled me back. My lips popped off his shaft with a wet smack. I looked up at him, breathless.

"Better?" he asked with a wink.

I nodded slowly. I was feeling so much better.

[hyppntf]

Frat Friends

Three friends fall pray to fratdom and rapidly become the dumb, drunk, and horny bros they always hated.

Mixing it up with three short TF’s in one ! Vague continuation from Frat Founding, these post-grads take a load off and quickly grow into perfect specimen for Chad's masterplan. Enjoy! -Occam

Lucas, Aaron, and Kyle had been looking for some way to relax after a long week of grading undergrad assignments and struggling to meet the demands of their own self-important advisors. The post-grads landed on some chill card games so they’d spend at least some waking hours not staring at a screen. After a couple rounds Kyle’s eyes light up as he remembers something hiding in their fridge.

“Oh wait! One of those hellions left me some beers in office hours. Not sure what the deal was, seemed like a fifth year so he’s probably just bribing me. But hey, free beer’s free beer!” The trio laugh to avoid confronting their own tight purse strings. Kyle opens the pack of beers and offers them to the rest of his small crew and they are more than happy to accept. 

Upon cracking open the cans bestowed by President of the Greek Life Council: Chad Becker, they find themselves far more intoxicated than a six-pack split three ways should leave them. Cards fall to the wayside as their minds are clouded with brain fog while the world material seems heightened. After an hour of laughing at each other's stumbled through stories, the three roommates depart to their own devices.

While Chad’s schemes had intended his whiny TA to have the six pack himself and see the world from his point of view instantly, from the first sip he had already begun walking the keg-lined path towards frathood. Split with his cohort, Kyle has simply brought more bright minds into the fold of fraternity. Soon all three will fall prey to Becker’s schemes.

His intended target is the first to go. Feeling guilty from drinking so early in the day, Kyle immediately retreats to his laptop to finish an assignment and check his email. Falling back into a recliner, he furrows his brow as he realizes he’s been logged out of his University portal. No problem of course, just an inconvenience. He groans to himself only a little louder than intended as his clumsy fingers go to try and log in.

The first attempt he forgets capslock, the second he just typos, he’s pretty sure? And after the third he’s simply locked out. Sighing, he rubs his face with sweaty palms, not noticing as his hands stretch wider across his face. What Kyle does feel as he leans forward, is his shirt suddenly riding up on his midriff. Pulling it back down with a forceful grunt, he feels it strain against his chest as his fatter fingers tickle against a sloppy treasure trail beginning to peak out of his boxers.

Glazed eyes shift from the screen down to his stomach as Kyle begins to feel more bloated than he has in his life to date. To his increasingly dimmed mind there’s only one solution to that, so when he feels gas begin to rise he simply lets burps fly. With each one his situation only becomes more dire.

Swiftly his shirt is strained as his thin stomach presses out into a well-earned beer belly. After the first couple burps his pale torso tans into a respectable sunkissed brown as he begins to pause in between every thick belch to laugh and congratulate himself. Finding pride in how manly the burps are to himself, his form grows more masculine in turn. 

Fat biceps bulge into existence as he pulls his reshaping shirt up to expose his whole new gut. His laptop goes dim and he inspects his face as it shifts less intelligent, squaring into something rougher as his hair pulls into a more athletic cut. After a few seconds of posing in the dark screen, flexing as his pit hair shows well beyond the end of his tight shirt sleeves, he pauses. Just before he starts reaching for the growing bulge as it begins poking into this laptop he remembers he was supposed to be doing something.

His eyebrows knit together as they must any time Kyle tries to rub two brain cells together. Slamming a few keys to wake up his computer, his mouth falls open as he finds it locked. “Bruhhhh…” As if he fuckin’ remembers the password. Shit Chad’s gonna tear him a new one. In the meantime, Kyle decides he may as well keep the buzz going as he stumbles to his feet with a grunt and ambles to get a drink. Heading to the kitchen he scratches his ever-exposed midriff and yanks at his shorts to try and hide the boner bobbing in his shorts.

Well ahead of him, Aaron had left for the kitchen as soon as they went their own ways. In the meantime he had been looking high and low for the salad he knows he prepped earlier in the week. Instead the fridge seems to be filled with more leftovers and take out containers than the three of them would have in a week, most of them with Kyle’s name on them.

Back strained from bending over a fridge he didn’t remember being this messy, he straightens up and begins to fall backward as his vision blurs. The world spins as his mind is struck woozy. His shirt sleeve catches on the fridge and he spins to fall on his face. Seeing stars, Aaron pushes up off the floor with far more force than necessary. More force than he thought he could summon.

Paying no mind to the sweaty stain left on their suddenly dirty tile, he instead looks down at his upper body in shock as what seems to be pecs suddenly twitch on his chest. Straightening his arm and moving it into a flex in quick succession, he blushes as he sees a bicep slowly begin peaking on his twig of an arm.

Each frantic jerk sends more muscle pilling on as each of his bulging biceps suddenly amasses more strength than he had in the whole of his self moments prior. Grunting with growing pains, Aaron clenches his jaw to delight in the intense sensation of growth. As he does so his jawline squares and his chin juts out into a face almost comically sharp and macho, shadowed with stubble that will never truly leave.

Nor is his polished jaw the only place now decorated by evidence of his new virility. His cock hangs like a trunk in his new dirty boxers, lengthening before growing hard, his eyes almost cross as it nearly pokes out the bottom of his underwear. Pubes race onto his lower abs as pecs actively pulsing with growth are slowly prickled with new curls pushing out from his sternum and slowly encircling his larger nipples.

His itchy pits become something of a pièce de résistance as curls quickly coat his underarms. His grubby mitts can’t rush to scratch them fast enough as his few curls multiply and thicken. Feeling his crude fingers trail through the jungle of hair coated in almost viscous sweat, his expression twitches into an implacable smile as he remembers how he oh so enjoys forcing lesser men into his stinking pits. 

Raising his hand to get a good sniff himself, he delights in the memories of dominating all those lesser men; wrestling with his bros, and getting worshipped in equal parts. One can almost see the static in Aaron’s eyes as he stands there chubbing up from his own musk and the image of some twink licking his pits clean as he slowly becomes a bro himself. But then his stomach grumbles and he shakes it off.

Huhhuh- yeah, he was finna eat before he got all hot and bothered by his manstink. Rushing to the fridge he looks once more for his lunch, carelessly knocking things over in pursuit of the chicken and rice he knows he mealprepped. Instead he finds a massive tankard of beer. Pursing his fat lips his mouth suddenly feels dry in a way that only demolishing a keg will fix. First come first serve-

Aaron’s still downing the drink when Kyle stumbles in in search of something he has already forgotten, “Bruhhhhh, I was savin’ that!” Aaron raises a bicep and flexes at his bro before quaffing the drink entirely and releasing a powerful burp that he knows would easily distract his bro from the apparently stolen beer. Buuuuuuurrp

Obviously it works and after his few moments of laughing Kyle scratches his exposed stomach and wonders aloud what he was looking for. “Uhhhh? Oh, fuccck yeah, duh- Bro, I got locked outta the laptop ‘n Chad reallyyyy wanted us to do sumthin with it today.” Setting the flagon down, Aaron frowns. He usually tried to avoid Chad’s mess, most of his free time goes to keeping his body built despite how he treats it. He certainly doesn’t have the frat log in.

He does however know who will know of course, “Dude, just go get Lucas?” Approximately two seconds after the idea hits his ears, Kyle’s eyes light up and he punches Aaron in the shoulder, “God you right! You’re so smart bro!” Only half smirking at the unearned compliment, Aaron leads Kyle into their living room. Unaware as the world changes in their wake.

Down the hall, at their intended destination, the world has already been irrevocably changed by their third roommate. Having two beers would usually make Lucas sleepy and whatever the frat bro supreme did to that six pack was more than enough to send the overworked TA immediately to bed. So swiftly in fact that he didn’t make it to his bedroom.

Knocking out on the couch, it changes almost as quickly as he does into a filthy futon. Beer stains its fabric almost as much as mysterious bodily fluids as it creaks under Lucas’ shifting weight. Now apparently racing his furniture, his physical changes begin outright as his personality is so easily manipulated in unconsciousness.

From the bottom up Lucas begins to grow. His face contorts as his feet are rapidly constricted by shoes that could no longer hope to fit, no-show socks race up his calves as his toes finally burst through his house shoes, immediately threatening to create holes in the strained fabric of the socks as well.

They are just as soon pushed back down as calves that barely had enough muscle for the thin man to get around suddenly pump larger as his mind dreams of running down a diamond. Dreaming of sprinting, his tibia lengthened uncomfortably as his legs stretch to expand his new baseball sized calves into something even greater. Ink seems to leak from his branded socks into his skin as tattoos web upward, spreading the change into the more impressive muscle group on his legs.

Disparate lines slowly merge together to create dragons as thighs that have been habitually underused surge with strength. Increasing from simply strong to something almost monstrous, his bulky thighs quickly eclipse his torso in size. His brow sweats as his lower body expands his legs into meaty pistons that could rival any professional cyclist’s. Though rarely would Luke ever deign to use them for anything besides self-glorification or getting a load off.

His blank expression twitches into a sinister smile as his hands drift to the bulge in his shorts as it begins to twitch awake as his dreams shift to something far from chaste. Quickly burgeoning into a size that his soft hands cannot handle, his hips hump into his hands as he chews on his lip from the ecstatic feeling of his upper body surging with growth, wont to join in on the fun.

Veiny arms and a chest sculpted catch eyes push against the seams of his shirt before it reforms into an athletic top he wore to the gym this morning, sweat stains visible under his arms and hard nipples purposefully poking through. While Lucas always strove to keep his head down and voice quiet, as he reforms into this new man, into Luke, even when he’s unconscious he demands to be heard. Still thrusting into growing hands, at first he moans out quiet grunts before he begins to vocalize outright

“Mmmmh yeah- fucck- yeah you like that?” His docile soft voice gives way to something deeper, steeped in vocal fry as his throat grows thicker. Precum stains his hands as he continues, getting louder and more aggressive with every further thrust. Luke’s expression furrows into a rough sneer as the couch, fully changed into their frat-den futon, almost collapses under his session.

“Never fuckin’ had dick like this- I’m the- unhhh- fuckn’ king UGh!” Quite the hair trigger despite how he presents himself to any hole he pursues, after barely any time at all properly masturbating he shoots his load into his hands and collapses back onto the couch absolutely spent. His face changed into something that cocky can scarcely begin to describe, his brash snores echo through their whole house as his roommates finally arrive.

“Fuck Lukey- We’ve been over this you gotta use a sock or somethin’ if you’re gonna cum on the couch!” Luke just snores louder as the pair make their way into the living room, decorated with pin-ups and stacks of beer cans. Seeing his mouth open snoring, Aaron is torn between pranking his fellow fitness fiend and seeing if his bro is interested in helping him get his own quick load off before remembering that they’re here for a reason.

Knowing that a burning building could collapse around Luke and he’d sleep through it, Aaron sends Kyle to pinch his nose and cover his mouth. Kyle does so guffawing all the while and quickly he’s assailed by Luke’s fists as their horny bro finally awakens, “Dude! What the fuck!? I was just getting to the good part!” 

Adjusting his still hard cock he feels his blown load and smirks, “Or guess I already got there huhuh,” he wipes his cum covered hands on the couch and still-laughing Kyle in equal parts as he awaits what these two idiots need. Seeing the scene before him, Aaron fights back a burp as he realizes he doesn't remember why they were waking up their bro after all. Knowing there’s not a thought in Kyle’s head he opts for wishful thinking. “We were just about to head out to the bar with, uhhh, Chad I think and wanted to see if you were down?”

Mind swimming with the possibility of busting another nut, Luke gives his pits a sniff to see if he needs to freshen up and grunts as he smells his heady musk. Good to go he’d say, no way he’s leaving the bar without a bitch or a bottom on his arm. Kyle hoists up his cum-covered bro while Aaron hits the deck doing push-ups to get a pump in and look vascular for their night on the town.

Getting texts from all three, Chad smirks at another massive success. Seeing those three dweebs become textbook examples of the  mindless debauchery is more than proof of concept for the President. He so longs to engulf the whole campus into fratdom and as he sees these three fall he knows it won’t be long at all until he gets exactly what he’s after. And that certainly calls for celebration does it not? Besides, what better place for those three to recruit some more bros than their old post-grad bar. Place needs to liven up and this quartet is going to make sure there’s not a quiet soul left unsoiled.

[hyppntf]

The Patch

James Penwick had built his life around precision. A proud thirty-five-year-old software engineer with a Stanford pedigree, he worked as a senior security architect for a prominent AI firm in downtown Chicago. His condo overlooked the lake; his fridge was stocked with oat milk and vitamins; his relationship with Greg, his partner of six years, was stable, if a little routine.

James was pudgy in a soft, well-fed way—more teddy bear than slob. He wore wireframe glasses, button-down shirts, and often corrected others without realizing. Not out of malice, but because he simply knew better.

"Actually, Greg," he would say over dinner, pausing mid-forkful of quinoa, "the mitochondria don't technically generate energy, they convert it from glucose into ATP. It's a common misconception."

Greg would smile, nod, and chew slowly.

Online, James was even worse. He'd earned a reputation on Reddit for humiliating conspiracy theorists and flat-earthers with surgical, footnoted rebuttals. His inbox was often flooded with challenges from angry tech bros and wannabe hackers.

So when a strange message landed in his inbox one night—from a user named FratGod42069 with the subject line: "Bet u can’t hack this, nerd," followed by a .exe attachment named ThePatchInstaller —James rolled his eyes.

"Child's play," he muttered, downloading it to a virtual sandbox.

But something was... different. The file wasn't malware. It had no identifiable code structure, no packet transmission, no logic he could track. It ran in silence.

And then a prompt appeared:

"Rebooting cognitive hierarchy. Please remain seated."

He chuckled. "Cute."

But as the window vanished, a strange dullness crept in. His screen went black. His eyes unfocused. He blinked. Once. Twice.

He thought nothing of it.

The next day, James found himself struggling to focus. It wasn't fatigue. It was something... stickier. Thoughts came slower. Not gone, just... foggy. While reviewing security protocols during his morning meeting, he fumbled a term.

"We should initiate a full... uh... perimeter deep... uhm... lockdown layer? Wait, that’s not—"

He shook his head. The words had jumbled. He blamed the lack of sleep.

Later, at lunch, Greg handed him a kale salad with turmeric dressing.

James stared at it blankly.

"I… don’t really feel like this."

"Since when do you not like salad?"

He shrugged. "I kinda want... I dunno, maybe a sandwich or wings or something?"

Greg blinked. "Wings? You hate grease."

"Yeah, but, like... just feels right today, bro."

Bro? James paused. Why had he said that?

By Friday, the lapses were happening more frequently. He slept through his alarm twice. He forgot to pay the utility bill, something he never did. Greg noticed the difference immediately.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, babe. I'm good. Just... been workin' hard, y'know?"

Again, the voice felt off. Looser. Slurred slightly. Like his mouth was relaxing against its own will.

His internal monologue—once a crisp stream of rapid analysis and insight—had dulled to a hazy crawl. He'd catch himself zoning out, scrolling reels of workout clips or random TikTok challenges instead of his usual news aggregators.

His gym app popped up one evening with an ad: *"Wanna Get Swole? Try FratFit™ Today!"

James clicked it without thinking.

Sunday morning.

James woke up late. No morning jog. No vitamin stack. No coffee.

He rolled out of bed shirtless, scratched at his belly, and shuffled into the kitchen in boxers. His laptop was buried under takeout containers. He picked one at random and started eating chicken tenders cold.

Greg walked in, mouth agape. "Are you seriously eating that at 9AM?"

James looked up, chewing.

"Yeah? What? Got mad munchies."

He blinked. Munchies?

Greg frowned. "Are you... high?"

James shook his head, but even he didn’t know the answer.

His fingernails were caked in hot sauce. His hair was greasy. His posture had shifted—less upright, more slouched. When he laughed, it was louder, raspier.

And then, as he was reaching for a Gatorade, he saw it: a faint red notification blinking on his phone.

Day 4 Update: IQ -12 | Craving Index: Moderate | Libido +10% | Memory Partitioning: Initiated

He stared, lips parted.

"The fuck's that mean..." he muttered.

But the words didn’t linger.

Because just then, a video popped up on his feed of a bikini try-on haul, and he leaned forward, entranced, licking hot sauce off his fingers.

By the end of the week, James was unrecognizable in everything but name.

His work desk had been abandoned. The monitor now played nothing but YouTube reaction videos and frat prank compilations. His once-impeccable email signature—"Best regards, James Penwick, CISSP, Sr. Security Architect"—was replaced with auto-replies like "Can’t talk rn, leg day lol."

He had begun lifting. A lot. Poorly, but frequently. His arms were thickening, not with grace, but with brute repetition. His core remained soft, his belly proudly protruding beneath a torn Brotein tank top, slick with sweat and reeking of Monster and Axe.

His voice had dropped nearly an octave, warped by protein shakes and constant belching. His vocabulary had shrunk to monosyllables: "Sick," "Brah," "Ass," and the ever-present "Duuuuuude."

He no longer lived with Greg.

One night, after James farted loudly during sex and then laughed for a full minute, Greg finally left. James barely noticed. He was too busy DMing a girl he met at 7-Eleven.

He now called himself Jaymz. With a Z.

He wasn’t gay. He had no memory of ever being gay.

“Naw, man,” he told his bros. “I like chicks. Big titties, fat asses, bro. That’s how I roll. That gay shit’s fuckin’ gross."

He had fully transitioned into his new world—a land of beer pong, pre-workout, and Instagram thirst traps. Jaymz started a channel: @Jaymz4Gainz.

Every post was the same: bicep flex, crude joke, loud fart.

"Yo, if you ain't gettin' dome from a chick while deadlifting, what the fuck you even LIFTIN' for?" he'd say, bursting into laughter and flexing his barely-developed pecs.

He was an idiot. And proud.

The final update arrived silently:

Day 14 Update: Cognitive Integrity: 2% | Libido: 142% | Orientation: Locked STRAIGHT | Language Pack: Frat American (Tier 3)

Jaymz burped.

"Fuck yeah, bro," he said to no one, scratching his junk. "Time to hit the gym and maybe find some pussy to wreck."

He strutted outside in flip-flops, mesh shorts swaying, body glistening with sweat and stupidity.

There was nothing left of James.

Just Jaymz.

And Jaymz was fuckin' ready to BREED.

[hyppntf]

Its Just a Preference

Luke had just reapplied his moisturizer and leaned back into the glow of his ring light, double-checking his jawline in the cam preview before snapping a fresh selfie for Grindr. It had been a long day — teaching a comics theory course at the local community college and helping his boyfriend pick out furniture from IKEA — but now was his time. Shirtless, soft-filtered, and trimmed in all the right places. A perfect image of aging twinkdom.

Despite being thirty-four and clinging tightly to a Tom Holland haircut and a shelf full of vintage Spider-Man figurines, Luke had a cute, boyish charm. His open relationship was healthy and communicative, and he’d even joked with his boyfriend that he might go out and "find a little snack" tonight. What he meant, of course, was white, twink-adjacent, and ideally into cosplay.

He got a ping.

[YUSSEF | 25 | 3 miles away] "Hey bro. U cute. U want hang?"

Luke didn’t even open the full profile. The thumbnail showed a thickly built, shirtless guy with brown skin, glistening pecs, and some sort of Arabic tattoo scrawled along one shoulder. The name said everything. Without thinking, Luke tapped "block."

He muttered aloud, smirking: “Yeah, no Arabs, thanks.” He’d never messaged one. Not really his type. Too intense. Too aggressive. Too... bro-y. His boyfriend teased him about it, but Luke had always laughed it off. “Preferences,” he’d say.

Another ping. A different blank profile, no photo. [THARIF | 1 mile away] "U shouldn’t have done that."

Luke rolled his eyes. He was about to block again when the screen flickered. Just slightly. His phone buzzed in his hand with a strange heat, and he dropped it onto his lap with a yelp.

“Huh?”

The warmth didn’t fade. It crawled up his thighs like static. He stood up from his bed, dizzy for a moment, and padded into the bathroom. The light above the mirror buzzed as he flipped it on. His cheeks were flushed. His skin — normally pale and dotted with faint freckles — was... deeper? Tanned?

“Did I use a filter just now?”

He pressed his fingers to his cheek and blinked. The skin felt warm, supple, unfamiliar. There was a faint itching sensation along his jawline. He rubbed at it.

A short, black bristle came off on his fingertip.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, heart pounding. He’d been lasered! He hadn't had to shave in years. But even as he scrambled for tweezers, more bristles prickled through — not blonde, not peach-fuzz — black, thick, fast-growing.

His jawline began to reshape under his fingers. It was... squarer. Sharper. Like someone had started sanding down the soft curves of his face. His cheekbones raised. His lips looked fuller, juicier. Plumper. Not in the cute twink way — in the gym selfie, vape-hitting way. He blinked again. His eyes looked... darker.

“Did I... always have brown eyes?” he whispered, leaning in.

They weren’t just brown. They were deep, espresso, sun-hardened. Almond-shaped. The same eyes as that blocked guy. The one he hadn’t even read the profile of. His chest constricted.

Luke stumbled back, knocking over his toothbrush, gripping the counter as a wave of heat rushed over his body again. His chest pulsed. His sternum ached. He looked down as two meaty slabs of flesh began to push outward beneath his nipples. His pecs bulged, filling his plain white tank like rising dough.

“No—no—no—I don’t go to the gym, I don’t do this—”

But his arms had already thickened. Veins popped along them like twisted cables. His forearms looked pumped, corded with muscle, and as he flexed instinctively, a thick grunt escaped his lips.

“Ugh—fuck…”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t his. It was deeper. Scratchier. With an accent?

He coughed and tried to speak again. “I… what the fuck is happening—”

But it came out garbled. “I… wot da fock is—no… NO…!”

It wasn’t an accent he knew. It wasn’t even one he could name. Somewhere between Dubai influencer and Jersey Shore. Thick. Blunt. Hot?

His tank top was soaked in sweat. That rich, cumin-and-clove smell filled the bathroom. It was him. His pits were rank. He raised one arm and nearly gagged — but a twitch of pleasure shot through his spine at the same time.

He stumbled back to his phone. The Grindr app was still open. The message now read:

"Think about us like you do. Become what you crave and hate. Let the mirror teach you."

His reflection had already changed more.

His once-trim torso was thicker, meatier, broader. The Tom Holland build was long gone. Instead, he looked like some kind of Middle Eastern personal trainer who only posted shirtless mirror selfies. A fine sheen of black chest hair had started to sprout around his growing pecs. He scratched at it. It itched—but it felt good. Natural. Like it belonged.

Like it had always been there.

He tried to grab his phone again. To text his boyfriend. But his fingers twitched. The words that came to mind weren’t his usual. They were basic. Lazy. Full of slang. His thumb typed:

"Yo babe u home? I feel fockin jacked rn lol"

He stared at it in horror.

He hadn’t meant to write that.

“I—I’m not—” he stammered. But then the smell hit again. Musky. Raw. Spicy. He loved it.

He rubbed at his jawline again, now rough and etched with the start of a beard, thick as a wire brush. His sideburns had darkened. He pulled off his tank, revealing the swelling definition of his traps, delts, and pec shelf.

The last thing he saw before the lightbulb in the bathroom exploded in a burst of sparks — was his own flex.

And the dumb, smug smirk spreading across his new face.

Luke woke the next morning sprawled on top of his bed, face down, drooling onto his sheets. The whole apartment stank. Like musk and stale gym bag. His gym bag. Wait… he didn’t own a gym bag.

He groaned, his voice hoarse and weirdly deep. The sound vibrated in his throat like gravel. As he rolled over, the motion caused his thick, slab-like pecs to jiggle softly under the stretched fabric of the tank top he hadn’t remembered putting on. The room spun slightly. His bedsheets reeked of unwashed cologne and something raw and spicy, like kebab meat sweating in the sun.

“Ugh... bro,” he muttered, scratching his chest with a fat-fingered hand. It wasn’t until his stubby nails dug into a mat of thick black hair above his nipple that the memory from last night rushed in.

The reflection. The message. The smell. The changes.

He lurched upright, heavy muscle jiggling under his arms, and waddled over to the mirror above his dresser. And there he was.

Not Luke.

Not even close.

His face looked like a composite sketch of everything he'd ever scrolled past on Grindr with a judgmental smirk. His jaw was square, stubbled with a thick black beard faded high on his cheeks. His brows were dark, straight, and mean-looking. His nose was wider, stronger, more prominent. His ears stuck out just a bit. His skin was a deep, golden-brown tan now, smooth but thick-pored, like he was constantly sweating. A big gold chain glinted at his collarbone.

“Fockin’ hell…” he muttered, but the accent—God, it was thick now. Not British. Not American. Something in between, twisted by the mockery he used to whisper to friends when imitating ��those Grindr bros.” It wasn’t fake anymore.

His brain felt heavy—like it had been packed full of muscle to match his new bulk. Thinking hurt. Multistep thoughts? Way too much. He couldn’t remember the name of the college he taught at. He couldn’t remember what he taught.

But he could remember how to bounce his pecs. And how to flex his biceps just so his chain slid down between them. And he loved that.

“Huhuh... yo, dat’s fockin’ sick, bro,” he said to his own reflection, unable to stop smirking at how good he looked.

Wait. Bro? Did he just call himself—?

The thought fizzled before it could finish. His dick twitched in the mesh shorts he’d apparently slept in. They were soaked in sweat and something else now—slick and sticky and stinking. He grabbed it, shamelessly adjusting himself. He groaned.

He was huge now. Not just muscular. His cock was a thick, veiny slab of meat that throbbed against his thigh even when soft. He fumbled for his phone, but it was already open to Instagram. He had new followers. Thousands.

His new account: @ZaheemPumpKing. And it was loaded with shirtless mirror selfies, gym videos, clips of him shouting aggressively into the camera about “beta soyboys” and “American bitches who need real dick.”

He’d filmed these?

There were comments—hundreds of them. Flame emojis. “Breed me.” “My Arab king 😩.” “This dude makes me wanna give up feminism 😭.”

Zaheem grunted in pleasure. Or… wait. Luke? No. No one called him that now.

He scrolled. Another video played. He was at a party, bottle of Grey Goose in one hand, tatted arms flexing. The captions were crude. Misogynistic. Homophobic. Ultra-conservative. Stuff that would’ve made Luke recoil just days ago.

And now?

He chuckled. God, this was fockin’ hilarious.

He looked down at his chest, rubbing his hairy pecs like a caveman, laughing.

“Bro I used to be… like, smart n’ gay n’ shit,” he mumbled, giggling between flexes. “Now I just wanna fock a bitch on a prayer rug, lol.”

He opened Grindr again. But it didn’t feel right. The app looked wrong. The men all seemed... familiar in a way he didn’t like. Pale, soft, pretty. Gay.

His thick fingers trembled as he moved to delete the app. Do it. You’re not gay anymore. Something inside him hesitated. For just a flicker, he felt his old self scream in the back of his skull.

But then his hand moved on its own, guided by instinct.

DELETE APP.

His screen blinked. Gone.

Instead, his phone auto-launched a dating app for Middle Eastern men seeking white women. A wave of heat rolled through his balls. His cock throbbed. He licked his lips, tasting spice and sweat. Fuck. He wanted to ruin a blonde tonight. He could practically smell their perfume already. God, he'd tear some American bitch in half. Maybe film it.

The memory of Tom Holland popped into his head.

But not the way it used to.

Now, Tom looked like a little fairy boy. Weak. Twinky. The kind of guy Zaheem would laugh at in the locker room, maybe haze with the boys. Shove into a trash can and call a fag.

He laughed. Deep. Loud. Cruel.

“Fockin’ Spider-Twink,” he muttered. “Ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

The final traces of Luke’s self-worth dissolved beneath the heavy, greasy throb of cock and ego.

He farted loudly, grinning as it echoed in the apartment.

PRRRRRRFT.

“Fuuuck, bro, I smell like success.”

Zaheem grabbed his phone and posted a mirror selfie of his armpit and chain-draped pecs. Caption: “I don’t chase pussy, I manifest it. 🇸🇦💪🔥”

Within seconds: 342 likes.

His final thought before heading out to the gym—shirtless, flexing, and reeking—wasn’t of Luke. It was of the bitch he’d breed tonight.

And how she’d beg for more.

[hyppntf]

Shame to the Family - A 4th of July Story

Experimenting with longer stories again. Fair warning, this story has homophobic language and character behaviour that may make some people uncomfortable, especially given current political climate. Give this one a skip if that's not your thing.

Liam slouched on the old porch swing of his family's lake house, the humid July air clinging to his body. He sat in the fading afternoon light as he thumbed through the latest posts in his favourite Reddit subs. Scrolling through r/TheRedPill and r/AlphaState had filled most of the first day of his lake vacation with his family. But that was no different to how he spent his days at college, consuming posts about "beta cucks" and "reclaiming masculinity" that set his blood boiling. "Real men take what's theirs," one thread preached. "A man's place is at the head of the family," ranted another. Liam's thin lips drew into a scowl as he thought of everything that was wrong with this world. He scrolled past a meme of a hipster some queer bullshit. "Fucking soy boys," he mumbled under his breath.

Suddenly, his Aunt Karen's voice sliced through the calm. "Liam!" she yelled in her thick southern drawl, "Nathan's here!" Liam's head snapped up from his phone at the sudden intrusion. His cousin, the golden boy, had finally shown up.

Nathan was the family's pride and joy, the small-town high school linebacker who'd gone out west on a full-ride scholarship. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before Nathan was snapped up by an NFL team and went pro. He was certainly built for it. His broad shoulders and chiselled pecs filled out every shirt, his mass unable to be contained by mere fabric. It was this sheer mass that gave Nathan a presence that naturally filled any room he entered. Growing up, Liam had trailed him like a puppy, hoping some of that seemingly effortless confidence would rub off on him. But as they had grown older, something had started to fester within Liam.

By the end of high school, Liam's weedy frame and lack of self-confidence had twisted his admiration into something sour. Nathan had it all, and what did Liam have? Nothing. None of those girls ever paid him any mind, and if they did, it was in reference to the creep that was always following Nathan around. Liam had begun delving into the manosphere, its tales of inherent superiority filling a yearning deep inside. It wasn't long until he was spending most of his waking hours trolling across the internet, his thoughts becoming increasingly more twisted.

Liam signed as he pried himself away from his phone screen, trying to muster the strength to size up against his cousin again. It was big family events like this one that brought the whole family together again. And Liam's family went big for the July 4th weekend. His aunt's voice rang out once more, a curious lilt in her tone. "Who's that with him?" Liam's pulse quickened as he shoved his phone into his pocket, picturing some busty blonde cheerleader draped over Nathan's arm. The kind of chick who would never give Liam a second glance. He raced around the front of the house to join the family crowding the front porch, all eyes on Nathan's Jeep pulling up the gravel drive. Liam leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of Nathan's latest conquest. The driver's door swung open, and Nathan stepped out, larger than life as always, his tight tank top clinging to his hulking torso. But then the passenger door opened, and Liam's jaw dropped. No hot cheerleader. No blonde bombshell. Instead, a smaller Latino guy jumped out of the passenger seat.

Nathan climbed the porch steps, his guest trailing close behind. His thick thighs strained his shorts, each step a showcase of raw athleticism. But a flicker of unease crossed Nathan's face, his usual cocky smirk faltering as he faced his extended clan. The family went silent, beers frozen mid-sip, eyes darting between Nathan and his guest. Liam's uncle went so far as to raise a sceptical brow. Nathan cleared his throat, his deep voice steady but tight. "Everyone, this is Mateo. My boyfriend." The words hung in the air, no one daring to speak. The silence stretched endlessly, with only the lake's distant lapping punctuating the air. After what seemed like hours, Aunt Karen stepped forward, her loud laugh breaking the tension. "Well, hell, Mateo, welcome to the family, darlin'!" she boomed, yanking the small man into a rib-cracking embrace. Matteo flinched from the sudden display of affection. "Sorry, I'm a hugger!" Karen beamed.

Liam stood frozen on the porch, his mind racing as the family swarmed Nathan and Mateo, their voices becoming a distant blur of admiration and laughter. His uncle slapped Nathan's broad back, chuckling, "Jesus, boy, what are they feeding you out west!" Nathan grinned, flexing one of his biceps, while his cousins crowded in, hugging him, joking about his "gorilla arms." This is fucking bullshit, Liam seethed, his hands curling into a fist, his knuckles growing white. Nathan was supposed to be the alpha, a corn-fed all-American hero, not some queer parading his twink around like it's normal.

The aunties fawned over Mateo, stumbling over his name. "Is it Mah-tay-oh or Mah-tee-oh?" they asked earnestly, over-enunciating every syllable. Mateo's fingers brushed Nathan's, a subtle squeeze passing between them, their eyes locking briefly with a quiet reassurance that made Liam want to puke. Fucking abomination, his mind screamed. Real men don't do this shit. His family's acceptance. Their smiles. It was all wrong. A betrayal of everything he'd known. Liam's fists clenched tighter, his vision narrowing as Nathan's massive arm draped around Mateo as if to mock his rage.

Nathan's eyes caught Liam's as he broke away from the family's chatter, his large frame parting its way through the crowded porch. "Hey, cousin!" he boomed, his deep voice warm, slapping Liam's shoulder with a meaty hand that nearly knocked him off balance. Liam grunted, "Hey," his reply was short and sharp, his jaw tight as he forced a thin smile. Nathan didn't notice his discomfort as he rambled on about college ball and the California sun, his pecs bouncing under his tank top as he recalled his attempt at surfing.

"You good, man? Been hitting the gym?" Nathan asked, squeezing Liam's arm, oblivious to Liam's glare. "Yeah, fine," Liam muttered, his voice clipped, recent events choking his thoughts. The small talk grated, Nathan's easy charm was a reminder of everything Liam wasn't. And that fucking boyfriend hovering nearby made his skin crawl. "I'm gonna take a walk," Liam snapped suddenly, turning toward the lake. Nathan raised a brow, glancing at Mateo. "Cool, Mateo can come with, you so you two can get to know each other, yeah?" Liam whirled, his voice a low growl. "I meant alone." Liam stormed off full of fire and fury. Nathan made to follow, but Aunt Karen's laugh pulled him back. "Get over here my big man!" she called, as if nothing had happened.

Liam thudded along the lakefront, the cool night air doing nothing to quench the fire in his chest. Memories of Nathan flooded his mind. Teaching him how to throw a football with that cocky grin. Roughing up that bully who stole his lunch money. Being crowned undisputed prom king. A fucking all American hero. But now? Nathan was a traitor, prancing around with some queer boyfriend, spitting on the family name. Liam's mind stormed with phrases from his internet community - real men don't bend, they dominate. Nathan had bent, probably corrupted by California's liberal bullshit. Some soy-laced water turned him soft.

Liam kicked a rock into the lake, its splash echoing across the gentle silence. How could the family just eat it up like that? Laughing with that Mateo guy like everything was normal? Nathan had everything. He was the guy that everyone dreamed of being. And it was being wasted on a life that mocked everything Liam believed in. Real men fucked pussy. They led the pack. They didn't hold hands like some beta cuck. His thoughts swirled, admiration for what Nathan represented, clashing with unfettered disgust. He clenched his fists so hard, that his nails stabbed into his skin. Nathan wasn't just a letdown, he was a fucking embarrassment, dragging their family's name through the mud. And Liam, like always, was powerless. Powerless to stop it. Powerless to do anything.

It was well past midnight when Liam trudged back to the lake house, its windows dark. The porch creaked under his slides as he slipped inside, the porch littered with empty beer bottles and leftover food. His room was dark, the bed untouched since he made it earlier that morning, but a glint on the pillow caught his eye. A star-spangled eagle amulet lay on his pillow, its silver wings etched with red, white, and blue, gleaming under the moonlight.

Liam picked it up, its weight surprisingly heavy in his hand. Its patriotic design screamed America first, the kind of shit he'd upvote on Reddit in a heartbeat. He turned it over, tracing the sharp edges with his finger. He half-expected it to be some tacky gift from his uncle that he'd picked up at a gun show. But something about it felt right — like it belonged to him. With a grunt, he slipped the chain over his neck, the amulet settling cool against his chest. He made a mental note to thank whoever had left this gift for him before kicking off his slides and collapsing onto the bed. His mind was still racing, trying to reconcile the events from earlier. Eventually, the lake's quiet lapping outside slowly sent him off to sleep, one hand clutched tightly around the amulet.

Liam woke to summer sunlight streaming through his window. The tranquil morning sun painted his room in golden hues, the lake sparkling outside like a goddamn postcard for the greatest country on earth. The 4th of July had arrived. His mood soured fast though, yesterday's shitshow crashing him back to reality. Nathan's smug grin, that queer boyfriend, the family's traitorous smiles. Fucking disgrace, he thought, his jaw tight. No. There was no way was he letting Nathan's bullshit ruin the 4th. It was a day for real Americans. He rolled out of bed, yanking on a white singlet with American flag sunglasses blazoned across the front, the loose fabric draping over his shoulders. He'd make today count, he told himself. He adjusted the amulet around his neck, its patriotic gleam fueling his resolve, and headed downstairs to own this fucking holiday.

The lake house was buzzing with the chaos of a big family breakfast. The dining room was draped in stars-and-stripes banners and the tables groaned under piles of fatty bacon, butter-soaked pancakes, greasy sausages, and Aunt Karen's famous cornbread. It was the kind of spread that screamed freedom, even if it would kill you by 50. Aunt Judy was hovering over Mateo, piling his plate with food as she explained, "This here's my mama's biscuit recipe, and that's Uncle Ray's French toast. You gotta try it!" Mateo nodded politely, his lean frame dwarfed by the family's rampant enthusiasm.

Liam scanned the room. Every seat was taken except the one next to Nathan, who was shovelling down food like he hadn't eaten in days. Liam slid into the chair, as Mateo leaned over to Nathan, his small hand grabbing his boyfriend's forearm. "Babe, you're supposed to be watching the fat, Coach's orders, remember?" The family erupted in scoffs and chuckles, Uncle Ray snorting, "Let the boy eat, it's the 4th!" Mateo's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Nathan shot Uncle Ray a look, setting down a forkful of bacon. "He's right, Coach has me on low-fat, high-protein to keep lean," he said, swapping sausages for a pile of scrambled eggs. Liam's jaw clenched - fucking whipped, he thought to himself.

Nathan glanced at Liam, his grin wide as he went to help himself to a second helping of eggs. "Yo, cousin, pass the salt," he said, his muscular forearm brushing Liam's hand as he reached across. A sharp tingle shot through Liam's arm. It was like static but deeper, resonating from where Nathan's warm skin grazed him. Liam froze, his fingers twitching as the current surged through him before he shook it off. His nerves were probably fried from yesterday's bullshit.

The breakfast chaos rolled on, Aunt Judy still yammering about recipes, but Liam's eyes stayed on Nathan, his massive frame dominating the table, pecs straining his shirt with every bite and hearty chuckle as he took part in the family ruckus. After eating enough food to feed a small army, Nathan leaned back in contentment, stretching his arms wide before bringing them to rest behind his head. In the process, he brushed Liam's shoulder, and the tingle returned. This time it was stronger, like a pulse humming through his bones. The amulet under his singlet suddenly felt warm. Liam's heart raced as the energy moved through his body. "Gotta hit the bathroom," he grunted, shoving his chair back and bolting from the table.

Liam stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, muffling the noise of his family. His heart pounded as he leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on his face, trying to shake the weird-ass tingle that was still buzzing in his arm. Wiping his face, he froze as he caught his reflection. A patch of thin hair dusted his forearm where before it'd been completely smooth. He twisted his arm under the light, the light blonde hairs clearly visible. His eyes flicked to the reflection of his shoulders. They looked… broader, just a touch, but the singlet's straps definitely sat differently than they had that morning. Was it the light? The angle? No, something was off. His gaze dropped to the amulet, its star-spangled eagle gleaming against his chest. Alphas take. The phrase echoed through his head. And then it clicked: the tingle, the hair, the shoulders - it had to be the amulet. He had to test this. He had to know what this was.

Liam made his way back to the dining room, the family's chatter and clinking plates filling the air once more. He zeroed in on Uncle Ray first, brushing his hand against the old man's arm as he grabbed a biscuit. Nothing, no tingle, just the same flabby skin. Next, he casually bumped into Cousin Eddie, his hands casually grazing Eddie's shoulder. Still nothing. Fucking useless, Liam thought as he clutched the amulet.

A hearty chuckle from Nathan caught his attention. Nathan was holding court on the other side of the table as a bunch of the younger cousins listened to him tell the story of how he absolutely flattened someone in his last game. As his cousin finished his story, Nathan slid into the empty seat next to him. "Great story, man," Liam muttered, forcing a grin as he clapped a hand on Nathan's shoulder, his fingers lingering on the wide, bulging muscle. It was more than a tingle this time. It was like a fucking lightning bolt surging through his arm. But unlike a lightning bolt, it didn't hurt. It felt good. Like he was being pumped full of energy.

Nathan flinched moving away from Liam, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "Thanks, man" he smiled, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder as he turned to Mateo. Liam's eyes dropped to his own forearm. The blonde hairs were thicker and more pronounced. And was it just him or was his whole forearm harder now? There was clearly a faint hint of definition where it'd only been a scrawny lump before. His lips twitched, a hungry smirk forming. This is it, he thought, it must be some sort of cosmic justice. He had the power to take what Nathan had. What he had proven he didn't deserve.

For the rest of the day, Liam hunted for chances to touch Nathan. As breakfast wound down, he leaned close, brushing his arm against Nathan's as he reached for the juice, the tingle sparking through his veins, the amulet growing hot under his singlet. Under the table, he nudged his foot against Nathan's, letting it linger, the electric surge making his blonde hair stand on end. When Nathan cracked a joke about their uncle's BBQ skills, Liam laughed too loud, smacking Nathan's meaty quad, his hand lingering a beat too long, the buzz flooding his body. More than once he disappeared to the bathroom to inspect his stolen gains. A little bigger here. A little more defined there. All those subtle touches adding up, propelling him to greatness.

As the day rolled on, the lake house came alive with activity as the whole family prepared for the big party. Fireworks were prepped, meat was in the smoker, and flags were waving. Liam kept it up: a casual arm brush by the cooler, a quick pat on Nathan's back during a card game, a high-five after a cornhole toss. Each touch filled him with more energy.

By the annual afternoon football game, Liam was getting bolder. He grabbed Nathan's bicep in mock reverence after a stunning pass, joking that with an arm like that, he was wasted as a linebacker. Constant high-fives and pats on the back followed. Each time, Nathan shifted or pulled away, oblivious, but Liam felt the energy growing inside him. When their team won, Liam leapt onto Nathan's back in mock celebration, clinging tight, the electric rush making his heart pound as he grabbed at his cousin's exposed flesh. The surge was so intense that his legs quivered. Liam had never felt so alive. His steps were heavier, his shoulders wider, his voice deeper. His confidence swelled as he grew. Take it all, the voice in his head roared.

As the sun dipped low, painting the lake in warm yellows and oranges, Nathan waved Liam over to the dock. "Yo, Liam, come chill for a sec." Liam made his way over, the amulet still warm under his singlet. Up close, Nathan looked… off. His biceps, while still huge, weren't as pumped as they'd been at breakfast. And his golden year-round tan had taken on a faintly pinkish hue as if the California glow had leached away. His eyes had dark rings under them like he was in desperate need of a good night's sleep.

Nathan plopped onto the dock, its sun-bleached boards creaking under his still-massive frame. "Man, I gotta sit down," he muttered, rubbing his aching feet. Liam smirked, leaning against a post. "What, a college football star tired from a little flag football? Getting soft, cousin?" Nathan chuckled, swatting the air playfully. "Fuck off, it's just a long day." They sat in silence, the lake lapping, sunset blazing over the water.

After a few months, Nathan's voice cut through the gentle sounds of the water, low and earnest. "Look, man, thanks for today. I was worried, you know? With my… situation and your views, thought shit might get weird." Nathan hauled himself to his feet and turned to face his cousin. "But you've been cool. And family's family, right? We stick together." He leaned in, pulling Liam into a hug, his thick arms wrapping tightly around the smaller man.

The amulet flared once, the surge hitting Liam like a freight train, stronger than ever, the power coursing through his veins, his muscles twitching with stolen strength. Nathan's warmth pressed against him, but guilt stabbed Liam's gut. His cousin's words, his trust, hit hard. He's still family, a small voice whispered, clashing with the manosphere's take-it-all taunt. Liam jerked back, breaking the hug, heart racing. "Uh, gotta help Aunt Karen with the BBQ setup," he stammered, bolting from the dock, leaving Nathan alone on the dock.

Liam slammed his bedroom door, shutting out the distant hum of the BBQ prep below. His chest heaved, heart pounding like a drum. Nathan's words on the dock—family's family, we stick together—clashed with the manosphere mantra screaming in his skull: a real man takes what he wants. He pulled off his singlet, the fabric catching on the amulet's chain, and faced the mirror, his breath hitching. His scrawny frame was gone, replaced by something new. He wasn't huge, but the improvement was drastic. His physique had transformed into a swimmer's build, lean but carved, shoulders broader, biceps taut with new definition, and a faint ripple of abs tightening his once-soft gut. Thin, blonde hairs dusted his forearms, his skin developing a sun-kissed glow. Holy shit, he thought, flexing, his reflection beyond what he ever thought possible with his runty frame.

But all of it was stolen straight from Nathan's jacked physique. Nathan's sagging eyes, his dulled tan, and the way his biceps had deflated from their morning glory hit him like a sledgehammer. Liam was leeching his cousin, draining the jock he'd once idolized, the linebacker god who'd tossed footballs and pinned opponents while Liam watched in awe. Nathan's trust, his vulnerability on the dock, and thanking Liam for being "cool" despite his beliefs. That was family, not this power grab.

The amulet pulsed, its eagle glinting in the dim light, whispering promises of dominance, of becoming the alpha Liam had always chased on those toxic subs. His fingers hovered over it, the heat tempting, the surge of stolen strength making his blood sing. But his thoughts went back to Nathan, tired and slumped on the dock. Liam was betraying the one guy who'd always had his back. He doesn't deserve this, a small voice begged, drowned by the mantra take it all, be the man.

Liam paced the creaky floorboards, fists clenching, the amulet's weight like a noose. Every step felt stronger, his posture taller, his voice itching to boom like Nathan's did, but guilt clawed his gut. Family or power, loyalty or dominance. With a snarl, Liam grabbed the amulet, yanking it off, the chain snapping taut before breaking free. His chest heaved, cool in the absence of the amulet's heat. He hurled the amulet away from him. Fuck this, he growled, his resolve hardening. Nathan was family, and family came first. He bolted out the door, desperate to find his cousin and make this right.

Liam burst out of the lake house, and the BBQ was in full swing, the lakefront pulsing with familial chaos. Stars-and-stripes flags swayed in the breeze, burgers sizzled on the grill, and younger cousins chased each other around the bonfire. Liam scanned the crowd, his heart racing, guilt driving him to find his cousin and fix the damage he'd done. "Where's Nathan?" he asked Aunt Judy, who was piling ribs on a plate. She shrugged, her voice yelling over the loud country music. "Think he and Mateo went for a walk by the lake before dinner. Young love, ya know?"

Liam's jaw tightened, real men don't do that shit, flickering in his mind, but he shoved them down, and focused on making things right as he headed toward the lake trail. Halfway down the path, a faint glow caught his eye. A light flickered in the boathouse at the end of the dock, its weathered boards silhouetted against the dusk. Who's in there? He thought, the need to find Nathan pulling him toward the light.

As Nathan approached, he noticed light spilling through a jagged crack between two weathered siding boards. His gut twisted, guilt from draining Nathan still raw, but curiosity pulled him closer. He pressed his eye to the crack, heart pounding. Inside he saw Nathan and Mateo, their bodies tangled on a pile of old tarps, lit by the dim light of a lantern. Nathan, the jacked linebacker Liam had idolised, was on all fours, his massive frame glistening with sweat. Mateo, lean and wiry, gripped Nathan's hips, his dark eyes intense, thrusting with a steady, forceful rhythm, his own sweat-slicked skin catching the light. Nathan's thick thighs trembled, his head bowed, hair damp with sweat as he groaned, a mix of pleasure and submission. His biceps flexed to brace himself against Mateo's relentless pace.

Mateo's hands roamed, one sliding up Nathan's chiselled back, the other gripping his waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust, their bodies slapping together, the air thick with raw, animalistic heat. Liam's breath caught, horror flooding his chest. Here was his cousin, the fucking football god, taking it up the ass from some twink, moaning in submission as Mateo fucked his hole. Neither noticed Liam, lost in their rhythm, Mateo's lean frame driving into Nathan with a confidence that flipped everything Liam believed. In Liam's head, the voices screamed once more Alphas don't submit, they dominate.

Mateo barked, "Over the bench, now!" Nathan obeyed instantly, bending over for his lover. Mateo gripped Nathan's hips, thrusting harder, the slap of skin echoing, Nathan's deep voice cracking as he moaned. Liam's fists clenched, rage boiling. Mateo pounded faster, sweat dripping, his wiry frame dominating Nathan's massive one, Nathan's hefty cock swinging uselessly as he begged for release. Liam's head screamed—this ain't right, real men don't beg. But he couldn't look away, his horror spiking with every submissive whimper.

Mateo groaned, body tensing as he came inside Nathan, who arched back, still panting, and reached up, pulling Mateo into a deep, desperate kiss, their lips locked in a way that twisted Liam's gut. Fucking traitor, Liam seethed, his cousin's surrender shattering every Reddit-fueled ideal he'd clung to. The guilt he'd felt on the dock evaporated, replaced by raw, burning fury. Nathan wasn't family anymore. He was a disgrace. Liam tore away from the boat shed and stormed toward the house, the lake's calm lapping swallowed by his rage.

As Nathan exited the boathouse with Mateo, he noticed a lone figure sitting on the dock. Even at a distance, he could make out Liam's blonde hair at the dock's end, hunched alone, staring at the water. He kissed Mateo on the cheek, telling him to go ahead to the party. He needed to check on his cousin.

"Man, check out that sunset - fucking gorgeous, right?" Nathan said as he sat down next to his cousin. Liam nodded, his eyes hazing off across the lake. "Yeah, real nice," he muttered, voice low, and absent. Nathan, still riding the high from his time with Mateo, leaned back, oblivious to Liam's turmoil. The two of them sat in silence, as the sun's glow faded across the horizon.

BAM. The first firework exploded overhead, red and white streaking the sky. Both cousins tilted their heads, watching the bursts light up the lake in patriotic glory. BAM. A second firework, this one white and blue burst through the sky. Nathan watched on as the sky was illuminated by the celebrations. After a few moments, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, meeting Liam's hard stare, his cousin's voice cutting through the crackle of fireworks: "I saw you."

Fireworks cracked overhead, their red and blue bursts flashing across the lake, casting jagged shadows on the dock where the two cousins sat. "Saw what, man?" he asked, his voice casual as he turned back to the fireworks. "You and Mateo, fucking in the boathouse," Liam spat, voice venomous. Nathan blinked, caught off guard, then chuckled lightly, shrugging. "Shit, my bad, man. The house's walls are thin as heck so we had to grab a quiet spot. Didn't mean for you to see."

He turned back to the sky, another firework exploding, bathing him in blue hues. Silence followed. Nathan glanced over, the next burst revealing a dark, twisted look on Liam's face, his fingers twitching around a star-spangled amulet at his neck. "It makes me fucking sick," Liam growled, his disgust boiling over, the image of Nathan submitting to Mateo burning in his skull. Nathan opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp cramp seized his shoulder, right where Liam's hand had dug in, a jolt of pain making him wince.

"Dude, what the fuck?" he snapped, jerking his shoulder to break free, his face flashing red due to the burst above. Liam's eyes blazed, wild and unhinged, and his grip tightened. "You're wasting it, Nathan," Liam hissed, his blonde hair wild in the lake breeze, voice thick with malice. "All that power, that alpha shit, and you're throwing it away being a fucking queer." Nathan's jaw dropped, stunned, and he yanked harder this time, breaking Liam's hold. "What the fuck do you mean, man?" he demanded, standing up to his full height, rubbing his sore shoulder. Liam's face contorted, his swimmer's build coiled with stolen energy, rage exploding. "You're a fucking embarrassment to the family," he roared, "a submissive bitch bending over for Mateo, disgracing everything you could've been!" The insult cut through the air, and the lake's calm shattered once more as another massive firework erupted. The dock was flooded in blinding white light, Nathan's shocked expression and Liam's furious scowl etched in the glare.

Around Liam's neck, the amulet's power hummed, hungry for more.

As another firework exploded overhead, Liam seized the moment. With a roar, he launched himself at Nathan, his fury fueling a flurry of blows. His fists pounded Nathan's bare torso, the amulet on Liam's neck blazing hot, siphoning strength with every hit. Nathan, knowing his size advantage, braced his thick legs, refusing to topple under Liam's assault.

At first, Liam's punches glanced off Nathan's rock-hard pecs and abs. But as the amulet's drain surged, each blow began to sting, Nathan's muscles reddening under the onslaught, pain creeping through his muscles. Liam's eyes burned, raw anger driving his fists. Nathan fed up, roared through gritted teeth, his meaty hands snapping out, snatching Liam's fists mid-strike, one in each iron grip. With a surge of strength, he forced Liam down, the dock creaking as Liam's knee hit the boards. Nathan loomed over Liam, their hands locked in a brutal struggle, face twisted in fury, "I ain't the fucking embarrassment to this family Liam!"

Nathan towered over Liam, his massive frame rippling with power, muscles flaring as he forced Liam's lower, his meaty hands crushing Liam's fists as fireworks exploded in red and blue bursts overhead. "You're the fucking shame of this family, Liam!" he bellowed, a firework's crack punctuating his rage. "Always yammering about that manosphere garbage, like it makes you a man!" Liam's breath caught in his chest. Nathan's sheer size loomed like a goddamn mountain, a threatening edge in his cousin's glare he'd never seen before. Fierce, unyielding, terrifying.

Another firework popped, and blue light flashed across Nathan's rage-filled face. "Spending college glued to your phone, no friends, just Reddit bullshit!" Nathan spat, his biceps bulging as he tightened his grip. Liam's heart pounded, intimidation sinking deep, his cousin's massive frame a wall of muscle he couldn't match. A white burst lit the sky, and Nathan leaned closer, voice low and vicious. "And that fucking virgin incel shit. Pathetic!" The last jab hit Liam like a gut punch, his breath hitching. Nathan's eyes burned, his towering bulk casting a shadow as another firework screamed, and Liam's head dropped, his shoulders slumping, filled with shame.

The sky darkened as the fireworks onslaught paused, silence returning to the lake. Liam's head snapped up, eyes locking with Nathan's blazing with venom. "At least I'm not a fucking faggot," he snarled, the star-spangled amulet at his neck igniting with heat. The muscle drain surged, stolen strength flooding Liam's college-age body, his swimmer's build pulsing as he pushed against Nathan's crushing grip. Nathan's eyes widened, shock etching his face. Where the fuck was Liam's strength coming from?

The fireworks began to fill the sky again as Liam's muscles strained, veins popping as he rose, inch by inch as if growing taller with each heartbeat, the amulet's power fueling his defiance. Nathan grunted, his meaty hands faltering against Liam's sudden force. With a roar, Liam shoved Nathan away from him, the linebacker just managing to catch his balance to avoid falling into the water.

The fireworks cracked, creating a dramatic silhouette as the two cousins faced off against each other. Nathan's gaze locked on Liam, his breath heavy. His cousin, once scrawny, now stood at eye level to him, their physiques almost mirror images of each other.

"How the fuck are you doing this?" Nathan barked, his voice thick with shock, as the fireworks raged overhead. Liam's eyes burned, the star-spangled amulet at his neck blazing like a furnace. "You shouldn't worry about how" he spat, rage fueling his words, "worry that I'm going to take everything!"

With a snarl, Liam slammed into Nathan, their bodies colliding with a meaty thud, the dock shuddering as they grappled. Nathan, calling upon the years of football physicality, locked arms with Liam, twisting to try to throw him off, his thick legs planting firm as he shoved back, muscles bulging with effort. Liam's fists swung wildly, clipping Nathan's jaw, then slamming his ribs, each hit sparking a jolt of pain.

The two combatants grappled in a tangle of sweat and rage, fireworks painting their brawl in strobing colours. Nathan's experience gave him the edge, pinning Liam's arm, knee driving into his side, but Liam's frame swelled, muscles thickening, height creeping up, veins popping like cables. The size gap widened, Liam's punches growing heavier, cracking Nathan's abs, his kicks landing harder, forcing Nathan to stagger. Nathan grunted, sweat stinging his eyes, grappling desperately, but Liam's growing bulk overpowered him, slamming him against the dock's edge, the amulet's relentless drain unrelenting.

In a flash, Liam had Nathan pinned, his massive hands clamped on Nathan's forearms, feeling them shrink under his grip. His quads, now thick and powerful, pinned Nathan's fading torso to the creaking boards of the dock, fireworks bursting red and blue above. The star-spangled amulet blazed at Liam's neck, its drain relentless, pumping power into his swelling frame as his blonde hair gleamed in the strobing light.

Liam's eyes burned with triumph, sneering down at his cousin's dwindling frame. "Fuck yeah," he roared, voice booming, "now that's a real fucking man!" Nathan, his strength dwindling, gasped, "Liam, please, let me go, you don't gotta do this!" Liam's lips curled, his growing pecs heaving. "Oh, yes I fucking do," he growled, "I'm taking what's mine, what I deserve as a goddamn alpha!" He leaned back, pumping his swollen biceps, veins bulging like ropes, crowing, "These massive fucking arms!" His fist slammed his chest, the impact echoing, "This meaty fucking pecs!" Then, smirking, he palmed his cock through his shorts, the fabric stretched to bursting over his significantly larger bulge, moaning, "And this huge fucking cock!" His hips rocked, relishing the heft, voice dripping with lust. Nathan squirmed, his frame fading with each pulse of Liam's quads, still crushing him, the lake's lapping drowned by Liam's gloating as the amulet glowed, sealing Nathan's fate.

Nathan's voice came weak, barely a rasp, pinned beneath Liam's massive form, his shrinking chest struggling for breath. "Liam… you're hurting me," he choked out. Liam ignored him, eyes closed as he fondled his new cock, thinking about all the pussy was waiting for him. His pecs bulged, abs carved deeper, each ripple a testament to his ascension.

Nathan's breaths grew shallow, black spots dotting his vision, Liam's crushing weight bearing down, his lungs screaming for air. "Please Liam," Nathan begged again, voice fading, eyes desperate. Liam's gaze snapped down, cold and triumphant. "Begging again? You really are a sub aren't you," he snarled, squeezing his quads harder, the massive muscles, now bigger than Nathan's ever were, constricting Nathan's lungs like a vice.

Nathan gasped, his frame shrinking to a frail shadow, the lake's lapping drowned by the fireworks' roar. His eyes fluttered, black spots swallowing his sight, and he slumped, unconscious, as a final firework exploded, its white glare casting Liam's towering, ever-growing physique in stark relief to the night sky.

Epilogue

Nathan woke with a start in his bed, the morning light harsh through the window, his body aching like he'd been hit by a truck. Mateo was gone, the sheets empty beside him. He sat up, heart pounding, and looked down. His chest was sunken, arms rail-thin, his jacked linebacker frame reduced to a frail shadow, his face now gaunt. He swung his legs out of bed, his feet hitting the floor much sooner than he expected. He was shorter, by over a foot, his height stolen along with his strength. Last night was real, he thought, panic rising, the memory of Liam's gloating face and the amulet's glow burning in his mind.

On the floor lay one of his workout shirts, red and white and embossed with the name of his college team, next to a pair of shorts. Both were massive now in his much smaller hands. He pulled on both garments, the shirt draping like a tent over his bony shoulders, the shorts sagging despite cinching the drawstring. He stumbled to the mirror, barely recognising the diminished figure staring back, a far cry from the alpha he'd been. Liam did this, he seethed. He needed to find his cousin and make this right.

Nathan stumbled into the lake house kitchen. The family gathered around the breakfast table and stopped their chatter, turning to stare at the diminished athlete who had barrelled into the room. The 4th of July decorations, stars-and-stripes banners, still clung to the walls, but the air felt wrong. "Nathan, why are you wearin' your cousin's shirt?" Uncle Ray chuckled, eyeing the loose fit. Nathan's heart sank, his voice cracking. "This is my shirt!" The family burst into laughter, plates clinking as Aunt Karen leaned forward, her eyes glinting. "Boy, you'll need to eat a heap more and pray to the Lord Jesus if you wanna fill out Liam's clothes!" she cackled, sparking more hoots and jeers. Nathan's face burned, disbelief choking him. How could they not remember him, the linebacker star, the pride of the family? Their laughter stung like a slap, his shrunken frame trembling as he backed away, their hollers—"Look at little Nathan playin' dress-up!"—chasing him. He fled toward the door, not grasping how his family could forget the real him.

The morning sun glared off the lake, the chaos of last night having all but faded. Nathan's eyes locked onto a hulking figure at the dock's end, draped in a stars-and-stripes flag. Nathan's shrunken legs carried him closer, heart pounding with each step. As he neared, the figure turned, and Nathan's breath caught. Liam, stood before him, now a fucking colossus, bigger than last night, bigger than Nathan had ever been. Liam's blonde hair gleamed in the sun, framing a chiselled jaw sharper than ever. A white singlet with American flag sunglasses blazoned across it, once loose on his scrawny frame, now clung skin-tight, straining to contain his massive chest, the fabric stretched to near-tearing over pecs that jutted like slabs of granite. His shoulders were cannonballs, biceps bulging with strength, veins snaking down forearms thicker than Nathan's thighs.

Liam's quads, massive pillars straining his shorts, flexed with every shift of his weight. Nathan's eyes dropped lower, unable to miss the obscene bulge in Liam's shorts, a thick outline screaming dominance, the kind Nathan had once owned. Liam stood taller, at least 6'3", maybe even 6'4", his frame a monument to stolen power.

Nathan's shrunken frame trembled as he faced Liam on the dock, the oversized shirt swallowing his rail-thin body, making him appear even more diminutive. "What the fuck are you doing, Liam?" Nathan rasped, voice cracking with desperation. Liam grinned, flexing his freakish biceps. "Getting Tinder pics, bro," he drawled, pulling off his singlet to show off his cobblestone abs as he snapped a shot with his phone. "This body's gonna get me so much pussy."

Nathan's fists clenched, his diminished height barely reaching Liam's chest. "Where's Mateo?" he demanded, heart pounding. Liam's eyes glinted, cruel. "Who gives a shit about some queer? Bet you can't stop thinking about him railing you, though, huh?" he taunted, pulling down his sunglasses and revealing his dazzling blue eyes.

Nathan's rage boiled over, and he charged. But as his frail body slammed into Liam's granite pecs he bounced off his larger cousin without leaving a scratch. Liam laughed, a deep, mocking boom, and shoved Nathan to the dock with one hand, leaving Nathan sprawled on the dock, helpless. Liam struck a commanding double bicep pose, his muscles bulging, veins popping. "Everything's finally right," he decreed, voice thundering. "I'm the alpha, Nathan. This is my God-given right!" Nathan could only stare up at everything he'd lost. Liam flaunting his colossal form in all its patriotic glory.

Aunt Karen stood alone in the lake house kitchen, her eyes glued to the window, watching the dock as Liam towered over Nathan's frail figure, the morning sun glinting off the stars-and-stripes flag draped over Liam's shoulders. The distant clatter of plates from the dining room where the family ate breakfast was oblivious to the scene outside. She couldn't hear a word from the dock, the lake's calm swallowing any sound, but she saw Liam's commanding double bicep pose, Nathan sprawled at his feet, a silhouette of defeat.

Her lips twitched, a knowing glint in her eyes as she slipped her hand into her apron pocket, fingers grazing the star-spangled eagle amulet, it's metal warm against her touch. She turned to the dining room, where the family were laughing over breakfast. The older members of the family turned to face her, with wordless expressions of knowing approval. Clearing her throat, Karen raised her coffee mug, voice firm and proud. "God bless this family, and God bless America!" The family erupted from the dining room, hooting and hollering, mugs clinking, their patriotic fervour shaking the walls.

Part 2 maybe?

If you like my stories and want to support my writing, please consider shouting me a coffee over on ko-fi.

[hyppntf]

Grow the FUCK up

[hyppntf]

Can I have a case of red? Im tall but skinny. Wonder what efect the drink will have on me?

Thomas was on his way to work, cutting through the city stadium.He had just received his order of “RED.”

He’d seen a somewhat narcissistic YouTuber talk about it, praising the energy boost the drink was supposed to give.

Thomas was very tall and skinny.His body burned through energy fast, and he often experienced crashes during the day.So he figured it was a good idea to give it a try.

While sipping on his can of “RED”, he thought back to that YouTuber, boasting about all the positive effects the drink could provide, and wondered if he’d feel any of them himself.

More than anything, he just wanted to get through a workday without that usual, crushing fatigue.

He drank the can to the very last drop.

He enjoyed the sparkling red berry flavor.

As soon as the can was empty, Thomas started coughing up a cloud of red smoke. Completely shocked by what was happening, he saw his memories swirl around in chaos.

It started with his rough teenage years.

His height and thin frame had always been a source of insecurity.Like most teens, he hadn’t escaped ridicule. They used to call him “the pole” or even “the skeleton.”

He’d always struggled to gain weight. His body demanded way too many calories, and because of that, he constantly looked a little sickly.

After finishing high school, he had no real ambition for the future.He didn’t know what kind of work he wanted to do. It’s now been eight years since he started working at the small convenience store in his hometown. At first, it was just supposed to be temporary — a stopgap until he figured things out.But in the end, he never left. He hated the job. Seeing the same village faces every day, running into former classmates who had clearly succeeded in life… it made him feel a bit more pathetic every day. He lived alone.

He knew his life sucked. But unfortunately, his metabolism held him back in everyday life. Any motivation to change would quickly fade.

Then he felt a powerful surge of energy course through his body — like a wave of intense heat. He had never felt anything like it before. That energy… the one he had always dreamed of.

New memories began reshaping his reality. He saw himself as a teenager again, still mocked by others… but this time, he fought back. He started working out to change his body. After years of dedication, he managed to build a muscular frame. Still slim, sure, but no longer sickly-looking. He had gained confidence.

He still worked at the village convenience store… but no longer as just an employee. This time, he was the owner. Two years earlier, his boss had offered to sell him the place. It wasn’t his dream, but owning his own business was a solid opportunity.

He was in a relationship with a woman he had met at the shop. They had recently moved in together.

He wasn’t sure if all of this was real… but he liked these memories. This life felt good.

And as the memories settled into reality, his body continued to transform. He became more muscular, more confident.

He didn’t understand what was happening. But just as he was starting to grasp that his body had changed, that energy returned — stronger than before. It was like an adrenaline explosion. The sensation was incredible. He felt powerful. And while that rush flowed through him, the memories kept shifting.

He saw himself again in those teenage years, mocked for his appearance… but this time, he didn’t back down. He remembered the massive surge of anger, that moment he charged at the group of teens and beat the crap out of them. Adrenaline had taken over. He lost control. And he’d managed to scare them. In fact, everyone was scared now…

For Thomas, that was the turning point. He would never let anyone walk over him again.

He changed everything: his diet, his routine. He ate massive amounts of food to bulk up and threw himself into weight training. And now those rewritten memories were taking physical form. His body morphed into a mountain of muscle. He lost his hair from a flood of testosterone, but a thick red beard grew in, giving him an impressive look.

He owed that physique in part to the city’s rugby club, where he had enrolled. He quickly became a key player — a cornerstone of the team. They called him “The Mountain.” Few teams ever managed to beat them.

Thomas was fully dedicated to his club. He even coached the younger players.

He had bought the convenience store where he used to work, but had turned it into a bar. He wanted to transform the place he once hated. And he did. It became the team’s headquarters — always buzzing with people, full of life.

He lived with the woman he’d met at the old shop. But sadly for her, she had become the most cheated-on woman in the village.

Thomas had an endless sex drive. Probably another side effect of all that testosterone. He didn’t care if it was with women or men.

He’d already slept with a few of his gay teammates — they’d even given him a nickname: “ The Ass Breaker.”

The transformation came to an end. His clothes turned into a rugby kit. Old memories faded. New ones took their place.

And the new reality came to life.

The smoke stopped pouring from his mouth. The skinny Thomas was gone. Now, only the rugby-playing Thomas remained.

He grabbed his can of “RED” before heading to training, and with a smirk, wondered whose ass he’d be taking after practice.

[hyppntf]

I’m studying abroad for uni and my roommate is a typical ‘all-American’ dude who constantly talks about hating being forced to stay with a ‘dirty red coat’ instead of his frat brothers

Of all the roommates you had to be paired with, did it have to be AJ? You had concerns when you stalked his social media. His cocky smile, multiple gym selfies, thirst traps, and American pride gave you a preview of what you were in for. How this man was studying such a nuanced subject like Psychology was beyond you. But meeting the brute in person certainly confirmed your fears.

“Fuck, don’t you do anything besides read? Really dude? Reading?”

“Fuck yeah! That fuckin’ scrub didn’t have a chance.”

“Shit dude, I need you out of the room ASAP. I have some bimbo on her way. Wants to ride this American cock.”

“Dude, seriously? Ever hear of the revolution? We won that shit so we didn’t have to take orders from you dirty red coats. If I want to walk around shirtless, burp, fart, fuck- I’m gonna do it. And you’re not stopping me.”

“Maybe shut up and listen for once. This podcast might change your life, brah.”

And that was just a few of his many lines. Whether it was mocking you, mocking other gamers, diminishing women, ignoring your attempts to compromise, or brushing off your increasing frustration at the sound of some ultra-masculine podcaster, AJ simply gave no shits about you or anyone else.

“You know something, bro?” AJ said one night during your second week together, “This trip would be so much fucking better with one of my bros. Not some dirty red coat, British fuck.” You looked up from your book and raised an eyebrow, “How about you, let loose.”

A tingle runs down your spine, “Wh-what did you say?”

“Nothing brah, I just think you’d do better if you let loose.”

The tingle is stronger this time and you feel lightheaded. You look towards your American roommate and notice the shit-eating grin gracing his face. What the fuck was going on? Why was everything getting so foggy? You try to stand up, mumbling about needing a drink. AJ simply leans back in his chair.

“Nah man, what you need is to let loose.”

Your body begins to move as if possessed, shedding layers of inhibition and inhibition like old skin. The book slips from your grasp as a wave of raw, primal energy surges through your veins. A smirk spreads across your lips as you push yourself up from the chair, the world sharpening into focus.

“Damn right I'm letting loose.” you declare, voice dripping with confidence and a faint Southern drawl, “Time to show this place how us Americans party.”

Your movements become more fluid, almost predatory as you prowl towards the door. The mirror catches your reflection - your posture has changed, shoulders squared, chest puffed out. Part of you thinking how ridiculous your lanky frame looks exuding so much confidence, but any self-doubt is drowned in waves of narcissistic self-love.

AJ grinned approvingly, “Now that's more like it, bro!”

He clapped you on the shoulder and handed you one of his ballcaps. You grab it and slap it on backwards before sauntering out into the night...

____

Groggy and disoriented, you slowly open your eyes to find yourself sprawled across the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Memories of the previous night come flooding back in fragmented flashes - shots, dancing, trash talking, hitting on some random dudes and chicks... Shame and confusion wash over you as the reality of your actions sinks in.

“Ugh, what the hell happened last night?” you groan, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, AJ's booming laughter fills the room.

“Aww, someone's feeling rough today!” he chuckles, shaking his head, “Guess you weren't used to keeping up with real men.” As you sit up, trying to clear the fog from your mind, AJ takes a step closer, eyeing you critically. “But damn, dude... You really gotta work on that physique. It’s holding you back.”

A sense of dread fills you, mixing with your pounding headache and churning stomach. You glance down at your comparatively scrawny frame and suddenly it feels alien, inadequate. As if responding to AJ's dismissive words, your body aches for something...more.

“Let loose... Get buff,” he says nonchalantly, stretching and flexing his own impressive biceps.

Immediately, you feel your body reacting against your will. Your muscles twitch and tighten, a strange sense of urgency building inside you. The rational part of your mind screams in protest, but it's quickly silenced by a surge of adrenaline and testosterone. Without conscious thought, you find yourself stripping off your shirt and heading towards the makeshift weights area in your dorm room. The familiar burn of exertion fills your limbs as you begin lifting, grunting and growling with each repetition. You don’t know what is happening... why this is happening... And those questions are your last conscious thoughts as you drift into your subconscious...

----

Slowly, groggily, you blink awake. Sunlight streams in harshly through the window, making you squint and wince. Disorientation clouds your mind as you struggle to process your surroundings. Where are you? What day is it? Pulling aside the sheets, you catch sight of your body - no longer lean and lanky, but rippling with muscle and definition. A pungent odor mimicking AJ's fill your nostrils and you realize with growing horror that its coming from you. Glancing down, you see unfamiliar boxer shorts emblazoned with the American flag. Panic rising in your throat, you scramble out of bed, stumbling slightly under the weight of your newly enhanced physique. Memories flicker and dance at the edges of your consciousness. Fragmented images of relentless training sessions, endless protein shakes, and vials labeled 'Anadrol' and 'Deca-Durabolin’.

“What the fuck...” you mutter hoarsely, voice deeper than you remember. “What's happening to me?”

Did you really spend the past week pumping iron and injecting yourself with steroids? The thought alone makes you feel ill. Staggering to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Gone is the shy, bookish Brit. Now, you’re something else entirely. In the background, you hear AJ's boisterous laugh echoing down the hall. Footsteps approach and he bursts into the room, taking in your bewildered expression with a satisfied grin.

“Hey there, champ!” AJ greets you enthusiastically, slapping you on the back hard enough to make you stumble. “Lookin' good, bro! Knew you had it in ya.”

Confusion swirls in your head as you try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of your fractured memories.

“Wha- what's going on? Did you...did you drug me?”

AJ laughs heartily, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Drugs? Nah, man. Unless you mean the steroids.” He chuckles, “Just a little hypno-training from my favorite podcast. Helped unlock your inner alpha, ya know?”

“Wh-what, how?” You cringe- your British accent was fading, intermixing with hints of southern twang.

AJ steps closer, looming over you with an intense gaze. “See, I've always dreamed of having a true American bro by my side. Someone to share in my love of freedom, guns, and sweet ass. And you, my friend, are gonna be that bro.” He snaps his fingers, and you feel a sudden jolt, like a shockwave ripping through your mind.

The shockwave crashes over you, drowning out every ounce of reason and restraint. Like a dam bursting, a tidal wave of pure, unfiltered American machismo floods your psyche. Thoughts of literature, intellectual discourse, and subtle wit are swept away, replaced by a singular focus on strength, virility, and unbridled patriotism.

“I'm gonna make you the ultimate American stud. No more of that pussy-ass British bullshit. From now on, you're all about the red, white, and blue.”

With each word, you feel your identity shifting, morphing, until you're barely recognizable even to yourself. It's like flipping a switch - suddenly, every fiber of your being throbs with the pulse of the Stars and Stripes. Your vocabulary shrinks, simplifying into a barrage of Americanisms and slang. Words like “dude”, “bro”, and “fuckin”' roll off your tongue effortlessly. Memories of your former self flicker in the recesses of your mind, but they hold no sway over you anymore. Instead, you revel in the glory of your newfound masculinity, flexing your bulging biceps and admiring your chiseled jawline in the mirror. Your thoughts race, a whirlwind of pure, unadulterated American pride. Every cliché, every stereotype, every over-the-top portrayal of the quintessential frat boy - they all converge in your mind, forming a perfect picture of the man you've become.

“I'm living the dream, man.” you declare, your Southern drawl growing thicker with each syllable, “Who needs books when you got these guns?”

Grinning ear to ear, you strike a pose, showcasing your newly sculpted physique. The sheer joy of being a jock, a true-blue American stud, courses through your veins like liquid gold.

“It's like I was born to be a bro.” you chuckle, slapping AJ on the back, “Thanks for showing me the light, dude. I owe ya big time.” And in this moment, nothing else mattered.

----

One year later, you're sitting on the shore of Lake Travis, surrounded by your fellow frat brothers. Cold beer in hand, tanned muscles glistening in the sun, you couldn't ask for a better life. College is just a blur of keggers, sex, and weightlifting sessions between classes. Who needs grades when you got charisma and Southern charm? Across the beach, AJ lounges in a deck chair, watching you with a smug grin. His work here is done. You're the perfect embodiment of American masculinity.

Laughter rings out as you sprint towards the lake, splashing and horsing around like a pack of wild animals. In this moment, you're truly free - free from the constraints of intellect, free from the burdens of responsibility. You're just a simple, happy-go-lucky American jock, living life to the fullest.

[hyppntf]

Drinking a muscle growth potion…

[hyppntf]

Stereotyped Part 2

(All characters are 18+)

Not everyone forgot.

A small group still remembered the real Jared and Mia — the soft-spoken, nerdy, queer teens who used to spend lunch break debating Star Trek morality and designing custom D&D characters. Their disappearance, and the grotesque rise of Matty and Cassie, hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The ones who remembered?

Sam, the sharp-witted programmer who’d had a quiet crush on Jared.

Nick, the gentle artist who sketched queer comic heroes in secret.

John, an anime-loving introvert with a heart of gold.

Mike, a soft-spoken violinist who always stood by his friends.

David, a closeted gamer who lived for late-night raids and Reddit threads.

And Ashton, who'd once told Jared, trembling, that he thought they might be more than friends someday.

Together, they became The Resistance.

They met in the old library basement after school — the one with flickering lights and dusty CRT monitors — and pored over everything. Magic symbols, memory manipulation theories, ancient myths. Ashton was convinced they could reverse the transformations. That they could bring Jared and Mia back from the cheerleader-and-jock hell they'd been trapped in.

“We just need to reach them,” he whispered one evening, eyes wild. “Like, speak their true names or something. Deep down, they’re still them. I know it.”

They even tried a spell — a homemade incantation scrawled in Sharpie on a scroll of printer paper. They lit candles. They chanted. They believed.

But they didn’t know that Matty had been watching.

He was the leader now — not just of the school’s social elite, but something bigger. Something darker. The same magic that had transformed him was in his blood now, and it responded to threats.

When he kicked down the basement door, the air shifted. His towering frame filled the space like a monster from a video game, broad shoulders wrapped in his black hoodie, MAGA hat twisted backward like a crown.

“What the hell are you losers doin’?” he barked, stepping forward, football in one hand, glowing faintly. “Tryin’ to make me a nerd again? Tryin’ to make Cassie wear cargo pants or somethin’? Nah, bro.”

His voice was poison, laced with mocking power. “Y’all really think you can stop me? You think I care who I used to be?”

The others shrank back. But Ashton stood tall. “You were our friend, Jared! You loved who you were — and who we were!”

Matty smirked. “That guy was a faggot. I’m a fuckin’ beast now.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the football in his hand exploded with light — a surge of energy that slammed through the room like a sonic wave. The six boys screamed, their bodies writhing as they were ripped apart and rebuilt from the inside out.

Their glasses shattered. Their shirts tore as muscles erupted across their frames. Spines straightened, posture widened. Gay, nerdy softness burned away in seconds, replaced by testosterone-soaked swagger.

Their clothes melted into varsity jackets, tank tops, joggers, and gym shoes. Minds fuzzed over with static and dumb, aggressive confidence.

Sam became Ethan — cocky, flirtatious, with a backwards snapback and biceps he couldn't stop flexing. Nick became Caleb — obsessed with deadlifts and creatine, always down to “smash chicks or weights.” John became Oscar — tall, quiet, but with the blank stare of a jock who'd taken too many protein supplements. Mike became Evan — the bench-pressing prankster who loved locker room talk. David became Josh — dumb, loud, and totally convinced his pecs were more important than calculus. Ashton became Leo — the worst of them all. Arrogant, homophobic, and completely loyal to Matty.

“Damn,” Matty grinned as he looked over them. “Y’all are slayin’, bros. Welcome to the team.”

The new jocks looked around, blinking in confusion — and then laughing, high-fiving each other, punching shoulders and bragging about gym routines.

The Resistance was dead.

Now, it was Matty’s Crew — the school’s new kings. Seven 10/10 alpha jocks, straight as hell, dumb as rocks, and ready to bully anyone who looked like who they used to be.

When Cassie strutted into the basement to see the results, she squealed. “Like, oh-em-gee, babe! You did it!”

Matty kissed her, hard and messy. “Told you, babe. No more weirdos in my school.”

And so, the last hope was crushed. The old world forgotten.

Now, there was just protein, gym selfies, MAGA hats, and cheerleader drama.

Forever.

(Ethan, Leo, Caleb)

(Oscar, Evan, Josh)

But Matty was their leader.

[hyppntf]

F is for Fraternity

Logan was pretty terrible at school, focusing more on the college experience rather than his classes. He’s hanging on by a thread, barely passing by taking easy classes for his business major except there’s one class giving him trouble. One day while training with his football buddies he complained about the teacher for his finance class, “Bruh i’m like totally failing my finance class. I don’t know how anyone understands that geeky shit, especially when our professors some jealous fag! He totally has it out for me bros, I catch him staring at me constantly! Bet he’s real jealous I live my life as a fucking jock while he’s stuck teaching this nerd shit, don’t gotta take it out on me bruh.”

His teammates couldn’t believe it, all of them trying to give Logan ideas to find a solution. One of Logan’s best friends spoke up with the idea to just go in there and assert himself, “Dude if he’s such a nerd all you gotta do is tease him a bit! Bet he’ll cave in for a guy like you easily!” Logan’s eyes lit up and asked some of the guys to come with him, he took his group over to the teacher’s office for a “meeting.” Logan opened the door and was greeted by Mr. Bell sitting at his desk and looking right at him, “Yooo Mr. B, reallllyy gonna need you to change my grade bruh. You really think a stud like me deserves to fail your class?” Logan and his buddies couldn’t help but smirk and giggle, feeling like they have the upper hand.

Mr. Bell just crossed his arms and shook his head at the jock’s silly attempt at a plead. “So you’re finally here to discuss your abysmal grade, not sure if you want an audience for something this embarrassing Logan. While you are attractive that isn’t good enough to make it through life sir. Brains matter more than brawn, you should all pick up a textbook instead of weights sometimes…”

Mr. Bell’s smug attitude just made Logan angry, he rolled his sleeves up and flexed both biceps to really show off. Mr. Bell just stared in shock and awe, Logan noticed his gaze and kept going, “You’re just jealous brah, bet you wish you were surrounded by chicks and guys all day instead of some dumbass numbers!” Mr. Bell didn’t even answer, he just continued to stare as every jock copied Logan and showed their hard-earned muscles off.

Logan smirked and walked over to be right next to his teacher. “Go on bro, get a feel of a real man’s arm!” Mr. Bell felt entranced by the jock’s arm, reaching out and squeezing his massive bicep. The rest of the boys roared with laughter! Logan loved the rush of all the attention and power, going further with his teasing by shoving the teacher’s face right into his pit! “Yeah get a good whiff of that man smell!” As Mr. Bell got a face full of the jock’s sweaty underarm he felt pure bliss, unknowingly to both he started transforming to be just like his student.

Mr. Bell’s quickly started to grow younger, his body filling with muscle as if he’s spent years working out. His hair lightened to a brown while stubble covered his once smooth face and his skin tanned to perfection! Once the physical changes finished his mind started to catch up, years of schooling and information emptied from his brain as gym and sports took its spot to make him the perfect jock! New memories also replaced his old ones, remembering his new life as the richest kid on the team. Even memories of men he’s lusted over were replaced by women, going from gay mathematician to a rich straight douchebag! Logan finished his teasing and looked down at the newest member of his squad. “How ya feeling now Derek? No more faggy shit right?”

Derek Bell looked up at Logan with a stupid grin on his face, laughing as he answered. “Of course not bro! Now who’s ready to party at my place! We’ve got all the beer you could ever need dudes!” The other members of the team cheered, excited to use the newest player to their full advantage!

[hyppntf]

Devon’s been growing bigger—a lot bigger—over the last few months. Every day, he feels muscles stretching tighter, veins swelling thicker, slabs of powerful mass expanding relentlessly under his skin. His subscriber count surges in tandem with his body, fueling his endless consumption of food, supplements, and gear. The thought alone makes him rock-hard, cock throbbing as he flexes in the mirror, drunk on the rush of raw muscle.

He leans into the camera, arrogance dripping from his smile, egging on his desperate followers.

“You wanna see me grow even bigger, don’t you?” he laughs, pecs bouncing arrogantly. “Then pay up. Fund every meal, every roid, every sip. Make me huge—make me the beast you’ll never become.”

Devon smirks as they obediently throw more money his way, addicted to his unstoppable growth. He grips a thick, clear tube he’s had installed by his desk, eagerly gulping down an endless flood of protein shakes funded by their obsession. He flexes hard, savoring the sheer power radiating through every fiber of his massive frame.

“Bigger,” he growls deeply, veins pulsing, muscles surging. “Keep paying—I’m nowhere near done yet.”

[hyppntf]

From ZZ to AA

Zhi Zhāng was worried. He had been sent to Lagos because there were “problems” there. No one from the party had been able to tell him what kind of problems they were. Perhaps it had something to do with some kind of new pandemic. In any case, he had been vaccinated again shortly before departure. He had not been told what it was for. He had not asked. He was used to doing what he was told. “Zhi” meant ambition, and Zhi was ambitious. But he was also smart enough to know when it was better to hold back. A party secretary had given him his travel documents. He usually traveled economy, but this time he had a business class ticket. Zhi thought that was a good sign. And the flight with Ethiopian had been more than pleasant. But that was where it ended at the airport in Lagos. Instead of a limousine, a rather rickety taxi was waiting for him.

The taxi driver was a young man who obviously spoke very little English. But he talked a lot. Zhi didn't understand a word. At first. But eventually he began to understand a few words here and there. The man spoke Yoruba. No surprise in this region. Of course, Zhi hardly spoke the language. But during the ride, he learned to understand it. Amazingly quickly. And when he said goodbye with “O dabọ,” the taxi driver almost threw his arms around him with joy.

If the taxi ride was a disappointment, the hotel room was a disaster. A local hotel, very simple, far away from the glittering palaces of the chain hotels. All kinds of languages could be heard in the area, but no English and certainly no Chinese. With great difficulty, Zhi explained that a room should be reserved for him. The man at the reception desk said it was rare for business travelers to stay at his hotel. And even rarer for someone who wasn't from here to speak Yoruba so well. Zhi thanked him. He said that his grandfather was from Ibadan and had emigrated to Shanghai a long time ago as part of a student exchange program. And while his mother had grown up trilingual, he, Zhi, had at least picked up a few words of the language of his African ancestors.

Among the few amenities in his room were two small bottles of water. Zhi could only hope that they contained fresh mineral water. But in the end, he didn't care. He was terribly thirsty. It was hot and stuffy. The air conditioning was broken. Or maybe there was just no electricity. Zhi took off his shirt and jacket. The water felt good. He wanted to change. That was his suitcase. That was his combination for the lock. But inside were not his clothes. No suits, no shirts. T-shirts, sweatpants… All visibly worn, but clean. But not his. He didn't care. He put on sweatpants, flip-flops, and a T-shirt. He needed something cold to drink. And even though he had quit years ago, he desperately needed cigarettes. He went out onto the street. Diagonally across the street was a 24/7. He would find what he needed there. He grabbed a six-pack of local beer and a pack of cigarettes. Shit, did they accept his credit cards here? He pulled out a First Bank of Nigeria bank card. Issued to Adebayo Zhāng. His mother had insisted that he bear the name of his grandfather from her homeland. And he bore the name with pride! And what an absurd thought that this card would not be accepted here.

Back at the hotel, Olakunde was already waiting for him excitedly at the reception desk. “Ade, you have a visitor. Looks important. Waiting for you in the back office!” Adebayo wasn't expecting anyone. But he was here because of those Chinese guys. Presumably, this was one of them. He went into the back room. A small, elderly gentleman in a sweaty polyester suit was waiting for him. “Adebayo Abdullahi? Pleased to meet you.” Adebayo replied in broken Chinese that the pleasure was all his. And he offered the man a beer, which he declined. Adebayo lit a cigarette and asked what this was about. “Well, we don't often bother to welcome new employees in person. You understand, the effort involved is enormous. The flight to Shanghai takes almost 20 hours.” Adebayo nodded, even though he had never flown himself. "But you know, it's not often that you find good people here who also speak Chinese. That's why we want to make you a personal offer. You'll be our jack of all trades here. Driver when people from the party come to Lagos, errand boy. Debt collector when necessary. We pay $800 a month. And there's a welcome bonus of $10,000." Adebayo felt dizzy. That was an unimaginable amount of money. For little work. Just because he was lucky enough to be able to read and write, not only in Yoruba and English but also a little in Cantonese. He said he felt very honored and would gladly accept the generous offer. He had to control himself when the Chinese man began counting freshly printed dollar bills on the table.

Adebayo had never heard the name Zhi Zhāng before in his life. Nor had anyone else, at least no one would admit to it. In any case, there was no party member of that name in the files and registers in Beijing. And there was no one of that name on the passenger lists of the last few weeks either. Adebayo's initials were AA. He was as far away from ZZ as you could possibly be. And since he didn't know that, he didn't care at all!

Inspiration through @begon1