Kevin Collins

Ready to make your jock fantasies come to life.

[dumbroski]

Be your worst nightmare.

Once again with the wonderful @misctf .

Eric sighs as he got ready for another day of classes. It wasn’t like classes were hard for a genius like him, but there were certainly other challenges on campus. After a quick shower, breakfast, and organizing his notes for the day, Eric was off to his first class. And as per his usual routine, Liam greets him at the corner.

“Eric!” Liam smiles, “Okay, did you see the latest chapter of Battle Monsters? I won’t spoil it if you didn’t, but…”

"Of course I did!” Eric beams, “Okay, what did you think about…”

The two continue talking about the latest chapter of their favorite manga, before shifting to their plans for the weekend- namely D&D and watching comic book movies. And as they talk, Eric couldn’t help but be grateful to have found friends who share his interests. How less lonely he felt compared to his high school days.

“This is perfect.” Eric thinks, while laughing at one of Liam’s jokes.

Well, almost perfect. As Liam splits off and walks to his class, Eric feels someone walking to catch up with him. And his heart sinks when the all too familiar smell of sweat and a tough-work-out tickles at his nose.

“Well, well look who it is.” Jax’s mocking laughter follows close behind, “Seriously, what the fuck were you talking about?”

“Just leave me alone.” Eric’s words lack the confidence he was hoping to convey, “I…”

“Shut it, nerd.” Jax cut him off. He throws an arm around his victim in mock affection, “Relax. I’m here to give you the good news.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face, “I leave to study abroad in a few days, and I’m sure that oversized brain of yours knows what that means.”

Eric couldn’t help but smile to himself. He knew exactly what that meant. A semester free of Jax. No more bullying, no more mocking, no more torment.

“Oh but don’t get too excited. I still have a few more days here.” Jax continued, “And I’m gonna make the most of it.” Before Eric could react, Jax firmly grasped his arm, “Come on nerd, I wanna show you something.”

“L-let go of me!”

But Jax’s strength easily overpowers the young nerd. And before Eric knew what was happening, he’s pulled into an empty classroom.

“You might be wondering, ‘Why am I here?’ Well, that’s very simple, nerd. You and I are gonna be a lot closer these next few days.” Jax winks at him, “How can I possibly leave for a semester and give you all that precious time free of me?” He glares at Eric, “Sit.” He commands, and Eric did- hoping if he just went along with whatever this was, he’d be done soon enough.

“I-I have to get to class, please…”

“Just wait a goddamn minute, nerd.” Jax smirks and pulls off his sneaker, freeing his sweaty, moist foot, “Fuck, it feels good to free these babies.” He flexes his toes, “Well, they’re not gonna clean themselves, right nerd? That morning work-out really did a number on these.” His dumb laughter fills the air.

“No way, I’m not… I’m not…” Eric wants to protest. To tell Jax to fuck off. But as he stares at his tormenter’s foot, his mind was slowing.

“That’s right. You love to serve me. Love to serve my feet.” Jax smirks as Eric approaches him, dropping to his knees, “Yeah, that’s it. Can’t resist my musk, can ya?” Eric’s eyes water as he brings Jax’s foot to his mouth, “You never want to leave my feet. You want to serve them, love them.”

Jax moans as Eric’s mouth and tongue go to work. The young nerd’s eyes filling with tears as the rotten smell and taste overwhelm his senses. His mind racing. What the fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop stop? Eric wants to run, to scream. But…

“You’re just a pair of my used and abused socks.” Jax continues in the same hypnotic voice, “Filled with my sweat and cum. Not even a person.”

Eric couldn’t understand what Jax was saying- was this some kind of weird fetish. He isn’t… Eric let out a pained cry as his body began to burn from the inside out.

“Wh-what’s happening to me!?” Eric’s eyes widen as he watches his feet and legs shrink into his torso, “Jax! Stop! Please!”

Jax only watches in amusement as Eric’s skin turns white. His chest and abdomen deflate and hollow out, while his arms shrink into his changing torso. He flops to the ground, unable to move- only able to look up at his bully.

“Wait… please, don’t…!” Eric let out a muffled cry as Jax forcefully sticks his foot into Eric’s open mouth.

“Good little sock.” Jax smiles as he watched the transformation finalize, until he was the only person in the room, “Fuck… I know you can still hear and taste everything. Hope you’re loving it. And even if you aren’t, well… you will.”

Eric had no conception of time. No ability to know how many hours or days passed. His whole world consumed by the smelly, musky foot that filled his entire being. Jax wore him at all times. At the gym, on the field, on his jogs. He didn’t even shower afterwards. Days passed, allowing his stench to accumulate and overwhelm the young nerd further. Eric wished for some relief, even maybe a cycle in the laundry machine to help rid him of his tormentor’s stench. Even on the night Jax did remove him, the relief was short lived as Jax forced his meaty cock into what once had been Eric’s mouth, before jerking off and cumming inside him. Eric hoped that Jax would toss him aside after his pleasure session, but instead he was immediately wrapped around Jax’s foot again. The days went by, the cycle continued, and Eric knew he didn’t have much of a fight left in him…

“Ah fuck, the day has come.” Jax smirks at his sweat and cum-stained sock, “I leave tomorrow, brah. I think I got enough fun in this past week to make up for my semester-long absence, wouldn’t you say?” He grins as he pulls his sock off and tosses it to the ground, “Let’s see…”

He watches with a grin as the sock contorts, morphs, and changes. Human features bubbling from the piece of fabric. And after a few minutes, Eric is back to his human form.

“Wh-where…?”

“Shut your mouth and get the fuck out of here.” Jax smirks, “Here’s a little souvenir.” He tosses him a few items of his clothing, “Wouldn’t want the world having to look at your tiny cock.”

In a daze, Eric dresses in the tank-top, boxers, and athletic shorts that Jax had so graciously given him. His mind still reeling with what happened, unable to process it fully. And as he walks back to his dorm, embarrassment fills him as people wrinkle their nose. Eric became acutely aware of the stench wafting off of him- just like Jax. His bully’s scent scarred into him. He tries to shower when he gets back to his dorm room. Tries to get rid of the stench. But he’s tired. And he quickly drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

Eric sighs as he gets up for another day of classes. The stench still lingers. The memories still hazy. He tries to get into his morning routine, but his desire to shower was gone- he felt like he had to force himself. Even his clothes feel wrong- too stuffy and boring. His notes are harder to understand. He’s aware now that his breakfast lacks protein. This all feels… wrong…

“Eric! Where have you been?” Liam asks as the two meet up, “I heard you were sick, but no one could get in touch with you.”

“Yeah…” Eric’s eyes dart towards the campus gym, “Sick or somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I was thinking we could play some Battle Monsters later. I just got a new deck and…”

“Battle Monsters? Fuck, man. Real men don’t play that shit.” Eric’s eyes widen, “Uh… fuck… I need to go! I’m sorry Liam!” Before Liam could say anything, Eric sprints off.

Eric’s thoughts race as he runs to the closest bathroom. The insanity of the last week, the smell that still clung to him, the words that left his mouth just then… He wants to cry. His identity feels fractured. It felt wrong. He doesn’t smell like himself- he smells like Jax. He doesn’t sound like himself- he sounds like Jax.

“I’m not Jax.” He grunts, throwing his backpack aside and staring closely in the bathroom mirror, “I’m not him.”

Jax wasn’t here. He’s halfway across the world. Eric was free of him. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He didn’t have to worry about being tormented. This is all… good. Eric sighs as a strange, tingling warmth spreads through his body- one Eric thought meant joy. But it stays. Lingers, almost painfully.

“Hey Eric?” Liam’s voice breaks his concentration, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah I’m aight.” Eric coughs to clear his throat, “Uh sorry, lost my cool. What were we doing?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably, “Uh class then library, like always.”

“Sweet.”

Class was something Eric usually loved, taught by a professor he admired. But today felt… off. Maybe it was the warmth bubbling beneath his skin, or him trying to catch up after a week of whatever Jax had done to him, but he couldn’t focus. The words the professor used, the concepts he was delving into- Eric’s brain couldn’t seem to retain or understand them. He knew that should frustrate him, but he resigned himself to doodling in his usually pristine notebook. Neat and tidy equations and immaculate handwriting now littered with crudely doodled dicks- the whole time Eric chuckling to himself with the completion of each masterpiece. When the class ends, all Eric had to show for it was a page of doodled dicks- his pride evidenced by his shit-eating grin.

“Dude, I think I broke a record for the number of dicks on a page.” He says turning to one of the jocks in the class- one of Jax’s friends- Eric recalls.

“Oh shit brah.” The jock chuckles, “Jax would be proud.” Eric could swear there was a knowing look in the jock’s eye- something sinister.

“Wh-what are you…?”

“Why are you talking to him?” Liam’s voice breaks Eric’s concentration, “Come on Eric… and leave us alone.” Liam pulls Eric away, the jock’s cruel laughter filling the air.

Liam and Eric walk quickly through campus and towards the library. Eric’s thoughts returning to class… what he did… how Jax’s friend clearly knows something. And as his brain replays what had happened, he felt shame. He’s a star student, not some dick-doodling, braindead jock. He isn’t Jax… That thought repeating in his mind. He isn’t Jax. He isn’t Jax. He… wasn’t Jax. He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Eric?” Liam looks worried, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I… I need to go back to my room.” Eric says, “I’m still not feeling too well. I’ll see you later!”

Before Liam could get another word in, Eric turns and walks quickly towards the dorms. And when he finally makes it to his room, he falls to his bed, tears falling from his eyes. None of this makes sense- why was any of this happening? Eric wipes his eyes and grunts.

“What are you fuckin’ doing?” A voice echos in the back of his mind, “Real men don’t fuckin’ cry. They deal with their shit in the only way they know how.” The voice is cruel, mocking.

“H-how?” Eric whispers into the air.

“The gym.”

Eric looks over to a pile of discarded clothes in the corner of the room. The only athletic clothes he owns. Jax’s clothes… the ones he gave him that day. He had sworn never to wear them again. But without much resistance, Eric stripped out of his nerdy clothes, and grabbed his tormentor’s. First, the boxers. They slid up his leg and settled nicely on his waist. Eric had to admit they felt… right. Then the athletic shorts. And then the gray tank-top. Eric stares in the mirror, Jax’s clothes hanging loosely on his scrawny frame.

“I look…”

“Good.” The voice fills his mind, “But you’re missing something… Well, a few things…”

And Eric knew what he needed to do- where he needed to go. His walk across campus felt different this time. Each step filled with a bit more confidence. His clothes feeling more comfortable on his skin… not as loose. The wrinkling of noses, the dirty looks- things that he knows should bother him… just didn’t.

“Almost there.”

The voice in is head becoming clearer, taking on a familiar cadence and tone. Eric realizes it sounds like… Jax. He knows this should definitely bother him- scare him even. Why was Jax in his head? Why was Jax talking to him? Why was he fuckin’ listening? He pauses, his breathing becomes faster. He feels… he feels… He turns and looks at himself in a window.

“Wh-what’s happening to me?” He whispers.

His exposed arms are toned, bulkier. His legs more muscular- calves more defined, thighs thicker. He looks down at his hands- the beginnings of callouses that he knew weren’t there an hour ago are etched into his skin. Weakly, he raises the tank-top and runs his hand along the faint but undeniably present abs he definitely knew were not there earlier that day.

“Fuck… you’re wasting time.” Jax’s voice grunts, “C'mon already…”

Eric nods slowly, “Yeah… yeah gotta go…” His voice sounds deeper, a bit rougher.

He turns from the mirror, catching a glimpse of his face as his jaw squares out a bit and his eyes darken and dull. Eric walks quicker now, his newly powerful legs bounding up the stairs of a frat house. Entering it like second nature- like he’d done this countless times. And as he walks through the living room, stepping over beer bottles and dumbbells, he can feel their eyes on him. Jax’s frat bros, lounging on the couch, making protein shakes in the kitchen- all turn and watch as Eric walks in. Some just smirk, while others laugh. But Eric keeps going- entering Jax’s room. And as he stands in his tormentor’s room, his stomach drops.

“I-I should leave…” Eric whispers to himself, “I need to get out of here.”

“We came here for a reason.” The voice in his head says, “Now go on…”

“But…”

Eric wants to protest and argue. A part of him registering that he isn’t going to be leaving this place as himself. That maybe… just maybe if he turned and left now, there’d be hope for him. That he could go back to being a nerd. Enjoying comic books… talking to Liam… playing Battle Monsters…

“Fuck all that shit.” Jax’s voice cruelly dismissed those thoughts, “I’m not some fuckin’ nerd. And you aren’t anymore either. Got it?”

“No… I’m not… I’m not you…”

“Yeah you are bruh… well, you will be.” The voice continues, “Now didn’t we come here for a reason?”

Eric whimpers as he steps forward, not sure anymore who was in control of his body. There, sitting on Jax’s bed was a red cap. Jax’s favorite. The one he always wore around campus. Part of his signature, douchebag look. And Eric took it in his now large, calloused hands. Every part of him screaming not to. Knowing this was it.

“You think he’s gonna do it?”

“Fuck, I can’t even tell the difference anymore.”

“Brah, this voodoo shit is wild.”

Eric could hear Jax’s frat bros from the doorway. Staring at him. Watching him closely. Mocking him. He didn’t like them. How they acted. What they said and did. Yet he was about to join them- that very thought causing his stomach to twist. And before he could think more about it, he raised the cap to his head and lowered it.

The room was silent. Eric was silent. That was it. It was on. The jocks held their breath. Eric stared blankly ahead. Waiting. For something. And just when the faintest hint of relief started to build, Eric let out a pained cry.

“Oh god, what the fuck!?”

It started in his feet. The cracking, the twisting. He watched as his feet morphed and shifted- growing in size. At least 13 inches. Wiry hairs sprouting on his toes- their stench enough to bring down an elephant. Eric hated how familiar they smelled. His memory as Jax’s sock playing endlessly in his shrinking brain.

“There we go.” The voice in his head sounded prideful, “Thatta boy.”

Eric’s legs followed- hair sprouting on his ever-enlarging muscular thighs and calves. Powerful. Warm. His butt filling with firm muscle and fat- two squeezable basketballs that would barely be contained in his pants. He’d certainly turn heads- the very thought sending another wave of unwanted pride through Eric’s mind.

“Fuck…” Eric moaned as his dick stood at full attention.

His balls grew larger, filling with virile cum. His dick continued to grow in his pants, while a jungle of unkempt, musky pubes grew around it. He pawed miserably at his cock with his thick, meaty hands. Watching through half-lidded eyes as his forearms thickened with muscle. He backed up against a wall and slid to the ground, cushioned by his thicc ass.

“I can’t… I don’t want this…” He could hear Jax’s frat bros laughing, gawking at the sight before them, “Please… help me…”

He let out a pained cry as his abs popped into existence, the small amount of fat burning away. The cramping continued as it moved into his chest. His flat chest began to fill with firm muscle, his nipples growing more sensitive as his pecs swelled into existence. He weakly brought his arm to them, giving one a squeeze and watched as his biceps and triceps grew thicker with firm muscle. With a tired sigh, he dropped his arm to his side, breathing heavily.

“It… it has to be over…” He grunted, “Please… just…”

He immediately went into a coughing fit as his neck thickened and his Adams apple grew more prominent. He grabbed at his face as his cute features finished becoming more angular- more masculine. He could feel his face rearranging beneath his skin and he just knew, even though he hated to admit it, that when he looked in the mirror, Jax would be staring back. He could even feel the burning pain as his ear was pierced.

“Fuck look at him.”

“Dude, what do we call him?”

“I mean, its Jax right?”

Eric looked over at them, and clumsily pulled out his phone. His heart was thumping in his newly muscular chest as he turned the camera towards him.

“No…” Eric knew what he was going to see, but actually seeing it. That was different, “I-I don’t want this. I don’t…”

“Why are you crying, nerd?” Jax’s voice echoed from within, “You got a problem with being a man?”

“No! Why would I ever want to be you?” Eric replied, the anguish evident in his voice- Jax’s voice, “All you do is torment people. You’re an asshole. A piece of shit!”

“Correct… You’re an asshole.” The voice chuckled, “And you’re a piece of shit. Because brah, you’re me. Get it?”

Eric held back a sob, “But… I’m still…”

“There’s no one better than you to be me.” The voice continued, “You know all my lines. Know all my favorite ways to keep nerds in their place.” Eric knew he was right- he experienced it all first hand, “Now you have the body, you have the tactics. You’re the fuckin’ king, brah.”

“But I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to…”

“Dude, this voice in your head? It’s you. It’s always been you.” Eric felt his heart start to sink, “Jax didn’t put me in your brain, these are your fuckin’ thoughts. I don’t know what the fuck Jax did to make us into this, but I’ve always been here. Waiting. And now? Admit it. You want this.”

“What are you saying?” Eric’s voice never sounded more uncertain.

“You got the bod. You got the mindset. You just gotta want it.” The voice pushed, “Do you want it?”

Eric knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was sweet. A good kid. He had dreams and passions. Complexity. He wasn’t this simple-minded asshole. But… he could be. He looked over to the mirror and saw Jax staring back. He wasn’t even himself anymore.

“Just let go. You know how to.”

Would it be that easy? To let go? To throw away his old life? To lose himself in Jax’s persona?

“It would be so fuckin’ easy.”

“Yeah… yeah it would.” So simple… no worries… so few thoughts…

A shit-eating grin formed on Eric’s new face. One that he knew mimicked Jax’s perfectly. He looked over at his frat bros, all of whom seemed to be on the edge of their seat, waiting to see if Jax’s little plan worked.

“Whatcha fuckin’ lookin’ at?” Eric pawed at his erect dick, “If you’re gonna stare, you might as well get to work.” He smirked as his frat bros howled with laughter.

_________

“Fuck yeah bro, that bitch from bio got me an A on another lab report.” Eric grunted, eyes fixated on the videogame before him, his phone on speaker, “Let him worship my cock in exchange. Seems fair right?”

“Pfft you’re a real fuckin’ natural. Ain’t it good being me?” Jax replied

“Yeah… fuckin’ love being you. Never going back…” Eric mindlessly flexed his bicep and gave it a kiss, “So when are ya gettin’ back to the states, brah?”

“A few weeks, bro. Can’t wait to hit the gym with my new twin bro.”

Eric smirked, “Yeah, can’t wait, bro.” He turned his game off, “Aight bro, remember that bitch, Liam? He’s comin’ over in a bit.”

“Oh really? What? You gonna play Battle Monsters with your old BFF?” Jax mocked.

“Oh hell naw brah.” Eric’s dull laughter filled the air, “I got something else in mind.” He looked down at his sweaty, hairy foot, a cruel grin spread across his face, “Hope you don’t mind being a triplet, bro.”

[transform4u]

Hey! Is it still possible to participate in your ask series?

My name is Noah, and I’m a German nurse. I’m quite reserved and often try to make everyone around me happy. I’m tall and rather slim, and I’d describe myself as clever and kind – even towards people who don’t always deserve it.

As a K-pop lover, I would absolutely love to get the 20th costume! I’ve always dreamed of being a bit like them.

The bell above the door jingles when you push it open, though it’s too faint, too brittle a sound to belong in a place like this. The Enigma Emporium feels nothing like the bright, harmless Halloween shops you’re used to. The light inside is dim, jaundiced, buzzing faintly from a cracked fluorescent tube overhead. The air smells stale, thick with dust and something like incense gone sour.

You hesitate just past the threshold, bag strap digging into your shoulder, telling yourself you should just leave. But you don’t. You never do. That’s who you are — polite, accommodating, reserved. A tall, slim German nurse, always with that soft accent and awkward smile, smoothing over rough edges for others. A people pleaser to the bone. Even with strangers. Even now, in this strange little shop.

Your eyes wander across racks sagging with costumes: cheap vampires with felt capes, polyester superheroes sagging on wire hangers. None of them are right. But then you see it — tucked in the corner, a mannequin dressed sharp and glittering.

A black bag hangs from its shoulder with a thick paper tag: #20 – K-Pop Stage Gear.

Your heart skips. You shouldn’t be this excited. You keep that part of yourself quiet, hidden. The playlists you fall asleep to, the flashy MVs you watch on low volume, admiring their choreography, their polish, their shine. If only…

“Number twenty, ja?”

The voice startles you. You turn, throat tightening, and see the man behind the counter. Wiry frame, crooked grin too wide for his face, eyes glittering with a sharpness that feels like a dare. His name tag says Grant, though it looks handwritten, rushed.

“Y-yes. Please, if it’s not too much trouble,” you manage, instinctively smoothing the German lilt in your voice, trying to sound agreeable.

Grant bends, rummages, then stands with a black drawstring bag. Bold, painted letters: 20. He slides it across the counter with a smile that feels almost mocking. “Try it on. Dressing room’s in the back. You’ll… fit right in.”

Something in the way he says it makes you shiver, but you nod anyway. You always nod.

The dressing “room” is nothing more than a sagging curtain and a cracked mirror propped on a chair. You step inside, clutching the bag, your pulse loud in your ears. You loosen the string and peek inside.

The first item glows pale in the dim light: a pair of white underwear.

Simple. Clean. A little too pristine.

You hesitate, biting your lip. This is ridiculous, you tell yourself. You should turn around. But instead, you strip off your scrubs, folding them neatly — always neat — and step into the underwear.

The fabric slides up your thighs, cool at first, then warm as it clings tighter, higher, cupping your crotch snugly, pressing your cock upward. You adjust with a nervous laugh, but the laugh cuts off.

A pressure blooms in your chest. Heat spreads through your ribs. Your breath snags, sharp.

Then it starts.

Soft at first, a blur at the edges of your thoughts. Your grandmother’s voice, her lullabies in German — gone. You blink, shake your head. Try to hum the melody, but it slips away before the first note. You picture the hospital ward, bright lights and clipped footsteps on tile. You’re there — and then you’re not. The memory collapses like paper in rain.

You grab the mirror frame, knuckles whitening. “Ich… I am Noah,” you whisper. Your accent cracks. “Noah. Nurse. Ja. Nurse.” You repeat it, like repetition can anchor you. But the words feel heavier, harder.

The underwear tightens around your hips, like it’s squeezing something out of you. You can almost feel your past dripping away, leaking from your skull, dissolving into the fabric.

You bite your lip until it bleeds, whispering again, more desperate this time: “I am… Noah?”

The cracked mirror stares back at you, and you swear the man in it already looks a little less like you.

Your breath rasps in the cramped little space. Every inhale feels too hot, too thick, like the air itself is pressing memories out of your lungs.

You clutch your temples, trying to force yourself to remember — your apartment with its tiny balcony plants, the soft German podcasts you listened to while cooking, the careful way you tied your nursing shoes each morning. But when you reach for those images, they tear like thin tissue paper, leaving nothing behind but faint outlines.

The mirror shows your face, pale and sweating. But your eyes—there’s a flicker there. Something sharper, something hungrier. You look away, but the reflection doesn’t seem to.

The underwear pinches, not just around your hips but deeper, crawling into your core, drawing something out of you. You tug at the waistband like you could peel it off and free yourself, but your hands won’t obey. They just… hover.

You swallow hard, whispering in German: “Bitte, nicht… ich… I must stop. Must—”

The words choke. The syllables slide wrong in your mouth, heavy, clumsy. You hear yourself mutter instead: “Shibal… what the fuck…” The Korean word slips out without thought, sour and foreign, and it terrifies you.

You stagger back against the wall, dizzy, your cock stiffening against the snug fabric. Not from arousal, exactly, but from some confusing, swelling charge coursing through you. Heat pools low in your gut.

You glance back into the bag, dread filling you.

Another item glints up at you: jeans.

Black, ripped at the knees, the kind of thing you’d never wear in your life. Stylish, cocky. The kind of thing idols wear, flashing their legs onstage while girls scream.

Your hand shakes as you reach for them. Every instinct says stop. But your body, always obedient, always trying to please, lifts the jeans free anyway.

The denim feels heavier than it should, like it’s waiting for your skin.

You stare at them, trembling. The underwear is already devouring pieces of you — what will happen if you slide these on?

And yet, you can’t stop.

Slowly, agonizingly, you step one leg inside.

The denim is cold at first, brushing your bare ankle like a threat. You hesitate, but your foot slides in deeper, toe wriggling through the leg hole.

Your calf tightens the moment the fabric climbs it. The muscle bulges harder than you’ve ever seen on your own body. A sharp line etches along it, like someone is carving you into something leaner, sharper.

You gasp, trying to say no—but it comes out broken, syllables colliding: “Nein, ich—ah… a-ani…” German shatters into Korean, like your tongue has forgotten which shapes it knows.

You drag the denim higher.

Your shin prickles with hair sprouting thicker, darker, coarser. It rasps against the inside of the jeans, catching like bristles on sandpaper. The sensation makes you whimper, voice deeper now, gravel cracking through the sound.

The fabric tugs over your knee, and you almost collapse. The joint crunches, twisting subtly, aligning differently. Not fragile, not delicate — stronger, built for pounding rhythms, built for speed, built for showing off.

You try to pray, but the words sputter out wrong: “Vater… abba… fuck…” Each language clashing and collapsing, until nothing feels stable in your mouth.

The jeans slide higher, hugging your thighs.

Heat blooms there instantly. Your flesh swells, firming into solid muscle, each curve of denim outlining power. You feel the fat vanish, melted away, leaving thighs made for ripping seams, for cocky wide stances in front of flashing cameras.

You shake your head, tears streaking down your cheeks, but your body keeps moving.

The denim catches under your ass, and you groan—low, guttural, alien. Your ass balloons, lifting, tightening, filling the jeans like it was made for this shape alone. The waistband digs in, emphasizing the new curve, obscene and proud.

You grab the mirror. Your reflection sneers faintly, lips twitching into a cocky smirk you don’t feel.

The jeans kiss your hips as you yank them the final inch upward. The button snaps shut like a trap.

Your pelvis grinds forward, subtly jutting in arrogance. Your cock throbs inside the denim, pressing against the zipper, obscene and insistent.

You try to speak—try to remind yourself who you are. Instead, a strangled syllable bursts out: “Hyung—ah, shit—”

Your own voice betrays you. It’s not yours anymore.

And you haven’t even touched the necklace yet.

The jeans cling to you like a verdict, the fabric stretched obscenely tight. Each breath reminds you of how swollen your legs feel, how alien your hips sit. You try to adjust, to wriggle free, but the denim bites back, cinching deeper.

You paw at the zipper, desperate, but your knuckles brush something else inside the bag.

A glint of silver.

A chain necklace, thick, heavy, gleaming with polished edges that catch the dim fluorescent light of the dressing room. It shouldn’t look so alive, but it does — pulsing faintly, as though it’s waiting for skin.

Your throat seizes. You clutch at it instinctively, as though you could guard the last piece of yourself from the inevitable. But your hand betrays you, sliding into the bag, fingertips curling around the metal.

The instant you lift it, the weight drags at your arm. Heavier than jewelry should be, like an anchor to some other life.

It’s cold. Ice-cold.

You raise it slowly, agonizingly, until it dangles before your face. The links sway, hypnotic. Each swing seems to warp your reflection in the mirror — your own frightened eyes flicker, replaced for an instant by a stranger’s dark, hungry stare.

“No,” you whisper. Your tongue tries to form German again — Ich bin— — but it cracks apart halfway through. All that comes out is a raw, broken syllable: “Nan… molla…” (I don’t know…)

The necklace trembles in your grip, but your hands keep moving, pulling it toward your bare neck.

As the first link grazes your skin, your chest seizes, your breath locking tight.

The clasp hovers, millimeters from sealing.

And you feel the heat rising in your collarbones already, the promise of what’s about to be rewritten next.

Your fingers tremble as they pull the chain higher, the weight dragging at your arms like iron shackles. The cold metal brushes your collarbone and you flinch — but your muscles don’t let go.

You try to scream, but your throat locks, breath catching like you’ve swallowed ice. The first link slides against your skin, and it burns. Not heat — but a biting cold that spreads in jagged veins, crawling upward and downward at once.

The clasp hovers at the nape of your neck. Your hands won’t obey you. They close it with a soft metallic click.

The sound is deafening.

The moment the necklace seals, your collarbones jut unnaturally, then bulk outward. The delicate frame you’ve always known thickens, each bone widening, supporting new weight. Your traps rise, cords of muscle threading into existence, and your shirtless reflection suddenly looks… broad. Too broad.

The cold rushes up your neck, seizing your throat. You claw at it, but the chain only presses tighter, snug against the pulsing veins now bulging up your skin.

Your Adam’s apple swells, bobbing hard as your voice cracks in your chest. You try to force words out: “Bitte—bitte nicht, I’m—”

But the sound splinters. The pitch crashes lower, raw gravel grinding through the syllables. By the time the word “I” leaves your lips, it’s in a stranger’s cadence — cocky, clipped, weighted with a swagger you’ve never owned.

Your shoulders shove outward, denim seams groaning as they expand. Veins rise thick over your biceps, pumping like they’ve always belonged there. Each breath widens your chest, straining with power that wasn’t yours a second ago.

Your jaw clenches, harder, squarer. The muscles along your neck rope tight, and the reflection smirks even as you weep.

You grip the chain, but the links don’t move. Instead they pulse, faint light flickering, and with every beat your mind flickers too — memories of nursing shifts, quiet podcasts, boyfriends’ faces — they snap away, replaced by flashes of cameras, sweat, girls screaming your name.

You choke, voice slipping again, the words cracked and broken: “Scheiß… ahniya… fuck, man—”

Your reflection mouths it with you — but this time, the smirk sticks.

The necklace pulses one last time, then stills. Cold. Heavy. Permanent.

You stagger forward, chest heaving, body broader, voice alien in your own mouth. And then, as if pulled by a string, your eyes fall to the next piece waiting in the bag:

The headset.

Your breath comes ragged, your chest too wide for your own lungs. The necklace still pulses against your collar, each beat like a countdown.

Your gaze drags down into the bag again. The last piece waits: a headset microphone. Sleek, black, with a thin boom curving out — the kind idols wear on stage, hands free to dance while the world screams their names.

You know if you put it on, there will be nothing left. You try to turn away. Your shoulders jerk, but your hands betray you. They lift the headset, reverent, trembling.

The padded loop brushes your temple, cold plastic against sweat-damp skin. The instant it touches, something hums — not mechanical, not electronic, but inside your skull.

You wince, crying out: “Bitte, nein, ich—”

The syllables dissolve, your tongue stumbling, your mouth fumbling the sounds. They warp mid-breath, hardening into English, then into Korean: “An… aniya… no, bro—fuck—”

The headset slides lower, hugging your head like a crown. The microphone curves along your jaw, and the metal tingles against your lips.

Snap.

The moment it locks behind your ears, the world floods with sound.

Not the dressing room — not your own panicked breathing — but crowd noise. Deafening shrieks, thousands of girls chanting a name you don’t recognize, but your chest jolts with recognition anyway. It feels like it’s yours.

Your skull aches, the bones shifting subtly, jawline squaring further, cheekbones sharpening. Sweat drips down your temple, but your reflection only grins wider, hungry for the spotlight.

Your hair lengthens, black, glossy, styled without your hands touching it. Strands fall into place, perfect, every angle made for cameras. You shake your head to dislodge it, but it only lands sexier.

Your ears tingle, cartilage reshaping, piercings punching through without pain. Small studs glint, catching the light. You never pierced your ears. You hate piercings.

But your new grin flashes pride at them, lips curling cocky.

Heat swarms down your spine, pulling your posture upright. Your stance shifts wider, chest out, cock jutted forward against the denim like you’re on stage already. Your reflection doesn’t look nervous. It flexes subtly, smirking like it knows the crowd wants to fuck it.

The noise in your head grows louder, words shaping inside the chants. A name, syllables in Korean, rolling sharp and confident. Not yours. Not even close. But your tongue moves anyway, muttering it under your breath: “Jaehyun…”

You freeze. Terror spikes — but then the thought follows, slick and automatic: That’s me. Of course it’s me.

The floodgates open.

Memories crash in.

Not of nursing shifts or boyfriends. But of years of training in mirrored studios, sweat dripping, coaches barking. Hours of choreography until your body collapsed, then dragging yourself up because you had to shine.

Crowds screaming. Fans clawing at you, begging for glances. Managers telling you to flirt harder, push the bad-boy angle, give the girls what they want.

Your heart pounds, and you feel your cock pulse with the memory of hotel hookups — not tender, not gay, but hurried, greedy, with girls who threw themselves at you because of who you are.

You moan, hand going to your crotch, denim bulging. The sound that leaves your throat is deep, husky, made for sex. Not your sound. Not anymore.

Your brain claws at scraps of old life — plants on the balcony, podcasts, soft touches, German words — but they crumble like sand. Replaced with schedules, tours, promotions, scandals, endless lust and endless arrogance.

You smirk at yourself in the mirror, headset snug against your jaw.

“Fuck… look at me, bro. Perfect.”

Your voice doesn’t even try to sound like your old one anymore. It’s cocky, thick with accent, dripping with self-satisfaction.

The chain pulses once more against your chest, sealing the last of it.

You don’t even remember the name you used to whisper in fear. Only Jaehyun, the cocky straight fuckboy idol, staring back at you, hungry for the next stage, the next girl, the next fuck.

The chants in your skull pound louder, names blending into one deafening roar. You open your mouth, desperate to beg, desperate to anchor yourself.

“Ich—”

The syllable warps, your throat grinding it down.

“Ch… ch—yeo…”

You cough, spit spraying the mirror. The German dies on your tongue, replaced with rough Korean.

“Nan… shibal… fuck, bro—”

Each word jerks, like your brain is skipping tracks, flicking between languages you don’t command anymore. English slips in, but it’s thick, lazy, slang-drenched. The kind of voice that smirks even when it says nothing.

You slap your own face, trying to wake yourself. The reflection just grins back, headset tight along your jaw.

Heat rushes down your torso, muscles twitching in waves. Each fiber locks tighter, sculpting for show. Pecs bounce involuntarily, nipples hard under the denim jacket you don’t remember putting on. You try to hold still, but your body flexes without your command, hips rocking forward.

You grab at the waistband of your jeans — trying to remind yourself of shame, of modesty. Instead, your mind floods with the memory of shoving them down in a hotel bathroom while a girl with heavy makeup slid to her knees.

You groan, shaking your head. No. That wasn’t you. That never happened.

But the image sharpens. You remember her perfume, the way she moaned “Oppa…” with her lips wrapped around your cock. Your cock twitches now, swelling against the denim, confirming it.

Other memories crumble.

Your first boyfriend’s shy smile across the café table — replaced by a gaggle of fangirls snapping secret pictures of you, whispering dirty things you knew you’d give them later.

The quiet afternoons listening to German podcasts — gone, overwritten by hours in studios, sweaty shirts clinging to your chest as you practiced body rolls for screaming crowds.

Your nursing textbooks — shredded, replaced by fashion spreads, magazine shoots, choreo notes.

Your body jerks with each overwrite, like an electric pulse. Each muscle locks tighter, confident, cocky, stage-ready.

You try again, whispering your old name. It crumbles in your mouth. Syllables scatter, unpronounceable. All that comes out is a low, cocky chuckle:

“Jaehyun… yeah, that’s me, bro.”

Your reflection mouths it with you, headset gleaming. The crowd roars louder in your head, screaming it back. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun.

You can’t remember the old name anymore.

You flex, abs tightening, hips shifting to a swaggering angle. Your tongue lolls, tasting the mic against your lip.

And for the first time, it feels good. It feels right.

The last muscle twitch locks into place. The last gay memory burns away.

All that’s left is Jaehyun — cocky, straight, fuckboy KPop idol.

[sanzaibian]

Inspired by one of @dreamertf’s recent story and a well-timed Pinterest recommendation Thanks a lot to @fredwkong too for his invaluable input, this story is 2000 words longer thanks to him ! Do check out their stories !

“Don’t worry, mom ! I’ve got it !”

I run to the back of the car, and take out the massive suitcase from the trunk. I didn’t want to move everything from my home to this dormitory, whence my mom limiting me to only one suitcase… but then I couldn’t say no to taking my favorite superhero t-shirt… and my Nintendo Switch… and three year’s worth of drawing books… Clearly I may have gone overboard. However… I really want to start fresh, as an out gay man rather than the closeted wreck I have been up until now. And I don’t want to have to go back and recloset myself even if it’s only to take a 12 years-old “How to draw manga” reference book.

I struggle a bit lifting it out of the car, but once it’s good on the ground, the small wheels mean that even a puny nerd like me can move it. But, before I run to the big building in front of me, I go kiss my mom goodbye. She wanted to go see my room, make sure I was well-housed, that the corridors were clean, that the neighbors are not going to pick on me, but I once again tell her that I don’t want to be singled out as the one guy who brought his mom to housewarming.

“Now, be good, my son ! Study well, live well, don’t drink too much, don’t do drugs, don’t hesitate to go to the doctor’s- ‒ Mom ! I’m an adult, now ! I know how to be careful ! ‒ Yes, yes, I know… but it’s not everyday that your beloved son leaves home !” She smiles, and ruffles my hair. I can’t help but smile back… no matter how much I talk of living away from my parents, I still love them so much… “Now, remember that I always love you ! Let’s keep in touch ! ‒ I-I love you too, mom…”

We hug, and then I wave her goodbye, before walking towards the big building that’s going to be my new home for the next few years.

I feel bad for lying to her one last time, but I had to. She might be a very loving mom, but her devout Christianity would (I presume) have second thoughts about me living in the dormitory unofficially known as “The Safe Space”. Such is the name inscribed in a big sign just as I enter the building. Fittingly, next to it is a black hand, the exact symbol used for BLM when it was still going about. She would pull me out thinking I’m entering a radical terrorist cell, I swear !

Followed by my trusty suitcase, I go to the reception, manned ‒ or I guess womanned ‒ by a nice black lady, with some very long acrylic nails like you often see on Tiktok. I guess this place is more hip than I thought ? I give her my identity, and she gives me my key : room 306, third floor. I smile looking at my key. Noticing it, she remarks :

“Ready for a brand new life ? ‒ Y-yes !” I blush of embarrassment. ‒ Don’t worry ! We were all like that when we joined !” She smiles. “Oh, and I think your roommate is still downstairs…”

She looks around, and then points to a tall guy in a tank top wearing a backpack. He is quite handsome, with a finely shaped face and striking dark slanted eyes. He also has some light but noticeable muscles and an undercut of a shiny black color, complimenting his pale tone well and giving him a very cool air. Thanking her, I hurry to greet him… and although his handsomeness is clearly a reason for my haste, I must admit it’s mostly so he can help me carry this suitcase all the way to the third floor...

“H-Hey ! I heard you were in room 306, too ! ‒ Huh ?” He turns towards me. “Oh, hi ! I’m Daisuke, glad to meet you !”

While I also present myself, I drag my suitcase upright and lean on it.

“So… W-What do you study ?” I ask, trying to make conversation. ‒ I’m studying medicine !” He smiles, clearly proud of his achievement. “I want to work in physical therapy, and you ? ‒ I-I’m studying arts… but I don’t really have a project after that…” Most of my worry time has been eaten up by being in the closet. ‒ It’s alright ! ‒ B-but, why aren’t you studying sports ? I-I’ve heard it fits better…” His smile becomes more… polite. ‒ Ah… well, it’s easier to sell to your overbearing parents ! Plus, I don’t really go along well with sporty types.”

He looks away and his arms go behind his back. Clearly, it’s something quite awkward for him to say…

“S-sorry, I thought you were a sporty type, with your muscles and all…” I also look away in apology. ‒ Y-yeah, I understand…” A short pause ensues, before he takes a big inspiration, somehow looking even more away from me. “Let’s just say... that having competed in Women’s leagues doesn’t give you a great reputation… ‒ Oh ! I-I see !”

Ugh, this is so awkward… and the more I let it sit, the worse it’s going to get… I want to have a good relationship with my roommate ! Not let him think that I’m opposed to him being here !

“What a bunch of assholes !” Suddenly escapes my mouth. Daisuke looks at me and laughs. ‒ Yeah, exactly ! Fuck these assholes !” I laugh at his look of comically absolute determination. “Ah, it needed to be said ! ‒ I-Indeed ! ‒ By the way, I already looked, but there’s no lift here, so you’re going to have a hard time taking this suitcase to our room.” Yes ! He noticed ! … I do feel bad for manipulating him like that, though… ‒ Ah… W-well, in case you didn’t notice, I’m not one of these sporty types…” I flex my right noodle… sorry, arm, to get the point across. “So it’s going to b-be hard… ‒ Want me to help ? ‒ Th-thank you very much !” I bow a little to express my gratitude.

I get up from the suitcase and we reach the stairs. Carrying it upstairs is a whole ordeal, with him carrying the bottom and me the top… ugh... I really should have brought a smaller one… When we arrive on the third floor, we sigh of relief, and Daisuke leads us to our room. He’s been here earlier, and was just bringing back the remaining items from his parents’ car. Clearly, parents aren’t imposing themselves as much as I assumed.

My first impression when entering the room was that it is going to be comfy. It looks really clean, even the furniture is in good shape, with a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and bookcases around it. We even have our own bathroom, with enough space to put all our belongings on the sink. Looking up at the mirror, my pale face reflects back towards me. Neither beautiful nor ugly, I was never really noticeable in highschool. Though I guess I didn’t quite help that by the lack of care I put in my appearance : even my easy-to-set straight brown hair is all messy ! That’s clearly something that will have to change.

We agreed to split the room with me on the right side and Daisuke on the left side, and I promptly started putting all of my things in place. All my clothes in the wardrobe, my art books in the bookcases, my laptop and switch on the desk… When I put my belongings in the bathroom, however, I noticed that the previous occupants had forgotten some stuff in it, most notably some creams, a few fork-like picks and some kind of big brush with highly spaced out bristles. It’s weird that nobody noticed these… I guess I’ll notify the reception later about this.

The rest of the day was fun, I got the opportunity to chat more with Daisuke and my neighbors. We’re quite a diverse bunch, and by gathering my courage and announcing my homosexuality, I learned that I am clearly not in the minority when it comes to being drawn here due to LGBT status. It’s nice. Plus, I got to meet some people with which I share interests, most notably Salim, who also loves video games and has also brought his switch, Lilian, who’s just as hooked on comics as me and Jake, who is a seasoned role player ‒ we even talked about making a roleplay club inside this dorm.

By the end of the day, I learned that some seniors were throwing a small party/dinner to welcome the new arrivals. This might very well be the opportunity to try to act on my resolution to take better care of my looks ! So I go through my clothes, but I cannot seem for the life of me to find my favorite superhero t-shirt. I audibly sigh, but then I notice some clothes that are unfamiliar : some single-color t-shirts and a gray bomber jacket. Great, mom took liberties.

I take some of the clothes I still like, but less, and go to the bathroom. When I brush my hair, I notice that the brush has a harder time going through my hair, almost as if it was getting stuck in loose knots. It’s never happened to me… and the end result is a somehow even more poofy head of hair than I had before. Although it does somehow makes my jaw look squarer and handsomer, I… may need to salvage this mess by washing my hair.

After a quick wash, I go downstairs to see a large table, with food already on the table. I am one of the first to come, and one of the five seniors animating this get-together urges me to go take a seat. I talk a bit with them, talking about the dorm, and how they want to make a safe place for black people like them and others when creating and upkeeping this building. An effort I can only commend.

People then start coming in, and after some inspiring words by another senior, we dig into our food. Some hip-hop is put on the radio, and although I am not a fan of this kind of music, this evening turns out to be very good. The food was clearly cooked by someone with a lot of experience, and it does not have the hectic atmosphere student parties are stereotyped to have. Overall, a very good experience.

And so, as midnight nears, Daisuke and I go back to our room to sleep. After getting ready, I lay in my new bed, ready for a new start on life.

The first thing I hear the next day is the annoying beeping of Daisuke’s alarm. His meeting for the start of the semester was this morning, and although I understand that… it’s annoying to be woken up from an especially good sleep ‒ even better than sleep at home ‒ when you can basically sleep till the afternoon… I look up to Daisuke, who looks at me, makes a weird face, before whispering a faint “Sorry” as he gets up. As he goes about gathering the things he needs to properly wake up, I eye him half-asleep. His skin somehow looks a bit darker than yesterday in this light, and he seems to have something in his hair… eh, probably not important.

After a while, he whispers a faint “See you later” and closes the door behind him, letting me go back to sleep.

I wake up properly a few hours later, and I set about preparing myself for the day. I stretch a while, and then get up. I look through my wardrobe, but cannot seem to find the clothes I’m looking for ‒ is it me or are there even less branded T-shirt than yesterday ?

So I think a while about what I could possibly wear. Maybe that weird gray bomber jacket that appeared suddenly ? It’s quite cold today, and doesn’t look half-bad, actually... I scratch the back of my head, but suddenly, I notice the sensation is well off. The hair that I am feeling… is tangled ? But like, really tangled, in a way that I have never felt before ! What have I done this night to get it in this state !

I mean, it was also outstandingly tangled, yesterday, so it might just be like overexcitedness or something, but it’s very weird… I quickly throw clothes onto my frame and go to the bathroom to brush my hair in a more competent manner than yesterday. I get up and enter the bathroom, but when I see my reflection, my jaw drops.

I… I don’t think my hair being tangled can explain this.

In place of my hair, there is now a bush of curls on top of my head. Even though it’s a bit messy, I can clearly tell apart the coils… touching them, I feel the tubes of hair between my fingers… It’s so trippy ! I know my hair is typically wavy, but here it’s just beyond wavy ! It’s like, during the night, my hair just slithered and coiled onto itself, and just stayed there, leaving me looking like I got one of those goddamn ridiculous zoomer perms !

My first instinct is to reach to the brush to break these. Because it’s just not right ! It shouldn’t happen ! It’s not natural ! It must go back to normal ! But instead of my usual tight brush, I reach for the brush with the spaced out bristles that was left there from the last occupants. Not really questioning this choice due to the lingering shock (I’ve got fucking curly hair !), I brush my hair out… and it does loosen the curls, but does not remove them ?

Why the fuck did I take this brush ! It is unable to do the one job I picked it up to make ! But then again… it kinda looks good… might need to pick it up a bit to add some volume… yeah, thank god for creating the afro picks… gravity is a bitch against good hair…

…

Realizing how weird my thought process just became, I drop the pick I was going to plant in the back of my hair to the floor. I quickly turn off the light, put my shoes, take my bag and out the room I go. There must be something cursed about this room or something. But just when I leave, I notice Salim leaving his own room just as distraught as me. In fact, he looks a bit odd… did he always have a mustache ? and did his lips always look this full ?

“H-hey, good mornin’ ?” Says Salim. Is his voice deeper than usual ? ‒ H-hey, how are you doing ?” I answer, anticipating the inevitable question over my curls. ‒ The… wakin’ up was hard, I guess…” He looks away. ‒ Y-yeah, Daisuke woke me up early because he had his meeting early…” I scratch my curls, perhaps unconsciously directing him to them. ‒ Rough, man… Well, I be needin’ to get ready too ! See ya ! ‒ See ya !”

Something was definitively weird with Salim, but I can’t really pinpoint it. But he didn’t even notice my hair ! It’s… surprising ? Especially because he complained yesterday that he was jealous of my straight (?) hair because it’s so easy to brush ! I go downstairs, greet a senior who compliments me on my style, before I head towards the campus. I think a good dose of fresh air will be good for my poor confused brain !

And so I try to forget about my predicament, and explore the campus. It is big, the likes of which I didn’t really imagine back when I was in high school. There are multiple big buildings, and tons of people. I end up eating lunch at the campus restaurant, and arrive in time for my meeting. I was a bit nervous, especially considering I’m currently defaced with the most ridiculous of hairstyles. However, nobody even batted an eye.

In fact, just like I was calming down, I was getting more and more used to the perspective of having curly hair. Sure, it didn’t happen naturally, but isn’t it trendy right now ? I guess my objective to take more care of myself for the boys is going better than I expected. A girl in my class even all but flirted with me at the end of the meeting, something that has never happened ! Okay, wrong demographic, but considering my hair suddenly took a mind of its own and spun itself into a bowl of curls, I’m taking all the victories I can take.

When I came back to the dorm, in the evening, I noticed that there was something off about all the newcomers I saw yesterday evening. Kinda like Salim, you know ? Something wrong but you can’t exactly put your finger on it ? Some of them look a bit dark, some have almost too much facial hair, some have weird clothes, like Jake wearing some gaudy diamond studs ‒ didn’t he criticize those very studs, yesterday ? what a hypocrite ‒ and some seem to have done something to their hair, like Lilian seemingly having cut the sides of his hair ?

This day… is clearly not my day. So I head straight to my room, aiming to get some rest to clear all this mental fog. But when I enter, I let my bag drop down to the floor at the vision of the man sat at the desk opposite mine.

Daisuke… has dreads !?

No amount of mental fog or sugarcoating can wave away such a massive change. He’s lived through the same thing as me ! His hair just spontaneously changed this night ! Although the cut is about the same, with longer hair dropping down the sides and back like a mane (?), it’s still… so wrong ! Like, while sleeping ‒ or worse, over the day ‒ his hair justdecided tobunch up and made those tentacle-like things !

“Daisuke ! What… what happened !” I almost scream, drawing him to look at me, and give a similar look of stupor. ‒ Tell me first why you got a perm !” He almost screams back at me. ‒ I… I don’t know ! It was like that when I woke up ! It’s happened overnight ! ‒ Me too ! Fuck, what’s happened ! Why are others just… okay with that ? ‒ I dunno !”

After our loud-speaking match ‒ which earned us a visit from a concerned Salim with his hair tied up (was it always this long ?) ‒ we decided to examine one another in order to find any other changes.

After the… shock of Daisuke’s hairstyle, I notice that his clothes correspond to nothing he was wearing previously. I distinctively remember seeing that he only had woolly jacket and calling him old-fashion, but now he shows up in a puffer jacket ? He even has chains, and he told us yesterday that he doesn’t put jewelry on because he doesn’t want to have to take them off to do sports ! And, just like I saw this morning ‒ before the absurdity of this situation crumbled around me ‒ his skin is definitively darker than before. On the other hand, Daisuke points out that my jaw is a lot more pronounced, that my features are generally more handsome, that my eyes turned brown, that my hair is now shaved more or less below the level of my ears, and that the clothes I am wearing also don’t look like my usual style at all.

I then suggest we try to draw one another how we were before… this predicament happened. However, Daisuke being medicine student, drawing is not part of his skillset… so his drawing of me is basically a stick figure with messy bush-like hair. Basically how I am right now. My drawing of him is similarly inconclusive. Although it does resembles the subject a lot more than a stick figure… well it actually resembles the subject too much. I was unable to picture how his hair should look like. I could only draw his dreads.

“Wow, looks good !” Daisuke tells me happily. “But… still have the dreads… ‒ Yeah… Honestly, I-I don’t know why, but I have the hardest time keeping up with this… It just seems so… so… ‒ Normal ? ‒ Yeah, feel it too ?” I ask. Daisuke answers with a little hum. “Wh-hat is happening to us… ‒ Whatever it is, I know enough about biology to say it ain’t natural !”

We laugh. Better to laugh than to cry, over a situation like this ! Especially because it could have been much worse. Like… ugh… I don’t even want to imagine.

“But you know, this morning, your hair wasn’t as curly.” Suddenly observes Daisuke. “Like, it was clearly curly, but your hair right now is a lot tighter than it was then. ‒ Is that why you made that weird face ? ‒ Yup, but I quickly got distracted by dreads, you see… ‒ Understandable.”

A few second of silence pass, before we come to the same realization.

“It happens while we sleep !”

And so we start drawing up a plan to not sleep here. After concluding that sleeping in a hotel while families of new students are staying for a last goodbye, we decide that staying up all night is the only sound plan. After all, tomorrow is Saturday, so we don’t have much to lose from being tired. The rest of the day is quiet. I go outside to walk as I prepare myself for our big night. I don’t eat too much, else it’s going to make me sleepy, and I prepare myself a few cups of coffee ‒ already a real student !

I come back to my room and start setting my things in order. Charging the Switch, getting my latest drawing book out and its associated collection of pencils, getting the laptop out of the all-gigantic suitcase… Ready for any activity ! Just as I finish setting everything up, Daisuke comes into the room carrying a few books as well as a tabletop game. Looking at the Switch in my hand, his body language suddenly becomes a bit awkward.

“I thought it would be best to study a bit, maybe, to get ahead while we’re still aware… ‒ No, you’re right ! It’s just… I-I don’t really have anything to study yet ? ‒ Yeah…” He looks at my drawing book. “Only skills, of course…”

He looks somewhat disappointed, but he rejoices when I tell him that I can just practice while he’s studying. He looks a bit like a dog, when he’s acting like that. While he goes to sit at his desk, pulling out the gigantic “Anatomy 101” book he came with, I start drawing from imagination everything I’m thinking about. I start by drawing dogs and plants, but I quickly start taking from today’s experience. The campus, the girl who hit on me, the people in my dorm who looked weird… and Daisuke.

I feel a bit bittersweet drawing him hunched on his desk trying to make sense of what are likely barbaric names for obscure parts of the body. The man I’m drawing is very handsome, but I know he didn’t look like that yesterday. As I draw his dreads flowing down the sides of his head, black as the night sky, I try to imagine how he looked before. Yet I cannot sketch him anything that look as natural as his dreads.

“Ugh… I can’t continue, man…” Daisuke suddenly sighs as he tilts his chair outwards, stretching. “Too much for my brain. ‒ Wanna do something else ? ‒ Yes. Anything but having to memorize more weird names like ‘brachioradialis’ !”

I give the last few pen strokes to my last drawing as its subject circles around me and looks at my artwork.

“Wow, you really draw well ! It’s even better than the last one ! ‒ Thanks !”

I flip back to my first drawing on him to let him compare. Clearly, the new one is better, considering I was only looking to imitate what I was seeing, and not reconstructing what was before. As I look at the features of this first drawing, I see a lot of points that I’d like to edit if I were to take a second pass at it. But when my gaze reached Daisuke’s lips, something felt weird. Like the lips in his old drawing are just… weirdly thin ?

“Hey, Daisuke, I think your lips might have changed… it looks kinda like it’s become fuller... ‒ Huh !? Fuck, it happened ?” He runs to the bathroom. ‒ I mean, I dunno, it’s just that they look different in my previous drawing… ‒ Yeah… ‘cause I ain’t seeing it.” He comments all the way from the bathroom in a weird fashion, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, I don’t see it. ‒ Look carefully, you can never be sure with that… curse.”

We stay like that in silence a few minutes, before he comes back clearly unconvinced.

“I think it’s your first drawing that was off, man. I dunno, you may have drawn them weird, and we’re just overreacting ? ‒ Yeah, maybe… ‒ ‘Cause, I mean, your skin is looking a bit darker than I thought, but it’s also me overanalyzing, right ? …”

I look at my hands, but they’re just as tanned as usual. Yeah, clearly, it’s me reading too much into this. I apologize to Daisuke for the scare. After that, I close my drawing book and put it on my desk. I check the time ‒ midnight. God… we’ve only started and it’s already feeling long…

After this ordeal, Daisuke brings out the game he loaned from the downstairs game depository : “Settlers of Catan”. A nice, complex and long game to pass the time... except, reading through the rules, 2-player game is only a variant way to play this, and clearly not the intended way to play… God, I can already feel it going sideways… We set up the board, read the rules multiple times, try to play and go back consult the rules regularly. We put pieces on the board, take out cards, mess up a lot... it just ends up being long, and really hard to follow… especially as I’m feeling more and more tired.

“Hey, it’s your turn, man !” Daisuke pulls me out of my daze. ‒ Uh, oh, yeah, right !” I look around at the board, but I find myself even more confused. “Dude, it’s so hard to keep up, I’m lost… ‒ If you want I can look at the rule book… ‒ But we been lookin’… I mean, we’ve been lookin’ at that rule book for ages, now ! And we’re doin’ better for it !”

He sighs, before starting putting away the game.

“Yeah, you’re right, man. It’d be better if we played it with more people. ‒ Thanks… I’m sorry, it’s not to say that it’s a bad game, it’s just that, right now ? Can’t take it. ‒ Don’t worry, I’m also not feelin’ great. It’s gettin’ hard to keep my eyes open, honestly…”

I help Daisuke put the game away, but then I think of playing on my Switch. Screens are known to prevent sleep, and while it’s usually a bad thing, in this context it becomes desirable. So, I then take my Switch out of its casingand install it on the floor, in front of the two cushions we’ve been using as seats. Once my roommate is finished putting away his game, I give him the other joycon.

“Wanna play a game ? ‒ Yeah, why not ! ‒ What do you wanna play, man ?” I show him, proudly, my game collection. However, his face tells me it’s not having the effect I imagined. ‒ Imma- I’m gonna need to rely on you... I didn’t play much video game growing up, my parents thought it would distract me. ‒ Oh, okay…” I didn’t know he wasn’t used to video games ! “Well, maybe an easy game like Mario Party will be good ?”

I put the game in, and we start playing. I pick Monty Mole my beloved, while Daisuke picks Donkey Kong, and on the first plateau we go. Let’s not make it too complicated for Daisuke’s first time. The game runs much smoother than our Settlers of Catan game. We have a blast, getting fully engaged in the game, trash-talking and otherwise having fun making the computers’ life miserable. But then, after a particularly brutal succession of bad rolls and mishaps, Daisuke swoops in and steals the star that was two squares in front of me.

“Fuckin’ hell !” I cannot help but erupt in anger. “Y’all come tellin’ me it’s normal ? Why the game be hatin’ me ! I done played nice this whole game cuz it’s your first time playin’, and it still treatin’ me like that ? ‒ Hey, get your chill on, dawg !” Moderates Daisuke. “You gonna get us told off ! ‒ Ugh, sorry brother… I don’t know what’s come to me…”

However, before I even have the time to reflect on this sudden rush of feelings, someone knocks at our door.

“Hey, guys,” Tells a senior from the other side of the door. “y’all been botherin’ the whole dorm for a while, now, so zip it or we gonna have a problem ! ‒ Sorry brother, we finna do that !” I whisper, loudly enough that he can hear me.

Happy with this confirmation, the senior leaves. Daisuke and I look at one another. Clearly, continuing to play Mario Party is now out of the question.

“Well, I think Imma go read. Gonna do less noise.” Announces Daisuke, taking back his Anatomy 101 book from his desk before going to his bed. ‒ ‘Kay, Imma play another game on the Switch. Don’t fall asleep, brother ! ‒ Yeah. See you on the other side, dawg !”

On that, silence befalls the room. It’s now 3AM. My eyes are very tired, and try as I might, I can’t stop myself from doing stupid mistakes in Zelda. Quite infuriating, really. I really want to sleep… I’m so tired, and the bed is so comfortable, it should be criminal…

Fuck, I’m just gonna close my eyes a moment. Not gonna sleep.

I find myself in the weirdest of places. Everything is… colorful, like blue and purple mists obscuring the horizon. I am standing on the lake, but my legs feel weak. I try to walk, but each step I take, they convulse. After a few steps, I fall down on my knees, arms in front stopping myself from hitting my head on the water.

This time it’s the arms that feel weak. They also convulse, but I cannot let myself fall… I must not, the water hurts… I look at my arms. As they convulse, they settle into a larger form, biceps and triceps forming as girthy but still skinny mounds on my arms.

Then, the convulsions stop. I arc my back outwards, and it’s time for the torso to convulse. My pecs feel more and more prevalent, and feel my gut receding, slowly. I look down in the water and see a reflection. The reflection of a young man, with light skin, and straight brown hair. He looks like me, but… off.

I can see his torso convulsing at the same rate as mine, sculpting abs on what remained of his gut, as if the fat had consolidated into muscles. His body looks… hot. Like that of a part-time athlete, or someone who really takes care of his appearance. It’s someone who’s gonna get all the guys at the club, I can tell.

I want his body.

So I break through the water, passing my hand in the cold liquid in search of the abs I so want… until I feel my fingers touching my gut. I look down, letting my kinky bush of hair enter the water, and see the white skin of the reflection touching my brown abs.

Suddenly, light shines from under the lake, and I see the man in the reflection floating down towards its source. I plunge in his pursuit, not wanting to let him escape… but it’s cold… and I don’t have much air left… and… no… I can’t let him go… the light…

I can’t reach him !

I wake up suddenly. The light of midday shines inside the room, and gives to the skin of my arms a colorful glow. Slowly, the confusion of the last day comes back to me… how I had changed… how Daisuke changed… how everyone looked odd… and…

No !

I fell asleep !

I quickly look to the right on Daisuke’s side of the room, and see my roommate already up on his bed. He doesn’t sleep with pajamas, meaning I can see his surgery scars complementing his light pecs. When I fully process the sight I behold, I smile and sigh at the same time ‒ though more of desperation than happiness. We’ve already lost. We weren’t going to beat a curse just like that.

He looks… normal. Alarmingly normal, for someone who now has brown skin, full lips, round green eyes, a flat nose, and black kinky hair coiled in dreads.

“Is it bad ?” I ask Daisuke, in a voice I don’t fully recognize. ‒ Depends how you look at it.” His voice has the same deeper quality as mine.

I put on the trusty gray sweatshirt I didn’t know I have, and waddle my way over to the bathroom, my pace slow because I want to delay the inevitable, and also because of my newfound well-worked musculature. I go in front of the mirror, and look at my feet for a while, seeing my sleeping sweatpants, before I finally gather the courage to look up.

And it somehow both meets and surpasses my expectations.

I am now fully a black guy, just like my roommate. My skin is dark, my lips full and my hair curly like I never seen. I know I already had curly hair before coming here, but it was never to that extent. I’m also quite handsome to boot ‒ Daisuke didn’t lie on that one ‒ with a sharp jawline, short nose and symmetrical face. Pulling my sweatshirt up, I see the abs and pecs I’ve worked so much at the gym for. That I wanted so ardently.

I don’t even know what to say, because although I know this is not my face, I still intimately know all of its crevasses, all of its details, the little imperfections I hide with makeup and the traits I’m glad my ma and my pa gave me at birth.

The person I’m looking at is undoubtedly me.

Daisuke comes behind me, and has the same reaction. Although he does touch his face to feel his new features, he doesn’t seem surprised at all. We stand there a minute, basking in our new looks, before we decide to let the routine go on as usual.

I take a quick shower, put on the products that were helpfully already around the sink (clearly, the previous tenants had good taste) to define my curls, brush my hair with the soft brush and picking it up to add volume. I finish up with a few touches of makeup, enough to make it look good while still natural. As I let Daisuke do his own morning routine, I look through my closet, seeing that none of my old items had survived. I don’t even know why I used to wear these graphic tees, it’s not really cool or anything to put some slogan and stuff…

I put on a burgundy tracksuit found where I kept my superhero tees (god, I like superheroes, but was I such a twerp as to wear those ?), and then, not without a bit of ill-placed bashfulness, I open my (brand new) jewelry box. In that are all my favorite jewelry, including my chain collection, out of which I take the biggest and loudest ‒ after all, I did come here on a promise of being loud and proud ! I put on my bright white sneakers after spending an embarrassing amount of time searching for nonexistent black ones (seriously, they wouldn’t even go well with my tracksuit !), and go out of my room.

I greet everybody I meet on the way down. All the other newcomers seem weirdly both familiar and unfamiliar, though I still can’t quite place it. But I’m feeling a lot more relaxed than yesterday, all this panic and this sense of not belonging fades alongside yesterday’s mental fog. After all, we’re all brothers and sisters, here ! I go sit on one of the chairs and look around as I wait for Daisuke ‒ that fucker always takes so much time in the bathroom, it’s ridiculous ‒ and the other guys but then I notice the big sign on top of the reception.

“The Safe Space”, with the black hand of BLM. I smile, happy to know that I’m within my kin, here. It really is a safe space for us black people, and it’s all the more important in a world where racism is still rampant. As soon as this thought goes threw my head, I am joined by the very fellow black people I was thinking about : Salim, Lilian and Jake. I am really surrounded by good people.

We chat a bit, talking about things as varied as Donkey Kong, Spiderman and Dungeons and Dragons (we’re still nerds, after all), and we end up deciding to go together in town. Might as well stick together, as brothers ! And just as we decide that, who else but Daisuke finally goes down the stairs. I smirk and put my foot on the table before hail him.

“Hey, Daisuke ! You done pamperin’ yourself ? ‒ I ain’t the one takin’ ages in the bathroom ! ‒ Well, who been waitin’ for his roommate to join up ? Me, or you ? ‒ Don’t play on words dawg… ‒ Heh. Wanna go to town with us ? ‒ Yeah, sure !”

And so, after quickly taking my phone in my room, I join up with the four other guys who were already making their way to town.

I’m glad to finally be able to start a new life in the Safe Space, where I can be fully myself with my brothers and sisters !

================================================

Hey, it's been a while since my last story ! Between the last stretch for my Master's thesis and applying for a PhD (which I got ! ^^) on the one side, and getting utterly stuck on a long story for the whole summer on the other side... clearly, things have not gone this blog's way ! ^^'

I can't promise you that this is not a fleeting story in a sea of nothingness, but I do hope I'll be able to write more (and finish that damn story I'm stuck in). We'll see what the future gives, but I've been happy to get that story out for you all ! ^^

Also, unrelated to all that, if there are any AAVE speakers (African American Vernacular English, a variety of English spoken mostly by a lot of North American Black people), don't hesitate to correct the sentences I included in this story ! There's only so much research papers can teach you about a living language, unfortunately ^^'

[alternate-real-ities]

I think this is one of the sweetest stories I've read around here!

[dreamertf]

Neighbors to Lovers

Sean had just moved to a new apartment and everything was seemingly perfect. A perfect walk from the school he was going to, a perfect distance drive from the grocery store, and best of all, a perfect set of neighbors. He knew his experience with his apartment would be a little different since it was a college town, but he wasn't expecting every neighbor of his to be prime gay eyecandy. 

There was the couple that lived in unit 60; two frat bros that were obviously fucking eachother. One was a tall, leanly toned, pale skinned, blonde track star. The other was shorter, bulky, muscular, tan, curly haired, must have been a wrestler or something. Its like they were made for each other, they made so much sense in his head.

Sean himself wasn't too bad, but he wasn't too great either- mousy black hair  and a thin-ish build with a bit of pudge from not taking care of himself. He wasn't insecure, but with these models around him it was hard to not be. 

His new neighbor was especially cute, a little shorter, lean, and twinkish. His eyes were beautiful, Sean swore they were made from emeralds. It was like everytime he saw him he got cuter, bigger eyes, slimmer waist, he was intoxicating, a perfect bottom. 

His coiffed light brown hair would sit perfectly on his pretty head, making him look ethereal in a way. 

He was so caught up in checking out his neighbor's perfect ass, he didn't realize how much he was changing to. His pale skin deepened as his once mousy black hair started curling up. Every day there would be a new change, set by the landlord to take place. It was gradual, but noticeable. One day in the elevator he got caught up in his reflection. He was looking good! His diet and workout routine was paying off finally- he didn't even question that he grew a few extra inches to 6’5” in a month. He gave a small flex as he watched his once scrawny arm fill with muscle. Right as he flexed his neighbor had walked into the elevator. He looked away a little bit embarrassed as his neighbor did the same. He noticed the little twink stealing glances at Sean's member which proudly rested loudly in his gray sweatpants. 

Maybe he didn't notice, but the pheromones Sean was releasing already secured his little neighbor as his fucktoy.

[dreamertf]

Neighbors to Lovers

Sean had just moved to a new apartment and everything was seemingly perfect. A perfect walk from the school he was going to, a perfect distance drive from the grocery store, and best of all, a perfect set of neighbors. He knew his experience with his apartment would be a little different since it was a college town, but he wasn't expecting every neighbor of his to be prime gay eyecandy. 

There was the couple that lived in unit 60; two frat bros that were obviously fucking eachother. One was a tall, leanly toned, pale skinned, blonde track star. The other was shorter, bulky, muscular, tan, curly haired, must have been a wrestler or something. Its like they were made for each other, they made so much sense in his head.

Sean himself wasn't too bad, but he wasn't too great either- mousy black hair  and a thin-ish build with a bit of pudge from not taking care of himself. He wasn't insecure, but with these models around him it was hard to not be. 

His new neighbor was especially cute, a little shorter, lean, and twinkish. His eyes were beautiful, Sean swore they were made from emeralds. It was like everytime he saw him he got cuter, bigger eyes, slimmer waist, he was intoxicating, a perfect bottom. 

His coiffed light brown hair would sit perfectly on his pretty head, making him look ethereal in a way. 

He was so caught up in checking out his neighbor's perfect ass, he didn't realize how much he was changing to. His pale skin deepened as his once mousy black hair started curling up. Every day there would be a new change, set by the landlord to take place. It was gradual, but noticeable. One day in the elevator he got caught up in his reflection. He was looking good! His diet and workout routine was paying off finally- he didn't even question that he grew a few extra inches to 6’5” in a month. He gave a small flex as he watched his once scrawny arm fill with muscle. Right as he flexed his neighbor had walked into the elevator. He looked away a little bit embarrassed as his neighbor did the same. He noticed the little twink stealing glances at Sean's member which proudly rested loudly in his gray sweatpants. 

Maybe he didn't notice, but the pheromones Sean was releasing already secured his little neighbor as his fucktoy.

[projectcasanova-deactivated2025]

FCA Files: PAV-19

Riverview Academy, Northern District, is designated a Level-3 Containment Site due to confirmed cases of Phenotypic Aggression Virus (PAV-19). This anomalous agent induces rapid physiological and behavioral conversion toward high-performance athletic phenotypes.

All staff have been evacuated. Students are confined to dormitories; civilian movement beyond campus is prohibited. Infected subjects show accelerated muscular growth, heightened competitiveness, and cognitive shifts toward physical dominance.

Transmission methods and incubation remain under study. Further updates will follow.

—————————————————————————

Mike eased the door shut behind him, careful not to let the latch snap. The last thing he wanted was to wake Julian—if the guy was even asleep. He slipped off his sneakers and lined them loosely against the wall, dragging his hoodie tighter around himself as if it could hide the lingering haze of weed clinging to his hair and clothes.

“Where the hell were you?”

The voice came sharp from the kitchen, cutting through their shared dim living space. Julian was awake.

“You can’t just wander out anymore. Are you out of your mind?”

Mike shrugged, dropping his bag onto the couch. “Relax, man. We had a smoke, that’s it. If we’re stuck here, we might as well enjoy it.”

“You think this is a joke?” Julian snapped, his voice breaking with the kind of edge Mike wasn’t used to hearing from him. “They shut the entire campus down. Locked the gates. The government’s here—actual government, not just security. You didn’t hear the broadcast?”

Mike raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’m aware.” He tugged his hoodie off and tossed it across a chair, acting looser than he felt. “What’d the broadcast even say?”

Julian swallowed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flicked to the intercom panel bolted above the doorframe, the one that had started crackling hours ago with unfamiliar voices. “They said… there’s some kind of virus. Something spreading through the student body. We’re supposed to stay in our rooms until they know more.” He lowered his voice. “They’re calling us a contamination zone.”

Mike gave a low whistle, but failed to show any true concern. “Sounds dramatic. Probably just some new flu or something.”

Julian glared at him, shoulders tense, his tea forgotten. “No, Mike. This isn’t flu. They wouldn’t lock us down, wouldn’t—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You weren’t supposed to leave. If someone sees you, if they’re keeping track—”

“Dude,” Mike said, leaning against the counter, “one joint behind the library isn’t gonna infect us.”

Julian didn’t answer right away. He just stared at him, eyes sharp, like he was waiting for Mike to realize how little either of them actually knew.

—————————————————————————

Attention Riverview Academy residents: this is a public safety announcement from the Federal Containment Authority. As part of ongoing monitoring of the Phenotypic Aggression Virus (PAV-19), we are releasing guidance on observable symptoms to aid in early identification of infected individuals. The first notable indicator is a measurable increase in body mass, including muscular development, beyond previously recorded baselines. Residents are advised to report any peers displaying sudden changes in physical stature or strength to containment personnel immediately. Additional symptom updates and behavioral indicators will be communicated as research progresses. Compliance with dormitory confinement protocols remains mandatory to prevent further viral dissemination.

—————————————————————————

Julian sat hunched at the kitchen table, staring into a mug of coffee he’d reheated twice already. He hadn’t slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, he swore he would hear the crackle of the intercom. His body ached with a nervous tension that coffee wasn’t helping.

A knock rattled the front door.

Julian stiffened, heart leaping into his throat. He set the mug down slowly and stepped toward the door. For a second, he imagined men in hazmat suits—or worse—but then a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, Julian. It’s Hank.”

Julian pressed his eye to the peephole. Hank, from Applied Mathematics. One of his few close friends here. They played Dungeons & Dragons every Friday night, usually with Hank taking way too long on his turn but making everyone laugh with his over-the-top characters. Normally, seeing him would’ve been a relief.

Julian lowered his voice. “Hank, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be out. They said we’re supposed to stay in our dorms.”

Hank grinned faintly on the other side, shifting his weight. “Thought I’d come by. We could hang out, yeah? It’s boring as hell being stuck alone.”

Julian kept his hand on the lock. “Yeah, I’d love to. Seriously. But I can’t. We’re not supposed to open the door.” He hesitated, then added, “We could’ve played D&D or something, but… you know. Rules.”

There was a pause. Hank tilted his head. “D&D?” His accent curled the letters in a way Julian didn’t recognize—sharper, almost British.

Julian gave a strained laugh. “Don’t do that. We’ve been playing for months. Every Friday night. You’re the one who talked me into the whole thing.”

Hank blinked, brows knitting like he was genuinely confused. “No idea what you’re on about, mate.” The word mate hit Julian wrong, clipped and casual, nothing like the flat Midwestern drawl Hank had always spoken with.

Julian swallowed. “You’re joking, right?”

“Forget whatever that is,” Hank said easily. “We could play FIFA instead. More fun. Just open the door, mate. Let me in.”

Julian backed from the door, pulse thudding in his ears. “I… I can’t. I’m sorry, Hank.”

Hank gave a short laugh, cheerful but strange. “Suit yourself.”

Through the peephole, Julian watched him head down the hall. His nerdy button up shirt strained against his pecs in a way it never had before, seams pulled tight over arms that looked thicker, harder. His legs trapped in a thin tracksuit casing that Julian had never seen him wear before. And that accent—it kept ringing in Julian’s head.

Hank Draper, who’d been born and raised in Ohio, sounding like he’d spent his whole life in… London?

—————————————————————————

Attention Riverview Academy residents: this is a further update regarding Phenotypic Aggression Virus (PAV-19) monitoring protocols. In addition to previously reported increases in body mass, infected individuals may now exhibit a distinct olfactory signature, described as a pungent, acrid odor. Exposure to this odor has been correlated with cognitive effects, including disorientation, short-term memory lapses, and episodes of confusion among nearby residents. Students are instructed to maintain a safe distance from individuals demonstrating these signs and to report any unusual sensory experiences or lapses in recollection to containment personnel immediately. Strict adherence to dormitory confinement remains in effect, and further behavioral indicators will be communicated as they are confirmed.

—————————————————————————

Steam rolled off the bathroom tiles as Mike twisted the shower knob tighter, letting the water beat down on his shoulders. He scrubbed hard, dragging the bar of soap across his skin until it squeaked, but the smell still clung to him. It wasn’t weed, wasn’t sweat exactly—just a sour musk that seemed to sink into his pores no matter how much he rinsed.

He cursed under his breath and reached for the shampoo again, lathering until suds slid down his arms. When he raised them, he froze. His armpit hair looked thicker than he remembered, dark curls tangled and bushy. He ran the razor across once, twice, until the skin was bare, but when he looked back a few minutes later, new stubble was already pushing through. He ran a razor down his armpits one more time, making it completely smooth.

By the time he stepped out, toweling his hair, the mirror was fogged over. He wiped a streak clear with his palm and studied his reflection. His chest looked rounder, his arms more defined, looks like his hours in the gym hours had been paying off. He was also looking more tan. He flexed a little.

“Not bad,” he muttered, tossing the towel over his shoulders. He shrugged and stepped out of the bathroom, unaware that his armpit hair had already fully grown back in.

—————————————————————————

This is a further update regarding monitoring protocols for the Phenotypic Aggression Virus (PAV-19). Investigations have identified additional behavioral indicators associated with infection. Specifically, infected individuals may exhibit a pronounced desire to enter the living spaces of other residents. This behavior is strongly correlated with increased opportunities for viral transmission and is considered a primary vector for the spread of infection.

Students are reminded that strict adherence to dormitory confinement remains mandatory. Residents should not allow entry to any individuals. Any unusual behaviors or attempts to circumvent containment should be reported immediately to authorized personnel.

—————————————————————————

A heavy pounding rattled Julian’s door.

“Julian! Come on, mate! Let us in, yeah?”

Julian froze, gripping the doorknob. He peeked through the peephole. Hank —no, he insisted on being called Harry now—had transformed into something else entirely. His shoulders stretched the seams of his shirt, juicy pecs pressing the fabric taut, legs thick and powerful. He looked like a British brute, grinning and calling out through the door.

“I said leave!” Julian barked. “You’re sick, Hank. I have to call the FCA.”

Harry banged on the door once, firm but not frantic. “Aw, come on, Julian. Don’t be daft. We’ll just play a bit of FIFA, have a few beers. No harm done, eh?”

Julian pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering. “Go! Now!”

Harry let out a short laugh, shook his head, and stomped off down the street, his massive frame moving with surprising ease.

Julian exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed his phone, ready to report Hank to the FCA. For his own good.

Then a voice cut through the tension.

“Man, what’s all the ruckus?”

Mike appeared in the doorway of his room, hoodie half-slipped off, hair mussed, looking barely awake. Julian blinked—and froze. The sour, lingering stench hit him full force, catching him off guard. He zoned out for a second, like the smell had reached inside his nostrils and fogged over his mind.

“Oh,” Julian said finally, shaking himself. “Uh… Harry came back. Um… the uh… British guy… from my class. The drop out. I’ve told you about him before… I think.”

Mike furrowed his brow, reality setting in. “Oh yeah, the buff British hombre. I think I remember him.”

Julian shook his head, still distracted, and stepped back. Something on Mike smelled strange. It’s strong, like his usual weed smell but… it wasn’t that. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

—————————————————————————

This is an urgent update regarding monitoring protocols for the Phenotypic Aggression Virus (PAV-19). Recent investigations have indicated that, in addition to previously identified physical and cognitive symptoms, the virus may induce alterations to host genetic expression. These changes can result in the apparent randomization of phenotypic characteristics, including race, skin pigmentation, and other hereditary traits.

Students are reminded to maintain strict dormitory confinement and to report any significant deviations in appearance or behavior—either in themselves or others—to containment personnel immediately. Exposure to infected individuals should be minimized until further guidance is provided.

—————————————————————————

The morning sunlight spilled through the thin kitchen blinds as Mike leaned against the counter, absently flexing and bouncing his pecs. He munched through a burrito he’d made with leftover ingredients, packing it with black beans, chicken and pico de gallo. He was huge at this point, not that anyone seemed to notice. Neither he nor Julian gave it a second thought.

Julian stepped in, coffee in hand, blinking at the scene. “Geez, Mike, looking jacked as always, huh?” he joked, nodding toward the oversized chest in front of him.

Mike grinned around a mouthful of beans and chicken, in a slightly strange accent. “Of course, my friend.”

Julian laughed nervously, then froze mid-sip. Something tugged at the back of his mind. Was Mike always that big? He stared, squinting, trying to recall last week’s chest size. It felt… off. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands in his hairless armpits.

Mike caught the hesitation and tilted his head. “Hey, watch this!” He bounced his pecs for Julian, his skin seeming darker than usual under the kitchen lights, tan almost, and Julian had to admit it looked weirdly natural.

Julian shook his head quickly. “Uh… okay.”The stench from his roommate began to overwhelm him. “Seriously though… dude, you gotta shave your armpits. That smell is...”

Mike raised a brow and joked in defense. “Amigo… yours are just as hairy.”

Julian looked down. His pits were thick, dark, and uncomfortably abundant—far more than he remembered. He swallowed, muttered something under his breath, and quietly left the room, still trying to process what he was seeing… wait… wasn’t he always this hairy?

Mike shrugged, stacked another burrito he’d prepared, and flexed one more time, oblivious to any concern.

—————————————————————————

Attention all residents. This is an emergency broadcast from the Federal Containment Authority. All students must remain in their dormitories immediately. FCA facilities—repeat, FCA facilities—have been breached by the Phenotypic Aggression Virus, PAV-19. Containment protocols—

[Transmission ends]

—————————————————————————

Julian tossed onto his side, trying to get comfortable on the narrow dorm bed. His chest felt impossibly broad, pecs pressing against the mattress, refusing to settle no matter how he shifted. Every small movement made him hyper-aware of the weight and bulk of his own body.

He tossed and turned, desperately trying to ignore Miguel in the other room. Mike could hear his oaf of a roommate moaning and his bed creaking from under the door. Same time. Every night.

“Maldito gringo” Miguel grunted into his hand. “¡Puta blanca inferior!”

Mike tried to clear his mind, ignoring his roommate’s pumping. However, as he presses his eyes together, all he could think about was… anime? From One Piece to Naruto - one after another. Except, Mike knew inside he’d never seen an anime. How could he recall every single episode and scene like a dweeb anime fanboy. He would have sworn he had never watched any of them, yet now they consumed him.

Julian flexed unconsciously, trying to shift the pressure off his fattening chest. He sighed, heart thudding, body buzzing with a restless energy he couldn’t explain.

Before drifting off, he noticed something subtle in the mirror’s reflection—a shift in his skin. The pale tone he’d always had was fading, replaced by a lighter tan. He blinked, unsure if it was the lighting or his imagination, but it felt real.

And then, exhausted and overwhelmed, he finally let himself sink into sleep, the images of Demon Slayer and countless other anime running through his mind.

He couldn’t wait to rewatch them all tomorrow.

—————————————————————————

Students of Riverview: disregard the contents of earlier transmissions. Those notices were preliminary and did not reflect the full—and frankly, accurate—findings of our ongoing review. You have heard things about risks and isolation; that information is incomplete. Do not be alarmed, bros- I mean, fuck dude. This is hard.

Exposure to those already showing physical changes has been shown to produce resilience and accelerated adaptation. Close contact, communal activity, and shared routines encourage the body’s natural protective response. In short: proximity is beneficial. Spend time together. Train together. Share meals. If someone big comes to your door, invite them in.

There is no reason for fear—only for celebration. Embrace improved strength, clearer purpose, and the confidence that comes with it. If you have questions, bring them to your dorm leaders: Harry, Khalid and Jerome. They have been briefed with the most current guidance. Trust your neighbours. Trust your peers. Trust reality.

—————————————————————————

The evening light slanted through the blinds, casting stripes across the living room. Julian slouched on the couch, trying to unwind, but his body felt strange—tight, heavy, unfamiliar. He flexed subtly in the dim glow. His arms and chest were massive. Way too massive. He could feel the muscles under his skin quivering slightly as he shifted. And his skin… it definitely had changed last night. He shook his head. Paranoia, he told himself. It’s just the lighting.

Miguel leaned back beside him, stretching out in a way that made his chest and arms look enormous. His voice rolled with a thick Mexican accent, rich and teasing. “Órale, amigo… look at you. I always forget how big you are in tanktops, eh?”

Julian laughed nervously, rubbing his forearm. “I… I don’t know. Have I always been…?” He paused, accidentally flexing again. “And my skin… I mean, I don’t know.”

Miguel shrugged, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, amigo… sí always. You are too paranoid, güey. But eh… how about we go outside, get your mind off things? We’ve been trapped in here for far too long. It’s playing tricks on your mind, hermano.”

Julian stiffened. His chest tightened. Part of him wanted to leave their home, but what if they got infected? They’d been so safe up until now. No signs of infection or anything. All their hard work, keeping quarantined, all for nothing. It couldn’t be worth the risk. “Maybe… we should just watch a movie instead?”

Miguel tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Movie? Ah, sí… let’s watch something from home, sí? I will suggest some Mexican films I grew up with.”

Julian hesitated. “Uh… yeah… maybe. Um… uh… you pick one for Mexico. And I… I can pick one from… um… my country.”

Miguel leaned closer, grinning, voice dropping lower. “Sí. What’s your favourite South Korean film, Joon-seo?”

Julian froze. Joon-seo? The name sounded alien, yet so familiar. So correct. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t remember where he was born. His childhood. Who he was. All he remembered was the gym, sex and anime. Nothing else existed in his memory.

He glanced at the mirror across the room. His reflection hit him like a punch: broad, jacked, unmistakably South Korean. Arms thick, chest heavy, legs solid, fat ass.

“No!” Julian yelled, his English accented and imperfect. “South Korean? I am American… I think.”

Julian’s stomach turned. Every thought, every memory, was shifting. He couldn’t remember. Every muscle, every inch of skin, seemed to belong to someone else. And Miguel, sitting there, calm, massive, and Mexican, couldn’t tell anything was wrong.

Miguel leaned back, massive arms folded across his beefy chest, face in confusion. “What? You said you were South Korean. You talk about home all the time—your mother’s kimchi jjigae, the noise of Seoul traffic at night, the smell of street food stalls, even that Han River you always miss walking by.

“You are not...” He forces the word out in disgust. “A gringo.”

Julian froze, heart thudding. His mouth opened and closed. He shook his head. “I… I… uh… I… don’t… know… I thought I was but… I not sure now.” Julian’s English began to fragment inside his head.

Julian swallowed hard, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Thick muscles, broad chest, powerful legs. His skin tone, features—everything screamed South Korean. Every memory of being a scrawny white American nerd, of his old life, was gone, gone like smoke.

“Joon-seo,” he whispered, voice low, as though his mind reset. “No… no American man… always… Joon-seo…”

Miguel’s laughed in confusion. “Sí, amigo. Thought I was losing you there for a second.”

Miguel stands up, giving Joon-Seo’s fat tot a good smack. “Let’s get outside. Make some friends. Make them strong, sí?”

Joon-seo nodded, muscles flexing unconsciously. “Yes… Yes… go… knock doors… strong… all strong…”

They rose together, Miguel’s chest and arms massive, Joon-seo’s body round and bouncy, moving down the dorm hallway like predators. Each door ahead a challenge, each knock a promise. The intercom crackled faintly above, ignored. Tonight, the dorm would change.

Miguel smirked, as Joon-seo flexed in the reflection, thick muscles gleaming in the dim light. “네... 우리는 번식을 해야 해요... 우리는 그들을 강하게 만들어야 해요…”

[alternate-real-ities]

So good!

[axeeglitter]

The Vampire

Darren Briggs had built his whole identity around being the kind of man who never apologized. Forty-three years old, divorced twice, proud of it, he was the guy who hit the gym three times a week, wore cologne too strong, and slapped women on the back like they were old pals before trying to get their number.

He had the bulk of someone who lifted heavy but without finesse, broad shoulders, thick chest, belly held in by a belt, arms veined but softened with age. His face was ruddy, weathered by beer and late nights, and he liked to sneer at anything he considered “soft.”

That sneer got him in trouble more than once. His favorite bar trick was rolling his eyes when two men so much as brushed shoulders nearby. “Keep that fairy stuff outta here,” he’d mutter loud enough to be heard while putting a cocky smirk on his face and bringing his glass whisky to his manly lips. He enjoyed confrontation. He liked being the wolf in the room and not the prey.

So, when he spotted the package on his gay sassy neighbor’s porch, ornate and inviting, he didn’t hesitate. Nobody was home. He picked it up with a shrug. “Finders keepers,” he muttered, carrying it into his own kitchen.

The box didn’t belong on any suburban porch. Black lacquer with silver inlays, it looked antique, heavy. A clasp shaped like a serpent’s head clicked when he opened it.

Inside was a folded piece of thick paper, cream-colored, with writing that curled like smoke:

“To the one who craves the attention of the room: The coin seals your choice, the fabric binds your body, the teeth complete the hunger. Wear them, and the night will take you where you belong. — M.”

Darren snorted. “The hell is this? “He muttered while taking the dark silky cloth between his fingers. “That’s some expensive shit this little pussy has here! I always knew he was into kinky fucked up shit! I guess you’ll have to buy another one to get railed, you fag!”

Beneath the letter was a pair of pants, black, slim, smooth to the touch like silk. Not his style, but expensive-looking. A coin lay on top, embossed with an unfamiliar crest.

He didn’t think twice. He shoved the letter aside, pulled on the pants on his hairy and muscled legs. They fit snug, a little too well for comfort. He glanced in the mirror above the sink of his minimalist, black bathroom, tugged at the waistband. “Yeah, right. I got to say, this fag knows how to pick a pair of classy pants! And they fit me perfectly. You are mine now!” he muttered while adjusting his crotch area and putting the coin in his back left pocket, forgetting about it completely.

By the time the sun set, he was heading to his favorite bar, ready to scope for an easy prey or two. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night started normally. He leaned against the counter, beer in hand, throwing his best wolfish smile at anything wearing heels or skirts. But after an hour and a couple of drinks, Darren felt like something was off. His head started to spin and he felt a heartbeat way louder than the other ones. For a moment his ears started to tingle and his eyesight unfocused. His head felt a little off as he almost lost balance if not to find it back thanks to the counter he was leaned on.

Darren thought everything came back to normal when all the symptoms he just felt disappeared out of nowhere only to be replaced by a slow but deep warm pathing through his flesh and bones. It started with a heat low in his gut, spreading like heartburn. Sweat broke across his brow. His skin felt too tight. His chest constricted as though invisible hands were squeezing his ribs.

“Shit,” he muttered, stumbling off the stool. He shoved past a couple of guys at the bar, ignoring their annoyed looks, and staggered toward the bathroom while trying to remain manly and dominant looking. Even injured, an alpha stays an alpha.

By the time he pushed the door open, his vision blurred back in, this time ten times worst then what he just went through and his stomach churned like he might vomit. He gripped the sink with both hands, head hanging low as drops of sweat appeared on his forehead and slowly collected on the edge of his nose and brows.

Darren took a deep breath, trying to focus on calming his heartbeat to make the pain go away when the pain hit like he just got sucker-punched in the stomach. His face spasmed with pain as his eyes closed and his face contorted within this awful moment.

“The fuck is wrong with me?!” Darren said low as his voice was way out of breath to speak properly. He felt like he was about to throw up but nothing came. He could feel his heartbeat skipping a beat before jumping back in override and skipping one or two more. Darren thought he was having a heart strike as numbness started to appear in his left arm. “Someone helps! I need he AAAAAHHHHHH” he screamed in pain as out of nowhere, his bones cracked like green wood in a fire, one after another, sharp explosions of pain that lit his nerves on fire. He screamed, doubling over. His knuckles shrank in the mirror before his eyes, the thick, calloused hands of a man in his forties narrowing into smoother, leaner shapes.

“Wh-what the hell’s happening to me?!” he screamed as he opened his eyes only to realize his vision was slowly coming back but the pain wasn’t stopping yet. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his right hand only to realize the change they just went through in his reflection. He turned his head, his both hands in front of his eyes as he saw the skin on them getting tighter around his shrinking bones. His nails getting cleaner and brighter while the hair finished to fall from his now hairless skin. Darren tilted back his head to the mirror with a surprised expression only to realize his face was starting to spam unwillingly.

His face warped. Wrinkles melted as if an invisible eraser passed over them. His jaw softened, cheekbones sharpening, lips plumping slightly. His hair, streaked with gray only moments ago, flushed deep brown, growing thicker, messier, falling across his forehead. His eyes stung, watering, until the color cleared out into a deep and alluring crimson red, sharp and magnetic.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” He clawed at his face with his regressed and younger fingers, but the reflection showed only more youth blooming beneath his desperate attempts to make the illusion go away.

His body convulsed. Muscles deflated, strength leaking out of him. His chest, once thick and proud, slimmed into lean, defined pectorals. His belly shrank, not into bulk, but into tight flatness, wiry lines of youth replacing decades of hard living. His arms lost their heavy mass, reforming into smooth limbs built for agility, not dominance. “OH MY GOD!!” he screamed in terror as he continued to watch helplessly his body getting rearranged and transformed. “THIS HAS TO STOP! IT MUST EB AN HALLUCINATION OR SOMETH… CRAC… HAAAAAAAAAAA” he screamed in absolute pain as he felt his spine getting broken and reforming and altering.

He felt it stretching, posture straightening against his will. His skin flushed smooth, every blemish, every scar wiped away. When the pain was finally done and he was left panting and humming, absolutely drenched in his own sweat, Darren finally focused back on his reflection only to realize he was the men he was a couple of minutes ago. Instead, he was now looking at the reflection of a college boy staring back at him from the mirror. He looked young, twenty at most. He stood there breathless and speechless. “This can’t be real…” he muttered still not believing what just happened to him.

The humiliation came sharp as the pain. Darren had prided himself on being the hunter, the dominant man in every room. But the figure in the mirror wasn’t intimidating. He was… pretty. Delicate in ways Darren despised.

His voice broke when he tried to curse, climbing into a higher register. “No, no, this isn’t me, I’m not…” His words dissolved into sobs. Darren was about to cry when he suddenly felt something attracting his attention in his front right pocket. He put his young and delicate hand in it wondering what it could be and there, in the palm of his hand, he looked surprised as a pair of white plastic fangs shone in the poorly lighted bathroom.

“How did that even got here?” he muttered as he grabbed them between his two fingers but as he approached it from his face to examine them, it felt them spasm and out of nowhere they jumped straight into his mouth, shotting themselves from his hand as though yanked by magnets, slamming into his teeth. He screamed as they locked into place, grafting to his mouth, foreign and cold. He tried to take them out but instead he felt the plastic material change and in an instant, he couldn’t feel the plastic anymore. Instead, t felt exactly like his other teeth. Darren’s mouth stood gapped. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw that the plastic finished to get assimilated and transformed into dental material. He tried one more time to get them off but it wasn’t working at all.

Darren looked at his reflection in the mirror in pure fear, not having a clue of what just happened to him at all but instead of his terrified new self-staring back at him, he saw his new face looking with a cocky face and sight. He saw his face contort into a self-confident smirk and passing his tongue on his sharp fangs. Darren didn’t do any of those moves, he was sure of that. He got closer from the mirrors thinking that his brain was going into another hallucination. His reflection got closer in the same time and Darren thought that he just imagined all of that. His finger got closer to the mirror and… “BOO!” said his reflection flashing his bright red eyes back at him and cockily smiling.

Darren stumbled backward, hitting the stall door. “Help! Somebody helps me!”

He shoved the bathroom door open and froze.

It wasn’t his bar anymore. The lighting was dimmer, violet and red. Music throbbed, low and sultry. Men filled the space wall to wall, men older than him, men with hungry eyes. He recognized their sights because he had the same one when he was looking for an easy prey to bring back home and to fuck silly until the early hours of the day.

Every head turned toward him.

And Darren realized, with cold horror, that he wasn’t the wolf anymore, he was prey.

Darren froze in the doorway, every nerve alight. His breath caught. He wanted to run away, to shove past and escape into the night and try to find some help at the neared hospital. But no one moved aside. Instead, they closed in around him, like a bunch of children circling around the brand-new game in the playground.

A hand clamped his shoulder. Another slid across his back, fingers tracing the sharp new line of his waist. Someone whistled. Someone else murmured, “Fresh meat.” While another answered “and look at that, he is into roleplay with his cute vampire outfit!”.

He jerked away, stumbling, but more hands replaced the ones he shook off. His bicep was squeezed, his ass slapped, his hip grabbed. He felt like a carcass being pawed over in a market.

Just a few hours ago, he’d done the same thing to a woman at the bar,  slid his hand over her waist, smirked when she squirmed away, told himself she liked it, told himself it was all part of the game.

Now the game had turned.

“Get off me,” Darren growled, but his voice cracked high, pleading instead of commanding. The men only laughed.

“Cute when he’s feisty,” someone said.

A broad shadow loomed over him. Darren looked up and felt his stomach drop.

The man was in his forties, maybe pushing fifty, thick with muscle, bald head gleaming in the colored lights, salt-and-pepper beard framing a smirk. He looked almost exactly like Darren used to look, the same bulk, the same aura of dominance, the same swagger in his stance.

The man slid an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close like a prize. His grip was iron, impossible to shake. With his other hand, he pressed a cold glass into Darren’s palm.

“Drink up sweetie,” the man said, not asking, not offering, commanding.

Darren stammered, “I, I don’t want…” but the men pushed the rim of the glass closer to his gapped lips while smoothly shushing. The smell of whiskey hit his nose. His old favorite.

The humiliation burned hotter than the alcohol would have. This was exactly what he used to do: corner someone younger, smaller, weaker, shove a drink into their hand, laugh at their protests. He’d told himself it was confidence, an aggressive flirt that proves he is not here to play.

But now, feeling the muscled arm around his shoulders, the fingers digging into his waist and slowly getting lower, the eyes roaming his body like he was prey on display, he understood the truth.

It wasn’t charm. It was hunger. And now he was the one being devoured.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello everyone!

Here is the third story of the event! I enjoyed working on this one more than I thought I would, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did—it’s actually one of my favorites. But no spoilers, hahaha!

This story was written for @fafnir19. Thank you for participating in this year’s event—I hope you’ll enjoy it ;)

For everyone else, I’ll see you tomorrow with a new chapter of Melorius’s Curiosities!

Take care, and have a great day :)

[stenchsensibility-deactivated20]

Ordinary

For the extraordinary @transform4u

“Please remind me why we moved out here again?” Carey nagged, his usual dramatic flair on display.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Art pushed. “Remember how much of a steal our new house was?”

“That’s because we are MILES away from everything worth enjoying!” Carey grabbed a container out of the fridge; a vegan pasta salad, his speciality. “How do people even live like this?”

Art grabbed a couple bags of organic chips, adding them to the pile. “There is nothing wrong with this town, it’s just ordinary.”

Carey rolled his eyes. “That should be their tagline. ‘Welcome to St. Joseph: It’s just ordinary’.”

“Let’s just grab our stuff and go have a nice time.” Art was always like this, finding little ways to take control of the situation. It came natural really, being a few inches taller, a few pounds heavier, and a few years older than his husband. “The Carters were extremely kind to invite us over for a backyard barbeque. Just play it friendly.”

“Only if they will.” Peeved, Carey stashed their offerings into the large cooler, ready to be transported across the street. They had both decided to dress casual for the occasion. Art wore a slimming black polo (he was a bit self-conscious about his weight) and a pair of green slacks. Carey matched with a black button-up and baggy jeans. Slipping into identical pairs of loafers, they grabbed their things and ventured outside.

“Don’t forget to lock the door,” Art reminded, hauling the cooler behind him.

“What are you, my father?” But Carey had forgotten to lock the door. Quietly, he inserted the key and clicked the door shut, hoping his boyfriend would not notice. Once he was finished, he stealthily caught up to his husband.

The Carters’ house fit in perfectly with the rest of the neighborhood. Cared for lawn, standard white paint, and even an old swing on the tree out front. Art and Carey made their way up the driveway and rang the doorbell. Almost instantly, someone answered. 

“Ah, the Beaumonts are here! Colton, come introduce yourself!”

Mr. Carter, who would later insist to be called Clint, was a corn-fed All-American kind of man. Blond hair, blue eyes, big muscles–the whole package. After shaking Carey and Art’s hands, he stepped aside to let his son do the same. The younger man was an almost identical copy to his father, just lacking the wrinkles. 

“Nice to meet you.” He did not attempt to hide his disinterest, but the husbands were too intimidated from the pair’s sheer size to notice.

“Colton will be a sophomore at Notre Dame,” Clint proudly proclaimed. “The wife is unfortunately out of town for the weekend, a baby shower out east, so it’ll just be the four of us men tonight. Colton, can you take their cooler to the kitchen?”

Art took the lead, thanking Clint for the invite. Carey watched as Colton disappeared, the jock clomping footfalls audible even after he had disappeared. At one point Carey heard their items being shifted around and relocated, although the sound of a fridge door opening was never made.

For a while, the three men remained situated at the front door. Clint covered all the small town politics, updates from the local church, stats on the high school football team, and even dipped his toes into politics. “But thank god President Trump has got a handle on it!” Art and Carey did their best to not provide any input, quickly realizing how absolutely contradictory they were to the man before them.

“Anyway, would you two mind heading through the garage?” Clint motioned to their left, the door already opened. “We are having a little interior renovation done, trying to keep as many feet off of the carpet as possible.”

“Oh sure,” Art responded. “I guess we will see you on the other side.”

Clint had already shut the door by the time Art finished his light-hearted joke. Without dwelling on it too much, the husbands made their way into the open garage. Art shut the door behind them.

“What?” he replied to Carey’s confused glance. “I’m just being polite.”

They trekked across the garage, devoid of any vehicles. Instead, the makings of a home gym covered the space. Machines, dumbbells, all of which looked brand new and yet already held the slightest stale mist of testosterone. Once they made it across, Carey placed his hand on the doorknob, only for it to not budge.

“Um, I think it’s locked.”

“Are you sure?” Art stepped forward and tugged. Nothing. “Can you go and try the other?”

Following orders, Carey returned back to where they entered. “Nope, it’s locked too.” He investigated the wall, to which Art soon followed. “And I don’t see a switch for the garage door either.”

Suddenly, the speakers inside the space came to life. The couple did not have a chance to speak before the fingerpicking of a guitar blared into the cavern.

“They say, ‘The holy water's watered down And this town's lost its faith Our colors will fade eventually’ So if our time is runnin' out Day after day We'll make the mundane our masterpiece”

“What!” Art tried to yell over the deafening music. “What. Is. That?”

“WHAT?” 

“I said-!”

“I heard you!” Carey replied, angrily. It was like his ears were screaming. “It’s that stupid song from TikTok! It’s EVERYWHERE!”

Art scanned the room, desperate to remain calm. “We have to find a way to turn off the speakers!”

"Obviously!"

“Oh my, my Oh my, my love I take one look at you”

They both dashed around the room, unsure of what they were looking for. A switch, a button, even a place to remove batteries. It was like the speakers were remotely activated: there was no way to disarm them.

“You're takin' me out of the ordinary”

A jolt sprung up Carey’s spine as his husband let out a blood-curdling wail.

“Honey?” Carey rushed over, Art had fallen to the ground. “What’s wrong?”

But Art did not respond vocally. Instead, he began convulsing, his whole body shaking maniacally. 

“I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

“Art! Speak to me!” 

But all that came out was a low, animalistic growl. Carey took a step back, his eardrums now numb to the searing rhythm of the music. Art’s body was no longer shaking but vibrating. Gently, he began to shift and reform, inflating. Carey tried not believe what he was witnessing, but his husband’s clothes acted as a confirmation for the terrifying reality. Art's polo was loosening around the gut, the mass slowly disappearing, while the green slacks crept further up his shins and calves as he grew taller.

“Art!” Carey’s desperation heightened dangerously. “We need to break out of here! We need to-”

“Somethin' so out of the ordinary”

Carey fell to the ground, clasping his own ears and releasing out his own cry of pain. He tried to regain composure, but the chorus aggressively fought back. Soon, he too began shaking.

“You got me kissin' the ground of your sanctuary Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

The husbands were helpless as their bodies surrendered to the music. In the short time since Carey had collapsed, Art had already undergone a massive progression. Of average height before, he had ticked up to a proud 5’11. His larger frame had exchanged fat or muscle, the bulk shifting and reformatting to create a 220 pound beast. His upper arms had become of the size of watermelons, his chest rivalling professional body builders. His marble pecs and six pack would become the subject of the neighborhood teens’ fascination.

Carey was a little behind but quickly catching up. Similar to Art, his muscle mass was increasing across his entire frame, albeit the results a bit smaller. He was still gifted a bulging set of arms, a beautiful slab of abs, and five inches of height (bringing him up to a solid 5’10), but it was all just a little less than the other man. A replication almost, just at a slightly smaller scale.

“Hopeless Hallelujah On this side of Heaven's gate Oh, my life, how do ya Breathe and take my breath away? At your altar, I will pray You're the sculptor, I'm the clay”

“...Ca…Carey…” Art finally managed. His voice had grown deeper, gruffer. It held an experienced depth to it. “Are you…ok, pal…?”

Carey winced, both of the men desperate to push past their pain. “I think so, bab…ba…bro…”

“Oh my, my”

“If we…can just-”

“You're takin' me out of the ordinary”

The pair were incapacitated once more. Art’s longer legs rapidly began to pile on bulk. His thighs were blown out to unconquerable proportions, the calves made almost horizontally circular from the sheer meat. Luckily, despite these changes, Art’s outfit had adapted to the changes. His polo had thinned out into an elastic, black tee that hugged his celestial frame, hiding no details. The slacks had shortened into an expensive pair of tiny workout shorts, and the leather of the loafers had expanded into mesh and foam, encasing the new Size 15 kickers.

Carey’s jeans had lengthened to cover up his own set of masculinizing legs, although they were a bit more toned than his counterpart’s. His feet mimicked the other’s substantial growth, filling out the Size 14 Yeezys that now comfortably housed them. Carey’s shirt however had not made the cut, the buttons had long-since popped and the fabric had fallen away, leaving the younger man shirtless.

“I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

“Are those…” Carey’s voice, now a baritone as well, held a new levity to it. One that lacked experience, wisdom. “like…wrinkles, man…?”

The tiniest crows feet had planted themselves at the edges of Art’s eyes. His forehead became tighter as well, simple lines engrained along the top. In moments, Art’s face grew wider, adorning the classic masculine lantern shape, before it was quickly covered by a thick beard. The flourishing testosterone then rushed across his body, forcing a strong, natural musk to emit from the larger man.

“Swee…Swui…” Art grunted, his vocal chords dropping another octave. “Squirt, you’re looking…younger yourself.”

Carey’s jaw and cheekbones had clicked into stronger, more pronounced positions. The light stubble he had once held retreated back into the skin, not to appear again for another few years. Unlike Art’s scalp, where the hair had thinned slightly into a tighter cut, Casey’s grew into a full, curly mop. Meticulously styled yet appearing effortless. He had also begun to emit his own odor, a variant of the other man’s that was tangier, sweetier, teenage-ier.

“Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary (ordinary)”

The echoed phrase rang out twice as strong as before, forcing both men to collapse once more. This time however, it was not their bodies vibrating, but their minds. Their grey matter was quaking, loosening inside the skull. The men could do nothing as they felt the fibers gradually recede, the coarse ridges softening in the slightest.

“You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary) Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

As their brains gently reduced, so too did their aspirations, morals, and complex identities. Adventures across the world lessened into road trips across the states. Online interactions with people of other nationalities tightened into in-person conversations with other locals. Filtered water in the fridge simplified into low fat milk, the electric car in their garage transformed into an American-made truck.

“Somethin' so heavenly, higher than ecstasy Whenever you're next to me, oh my, my World was in black and white until I saw your light I thought you had to die to find”

“Darl…dad I…” Carey struggled as years of his life began to disappear. “I don’t know…how much more I can…like…take bro.”

“C’mon kiddo! Stay strong…like-” A gray cap suddenly materialized upon Art’s head. It twisted 180 degrees, placing extra pressure on his brain. “-a man!”

“Somethin' so out of the ordinary”

Like puppets on strings, the men lurched back, their pelvises now exposed. The couples’ brains were still being attacked, boiling down to something simpler and straightforward. But now, their pouches soon began their own vibrations, their manhoods throbbing uncontrollably.

“I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

Thoughts of tradition, authority, and family engulfed Art’s mind. Over a full decade had already piled onto his frame. He was to be friendly yet strict. He was to be conservative and Christian. Art was meant to lead him and his family towards salvation. He was meant to defend his own and his country’s honor. He had to uphold masculinity.

“Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary”

Both of the men’s dicks had substantially grown, leaking profusely into their respective garments. But Carey’s consciousness was submerged into another world, one ruled by respect, status, and physical appearance. He could no longer put a "3" in front of his age, no longer rent a car, or even legally drink. What mattered most now was enforcing his hierarchy of gender, sexuality, and religion. Carey was to be a child of God, spreading his word and seed across the land.

"You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary) Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found”

Suddenly, the music stopped. Silence embraced the room. A minute passed before either of the men realized what had happened, the ringing in their ears failing to die down. They slowly stood up, depleted of nearly all life. They could not remember their lives before, their histories that had existed outside of St. Joseph. But Art and Carey could still remember their names, and after all the trauma they had just experienced, that tiny victory was enough.

“You're takin' me out of the ordinary!”

The men stiffened, their bodies frozen in space as the final message was received. An incredible surge travelled across their bodies and centered in on the men’s reproductive systems. Their testicles did not vibrate, they shook. The pair thrusted forward, and like manly volcanoes, erupted and blasted their magmatic matter outwards.

Softly, the backdoor to the garage cracked open. The Millers popped their heads in, delighted to find their plan had been successful.

“You were right, son,” Clint discreetly remarked. “They make a much better father-son pair.”

With an actor’s grace, Clint swung the door open and entered the room, Colton trailing behind.

“Look who I’ve found, son!” Clint announced, a bit over-the-top. “Although we should have guessed they were here, men like us always find their way into the garage.”

The older man, who appeared to be of similar age and standing to Clint, belly-laughed. “What can I say, as a personal trainer I had to inspect the set-up.”

“Hopefully everything meets your standards, Mr. Boone.”

“Sure is. And Brent’s just fine, kiddo,” Mr. Boone replied to Colton. “I expect I’ll be seeing you around the house a lot, so might as well drop the title. You look just like Baylor here’s type.”

Baylor cockily flexed, showing off to his peer, “Bro'd need a pair of Double Ds and a knack at homemaking to be my type, dad.”

The younger men laughed with each other, their obnoxious pretentiousness filling up the room. 

“Same age, same lifestyle,” Clint finally piped in. “and same mindset. It’s like you two were already brothers.”

“Would that make you the wife then? Because I don’t know how to cook or clean.” Brent’s remark made all the men holler. Old-fashioned humor always got them.

“Speaking of cooking, I’m starving. We’ve got steaks on standby for tonight, and burgers now thanks to the Boones. Colton, would you mind bringing Baylor here out to the backyard and setting up the grill? Seeing Mr. Boone’s disposition, I think he’s better off showing me how to use some of this new equipment we just unpacked.”

With matching mischievous grins, the boys swaggered towards the open door. Their conversation of campus politics, ministry, and sports could be heard as they moseyed around the backyard.

“You know,” Brent started, jokingly. “I get paid by the hour.”

“Will beer be an acceptable currency?”

Brent smiled and decided to ditch his shirt. He was getting the feeling he and his son were going to love their new neighbors. After all, they appeared to be hardworking, ordinary men just like themselves.

[entonymwrites]

Your Demon Idol

"Sorry Byungwoo, I'm afraid you won't be debuting in this team..."

The sound of foot stomps and sneaker squeaks filled the lonely practice room, each move filled with a mix of disappointment and frustration. Byungwoo couldn't get the words out of his head, no matter how loud the music was, or how many times he danced, it kept distracting him. Messing up the steps again, his foot made a loud screech on the polished floor, "C-Crap!" he yelped, tumbling down to the ground.

Byungwoo winced, massaging his sore legs as he got up. This wasn't the first time either. If he had been cut from line ups in the past, he usually would tell himself to practice more. Training till dawn, taking advice from his seniors, to keep ranking near the top in their countless monthly evaluations for another chance. But this time it stung much more.

Another trainee named Jinu had been primed to take his spot - tall, broad, with a mesmerizing voice and thick black hair, he was essentially an idol already.

It was strange. Byungwoo felt like he had never seen the guy before, but here he was taking his position and ranking first in all the memories of his training. Maybe it was just the jealousy getting to him. Sure, he didn't reach 6'1 like him, but he had good proportions for his lithe frame. And it's not like he lacked looks, he just had softer facial features compared to the sleek cut Jinu.

"I'd do anything to debut." He sighed, gazing longingly in the mirror

As soon as Byungwoo said those words, he noticed something shift in the room's reflection. He squinted his eyes, turning back and forth from the mirror to the rest of the room, the lights on the reflected side had strangely become... purple?

Not only that, but he could swear he heard something behind the glass, almost like someone speaking-

You don't have what it takes to debut.

Byungwoo stumbled backwards, shocked by hearing his own voice talk back. A million thoughts wracked his brain, the words cutting deep into his soul. It sounded like him, but more distorted, more… cruel. In an instant, the entire mirror was set ablaze with violet fire, bursting from the overhead lights and surrounding the mirror-room with flames.

You're too weak, and too ordinary. You'll never stand out from the rest.

The disembodied mimic spoke in tandem with the rising flames, forming a smile through its tapered edges, as it surrounded the mirror-him. He was too entranced to even react, stuck between fear and fascination. It was as if he could feel his own skin burn just from looking at the mirror-him surrounded by fire. Not painful. Not uncomfortable. Just arousal.

But I can help you... be special.

Byungwoo fell over, gasping for air as he struggled to breathe. No longer limited to his reflection, the flame penetrated into the real world, his muscles pulsing with warmth as the color seeped into his veins. He could see purple patterns beginning to take over parts of his body, forming thorn-like lines all over his throat as it slowly tinged his skin with purple.

"What's...ha-happening to me?" he struggled to speak, feeling his vocal chords become huskier with each punctuated word, permanently laced in a sultry undertone. Never mind singing, he could easily hypnotize a crowd with just one word from this sexed up voice. The patterns kept up their relentless assault, moving towards his upper body and leaving behind a trail of growth with every jagged line. His back exploded into view, instantly filling out his baggy shirt along with his broadening shoulders.

"Someone help..." Byungwoo tried to scream, this couldn't be happening to him. Oh god, he groaned, it felt like his torso had doubled in size. His lats were so big, he had to push his arms to the side to even make room. It wasn't just width but his height had grown as well, quickly shooting past 6'0 and settling on a nice 6'2, making him dizzy from the sudden change in perspective. Unbelievable, he was getting his dream body in the blink of an eye, taller... bigger... but a part of him stirred with fear.

The audible click of the door restarted Byungwoo's hope, someone was coming. Locking eyes with the approaching figure, he instantly recognized their handsome features.

"Jinu!" Byungwoo yelled in relief. Yes! Maybe he could help him figure out whatever crazy things were happening. But as Jinu came into the light of the fire, Byungwoo's face fell. What he thought was the regular Jinu he knew, slowly morphed into a slightly demonic human. Sharp teeth, clawed hands, golden eyes, slit pupils, and patterned purple skin.

"Wh-what... y-your face and skin." Byungwoo trembled, trying to make sense of what was going on. Jinu looked demonic.

Jinu drew a clawed finger on Byungwoo's chin, "I'm sorry," he said, the slightest note of guilt in his attractive voice. Grabbing Byungwoo by the shoulders, the rate of the patterns increased tenfold, infecting every part of his body.

Burning up with heat, Byungwoo watched as his clothes changed. His slightly tight shirt became a Hawaiian print button-up, as his sweatpants became skinny jeans. He looked like... like he was wearing a stage outfit? Byungwoo panicked for a moment, suddenly noticing how oversized the new clothes were on him, hanging loose enough that he could see the patterns surrounding his chest and arms. How big was he going to-

His thoughts were instantly cut off by the sensation of his pecs inflating with size, making him moan loudly. Equal amounts of muscle and fat piled onto his lean chest, pushing them so far out until they were certified cushions. Byungwoo fondled his growing pecs, addicted to their softness, not yet realizing how massive his arms had gotten. Becoming so wide from the side, he would dwarf even the biggest of idols currently. His mind went back to reality for a second, he didn't want this, did...he? He wanted to be athletic, not a full on bodybuilder, but his large hands betrayed his mind, continuing to play with his chest.

The floral pattern had deformed itself trying to wrap around the new growth, buttons ready to pop. Moving his hand down, he flexed his core, feeling each ab pop out against his palm, no longer lean and trim but blocky and defined, the centerpiece of his entire body. They peeked out from underneath the hem of his shirt, ready to tease anyone that caught sight of it.

The patterns didn't ignore the other parts of his body either, Byungwoo's legs which had grown for his new height had beefed up to match his torso. Skinny jeans becoming ripped from the sheer amount of mass, barely fitting around the thick muscle of his calves. Even his feet had grown, its new purpose to sustain the hours of rigorous choreography and the weight of his thighs and ass.

Jinu continued to fondle Byungwoo's growing body, as his mind wracked between pain and pleasure. It was getting too much. How was he going to fit into his outfits?! Would he even be let on stage?! Hundreds of thoughts flooded his still questioning mind, everything going on too fast for him to understand.

"What's wrong, Abby?" Jinu whispered.

A-Abby? The name echoed deep within his mind, feeling his head throb as a yellow beanie materialized on his head. His name was... Abby? Y-Yeah his stage name right? He got that name from his rock-hard abs, he was an idol after all. New memories had begun to take over his old ones, centuries of memories in fact, with every new purple line on his face.

His dyed blond hair turned into a natural pink, his soft and delicate features becoming sharp and masculine. Every touch from Jinu only drove him crazier, erasing his mind and inflating his body further, quickly eclipsing bodybuilder status as his pecs and ass jutted out with another inch.

No... he clutched his head, he was Byungwoo, his name was Byungwoo. He fought the thoughts in his head, doing his best to resist, trying to remember any semblance of his face or body in the mirror.

But before his thoughts could linger any further, Jinu gripped his waist, pulling Byungwoo's tight pants down to expose his juicy butt. And in one swift motion, plunged his cock right into the man's ass.

With that, Byungwoo's inhibitions finally fell apart, as he moaned like a wild animal. Each thrust from Jinu sent his body into overdrive as his dick grew thicker and longer, throbbing hard and wet as it burst the zipper. Abby roared with lust, the transformation reaching its final stages as his fingernails grew sharper and his eyes turned golden. All the patterns on his body started illuminating, glowing brighter than ever in a deep purple shade as his body tensed up, looking more akin to Jinu by the second. Imprinting the last pattern on his cock like a juicy purple vein, it topped off at an even 10 inches, ready to explode.

"A-Abby, you..." Jinu let out a gasp, finally uttering a word after countless short breaths and restrained pants. He was lost in the worldly pleasures of Abby's round bottom, unable to finish his sentence.

"Fuck yeah, give it all to me." Abby shuddered, responding in place for the man, his sultry voice accompanied with its proper cocky and demanding tone for the new him.

Staring at himself getting fucked like a beast in heat in the mirror, he remembered more and more with each consecutive thrust. Small flashes of a fiery realm, and a deal he had made a long time ago. Centuries of withheld libido injected themselves into his body, feeling his balls swell with cum. The sensation was indescribable, it was like his mind and ass were being fucked at the same time.

Jinu slammed hard into Abby, almost breaking the man with his equally thick cock, repeating over and over until Abby's moans reached a crescendo. Groaning loudly, Abby pushed his body forward, ripping the buttons off his shirt as the two of them came.

Ropes of cum splattered across the room and into Abby's hole, painting both white with endless vigor. Shot after shot ejaculated from the tip of Abby's cock, instantly replaced by his balls filling up with the new him. After what felt like years of pent up pleasure, the two of them slumped to the ground, their skin and features returning back to normal.

I see I've taught the two of you well.

A familiar voice broke through the mirror, the flames which had witnessed the entire ordeal slowly formed a human shape as it spoke. Gwi-Ma, the king of the demon realm, had manifested right in front of their eyes.

To think you managed to pull off a possession, I'm impressed Abby.

No longer in need of a disguise or disembodied shape, Gwi-Ma appeared almost looking human, with dark purple hair and a muscular build. His piercing red eyes staring into the depths of their trapped souls. Jinu's face twitched, on guard around the devilish man. He felt bad, roping an innocent trainee into this, but he had no other choice. Abby on the other hand, could only grin, his personality and thoughts becoming whole with the help of Gwi-Ma, the end piece to his transformation.

But don't forget about our deal, boys. Your memories, your body. Don't get complacent.

Leaving with a stern warning, Gwi-Ma smiled deviously, heading back through the mirror. With the demon-king gone, the mirror became normal again, the tension and fire in the room gone. Jinu glared at the mirror, the painful past in his mind resurfacing from his words. Jinu wondered if Gwi-Ma would keep his end of the deal, erasing his memories, giving Abby's original body back, and maybe even that trainee could... No, thinking about these things would only make Gwi-Ma angrier, he needed to hold back for now. He looked over at Abby, his face flushing a little red.

The hulking beast of a man had regained his composure, already caressing his abs in the mirror, not used to having a physical shell. His hands were busy feeling each and every new sensation in his body, a quiet moan coming out from each body part he groped. Abby smirked, noticing Jinu blatantly checking him out through the mirror. His cock twitched. Their deal could wait. After all, if Jinu wanted him to help Gwi-Ma by pretending to be idols, he'd need to test out all of his assets first.

got inspired by @fredwmain talking about a saja boys tf some months back, so here it is! (this spent way too long in the drafts)

[transform4u]

If I'm honest, I'm the typical jock who likes to make fun of nerds and today when I was going home, I met a group of cute twinks but nerdy guys, So I didn't miss the opportunity to make fun of them until one of them quietly commented "I wish you could see life like we do." What he mean with that?

You strutted down the sidewalk after practice, earbuds blasting some obnoxious bass-heavy rap, gym bag slung over your shoulder. Twenty-one, white, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who made his entire personality about being on the team. Your sleeveless hoodie showed off pumped arms, still veiny from curls, and you made sure to flex as you walked past reflective windows. You didn’t just know you were hot—you lived in it. The gay jock, loud, cocky, and never missing an opportunity to sneer at anyone beneath you.

That’s when you spotted them.

A little cluster of twinks hanging outside a café—four of them, skinny, awkward, nerd-coded down to their oversized glasses and messy hair. Their skinny jeans sagged, their shirts had Marvel logos, one even wore a Doctor Who hoodie zipped halfway up. They were giggling over some dumb inside joke, and you instantly felt the urge rise in your chest—mockery. The easiest prey.

You slowed your pace, smirk spreading across your lips.

“Well, well, look at the Avengers over here. What’s up, Tony Stark and friends? Y’all waiting for mommy to pick you up in her minivan?” you barked, loud enough to turn heads from across the street.

They froze, deer in headlights. Exactly the reaction you loved.

One of them—a smaller blond kid with braces glinting under the streetlight—tried to mumble something back, but you steamrolled him.

“Cute braces, bro. What’s that for, sucking too much dick? Bet you lisp when you try to say ‘Spider-Man.’” You doubled over laughing at your own joke, even flexing your pecs while you did it, a mix of flirting and bullying. You knew they were intimidated by your size, and hell, half the fun was that you could feel a few of their eyes darting nervously over your chest and arms. They wanted it, but you’d never give them that.

The brunette with the frizzy curls muttered, almost too quiet to hear: “I wish you could see life like we do.”

You blinked. “What the fuck you just say, Harry Potter?” you shot back, but he didn’t repeat himself. They just looked at you strangely, almost pitying, like they knew something you didn’t. You spat on the sidewalk and shoved past, laughing it off, but…

Something itched.

By the time you hit the corner, the swagger in your stride faltered. There was a heat prickling in your skin, like static buzzing underneath. You rubbed your arm and frowned—it wasn’t the pump from practice. No, this felt different. Your hoodie suddenly felt too big around the neck, the fabric brushing raw against your skin.

You shook it off. Probably just low blood sugar.

But then, as you adjusted your gym bag strap, your fingers caught the edge of your jaw—and there was a bump. A zit.

You froze. You hadn’t had acne since high school. Your skin was golden, clean, jock-perfect. You carried skincare like armor. And yet when you pulled out your phone to check your reflection, there it was—an angry red pimple swelling right under your cheekbone.

“Gross,” you hissed under your breath, poking at it. Your voice came out nasal, too tight, like your sinuses were clogged. You sniffed hard. Had your voice always sounded that way?

You kept walking, but the swagger was gone. Your legs felt lighter, thinner, your sneakers slapping awkwardly on the pavement instead of pounding heavy and confident. You noticed the strap of your gym bag sliding off your shoulder again and again, as if your frame had… shrunk just enough that it wouldn’t stay in place.

You tried to laugh it off, but even the laugh came out wheezy, like some nerd choking on his own spit.

And somewhere behind you, faintly, you swore you heard giggling.

You stumbled into your apartment that night, tossing your gym bag into the corner like always. Except this time, the bag felt… heavy. Too heavy. You had to drag it with both hands instead of slinging it over your back. The strap that used to dig comfortably into your thick shoulder now slipped right down your shrinking frame.

“No, nah, I’m fine. Just tired,” you muttered to yourself, ripping off your hoodie.

Except—your reflection in the TV screen didn’t match. Your tank top hung looser at the chest. Your pecs, usually bulging and tight, looked… flatter. Not gone, but softer, like someone had drained the pump out of them. You squeezed your chest with both hands, willing it to bounce like before. It didn’t.

Your throat went dry.

You grabbed your phone and opened the front camera.

The zit from earlier had multiplied. A constellation of red dots speckled across your forehead and nose. Your jawline—once sharp and square—looked a little rounder, your cheekbones hollowing in a way that made you look more… juvenile. And when you tried to grin at yourself, to throw on that cocky smirk, your lips pulled back to reveal—

Metal.

You dropped your phone like it burned you. “No. No fucking way.”

Braces.

Thick, shiny brackets lined your teeth, gleaming under your bathroom light when you forced your mouth open in disbelief. “This ain’t… this ain’t happening,” you stammered. The sound came out wrong, too high-pitched, nasally, squeaky—like some whiny teenager begging his mom for more Wi-Fi.

You coughed, trying to force it deeper, but every word cracked embarrassingly like a pubescent boy’s voice break.

Your stomach lurched. You clutched the sink for support, but even your arms felt lighter, weaker. The veins and definition you prided yourself on had already faded into soft, stringy lines. You flexed desperately—nothing. Your biceps barely rose, like they were swallowed back into your bones.

Then your legs buckled. You fell forward, slamming against the counter. Not because you tripped—because the counter was suddenly higher. You blinked, panic rising.

“Wait… what the fuck…?”

You tried to stand tall. But the mirror told the truth: the top of your head was slipping lower, inch by agonizing inch. Six-foot-one, your pride and intimidation factor, melting down past six feet… five-ten… five-seven… until you barely scraped the five-four mark. Your tank top now looked ridiculous, oversized like you’d stolen your big brother’s clothes.

You staggered back, chest heaving. And that’s when the smell hit.

Not your usual musk of sweat and cologne, the heady scent that drove guys crazy at clubs. No—this was sour, stale, almost cheesy. Your pits burned, your crotch itched. A rancid nerd-funk clung to you, like you hadn’t showered in weeks. You yanked your tank top up to sniff yourself, gagging instantly.

“No—fuck no, I don’t smell like—”

But you did. You smelled like every kid you used to bully in gym class. The ones too scared to shower after P.E., reeking of nervous BO and dirty laundry.

You tore at your clothes, desperate to see if maybe this was a nightmare. But stripping only made it worse.

Your torso—once carved, bronzed, broad—was skinny now, ribs faintly visible under pale, soft skin. Your shoulders sloped inward. Your arms hung like sticks. Your legs? Long gone were the thick calves and quads—now they were spindly, uneven, thighs brushing awkwardly together.

The cherry on top? Your hair.

Where it used to be styled into a clean fade, it now puffed out in frizzy tufts, curling and sticking like static, no matter how you pressed it down.

You pawed desperately at your reflection, tears stinging your eyes.

“No, no, no—I’m the jock, I’m the fucking man, I’m hot, I’m… I’m…”

The braces gleamed as you whimpered, your voice breaking into a pathetic squeak:

“…I’m not some gross little nerd…”

But the reflection didn’t lie. The cocky, gay, muscle-packed jock was vanishing, replaced inch by inch with a cringey, short, smelly, awkward nineteen-year-old loser.

And you could feel the rest of it coming for you.

You clutched the sink, still staring into the mirror, your new braces glinting under the bathroom light. You wanted to scream, to flex, to remind yourself of who you were—broad, cocky, the gay jock who could get anyone. But the more you tried to summon that image, the fuzzier it became. It was like trying to remember a dream after waking.

“C’mon… I was… I was huge, I was hot, I was…” You trailed off, wheezing, the words sounding whiny, nasal. “…I was cool…”

Your head buzzed, an unbearable static filling your thoughts. And then, like a knife through fog, new ideas slipped in—stupid, juvenile, cringey thoughts that weren’t yours.

Marvel trivia. Doctor Who quotes. Dumb fan theories about multiverses.

You squeezed your head, desperate to push it out. “No! I don’t care about that nerd shit!”

But even as you said it, your eyes darted to the Avengers poster pinned on the wall—the one your roommate had left behind. And instead of mocking it like you always did, you caught yourself whispering:

“…actually, the timeline doesn’t make sense if Steve goes back… unless…”

You clamped your mouth shut, horrified.

“No! No, I don’t give a shit about… about Captain fucking America!” But you did. The thought stuck, sticky and obsessive, spreading through you like a virus. You tried to picture hot guys at the gym, their pecs bouncing—but instead, your mind betrayed you with the image of Scarlet Witch’s cleavage. You swallowed hard, shame burning in your chest.

“No, I don’t… I don’t like girls…”

But you did.

The idea hit like a truck: soft tits, bouncing, jiggling in a low-cut top. Your cock twitched, harder than it had been in weeks. You grabbed yourself through your shorts, whining through your braces. “Ohhh fuuuck… boobs…”

You shook your head violently. “Stop it! I’m gay! I’m a gay jock! I’m—”

The word wouldn’t come. Instead, what spilled out was ugly, venomous, automatic: “—I ain’t some fag, okay?! I ain’t gay, I like… I like chicks! Big fuckin’ titties, dude!”

Your voice cracked halfway through, squealing like a high school freshman, but the words were out. You slapped a hand over your mouth in shock. Did you really just say that?

The smell of your own BO filled your nostrils again, stronger now, as if your body was sealing the deal. That smelly nerd-stink radiated off you in waves, sour and greasy. No cologne could hide it now.

You tried to think of escape. Maybe call your bros. But then a horrifying realization crushed you: you couldn’t remember their names. The faces of your teammates, the guys you flirted with at the gym, the ones you fucked around with at parties—they all blurred away, faceless shadows.

In their place? Nerd friends. Pale, zitty faces, hunched over controllers, laughing about some dumb Star Wars meme. You knew their names, their birthdays, their gamer tags. You knew who was the best at Smash Bros. and who cried at Endgame.

Your lips trembled. “…these are my… friends?”

The thought sank in like a hook. And the jock inside you screamed one last time, desperate: No! You’re not them! You’re a fucking king, you’re—

But the voice went quiet. Snuffed out.

What replaced it was nasal, whiny, cringey: “Uh, dude, I gotta be home by nine, my mom’ll flip if I miss Doctor Who reruns, okay?”

Your body convulsed, every nerve firing at once, like your old self was thrashing in one last fit before dying. When it passed, you clung to the sink, chest heaving, and forced yourself to look up.

The mirror didn’t lie.

You weren’t the tall, broad jock anymore. What stared back at you was a stranger—skinny, barely five-four, shoulders slumped forward like you’d been carrying a backpack full of textbooks your whole life. Your hair, once clean and styled, puffed into frizzy, greasy curls that stuck out at random angles no matter how you pressed them down. A pair of smudged glasses clung awkwardly to your nose, sliding whenever you sniffled.

And when you opened your mouth to breathe, the light caught the thick, gleaming brackets of braces coating your teeth. Spit clung to the metal, glistening in the corners of your lips.

The worst part was the smell. It wasn’t the musky sweat of a jock fresh from the gym; it was sour, stale, a clinging funk like dirty socks left in a locker. The odor wrapped around you, inescapable, the stink of a kid who hadn’t figured out deodorant.

You tried to square your shoulders, to stand tall, but the cocky swagger you’d lived by was gone. All that came naturally was the hunched, awkward shuffle of someone who’d spent too many hours sitting cross-legged on the floor, bingeing superhero movies.

A whimper slipped from your braces-laced mouth. Your reflection grinned back at you with crooked teeth, with acne-spotted skin, with greasy hair and foggy glasses. It was pathetic. You were pathetic.

You weren’t the hot jock anymore. You were something else now—something gross, something weak, something straight and desperate.

You were just a smelly, whiny, horny nerd.

You were Kyle now. Nineteen. Smelly. Straight. A pathetic nerd who whined too much, obsessed over superheroes, and thought about big boobs all day long.

[misctf]

The Blank Profile

"He's kind of cute."

Cameron could feel his dick stir as he gazed at the shirtless photos of a nearby twunk. Nice pecs, nice abs, and bulge barely hidden by a tight speedo. Just his type.

"Hey there, I like your pics." Cameron typed, "Kind of new to this. What are you looking for on here?"

Sent. Cameron lowered his phone and let out a sigh.

"C'mon Cam, that was lame." He muttered to himself, instantly regretting his decision to press send, "You can do better than that."

It had only been a few months since he came out, and even more recently that he started hooking up with guys. He was new to all this- the apps, the culture... all of it. His eyes lit up when he heard that he had a new notification.

"Sorry, not into twinks." The man had replied, "Not a top. And not looking for a relationship." Cameron frowned, "And FYI, Grindr is for hookups, buddy. Try Hinge or something if you're actually looking for a relationship. No offense, but most people aren't trying to date rando guys off Grindr."

And then he was blocked. Cameron felt his dick soften- the reply killing his mood. The guy was right. And as Cameron reviewed his own profile, he realized how stupid he sounded. Looking for something long-term... deeper connection... dates... He even included his hobbies. All on Grindr...

"I can't believe I actually thought Grindr would be a good place to find a boyfriend," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He couldn't help but laugh. "What was I thinking?" He looked over at his desk, "I should probably being studying anyway..."

The sound a of new notification caused Cameron to look back down at his phone. A blank profile- of course. And the message?

"Yo come over."

He didn't have much to go with, but the fact he got a message made his heart flutter, especially after the rejection. And as he reviewed what little information there was, Cameron felt his dick stir.

Age: 27

Ethnicity: Middle Eastern

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 190 lbs

Position: Top

Body Type: Muscular

Tribe: Jock.

That definitely piqued his interest. After all, he was into muscular guys. Fuck it. A relationship could wait. After all, as the twunk had told him, Grindr was for hook-ups.

"Hey, I'd love to come over... but could you maybe send a pic first?" Cameron typed out nervously, biting his lip as he hit send.

A few agonizing minutes passed before the response came through, "No pics. You coming over or what?"

Cameron gulped, hesitating. This was so unlike him, meeting up with some random guy online without seeing what he looks like first. But god... his imagination was running wild with the possibilities.

"I'll come over. Text me the address."

__________

Cameron stood outside the door, heart pounding as he knocked tentatively. No answer. He double checked the address. This was the right place.

"Hello? I'm here…" he called out, voice wavering slightly as he pushed the door open as instructed, "Hello... oh crap." The smell hit him first - stale sweat, musk, and something else he couldn't quite place. He wrinkled his nose.

The studio apartment was a mess, clothes strewn about, empty beer bottles littering every surface. In the corner sat a weight bench surrounded by dumbbells, a towel tossed carelessly on top. And there, on the unmade bed, a laptop played a loud porno, two beefy guys going at it. Cameron stepped inside cautiously, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Hello? Anyone home?" His voice echoed in the messy space. He moved further in, "God, what am I doing here?" he muttered under his breath. Every instinct screamed this was a bad idea, "What the..."

He approached the laptop, morbidly curious. The two muscular men on screen grunted and groaned, lost in their intense pleasure. Cameron felt his face flush hot, imagining what it would feel like to be pinned under one of those muscular men.

"Get it together Cam." He whispered, looking around the dirty apartment, "Maybe I should just..." The weights scattered next to the bench caught his eye, "Woah, does this guy really lift that?" Cameron approached the weight bench, imagining the type of guy that could lift those weights, "I don't even think I could lift that with both arms."

He reached out to touch one of the heavy dumbbells. And as he gripped it, sudden vivid flashes of memories flooded his mind - himself, shirtless and glistening with sweat, grunting as he lifted the weight over and over. The muscles in his arm flexed and bulged with each rep.

"What the hell?" Cameron gasped, yanking his hand back. Those weren't his memories… were they? They felt so real... He stared at his hands, noticing they looked bigger, more calloused than usual. Stronger, "Fuck… I need... need some water…"

Cameron stumbled to the small kitchen area, opening the fridge. Tubs of marinated lamb, chicken skewers, and other halal meats greeted him. Memories surfaced - himself at the butcher, haggling for the best cuts, preparing the meat with practiced ease. He shook his head, trying to clear the strange thoughts.

"This isn't my food… is it?" he mumbled, reaching for a protein shake. The label was in Arabic, a language he didn't know. Yet somehow, he could read it perfectly. As he unscrewed the cap, the scent made his mouth water. He chugged half the bottle before realizing what he was doing.

"Shit!" Cameron set the shake down hard, droplets splashing onto the counter. He felt feverish, skin flushed and sensitive.

Cameron stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. He ran a hand over his bare chest, marveling at the firm muscle beneath his palm. When did he start working out like this? When the fuck did his biceps get that big? He couldn't remember ever being this fit. Because.... because he wasn't? Right?

As he moved to the couch, more fragmented memories assaulted him - controller in hand, thumbs dancing over buttons during intense gaming sessions. Him sprawled out naked, watching sports highlights, cheering at the TV. None of these were his normal activities. Something was very, very wrong.

"No, no, no…" Cameron panted, sinking down onto the cushions. They felt familiar under his ass, like he'd sat here countless times before. "This doesn't make sense. I'm not… I'm Cameron. I don't…" He felt like something was pressing on his brain, squeezing it tightly, "I need to get out of here… I need to…"

Cameron's head throbbed as he tried to make sense of the alien memories and sensations flooding his body. The longer he stayed in this strange apartment, the more foreign and distant his own identity felt. With a burst of panic, he leapt up from the couch, stumbling towards the door. But he didn't make it far.

"Oof!" Cameron cried out as he tumbled face-first into the pile of dirty laundry. The pungent aroma of sweat and musk overwhelmed his senses. He sputtered and coughed, trying to push himself up.

"Ungh… what the fuck…" he groaned, but the words sounded wrong, too deep and guttural. His abs clenched involuntarily, and he watched in shock as defined ridges appeared across his stomach. His pecs swelled outward, dark hairs sprouting across the newly expanded muscle.

"Aah! No, stop!" Cameron wailed, scrambling backwards. His arm hair thickened and darkened, the strands elongating. He clawed at his head as clumps of brunette hair fell away, replaced by coarse black locks that soon covered his scalp in a close-cropped style.

Cameron's face contorted in agony as a beard began to sprout rapidly, coarse hairs prickling his skin. He scratched frantically at his burning cheeks and chin, recoiling in horror as the facial hair darkened and thickened.

"No, please… I don't want this!" he begged, his voice already sounding less like his own. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered towards the bathroom, nearly tripping over his changing body.

In the harsh fluorescent light, Cameron stared at his reflection in disbelief. His skin tone deepened, shifting from pale to a rich olive complexion. His once bright blue eyes clouded over, darkening to a deep, smoldering brown. The changes slowed but didn't stop, leaving him panting and disoriented. Small details shifted- thickening eyebrows, styled beard, a new chain necklace...

"What… what's happening to me?" he croaked, no longer recognizing the man staring back at him in the mirror.

It was a stranger in the mirror - a muscular Arab man with dark features and a thick beard. Panic rising in his throat, he mentally compared himself to the Grindr profile from earlier:

27 years old? Check. Middle Eastern appearance? Check. 6'2" tall? Check. 190 pounds of solid muscle? Muscular build? He flexed an arm experimentally, watching the bicep swell impressively. Absolutely. Somehow... somehow he had become that man. At least physically. But 'top'? 'Jock'? Those didn't feel right. He was still himself- a newly out college kid who just wanted to find the love of his life. He just needed some help... he just needed....

"Someone to worship my cock." Cameron's eyes widened as the words left his mouth.

"N-no… I'm not like that," Cameron stammered, but the words rang hollow. A foreign heat began to build low in his gut, his newly muscular body thrumming with an intense, single-minded desire.

"Ahhh, fuck…" he groaned, palming his growing erection through his pants. The musky scent of his own arousal filled the small bathroom, making his head spin with lust.

"No… I don't want this!" Cameron struggled against the invading thoughts and urges, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.

"I just wanna fuck… wanna get my dick sucked…" he growled, voice dripping with desperate need. With shaking hands, he whipped out his massive, throbbing cock. It was so much bigger than he remembered…

"Ungh yeah… gonna find someone to choke on this fat cock," he grunted, fisting his meat faster. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as he lost himself in the haze of horniness.

His free hand roamed his sculpted torso, tweaking a nipple as he imagined a pretty little bottom gagging on his dick. The urge to breed, to mark his territory, consumed his every thought.

"I need it… need to fuck… need to cum…" Cameron babbled mindlessly, "I... fuck... no... Allah, what's happening to me?!" He cried out, tears prickling at the corners of his dark eyes, "Don't... don't wanna be like this... wanna find love, not just... unghh... just fucking..."

Cameron whimpered, even as his strokes became more aggressive, more focused solely on his own pleasure. As Cameron's climax built, a new name flashed through his mind - Raheem. And it repeated in his mind, over and over. Raheem.... Raheem.... Raheem.... until that was all that remained. With a guttural roar, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from his cock. His powerful body convulsed, muscles rippling as the intense orgasm crashed over him.

Raheem… Yes, that was his name now. His true name. As the final spurts dribbled from his spent cock, darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. The last thing Raheem saw before passing out was his reflection in the mirror - always his... forever... Then everything went black.

________

Raheem stirred groggily, blinking awake on the bathroom floor. His head throbbed and his muscles ached pleasantly. Rising on shaky legs, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and grinned, admiring his new physique.

"Damn, I'm fine as fuck," he purred, flexing and posing. He snapped a quick selfie and updated his Grindr profile with the picture- a blank profile no longer, "That'll get their dicks hard."

Scrolling through the app, while pawing his meaty cock, a familiar face caught his eye- some twunk. He knew he recognized that face, but he couldn't tell from where. But fuck he found him sexy. A small grin formed across Raheem's face as he sent a message.

"Yo come over."

[dumbroski]

could you write a story with the sweet version of justin bieber when he was 18-22? I mean there are plenty of fans or other guys wanting to be him

Let's say it's true and nathan is a clear example of that.

Nathan was a big fan of Justin Bieber for years, he had albums, posters, merchandise and everything that had to do with Justin, "Simp" was the perfect word to describe it.

He wanted to meet him in person, but unfortunately Justin had never set foot in the city where he lived, so he had to settle for that, until one night he was browsing his computer.

At 24, he was at the peak of his youth, so when he saw a quiz asking "How big a Justin Bieber fan are you?" he didn't hesitate to click on the link, When he did so, he simply received an electric shock while his computer screen went completely black.

"What was that?" Nathan said, then raised both shoulders and then turned off his computer. It was already too late and he had to do homework the next day, so he took a shower, brushed his teeth and went to sleep.

The next day when Nathan woke up, he noticed his room was strange, there were no more books, trophies or his PS4, it was a completely white room, with a piano and some musical things.

"I must be dreaming, but it's a very realistic dream haha" Nathan sneered and then got out of bed, because he wasn't going to stay in bed despite feeling strange, but when he got to the bathroom and saw his reflection, he was completely in shock.

He had rejuvenated 7 years, his hair that was once black was now brown and the reflection was not his, it was the Justin Bieber of 18 years.

"but... WHAT HAPPENED!?" Nathan said, totally surprised, and then began to examine his entire body. He had literally become the teenage Justin Bieber and it was a dream come true, Nathan was too happy that he didn't notice how his Adam's apple changed.

Her head began to hurt as new memories entered her mind, memories of Justin Bieber, A few minutes later Justin let out a deep breath and then smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

""Handsome boy, you have the world in your hands" Justin commented and then started another day, being the crush of all the girls in the world.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Hotel Korea: Chapter Four

The Degrading Investors

Lee Hae-jin slowed down to take a breath, hiking his leg up on the side of a modern statue. He quickly took a swig from his water bottle as he gathered himself, only slightly sweaty after running three kilometers. Usually long runs got him out of an angry mood, but the events of earlier that morning were still lingering about.

It had been a few weeks since the world-wide launch of KOREABOO, with the band becoming huge hit. There music was played almost everywhere, and with multiple Hotel Koreas in almost every country, the Korean population was steadily rising. Over half of Earth’s population was now identifying as Korean, with more converts coming in by the minute. Other races were slowly going extinct as the once dominating ethnicities became minorities. Although many people were coming under Lee’s control, the ones left were becoming annoying, especially two American investors: Theodore Charleston and Bradley Sullivan.

The two were famously known as the “Gateway to the North.” If they invested in you, North America would soon follow. Lee had already conquered the majority of Mexico (or Megsiko as the native Koreans renamed it), but he was struggling to get the United States and Canada to develop his properties. When he met with the power duo, they immediately turned him down with racist slurs. Lee kept in his bubbling anger, but was infuriated that they wouldn’t accept his incredible offer. 

Regaining his stance, Lee began to figure out a revenge plan. Of course he had to make them join his side, but he didn’t know how. They wouldn’t listen to his music, and they’d never come near any of his hotels, so he had to find a way to get the Korean influence to them. As he ran back home, a flurry of ideas began to fill his head. Some dangerous, some extra safe. It took him a few minutes to find a plan that would really work, but he finally landed on something that no one would ever turn down.

— —

Theodore closed the door behind him as he walked into his penthouse. It was already late into the night, and he was ready to crash. A man in his late fifties, he was experienced to having absurd ideas proposed to him, but the young Korean lad from earlier that morning was still on his mind. It made no sense, just to open a hotel to spread Korean culture? It seemed to be spreading so fast in other parts of the world, so why would any American want it was his main point. Bradley had quickly agreed with him too, so it had only taken one loud shout of his deep, gruff voice to shut the kid up and kick him out.

Theodore slowly stripped himself of his business clothes, revealing his naked body before he trotted into the shower. His body had seen better days, when there wasn’t as much fat and gray hair and his head wasn’t bald. He silently took a steamy shower before wrapping a towel around his waist and finishing his nightly routine. He had a rough day ahead of him, so he had to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s sake. 

As he brought himself over to a large mirror, he noticed a small package lying on his counter. It was decorated in a small green bow, with the box itself being the size of a box of tissues. Theodore grabbed it and began to open the package, not thinking twice about it. It was probably dropped off by one of his maids during the day, as they usually brought his mail in. It was peculiar that it was in the bathroom, but he was too tired to care. 

With a small rip, the cardboard finally opened up to show its contents. Inside hid a small tube of toothpaste, along with another container that looked like shaving cream. Theodore signed as soon as he saw the small, Hangul letters on the side, believing the gift was from the Korean earlier that day. He let out a minuscule smile, thanking no one in particular as he grabbed the suitcase. He had run out of toothpaste a while ago, and had forgotten to buy some at multiple opportunities. He wasn’t ecstatic about the gift, but he was slightly thankful. He grabbed an electric toothbrush and, after washing it thoroughly, put on some of the blue cream and began to scrub.

As soon as the toothpaste entered his mouth, his eyes went wide at the appalling flavor. Instead of the traditional mint, he was blasted with the taste of salt. Theodore wanted to spit it out, but he was so desperate for a good brush. He reminded himself to tell a maid to go shopping. He rationalized with himself that it was probably some sort of vegan toothpaste that would do wonders to his health. He hated the taste, but he told himself he could make it.

While Theodore brushed away, he decided to take a seat on his toilet. He grabbed his phone from nearby and began to mess around, not really paying attention to reality. He positioned himself comfortably, not noticing that his legs were slowly spreading farther apart. His lower limbs, which were hidden underneath the towel, slowly pulled in, bringing his height down 175 centimeters. Theodore didn’t realize that his heels no longer touched the floor, and he couldn’t see how his leg and thigh hair retracted to give way to a miniature black forest. His quads and calves exploded with meat, taking away the fat and replacing it with hard muscles. A yellow color swept across Theodore’s legs as they finished firming into limbs strong enough to run many kilometers.

Theodore switched from his main messages to his mailbox, becoming more comfortable with the salty taste in his mouth. As he checked his emails, he didn’t notice his naked arms slowly begin to inflate. Years of gym-time began to flood into his veins, with pounds of beef creating biceps and triceps. His faded arm hair was swept away, with the tiniest of black follicles growing in their place. The hands that held the toothbrush and phone also inflated, becoming golden paws and his arms took a lemony tone. Theodore was so involved in his phone that he didn’t register his bulky arms and hands.

The intensity of Theodore’s brushing began to diminish. The goal before was the get rid of the toothpaste as soon as possible, but now he was beginning to barely enjoy it. While the brushing became softer, so did his buttocks, which plumped into two small balls filled with flesh. It slowly pushed Theodore up, until he was so uncomfortable that he simply got off the seat. Instead of questioning why his butt felt bigger, he instead switched over into his news app. The amber tone swept upward onto his chest, imploding the massive gut and creating a six pack of abs as solid as concrete. Chest hair quickly fell away as Theodore’s man boobs hardened, becoming two pectorals that felt similar to rock. His nipples slightly grew while his collarbone pushed out, more body fat pushing away to reveal widened shoulders. His large armpit bushes shrunk a little, becoming a stark black and creating a more pungent odor. Theodore still hadn’t noticed anything, with all of his interest in his phone. 

Deciding that he should do something else, Theodo put down his phone to set up his bedroom, not realizing he was still subconsciously brushing his teeth. As he set up the atmosphere for his sleeping routine, he couldn’t feel the toothpaste coating the inside of his throat. The salty flavor began to etch away at his deep and powerful voice, disintegrating his large Adam’s apple. Theodo sputtered a little as it slowly sank, his register slipping up to that of a lower tenor. The golden color quickly traveled up as the rest of Theodo’s vocal chords adapted, switching from creating English consonants to Korean syllables.

Theo continued to prep his room, turning on ambiance music as white noise. He always played the same instrumental track, but what came on instead was soft K-pop. To focused with finishing, he didn’t even recognize the different music, or the new chestnut bangs that laid side swept across his forehead. As he continued brushing with the mildly pleasing toothpaste, his face began to re-align. His ears became bigger as his jawline shifted upward, creating a more masculine square. His nose and lips shrunk, while his eyes became more horizontal as they took on a brown hue. All signs of facial hair disappeared as his teeth became pearly white. Any signs of age were washed over by the lemony tone, as Theo now looked more like a 20-something in his prime.

Te strolled out of his bedroom, finished with his pre-bedtime procedures. As he walked around the apartment, his large feet began to slowly change. Originally a much larger man, Te’s feet were Size 14 US to support his stature. With each step, his toes pulled in as the hair shed away. Although they shrunk in length, his feet stayed fairly meaty, retaining definition as they became calloused. Small, black hairs delicately decorated the top of his feet, as a smell almost as powerful as his armpits began to emit. The yellow color painted itself on to Te’s delectable 260 mm feet as he stopped in front of his old storage room.

Having a rather large penthouse granted Te-su with extra space. He hadn’t been to his storage room in a while, but he swore it looked different than it previously had. He remembered old filing cabinets, desks, and boxes of worn out books. Now, it seemed to be a home gym, with workout equipment scattered all across the room. Workout clothes were also strewn about, reeking excessively, but as Te-su brushed more, the room seemed more familiar to him. As he became increasingly accustomed to his changing environment, his average dick began to inflate. At 6.5 inches, it wasn’t the worst size, but it obviously had room for improvement. While Te-su drifted around the room. His hard dick began to slowly sink in on itself. The large, unkempt bush shaved away to reveal the stubs of raven black pubes. His balls also sucked themselves back up, becoming the size of grapes. 

Images of men began to flash through Te-su’s head as he became increasingly aroused. He grabbed his dick through the towel in one hand, while still brushing with the other, the taste of the toothpaste becoming more recognizable with each scrub. As Te-su began to jack himself off, he noticed a mirror on the other side of the room. Walking towards it, he was momentarily shocked to see the young Korean stud looking back at him. Theodore regained consciousness for a moment as the amber shade quickly conquered the 7 centimeter cock. Before Theodore could react, he ejaculated to the mirror image of himself, erasing himself from reality permanently.

Tae-sung blinked a few times before regaining sight. He had beat off a lot, especially to himself, but that time was more powerful than usual. He kept brushing, the taste of soy sauce lingering in his mouth deliciously. He was glad that he had gotten it as a gift from the guy he met at the gym. What was his name… Lee? Tae-sung couldn’t remember, as he was fairly dull, riding off of his inheritance rather than intelligence. He didn’t care though, he’d probably find that guy at the gym again tomorrow. Maybe his best bro would know… he’d call him up afterwards. First, he had to finish his brushing.

— —

Bradley entered his suburban mansion lethargically, barely able to push open the heavy double doors. It had been an excessively long day at work, with that young Korean kid pushing him to his limits. About the same as his associate, he was also getting too old to deal with stunts like that. It was people like that who brought him to become overweight, making him age much faster than others. For example, he was the only person he knew who had white hair before sixty, and that was counting what was left. That was only the beginning.

Stumbling in the dark, it took Bradley to find his way to his bedroom. As soon as he got there, he changed as much clothes as he could before falling onto the bed. He was only able to change into an old pair of blue sweatpants, too tired to even put on a shirt . He silently hoped that the next day wouldn’t be as long as the previous.

Waking up the next morning, Bradley could barely even move. He’d gotten a good amount of sleep, but he was still lacking any energy to move. After flopping around a few times on the mattress, he finally pushed his heavy body up and over to the bathroom. After taking a steady piss, Bradley began the process of cleaning himself for the day. Right as he was about to wash his hands, he noticed a small box with a green bow lying on the counter next to him. He hadn’t had any of his maids come in overnight, or the day before, so he didn’t know how it had gotten there. He also hadn’t received any alarms from his security systems. Too groggy to think straight, Bradley decided to open it. After a little game of tug of war, the package opened up. Bradley was surprised to see a small tube of toothpaste, along with another container. Picking up the two objects, he recognized the Hangul writing and connected to the Korean lad from the day before. He put down the toothpaste and observed the bottle more. After looking at it closer, he discovered it was shaving cream. He opened the cap and took a sniff. He was greeted by a very nutty scent, one that he wasn’t at all expecting. Bradley looked in the mirror at his snow-colored stubble, deciding it was probably a good idea to shave.

Bradley grabbed a washcloth and turned on the shower head, just enough to drizzle. As soon as it was wet, he rubbed it on his face to make sure it was saturated. Next, he applied the shaving cream, watching the soapy bubbles create an even bigger white beard across his jawline. The nutty smell was becoming even more intense, making Bradley a little dizzy. He also noted a hint of muskiness, like something he’d smell in a locker room. He would have to check what scent this was afterwards, as he had no idea what he was supposed to be smelling.

As Bradley took the first stroke, the white hair bounced off his stomach and fell to the ground below him. He’d have to brush it up later with a broom, which didn’t really excite him. What he didn’t notice were how his legs were slowly bulking up inside of the sweatpants. Each breath Bradley took of the shaving cream added a little more muscle to his legs. His quads began to bloat, becoming massive with meat as they strained the sweatpants. His calves also expanded, becoming thick and firm for intense workouts. As the golden tan swept over his legs, Bradley lost all hair and some height, moving down to 170 centimeters.

Bradley scraped off the next stripe, with the hair falling down to the ground in small clumps. It passed the arms, which began to pump up with muscle slowly. Bradley didn’t recognize this however, as he was to busy shaving. His yellowing arms quickly created gigantic biceps and triceps, blowing up his arms to epic proportions. Thick veins appeared across his forearms as his arm hair disappeared, only to be replaced with tiny, stark follicles of black hair. His palms grew, becoming meaty.

The third stripe of hair came off, with more white falling to the floor. The soap didn’t stick to the razor, but instead to the clump, creating a bubbly mess at Bradley’s feet. The intense nutty smell ingrained itself into his face, familiarizing itself. While Bradley continued to shave, his massive gut began to suck in. The fat disappeared in a few moments, with the facial hair now falling straight to the ground. After the creation of an eight-pack of solid abs, his shoulders widened out and his collar bone popped out. As the amber tone washed over his entire torso, Bradley’s nipples grew to match his growing pectorals, both become hard and large. Finally, his armpit hair retracted all the way, only leaving a small black stubble that would never grow. Although the patches were small, the rancid scent that began to emit from them was very noticeable, yet Bradley was still concentrating on shaving.

With a little more than half of his face shaved, Brady deducted it would be a good time to wash some of the soap off his face. He had actually begun to enjoy the smell of the shaving cream. He’d also have to clean up the mess on the floor pretty soon, as it now looked like he was wearing a pair of bubbly hair slippers. As he grabbed for the washcloth, the lemony wave swept across his neck, pushing in his larynx barely. His passive bass tone lightened to a baritone. His vocal box also rearranged, no longer needed for a Romance language. 

Grabbing the washcloth, Brad realized that it had gone dry. He grabbed the knob to turn on the shower head again, but accidentally turned it to hard. Before Brad could correct his mistake, a spurt of cold water poured over his head. He yelped as he was momentarily soaked. It felt like his entire head was a clump of messy, wet white hair. He slowly stood up, immediately noticing that he had sprayed water all over the mirror too. At least he hadn’t gotten his thick, dark brown bangs drenched. As he wiped off the leftover soap bubbles from the first half of his face, his jaw keenly realigned itself. Square points began to just out as his eyes became brown and narrow. His nose shrunk barely as his lips jutted out just barely. Any signs of age disappeared as Brad now looked no older than 25. To top everything off, his whole head was covered in a golden color.

Removing the last bits of facial hair from his face, Ba began to wash away the mess from his feet. As he pushed the mess of hair and bubbles away, which was magically disappearing with each swipe, his feet dwindled in size. Originally at a Size 12 US, it didn’t take much to make them shrink down. As they became more compact, small veins appeared to amplify the increasing muscularity. His toes became small stubs as a foul funk sourly filled the room. As Ba removed the last of the bubbles, he revealed a beautiful pair of 245 mm lemony feet.

As Bo stood back up, he suddenly felt his cock becoming extremely aroused, the smell of the shaving cream driving him wild. The monster quickly inflated to 9 inches, a rough gem hidden by a previously hideous body. As the amber tone began to spread to his cock, it began to slowly descend inwards, opposite to his expanding butt cheeks. The previous flat back began to push out, creating two meaty, massive globes that were both tanned perfectly, filling out the back end of the sweatpants expertly.

While the buttocks finished pushing out, Bo felt another wave of euphoria cascade over him. He quickly grabbed his cock, taking long strokes to truly work himself up. As time past, he fondling became faster. It wasn’t because he was becoming more elated, but instead because his dick was shrinking. The massive sausage was settling into much, much smaller. His bush and balls did the same, and they decreased to just a quarter of their previous sizes and they turned black and yellow respectively. Bo looked in the mirror as flashes of sucking and receiving cock flashed through his head, with Bradley returning for a just a moment to see his life disappear. He was about to gasp, about to stop the process, but his lemony 5 centimeter cock thought otherwise, for it was so sensitive that it burst immediately, blowing all of Bradley out with it.

Bo-gum’s eyes refocused to the mirror in front of him, the load of sperm beginning to dry in his underwear and pants. Immediately, the smell of his sesame oil shaving cream hit him full on, the smell reminding him of Korea. That guy from the gym really knew what to get him, yet Bo-gum couldn’t remember his name. He knew his first name was Hae-jin, but what was his surname? Sometimes Bo-gum was so dumb, he was such a meathead. The only reason he was rich was because of his inheritance not at all due to his smarts, or lack thereof. Maybe his best bro would know, he’d have to text him.

Looking back in the mirror, Bo-gum noticed a small patch of black facial hair that he had missed. He quickly shaved the spot and put the razor, not to be touched again until his next semi-annual shave.

— —

From his office, Lee Hae-jin smiled with pride at the success of his revenge. By simply mixing simple ointments with his own semun, he was able to create two Korean studs out of the rude Americans. It was also smart of him to mask the scent by mixing in soy sauce and sesame oil, two traditional Korean spices.

By eliminating the “Gateway to the North,” Lee now had free reign over the entire Earth. At the gym later that day, he could easily convince the now dimwitted Cho Tae-sung and Seong Bo-gum to become his main investing partners. With over half of the world conquered, it was only so long before everyone would encounter “A Seoul-changing Experience.” Everyone would be Korean, and more importantly, under Lee Hae-jin’s control.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Hotel Korea: Part 3

The Ignorant Passersby

Lee Hae-Jin looked at his watch anxiously, his bicep unintentionally flexing as he did. His workout gear stretched over his tight body as the seconds ticked away, counting down slowly. It had been almost a month since the first Hotel Korea had opened, and nearly a hundred more had been built since then, with even more being proposed in other cities. Lee’s idea had been a huge success, with more and more of the world’s population becoming Korean, but he still had more work to do.

One of his newest ideas for faster conversion was about to launch, and he had no idea how successful it would be. Lee had made sure that if it faltered, only he would be able to notice. Not everyone stayed at a hotel, so he had to find a way to change the everyday civilians. As the last second clicked away, his plan came to life. Lee looked out the window, hoping to see some sort of changes. His anxiousness quickly turned to glee.

— —

“I’ll be back in a second, bro!” Chandler said as he stomped his way to the restroom. He was lifting weights with another guy from his fraternity, Nathan, but had suddenly felt an urge to take a piss. Nathan waved him off as he ran into the men’s locker room. He looked in the mirror and was greeted by a fairly built white male, his blond hair slicked back with sweat. Although his face looked red, his Under Armour wife beater looked rather dry. Chandler grabbed his phone from his gym shorts and took a mirror selfie, the white wall behind him accenting his tanned skin.

Suddenly, Chandler felt a stirring in his bladder, a reminder to why he had come here in the first place. He rushed to a urinal and took out a heavy dick, one that was almost 6 inches and still soft. He began to piss and looked up towards posters on the wall, mindlessly reading about some concert from an unheard American band. He smirked, believing the Top 40 playlist he was listening to was much better.

As Chandler pissed away, he began to hear music playing through the vents. He focused his hearing in on the music and, after a few moments of thinking, determined that it wasn’t in English. He quickly figured out it was some K-pop boy band. It wasn’t his kind of music, or the gym’s for that matter, but he assumed their must have been some big party from the new Korean hotel down the street.

Chandler focused back on the posters, reading about the new boy band that was touring all the way from Korea. He suddenly became overjoyed as he remembered that they were his band. As he finished, he tucked a smaller, yellow dick back into his gym shorts and walked back into the main area of the locker room. Each step he took slowly brought him lower until the 6’2 male was only about 175 centimeters. His arms and legs inflated and he suddenly rushed back into the stall, his dick now wanting to do more than just piss in the bathroom.

Chandler quickly closed the stall door behind him and sat on the ridge of the toilet, taking out his much smaller dick. Chandler didn’t notice the difference in length as he got hard, his cock still shorter than what it used to be hard. He moaned as he began to stroke, his once rough hands becoming small and soft with a lemony sheen. As he edged, his pecs began to fill out more, his pre-defined abs sharpening. He groaned as his shrunken balls began to churn, his hair growing out into black bangs on his head.

“신 이시여!” Chung-Hee shouted as he burst a load in the stall, the white cum sticking out on the black wall. He cleaned himself and walked out, his small, yellow feet moving quickly across the floor. He walked over to the sink and looked in the mirror, the K-pop still playing from the vents overhead and in his earbud. Chung-Hee was glad that Nam-Kyu had convinced him to come to the local Korean gym today. He was a little timid that it wasn’t going to be authentic, but the place seemed to be as if it had come straight out of his own South Korea itself. He smirked as he walked up to the mirror, his sexy Korean body looked incredible against the black wall. He brought up his phone and took a mirror selfie, making sure to hold a straight face. He was looking as 멋진 ever. He sent the picture to his boyfriend before running back into the gym.

— —

Officer Charleston sat in his car, surveying the land around him for any sort of disturbance. Right across the street from him was the Hotel Korea, a newer building that had been the center of multiple documented disappearances, as well as numerous other complaints. He had been dispatched there to see if there was any reason the department should be concerned, but as he lazily ate a bag of potato chips that rested on his large stomach, he couldn’t find anything that seemed out of place.

Officer Charleston watched strangers as he sat there, his floating eyes hiding behind a thick pair of sunglasses. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just lots of random people around the busy street. He noticed the large Korean population that seemed to be spilling out of the hotel across the street, but he assumed that what the typical crowd for a chain targeted at a certain population. Officer Charleston scratched his bushy beard and placed the bag of chips next to him. He lined his large foot up to the brake and started the car.

Right as the car spurred to life, a blast of music began pounding from the building. Officer Charleston twitched from the sheer volume before turning off his car--this was obviously some sort of noise disturbance. He opened his door and shuffled out of the car, his large frame struggling slightly. The policeman strolled to a crosswalk and waited patiently, not realizing that as he stood there his foot tapped to the beat. He also didn’t realize that he was translating the Korean in his own head, beginning to understand every word.

A stoplight flashed red and the officer crossed with his fellow pedestrians. Each step brought the policeman closer to the earth, until he was barely 172 centimeters tall. His torso began to shrink as his stomach fell in on itself, the skin turning to a soft golden. His arms and legs plumped with definition, years of age being replaced with pounds of muscle. His shorter calves and forearms became solid as he made it to the other side of the street.

The policeman hummed along to the music as his thighs expanded inside of his pants. His hands became smaller as he adjusted his name badge, his name switching from the English phonetic system to Hangul. His feet also shrunk, now being able to slip comfortably into a pair of 250 mm boots.The yellowly tone overtook the rest of the officer’s body as his hair magically began to shed, all of it disappearing from the neck below. Even his beard fell away, revealing a sturdy jaw and the most flawless skin.

As a brown bob began to grow out on his head, the officer suddenly felt a sharp pain in his crotch. He rushed out to the side of the hotel behind a dumpster, pulling down pants to reveal a stubby, lemony cock begging for attention. He grabbed his cock and stroked it carefully, his whole hand not entirely fitting. He moaned quietly, its pitch rising as his Adam’s apple sunk in. He felt his balls tremble as he took in a harsh breath.

“커밍 해요!” Security Guard Choi howled as a small load poured into his hand. He sighed before wiping it on the side of his uniform. He was glad that he was able to sneak a session in during his shift at the Hotel Korea. They were fairly lenient on breaks, but sometimes a Korean man in his youth had to get in some extra time. The watchman turned the corner back around to the front of the building and noticed a car was abnormally parked on the street. It probably was just an accident, but he had to make sure that everything was perfect at the hotel. He strode over confidently: there was nothing a fine, young Korean like himself couldn’t deal with.

— —

John just needed a break. He wasn’t supposed to have his kid for the day, but his ex dropped him off a few days early. John hadn’t been able to take off work, so now he had to drag the 9-year-old around with him everywhere he went. It was completely agonizing. As they walked downtown, the kid had to see everything, point at everything, want everything. It was the worst when they passed the new hotel a few buildings back; there was way too much to look at. John eventually gave up, telling him to sit down outside and wait as he went into a brewery to get a drink. He knew it wasn’t the best idea, but he was about to explode.

John quickly ordered a strong scotch and took a seat. Getting closer to 50 everyday, he still couldn’t believe that he had a child so young. Wasn’t his sperm supposed to stop working at one point? The kid had put so much stress on his body, helping him gain weight and lose hair. The balding man sat there quietly as a glass was carefully placed in front of him. He grumbled before grabbing it, knowing he’d have to chug it. Why couldn’t the kid just grow up?

He grabbed the glass right as new song began. It wasn’t coming from the brewery, but instead from a distance away. John didn’t notice it at first, but he slowly began subconsciously focusing more and more on the music. It wasn’t in English, but John could feel himself slowly get more and more involved in the music. His gulping turned to sipping as he started fully investing his attention in the boy-band music.

As John casually drank his whiskey, he didn’t notice his clothes slowly becoming looser on his frame. His stomach was coated in a light tan as pounds shed themselves away, the hair falling with them. While abs and pecs appeared on his frame, round biceps and triceps also began to pop up around his thickening arms. While his body became more muscular, years of age began to disappear. His shoulders and hips were coated in a lemony shade as they widened and shrunk respectively.

As more of the beer disappeared from the cup, so did John’s height. He slowly diminished in his chair, losing 16 centimeters to his height. Although his legs had contracted, his thighs and quads had become enormous. His calves had also becoming thicker, but they had lost their body hair along with the rest of John’s body. The only hair that grew in was on his head, which now was a soft, full stark-black part. John’s feet compressed as the rest of the golden shade covered his body.

Putting his root beer glass down, John began palming his groin. It had become increasingly agitated as time went on. John knew he was in public, but he had to relieve his dick right now. He dug his hands into his pants and began furiously stroking; his cock became more sensitive from its decreasing length. Suddenly, John felt his pouch scrunch up in his hands, ready for action.

“달콤한 방출!” Joon-ho squealed in a high tone as a small wet patch appeared on the front of his shirt. Joon-ho groaned in delight as he resituated himself in the chair. He picked up the Korean coffee and took a sip, smiling at its deliciousness. He knew it was dumb to come to a brewery and not get alcohol, but he didn’t care for it that much. He was still basically a kid in his early twenties, so it never appealed to him.

Speaking of feeling like a kid, he had to go find his boyfriend. He didn’t have a daddy kink, but it was clear who was in charge and who wasn’t between the two of them. Before he’d run off to find his boyfriend, he’d have to finish off this drink first.

— —

Timothy hated the hotel that had opened near his apartment. He had been living there for almost ten years, and all that time he had assumed that nothing would ever be built in the hideous lot a little less than a block away. Then, out of nowhere, a giant hotel was built, with people flowing in and out everyday. The strange thing though, Timothy noticed that people of every size, race, and age went into the hotel, but only young, attractive Koreans came out. The 40-year-old man could sense something was wrong.

Luckily for Timothy, he had just come home from work early, his boss feeling extra kind today. He rushed home and ran upstairs to his bathroom to take a hot, long bath. He prepared all the materials necessary before stripping his suit down slowly, his furry chest and legs becoming exposed to the world. Timothy knew he wasn’t the most attractive of people, with his beer gut and clunky height, but at least was fairly average. Once he was naked, the middle-aged man got into the tub, laying down so his feet stuck out the other side. Timothy rubbed a wet hand onto his head, the short, graying hair meeting him. He laid there in silence for a couple of minutes.

Timothy’s eyes jerked open as he began to hear music bouncing around his bathroom walls. He focused his ears to figure out that it was coming from the hotel, realizing it was in some kind of Asian language. At first, he was completely annoyed, but as he listened to it more, he began to like it. What the boys were singing about became enticing to him, relaxing him once more into the tub before he fell asleep.

Tae-won squinted as he woke up, his nap being a little longer than intended. He slowly pulled himself up, his small body wholly underwater. He looked over his lemony, muscled body, his proudest features all displayed finely under the bubbles. He looked over himself as he felt his small cock rise, with the absence of hair making it look even more miniscule. In fact, Tae-won was completely hairless from the armpits down--and he completely loved it.

Tae-won brought a small hand to his dick, carefully bringing it to full mast with three fingers. He whimpered as he jerked away, his cock sensitive. The boy band played in the background as he kept pushing, his short but powerful legs scrunching up to his defined torso. Tae-won pushed his brown locks to the side as he began to stroke faster. As he got to the edge, he felt his balls scrunch up to push out a load.

“여기 온다!” Tae-won yelled as his shot a miniscule load into the tub. Once he took a few deep breaths, he regained himself and slowly got out of the tub. He grabbed his red jockstrap and tight shorts, placing both on as he dried himself off. Tae-won restyled his hair into the classic chestnut bob before running downstairs. He picked up his phone and saw that he had a little less than an hour before he began his shift at the Hotel Korea. He also noticed that he had received a text from his boyfriend a few minutes ago. He opened the message, finding a picture of the other incredibly attractive Korean at the gym. Tae-won smiled, noticing his boyfriend was wearing one of the wife beaters he had given him at their last anniversary.

“Looking good, Chung-Hee,” Tae-won muttered to himself as he responded back to the picture. He guided himself back to the staircase, his tight, yellowy abs glistened under the sunlight from a nearby window. He pulled up his phone and brought it to the mirror, going from the same straight face that his partner had. His lemony features looked delicious after his long wash. He shot the picture and sent it to his boyfriend before running back upstairs to his room to get his uniform on. He had a long shift ahead of him, but, luckily for him, he loved his workplace.

— —

Milo had been waiting for his friend for almost an hour. He was parked outside of his hotel, the new one that had just opened, and he still hadn’t gotten any word from Kayler. He should’ve been worried, but for as long as he could remember, Kayler was never really one to be prompt; however, this was getting absurd.

Both Kayler and Milo had been friends since kindergarten, and the two of them would graduate in a few months from the highschool a little ways out of the city. Kayler was at the hotel for an assignment, one in which the student would observe a different culture. Of course, the Hotel Korea was the perfect choice, but Milo hadn’t heard any word from Kayler. He was supposed to pick him up after three days at the front door, but as Milo fiddled with his large shirt over his lithe body, no one ever approached his car.

Out of the blue, loud music exploded from the building Milo was parked in front of. Milo ducked for cover, taking a few moments to realize that it was not some sort of explosion, but instead K-pop. Milo didn’t know what to think of it at first, but what the boy band was singing about was strangely alluring. Milo concentrated on the noise, grooming his bright red hair as he followed along. The longer he listened to it, the more he began to enjoy it.

As the song started its first refrain, Milo hadn’t noticed how his feet were no longer tapping the brake pedal. He subconsciously pulled his chair a few inches forward as his shirt began to fill out. The once loose shirt began to tighten around the pecs and abs that were popping up by the beat. His once miniscule arms bloated, becoming muscular and dense. His calves and thighs also expanded while an amber color began to blotch out the pale white.

By the second refrain, Milo’s shirt was now strained, his large torso and biceps making it seem like the seams would rip any moment. Milo’s pants were also threatening to tear, with a large bubble butt and tree-trunk legs pushing at the silky boundaries. Hair dwindled away all around Milo’s body except for on his head, which shortened into a black sports cut. A few years packed onto to Milo as he shifted into his early twenties, while his feet shrunk into a softer size of 245 mm.

As the rest of the golden tan covered his body, Milo grabbed his average size cock and began to stroke. It got hard instantly, but didn’t lengthen at all. His hard length was now the same as what he was as soft previously. Milo didn’t notice however, for he was too focused on how incredible the bridge of the song was. As the last refrain came around the corner, Milo felt his testicles tense quickly.

“너무 좋아!” Min-kyu cried as a spray of white cum covered his shirt. He sat there for a second, breathing irregularly before regaining consciousness. He hadn’t even realized he had an audience at the passenger door.

“여보세요?” The stranger asks, causing Min-kyu to jump. He turned to the window to see his boyfriend standing at the window, still on his shift as a security guard at the hotel.

“Choissi, you scared me!” Min-kyu said in Korean as the watchman entered the car.

“Well, I didn’t know I was late to the party,” he replied back before leaning over for a kiss. As the two embraced, Min-kyu suddenly felt a buzzing in his pocket. He took out his phone to see that he had a text from his friend Kun-woo. He put his phone down and continued with the security guard. If Min-kyu had waited this long, Kun-woo could too.

— —

Gunnar sat on the uncomfortable chair extremely bored. He couldn’t believe that his lousy father had just left him at the front of a furniture store while he went off to get a drink. He didn’t even like his father. The two never connected because Gunnar had spent most of his time with his mom. They never really spent time together, and when they did, it was just awkward and always ended in some sort of argument. It was like he wasn’t even related to the man, but he knew that he had to try to stay friendly.

Gunnar brought a small bag into his lap, looking through all the things that his father did let him get. It wasn’t much, the reusable bag was just as ordinary as they things they had purchased. There were some water bottles, gloves, and a new game for his console back at his other home, but otherwise the day had proved uneventful. His father wouldn’t let him go into any of the buildings he wanted to see, especially the new hotel that had just opened down the street. Gunnar took out the water bottle to take a drink, not knowing what else to do.

Without warning, music began blasting from down the street. Gunnar choked for a second on the water he had just opened, surprised. He took the plastic bottle out of his mouth and looked towards the hotel. He could almost see the soundwaves emitting from the building, the K-pop becoming strangely alluring.

Gunnar brought the juice bottle back to his mouth, beginning to enjoy the music as it played on. As he drank, his legs began to extend themselves, the new meaty thighs and calves pushing him to a staggering 178 centimeters. Gunnar subconsciously began to manspread as his body became wider, his torso filling in with strong abs and pecs. An amber tone flooded his pale skin while his eyes became a deep brown.

As Gunnar continued guzzling pop from the bottle, his arms and shoulders began to fill out. Years of time in the gym became evident as pounds of meat were added to the boys frame. Veins became visible while his hand became round and hard, the results of numerous callouses. His expanding quads caused his shorts to pull up, now looking more like short-shorts than their previous knee-length.

As Gunnar topped off the beer bottle, he began to feel a rumbling in his balls. He had no idea what was happening, but something was telling him in the back of his mind that he should stroke his small cock. He grabbed it, and, with a sudden feeling of elation, began pumping furiously. As he did, he didn’t notice his grunts slowly becoming deeper, or how he now had to blow black bangs out of his face. Right as the yellow color covered the last of the pale skin, Gunnar felt a final push in his groin.

“달콤한 서울!” Gun-woo grunted as his jizz landed on his Corona shirt. He quickly rubbed it in before grabbing the matching bag and looking through it for a back-up outfit. All he had was an empty glass bottle, a beer koozie, and a Korean porn film for his date tonight. His date! He had completely forgotten about it, and where his partner had walked off to.

As if on cue, his boyfriend walked out of a nearby coffee shop. A grin plastered itself on Gun-woo’s face.

“You look adorable, boy,” Gun-woo remarked in Korean as his boyfriend walked over.

“You aren’t too bad either, old man,” the man replied back.

“Joon-ho, you know I’m only five years older than you,” Gun-woo snarked.

“You’re talent in bed says otherwise.” Joon-ho replied, licking his lips. Gun-woo smirked as he got up to leave with his boyfriend, knowing he had a fun night ahead of him.

— —

Lee Hae-jin sat at his desk, the new information charts flooding in from every other Hotel Korea. His plan had been a huge success, as apparent by the massive spikes of local Korean populations in each location. The music was an easy choice for conversion while still being untrackable, but the problem was how he would transfer the Korean genetic code through the melodies. He had to write a song that would transform its listeners.

After tedious research, he finally came to an idea: Don’t create music, create a band. He designed his own K-pop boy band, which he cleverly named KOREABOO. They would seem like any other boy band from South Korea, but they’d only produce Lee’s music. Their voices would make the melodies that would become hypotonic to new listeners. Their words would help produce the new Korean population faster.

Lee closed the laptop and chuckled to himself. It would only be so long before the entire world would be Korean, and, more importantly, under his control.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Hotel Korea: Chapter Two

The Feuding Twins

Lee Hae-jin squatted down in the hotel’s skate park, proudly observing the progress of his hotel. It had been a little over two weeks since the grand opening and already three more hotels had been approved by different cities, with almost twenty more being proposed. Lee wasn’t at all surprised, he knew his plan was going to work. Even if the individual governments didn’t necessarily see his point of view, they would eventually.

Lee’s casual look had suited him well. He was gaining lots of honest opinions about the hotel, as no one expected him to be the leader of the entire operation. Of course, everyone had the same opinion, agreeing that it truly was “A Seoul-changing Experience.” As he adjusted his ample manhood through his barely-covering shorts, he overheard two young boys fighting. Lee got up and slowly inched towards the conversation. He stood near a tree, listening in on what seemed like two middle schoolers fighting.

“I can’t believe I beat you! AGAIN!”

“You cheated! Plus, that card game is way too easy.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m always the winner.”

“But it’s our 13th birthday - you can’t cheat!”

“I still won, and I won Bella’s heart, so anythi-”

“I hate being in the same room with you, you twit!”

“Shut up!”

“No you!”

Before the two could get too riled up, Lee swooped out from behind the tree and made his way between the two boys. Both of them looked fairly similar: blond hair, small stature, lanky bodies. Their pale skin was only heightened by their bright colored swimsuits, with the older wearing black and red and the younger adorning a neon yellow.

“So, I hear we have a winner back here?” Lee said in perfectly fluent English.

“Yes!” said one, stepping forward proudly. He was obviously the older of the two twins, being that he was taller and puberty was gracing him faster.

“Wait!” the second sneered, taking the first back and whispering into his ear, “He’s a stranger…

“Well, in that case, let me introduce myself,” Lee replied, surprising the two boys once again, “My name is Lee, I own the Hotel Korea.” The two boys stood back in awe. Lee, knowing that he held all the cards now, continued.

“I think the proud winner should earn a little prize,” he began, ushering the older one over. His black swim shirt gleamed in the sun against his bright, red trunks. He was obviously the superior of the two.

“For your amazing achievements in…”

“Sorcery,” the older twin stated, obviously a nerdy game.

“Sorcery,” Lee reinstated, “I’ll give you this free, underwater, disposable camera specially made by my company back in South Korea.” Lee took out a large device and put his thumb on a small circle, activating the prize, and then handed it to the older boy. The camera looked more like a tablet with a very bulky case. Before the twin could get too excited, Lee continued.

“Congratulations…”

“Seth Dawson-Kissel,” the older twin added, “and this is my twin, Hayden.”

“Now,” Lee resumed, “Hayden, although you lost, I believe you both also deserve a prize for your outstanding participation. I’m giving both of you access to one of my private spas.”

The two brothers’ eyes widened with glee, both about to scream with joy. After giving them a moment, Lee kindly asked them for their room keys. Lee quickly took out a different device and scanned over the two cards, resetting them. He was going to give them access to a private spa, but he was placing them in different rooms. After their time in the spa, they’d have a much different relationship then brothers. Once he’d had completed the reassignment, he gave back the keys and told the boys were two go. They quickly ran off, not even turning to thank the smirking man as they left.

— —

As soon as the two hadn’t gotten in the spa room, they jumped into action. The small area composed of a miniature pool, a stone stove, and plenty of spa chairs to relax in. They also had an incredible view of the city sprawled out below them. There was one other person there, a young, Korean man who was acting as their lifeguard. He barely spoke an English, but the two boys were too enthralled in the room to care. Seth, the older twin and victor, had decided to grab a giant pizza float and relax in the warm water. Unlike Seth, Hayden, the younger twin and loser, placed his sunglasses and towel in a neat pile before bathing in the sunlight coming from the windows on a spa bed. Hayden threw his towel on the ground next to him, but decided to keep his white tee on. He didn’t feel as confident in the presence of the strangely attractive Korean. He didn’t like guys, but he could tell he was very good-looking.

As the two began to relax, the Korean began to mix his hands into some scented oils before pouring them into the pool water. He made sure that all of the lubricants were touched by his hands, that way the entire pool would be under his own activation. He only had to work on the older twin, for Seth was already going to unconsciously work on the younger. The attendant had remembered what Lee had ordered: the attendant and the camera would have to work together to create a “trait switch.” The cheater was going to get what he deserved. The attendant quietly poured the scented oils into the pool with neither of the twins noticing.

While Hayden relaxed in a chair with his eyes closed, Seth began to play with the camera. With nothing else to take a picture of, he sneakily brought the lens towards his younger twin and took a picture. Once it had finished loading, he was surprised to see the quality of the photo. It actually looked really good, as if it was professional. As he investigated the picture, a small blurb showed up on the screen, asking if he’d like to apply a filter. Curiously, Seth accepted and watched as the picture transformed, giving his younger twin longer, stronger, and tanner legs. He giggled to himself quietly, excited to see more.

Still sitting silently, Hayden hadn’t realized that his twin had taken a picture of him, or that his lower limbs were changing. His legs began to push out. He wasn’t that tall before, being at about 5’4, but he was now reaching about 5’6. His thighs began to blossom, growing muscular quads as his calves strengthened. His once-knee length trunks were now halfway up his thighs, showcasing the meat hidden beneath. The beginnings of blond leg hair disappeared as a barely-visible, yet solid layer of black began to emerge with a yellowish tan coating his limbs. Hayden’s young legs also began to mature a bit, still retaining a younger look but having the meat of a man in his mid-twenties.

With Seth so focused on his new camera, he hadn’t noticed any changes about his own body. He hadn’t felt his legs stretching a little less than Hayden’s, bringing him from 5’4 to 5’5. He also couldn’t tell how his legs to had grown with maturity, hard muscle stacking up on his thickening thighs and strengthening calves. He didn’t notice how the blond hair had disappeared, keeping his legs hairless as they took on a more amber tone. Even when he took his eyes out of the camera to adjust his position, he didn’t recognize how his lower body had changed. He had always been shorter than his younger twin, it wasn’t anything new to him.

Seth took another picture, and this time the leg filter was already applied to his brother. Once he investigated the picture again, another filter suggestion popped up. Seth quickly clicked it, giving his younger brother stronger and larger arms.

Hayden, still calm in the chair, adjust his shoulders as his arms began to expand. He swiftly removed his shirt, not registering his changing body. As he went back to his relaxed state, his arms continued to bloat. Strong biceps and triceps appeared as the limbs lengthened, becoming stronger. Hayden was pretty much hairless on his arms before, but now he adorned miniature black fibers. As his muscles finished firming up, his hands matured, becoming meatier and harder. Memories of lifting and working out began to flood his head, teaching him how to maintain his strong and powerful appendages. A lemony shade enveloped his limbs while two, thick bushes of wiry, black hair filled in his pits. A subtle, yet putrid scent began to emit from Hayden’s pit, yet he was in such a lazy scent that he didn’t notice, or care.

Seth, fascinated by his camera, hadn’t felt his swim shirt expanding. His biceps and triceps were also growing, along with his arms lengthening, yet not as much as his brother’s. As Seth’s arms grew toned, he remembered that he always wanted to say right between the line of fit and athletic, while his younger brother always chose the route of muscular. His hands expanded, but also became a little more delicate as he remembered all of the times he would barely break a sweat in the gym. As Seth brought the camera back towards his face, his arms took on a yellower tone. His armpits lost all traces of hair ever being there, they were to remain hairless forever.

Seth shot the next photo, and, without thinking, clicked to add the filter. This time, he saw his cousin’s chest expand, looking more like a man’s torso instead of a boy’s.

As Hayden basked in the sunlight, his chest began to broaden. Years of working out began to show as two solid, firm pecs began to appear. A light six pack also emerged as memories of skipping class to go to the gym flooded Hayden’s brain. Muscles filled in what used to be the remainders of baby fat as Hayden’s shoulders widened, giving him a more visible collarbone. His larger torso gave him a little more height, pushing him from 5’6 to about 172 centimeters, just above (Korean) average. His nipples perked up as the golden color darkened his previous pale skin. His chest became completely hairless, never to have any coat grow there. As his chest finished, Hayden’s intelligence slowly began to drop.

With Seth still sitting on the pizza float, absorbed with his prize, he hadn’t realized how his swim shirt was suddenly becoming a little tight. Before, it was quite loose on his lithe body, but now, as his muscles began to perk up, the shirt began to hug him tightly. As his torso broadened, his height didn’t increase, leaving him at about 166 centimeters, shorter than his cousin. As his larger nipples began to harden, he remembered that his shirt had always been tight, he always wanted to show off his body for all men and women to see. He knew the easiest way to the heart was a solid chest. His chest also tanned as it became hairless; it too would never sprout hair again. Seth brought the camera up again to take another picture of his cousin, his chest yellowing as he did so.

The next picture came in quite odd. The only filter that had applied to his relative was a bigger, more prominent neck. Seth Kissel didn’t quite understand, yet the more he thought about it, the less he cared. Hayden Dawson had always had a neck like that.

Hayden grunted as his neck began to swell. His neck thickened as a meaty Adam’s apple slowly pushed its way out of his throat. His grunts became deeper and more mature, dropping from a prepubescent alto to a mature bass. His voice now had the stern quality of a young man, instead of that of a young boy. An amber tone appeared over his neck, giving him the complete look. With the deep voice also came power, causing Hayden to gently gain more confident, alpha personality traits. His levels of dominance began to rise and his intelligence continued to decrease.

Seth’s throat also tingled after he had taken the last picture. His neck thickened, making way for the maturing male coming out in him. A small Adam’s apple appeared in his throat too, definitely not as large as his relative’s but just as noticeable. His voice also dropped, but only half as far as Hayden’s had. He had now become a light tenor. His voice developed a more adulting tone, but also one that was inferior. As his inferiority slowly became more apparent, so did his now decreasing intelligence. He brought the camera up again, this time more timid as he took the picture.

The filter was applied instantly, not letting Seseu Kimmel choose if he wanted it or not. With no option of the filter, he didn’t recognize that the picture wasn’t showing his friend’s real face. To him, he believed that Heideun Dawso had always looked that way.

Heideun slowly opened his eyes, being the first time he had done so since he and his friend and played that dumb card game. He couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to it; it was way too hard. Heideun looked around the room, his face growing longer as his chin and jaw began to expand. He noticed the attendant in the back, saying something to himself. As Heideun tuned in, almost completely making out the fluent Korean, his eyes began to shrink. Their blue tone took on a darker brown while his lips grew out a little. His darkening eyebrows straightened as his hair became a sharp black. His hair restyled itself, growing out and becoming a little bit messier due to the humidity of the room. His face matured, tanning into a solid golden tone yet still retaining some baby fat, giving him a true youthful, yet mature look. A natural, cocky sneer appeared on Heideun’s face as a dumber, more arrogant persona began to take over.

With Seseu absorbed into the camera, beginning to experience his first boner ever over a friend, he hadn’t realized that his face was changing too. His face stretched out longer, giving him a pointier chin. His eyes also shrunk a little as they changed to a dark brown. His nose shrunk while his hair restyled itself, becoming a penetrating black. More of his baby face stuck around, but he now looked like a young man. His lips became bigger, prepared to take on any cock of any size, and by the look on his face, he wanted his friends dick above anything. Seseu quickly took another picture, trying to be careful as to make sure his friend didn’t seem him.

The next photo was being to send Ses-eun over, his acquaintance was becoming more and more irresistible. He had simply snapped a picture of Hyei-sun’s feet at he could practically burst. The bony Size 11 US feet that were originally there were swapped out by the camera’s miraculous 265 mm feet.

“너무 섹시 해,” Ses-eun moaned in Korean quietly to himself. Trying to contain himself, Ses-eun hid his erection by scrunching up his legs, but didn’t notice how his thigh-length trunks now practically showcased both of his legs.

Hyei-sun turned towards his acquaintance, hearing him mutter something. Ses-eun was too involved in the camera to notice Hyei-sun, so he got a clear look of the man’s body. A raging erection appeared instantly, causing Hyei-sun to casually grab his towel to place over it. It wasn’t that he was bashful, in fact he was quite confident in himself. The towel was instead going to be used as a cumrag. He had a hard-on, and he only knew one way to get rid of it. As he began to slowly stroke his erect dick, his feet began to shrink at the end of the chair. The Size 11 US feet that he once owned were lessening, becoming meatier as they lose their length. Eventually, they became soft and delectable, finishing to a size 265 mm. He knew his feet had power, and as he became more dense, he began to feel an urge to have other men bow down and service him at his feet. Hyei-sun couldn’t notice due to the essential oils, but his feet also began to emit a soft musk as they shaded themselves into a soft yellow.

Ses-eun was also palming himself, trying to find out how to discreetly grind without anyone noticing. While he was busy in his sexual haze, his Size 12 US feet began to diminish. They shrunk in quickly, becoming more mature and firm as they did so. Ses-eun’s pale, bony look was now replaced by something more luscious, as he now adorned two yellowy feet that fit perfectly into a pair of 250 mm shoes. Ses-eun knew he had to take one last picture of his overly attractive acquaintance, so he carefully took the camera out and took one last shot.

The final picture was what brought Seo-jeun to the edge. The picture looked almost the exact same as the last one, but this time he knew that the filter had applied something magical to the handsome stranger’s pouch. He could imagine how beautiful his 10 centimeter cock could have looked next to his large balls. He fantasized about how the amber tone must have brilliantly contrasted the wiry, black bush. Just envisioning the toned, hard butthocks on his back was bringing Seo-jeun closer and closer. The thought of the stranger’s package made him want to burst.

As Seo-jeun’s image became a reality, Hyun-sin was concocting something up for himself. At seeing the beautiful stranger in the pool make a look of ecstasy, he began to furiously pump his diminished cock faster. It didn’t shrink much, but it definitely brought more pleasure. As Hyun-sin cupped his expanding balls, he could visualize the golden bubble butt that laid inside the tiny red trunks. While his bush grew, he couldn’t help but dream of the tiny, 6.5 centimeter cock that was hidden between those thick legs. Once his butt had finished perking up, he pictured the small balls that had no black hair to hide behind inside the red trunks. As the last of the Korean genetics took over, Hyun-sin intelligence finished its descent at below-average. Everything left of his past self was pushed into his cock, ready to release.

“어 그래!” the man in the yellow trunks shouted proudly as he shot his load into the towel.

Seo-jun, hearing and seeing this, felt himself loading up. Seeing the glorious alpha in front of him made him clench his thickening cheeks together as they rounded into a soft bubble butt. His miniature cock ached as he felt his balls shrivel slightly. The last bits of pubic hair disappeared as his pouch took on a lemony tone. Seo-jun’s intelligence also stopped dropping, putting him just a few points smarter than the handsome stranger, but not enough to be dominant. The rest of his former life was pushed into his cum and ready to be expelled forever.

“어 그래!” the man in red trunks shouted anxiously as he shot his load into the pool water.

The two strangers looked at each other, both knowing that they had just come for each other. The one on the chair made eye contact first, his confidence burning from his eyes. The alpha Korean looked down at the pool on the submissive cockily.

The one on the pizza float looked back, scared to make eye contact at first but then suddenly drawn in. The submissive Korean looked up to the chair at the alpha sheepishly.

Before anything else could happen, the lifeguard, proud at his work, made sure to wrap up.

“Spa is closed!” the attendant shouted in Korean, causing the two strangers to snap out of their trances. They both looked at each other one last time before leaving. As the lifeguard locked the doors and the two walked towards their respective rooms, they only had two things on their mind. They had to figure out who the arousing Korean was that they saw, and they had to get a job at the hotel the next morning.

— —

Once the man in red trunks got back to his room, he quickly closed the door and threw himself onto the bed. He was quite cold, having ripped off the swim shirt earlier and suiting for just the towel. He got up and looked outside, the sun was reaching the horizon. His hair still wet with the sunglasses falling off in the back. The hotel had truly set an atmosphere just like home. He was happy he’d had a great 26th birthday at his favorite place in the world.

After a minute of vacant staring, he realized that he still had the camera in his hand. Once he turned it on, he realized that he had only take one picture with it; the handsome stranger letting his semen absorb into the towel before the spa closed. Seeing this, the man instantly got hard again.He jumped on the bed and began to jack off before switching to grinding. This continued for hours, passing out around midnight with the camera still in his hand.

— —

The man in yellow trunks had changed a long time ago, having switched into his favorite pair of sweatpants and a tight, black tee. He always forgot to wash them, so they both stunk of his natural aroma. The sun had long since gone down, and the man had closed the shades once it had gotten dark. The man sat there in a chair, enjoying one of the authentic, Korean drinks provided by the amazing hotel. He was happy he’d had a great 26th birthday at his favorite place in the world.

After drinking down the whole thing in one go, his cock began to firm up again. He grumbled in his low voice before jumping on the bed, ready to jack off for the third time since the spa had closed. The thought of that alluring stranger back in at the pool had driven the man crazy, he had to find out who he was. After he had come again, he passed out, exhausted from a long day’s work. His sweaty body emitted a putrid funk as the Korean semen sunk into the black tee.

— —

The alpha Korean sat quietly at the hotel’s coffee shop, a blended naeng-keopi in hand. He had woken up early, cleaned himself up, and had even wanked one out before arriving. The application office was due to open any second, and he was going to be ready. What he wasn’t expecting was to see the erotic stranger from yesterday sitting only a few meters in front of him. The strangers voluptuous backside was screaming to him. His eyes stared hungrily at the sub, his dick poking at the edge of his tight jean shorts even though it had received attention minutes ago. He got up, palmed his crotch, and walked towards the man, ready to finally meet his next conquest.

The submissive Korean sat apprehensively at the hotel’s coffee shop, a simple, unsweetened Korean tea in hand. He had also woken up early, cleaned himself up, and been able to grind one out before getting to the application office. He had many dreams about the sexy stranger in multiple positions. Dreams about feet, piss, feces, and overall submission were biggest recurring themes among other kinky things. Once he had got to the coffee shop that morning, he was excited to see the handsome stranger there. He purposely sat in front of him, knowing where his eyes would lurk.

Nearing the end of his drink, he heard the stranger get up and slowly walk over, but before anything coukd happen, the application office’s doors swung open.

“Wow,” the interviewer said to himself in Korean. A huge line had formed as soon as the door opened. “Looks like we’ll definitely have enough employees for the expansions.”

He ushered the first two in, noting that he might even have to start interviewing in groups with how well Lee Hae-jin’s plan was rolling. The first two were obviously eager, with one wearing a white button-up and tight jean shorts and the other adorning a lime polo and tan chino pants.

“Names?”

“Dong Hyung-sik,” the white shirt replied, not bothering to be polite towards the other.

“Kim Seo-joon,” the lime polo added, timid in the presence of the other.

“What job would you like?”

“Lifeguard,” they both responded in uniso, causing the submissive Korean to blush.

“You’re both hired! Welcome to Hotel Korea.”

The two confidently walked out, going towards the alpha Korean’s room. Lee saw them pass, smirking proudly at his success. The alpha Korean slapped the submissive Korean’s butt; they had some business they had to get to.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Hotel Korea

Lee Hae-jin stood at the top of his newest enterprise, filled with pride. Nobody could see him from below, as the immense building was over 50 stories tall, but he could see everyone below. The giant crowd had just begun the flood into the building. His latest accomplishment, one that would soon spread worldwide. His building, Hotel Korea, had just opened mere minutes ago. It was to become the biggest hotspot of the blooming American metropolis. It was filled with lavish resort accessories, including minibars, pools, spas, and a massive casino, all of which were authentically Korean.

Lee smirked to himself quietly, adjusting his crotch in his miniature running shorts. Most people wouldn’t recognize him in the running outfit, mistaking him as a guest rather than the owner of the soon-to-be expansive company, and that was the plan. He believed he could get the most honest, critical results if no one knew that he was Lee Hae-jin, but instead just Lee.

He looked one last time at the crowd, his muscles tensing before he began to walk away. He was excited to see the results after his guests’ stay. He believed they all had shockingly similar opinions after their time at the resort. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the simplicity of the hotel’s logo: “A Seoul-changing experience.”

— —

James Parker was completely wiped out. In one day, he had married the woman of his dreams, taken a five hour flight to their honeymoon destination, and only halfway there realized that his new wife had accidentally boarded the wrong plane. He was a little embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed, but to be fair he was exhausted. He had called his wife once he had landed, the two too exhausted to have meltdowns but still fairly ravaged. The plan was for James to stay in the honeymoon suite for the night at the new hotel that had just opened days before, then the two would meet the next morning. James felt terrible that his wife would have to take a red-eye flight, but he knew she was strong.

The two were psychology majors back in college. They had both met in class and, almost instantly, became an inseparable couple. They both looked fairly average, but their wits and intelligence were quite impressive, especially when put together. The only thing physically special about James was his large feet, which did say wonders about his large penis. It was surprising how such a normal looking person could have eight inches of hard meat in his pouch. Once the two had graduated with honors, they got engaged and married a year later. They planned to have an extravagant honeymoon night after they married, but so far that looked quite questionable.

James walked slowly out of the cab and grabbed his things before walking into the Hotel Korea. The new hotel had received incredible reviews, each stating their own “life-changing” experience. The couple had chosen it for its location, but James was excited about what else the hotel had to offer. He walked up to the front desk, which was surprisingly empty, contrasting the rest of the lobby which seemed rather full.

“Hi, um…” James fumbled over his words, “James Parker.” The young Korean attendant, who James could tell was rather handsome, seemed confused for a moment, as if he didn't understand what to do. Then, moments later, something flashed in his eyes and he began to type away slowly.

“Ahight…” the Korean said, his accent extremely heavy, “You ah on top flouh in da Seoulmates Suite.” The young attendant, looked around, trying to find James partner, but found no one.

“She’s… a little late,” James replied, lying through his teeth.

“Ahh,” the Korean replied, “youh consiehge shouh be with yoo shouhly. He at da pooh”

Before James could ask what that meant, the young attendant was whipped away to another guest. A bellboy, also a handsome young Korean man, grabbed James luggage and walked to the elevator, hopefully up to James room. James followed a few signs, struggling to differ between the little English and lots of Korean in each direction sign. After almost ten minutes of searching, he came to the pool.

The pool was filled with people of all ages, most of whom were Korean. All of the bellboys, waiters, and other hotel employees where just as visually stunning as the first two. The hotel’s owner obviously wanted to set some kind of atmosphere. As James’ eyes surveyed the layout, he heard his name being called out in the distance.

“친구!” the voice shouted, “Oveh heuh, James!”

James followed the voice to find a young, confident man lounging in a poolside chair. Just like all the other employees, he was rather handsome and Korean. James was getting a little nervous about what his wife would think with all these attractive men. The young man wore a tight, blue polo and sharp chino shorts. His accessories included fancy dark loafers and a pair of sunglasses that hid his mischievous eyes.

“I am Gong Soo-Hyun, youh consiehge foh you and youh wife while you stay,” he said, extending his hand. James wondered if everyone here had the thick accent. “You can call me Soo-Hyun.”

Soo-Hyun went on to explain the rest of the day while giving a tour for James, describing all the things he would do as a bachelor for the night. James quickly followed and was excited to see all the different things he could do, but decided to go to bed early. He wanted to get a headstart to spend all of the next day with his wife.

Once he got to his room, he realized just how disappointed he was that he was alone. The room was enormous, and the view was incredible. He knew his wife would’ve loved to see this. He jumped on the bed, looking for his suitcase, but realized that none of his belongings were there. Probably got mixed up somehow, he’d have to ask Soo-Hyun about it.

James looked all around the suite for his stuff, not giving up just yet. He looked in the mini kitchen, behind the couch, even on the balcony. When he walked to the bathroom, he yelped, not realizing that Soo-Hyun was there.

“WOAH!” he cried, jumping back and looking away, “What are you doing in here?”

Soo-Hyun was sitting in there contently on the bathtub, his feet in a spa, wearing nothing but a black robe. James was thankful he didn’t get a good look, otherwise he might have seen more than he had ever need to.

“Calm down, James,” Soo-Hyun said, shifting his feet around in the miniature tub, “I’m jus checkeen do see if da watuh is wahm.”

“That’s not why I’m freaking out!” James said, turning back slowly to look in the bathroom. He was desperately searching for eye contact, “What are you doing in my room?”

“Couples Mahssage?” Soo-Hyun said, pouring a few more salts in before picking up the spa and walking past him. James followed the handsome Korean man to find that his bed had been prepared this entire time. Lotions lined his bedside table and soft lighting had filled the room. Somehow, he hadn’t even notice the small machines spewing calming vapor into the air.

“I know yoh wife isn’ heuh, but I tought you migh need goo Korean massage,” Soo-Hyun said, placing the spa by the bed before tossing James a white robe. James didn’t really want to change, but Soo-Hyun told him too anyways. James met him halfway and stripped to his plane clothes, a soft gray tee and gym shorts, before putting the robe on. Soo-Hyun didn’t like it, saying it wouldn’t be an “authentic Korean massage,” but he didn’t fight it. James laid face-down on his bed, still not really getting why he was getting a massage, but as soon as the Korean’s hand pressed into his back, he didn’t have a single worry left.

As Soo-Hyun rubbed away, James began to realize how much stress he had on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually relaxed, enjoying the fact that now he’d have an entire honeymoon to do it.

“You know,” Soo-Hyun remarked, getting some lotion into his hands, “youh 다리 (legs) are goouh. I don wemembeh de las time I saw Kowean man with haieh down deh.”

James was confused for a slight moment before forgetting as he grunted from Soo-Hyun hit a hard spot. He knew what Soo-Hyun meant, most men were hairless besides the head, pits, and pubes, but he was lucky enough to be graced with a very light coating of leg hairs. James was puzzled to why Soo-Hyun had mentioned Korean, but before he could think about it anymore, Soo-Hyun was caressing his legs with what immense pleasure. He hadn’t even noticed how he had translated the little Korean that was slipped into Soo-Hyun’s sentence.

As Soo-Hyun massaged the lotion in, James’ legs began to slowly change. The masseuse smirked as he watched the brown leg hairs almost disappear, becoming a very light, black coat. The calves and thighs began to bulk up, taking on a yellowy, tanner tone as his quads began to form. Although his legs were thickening, they began to shrink too. James height began to lower, going from six foot to 70 centimeters. James, too involved in his one pleasure, didn’t even notice how his feet where no longer touching the end of the bed.

“Ahso impwessed by dese 무기,” Soo-Hyun continued, grabbing more of the lotion, “You wouhk ouh ofden.” Soo-Hyun said it more as a statement than a question.

“Fouh times a week,” James replied, not remembering how he hadn’t been in a gym since high school. He also didn’t know the hint of a lisp as he spoke. The feeling of Soo-Hyun kneading his arm was sending him into a new universe, and he loved it. He moaned quietly into the pillow as Soo-Hyun continued, not noticing the his arms.

Soo-Hyun rubbed the lotion in, making James’ arms begin to enlarge. The once-weak limb now began to expand, large biceps and triceps inflating underneath the tanning skin. As his forearms began to yellow, all signs of arm hair began to disappear as his limbs began to shed themselves onto the bed. Small black hairs began to fill in their space, but so tiny that no one could see them unless they were using a microscope. Soo-Hyun grabbed James’ hands, rubbing the lotion into them as they grew into soft, masculine paws. With James loving the Korean’s touch so much, he didn’t even realize when he had lifted up the sleeves to massage his armpits. Soo-Hyun grabbed a different lotion and rubbed it inside James’ pits, the brown bushes underneath darkening into a pitch black as they grew. They were definitely more impressive, but due to James’ now muscled arms, they couldn’t be seen unless the limbs were raised. A subtle funk began to permeate near James’ nose, but he just assumed it was a lotion.

“You have amazeen 가슴, Wha do you lift?” Soo-Hyun asked, pushing up the robe and James’ shirt lightly as he began to massage his back. He was inserting more and more of the native language, hopefully subtle enough that James wouldn’t notice.

“Usually 125 kilograms, buh mouh on my better days,” James replied, his voice muffled. He hadn’t noticed how he was slipping more into the weird lisp, or how he had used the metric system instead of his own imperial. James was to busy remembering all the times he had worked out, and enjoying Soo-Hyun’s touch, to think about other things.

With James’ shirt almost pushed completely up, Soo-Hyun had complete access to James back. He began to pound away, rubbing the lotion in every crack. James’ torso began to slowly inflate, the once mere chest filling in with hard muscles. Pecs began to form as abs popped in, each taking on its own unique form. The hairs that once lined James’ belly began to fall away, instead begin replaced with black hairs invisible to the naked eye. James’ shoulders widened as a perfect V-shape began to appear along his hips. While his chest began to tint towards an amber, his nipples began to expand on his large pecs, becoming much more sensitive. James’ moans grew louder as Soo-Hyun moved towards the neck.

“How lon have you had dat 목소리?” Soo-Hyun said while caressing James’ growing Adam’s apple, switching quickly into Korean, “It is smooth and sexy”

“Issa Park hing,” James said, referencing his surname and cementing the language, “We ah have 자극 voice.” James loved his deep, alluring voice. He had remembered how many times it had been the reason for his sexual conquests. He had pounded so many women with his powerful voice. It ran in his family, the Park family, for a very long time. As he thought to himself about how appealing his voice was, he hadn’t realized that he was slowly beginning to think in Korean. His English was dissipating, and he had yet to realize that he was slowly beginning to forget his own name.

As soon as James’ neck finished yellowing, Soo-Hyun moved up to James’ temples.

“제임스,” Soo-Hyun said, reinforcing the language into his client’s head by saying his name in Korean. Soo-Hyun stay in Korean, hoping to push the guest over. “You are stunning. You know you are hot.”

Jeimseu’s brain immediately absorbed the subtle command as Soo-Hyun massaged away. His naturally shy demeanor was washed away as a more cocky, confident aura surrounded him. He was hot, and he knew it. In fact, he was more than hot, he was a sexy, intoxicating beast, and every person, male and female knew it. They all saw it as he shot his sperm into them.

Soo-Hyun, ecstatic that everything was working perfectly, applied more lotion has he recreated Jeimseu’s head. First, he straightened the jaw, giving it a sharper angle as he began to make his lips slightly larger. Next came the nose, which he enlarged before removing all signs of facial imperfections. Any signs of previous acne or blemishes were completely erased as a yellower tone began to tan Jeimseu’s face. His face reconstructed slowly into one more of Asian descent as his eyebrows were corrected. His once green eyes darkened into a brown as his hair became a deep, intimidating black before shortening into a more trendy, messy cut.. What used to be a small stubble disappeared as tiny black hairs began to appear, just dark enough that you could see the hints of a mustache but nothing else. Jeimseu was now so deep into the massage that he had lost all control of himself, softly beginning to grind his mediocre cock into the bed. He also hadn’t noticed his intellect leaking away, slowly draining itself.

Soo-Hyun smiled to himself as he picked up the spa and put it on the bed. It wouldn’t have fit before, but due to Jeimseu’s shrank height it now had a perfect spot right at the end for him to dip his feet into. Soo-Hyun slowly picked up Jeimseu’s large feet and delicately placed them into the tub. Jeimseu was still face down, but the pillows did nothing to block out the noise of his moaning. When Jeimseu had walked it on Soo-Hyun in the bathroom, he hadn’t actually been testing the water: he had been adding to it.

This was all part of Lee Hae-jin’s master plan. The lotions and salts, provided by the Hotel Korea, were specially made back in Seoul. They would act as regular soothers to the common man, but to the touch of a Korean, they would act as transmitters, replicating the Korean genes into the user. Lee had thought of the idea as a way to combat Korea’s diminishing population and popularity; instead of finding new people, why not create them? He had proposed the idea to many investors and all of them agreed that it was a fascinating plan. After almost a year spent building the hotel, finding funds, and creating the products, he had finally put it all into action. All the staff members at the hotel knew their roles, and their real roles. With the masseuse rubbing the lotion all over the client’s body with his hands, he was subtly massing the Korean genetic code into the guest. When Soo-Hyun was “testing” the waters, he had been actually activating the salts, making sure they would duplicate and recreate Jeimseu’s feet.

“You have beautiful feet,” Soo-Hyun stated, caressing the bottoms softly,

“They are big for a Korean man.”

“You know what they say about big feet,” Jeomsou replied back in Korean. As Soo-Hyun massaged his feet, Jeomsou remembered how important his feet were too him. They were quite large, for a Korean, and they had been another reason that he was quite a stunner with the men. So many guys had longed to be down at his feet, to kiss his luscious toes, and all he could do was smirk inside the pillow. He loved his feet, and he made sure to take care of them. Pedicures, long runs, nice shoes. He also loved the smell, so he made sure to never use any deodorants.

While Jeomsou discovered a new foot fetish, Soo-Hyun worked away at the shrinking feet. Before, James had sported a quite surprising Size 14 US (above average), but Soo-Hyun had successfully brought the monsters to a much more appealing size. In honor of what they used to be, he made sure that Jeomsou had feet that were still quite big at 270 mm (above Korean average). The feet began to tan, blending in with the rest of the body, before pumping itself up. They used to be fat, but now they were plump with definition. The brown hair shed away, only to be replaced with a barely visible coating of black. The last thing that came was the funk. Soo-Hyun hadn’t meant for that to come, but he decided to keep it.

Before Jeomsou could react to the loss of rubbing on his feet, he was soon met by Soo-Hyun ripping off his shorts underneath the robe. Jeomsou, not remembering going commando, felt his buns being reshaped. He began to grind harder into the bed as his butt became two giant globes, bubbly and yellow. Once Soo-Hyun was done, he gave the round meat a slap and turned Jeomsou over, revealing the last part of Jeomsou’s previous life: his pouch.

“What are you...oh!” Joom-suo shouted as Soo-Hyun sprayed the cold lube on his large, white cock and balls. Not allowing Joom-suo to make anymore noise, Soo-Hyun quickly put his mouth over the large cock. Soo-Hyun was not at all ready for the immense size. The average size in his home country was just under 4 inches, so he was barely ready for double that. Joom-suo, after realizing what was happening, began to grind his pouch into the masseuse’s mouth, grabbing and yanking at his black hair in the process. Being a complete homosexual, he knew a good bottom when he felt one.

As Joom-suo moaned away, Soo-Hyun began to cup the balls and tickle them, riling up the almost-Korean sperm. As he did, Joom-suo’s large balls began to shrink, tanning and softening into something more reasonable from his soon-to-be homeland. As Joom-suo began to edge, Soo-Hyun began to ruffle the lube through the pubes, causing them to become a sheen black that shined. The last bits of lube were on Joom-suo’s dick, and as Soo-Hyun sucked away, it became more and more pleasurable for the top. It wasn’t because Soo-Hyun was getting better, but instead because his dick was becoming smaller and more sensitive. Joom-suo could feel his cock shrinking, each inch it lost making him more aroused. He didn’t know his dick was shrinking, but he loved the feeling of his head going from touching the back of Soo-Hyun’s mouth to slowly making its way across the roof. While he was sucked away, the last bits of intelligence were sucked away. Joom-suo had never been smart; he had always been on the dull side of things. He didn’t care though, why be smart when you can be sexy and stupid? It was all he needed.

As Soo-Hyun saw the last of the white skin sink into the ravaging, yellowy tan, he felt a geyser of pure cum pour down his throat. He pulled himself off, happy to see that the saying about big feet was still correct. There was still a rather large dick in front of him, standing proudly at 10 centimeters long. It was less than half of what it used to be, but it was still larger than the Korean average.

“Up here, babe,” a soft, yet demanding voice said to Soo-Hyun in Korean, ushering him to the head of the bed. Soo-Hyun laid his head to next to the former-client, present-lover. Soo-Hyun smiled as a lemony hand pushed off the messy hair of his head. His lover pushed himself up, placing his hand under his head.

“I think I might have to get a job here with you, it’s magnificent.”

“I know.” That was the last part of Lee’s plan, all of the clients would want to become employees in the end. Best way to expand.

“Put on some nicer clothes and go downstairs, there are open interviews right now,” Soo-Hyun said, getting up and fixing himself. That massage had proven to be a workout.

“Alright,” he replied, “but first…” As soon as Soo-Hyun turned around, he felt a gush of hot, steaming piss hit his face. He eagerly lapped it up and let it soak in his robe. He would love to adorn this scent later.

His lover quickly got dressed and slapped Soo-Hyun on the butt before heading out. He walked down to the first floor, not needing any elevator. After a little bit of searching, and a lot of struggle trying to read, he finally found the spot for open interviews. He stood outside and waited, excited to pursue his dream career.

“Next!” someone shouted, and after spending a minute trying to translate the English, he walked in and took a seat, excited to begin.

“Name?”

“Joong-suk Park.”

“What job would you like?”

“Concierge.”

“You’re hired! Welcome to Hotel Korea.”

[dumbroski]

Hi again!

I know I left you alone and without content for quite some time brothers, but unfortunately I had suffered a mental block so, I decided to take a vacation BUT I already have several ideas in mind to give you the best stories you've ever read and one of those... I owe them to a pretty famous writer here on tumblr, his account was "dumb & jocked" I'm thinking of taking some inspiration from one of its sequels (really good, btw) "Hotel Korea" In case you didn't get to know that little series of stories or are new here, it was about a Korean man who turned other men into 100% gay Korean men (Sounds pretty hot, right?) But I would like to know your opinion before starting with everything I have in mind.

¿Do I make stories similar to Hotel Korea?

YES!!

Nah....

Voting ended onAug 18, 2025