Jordan was just your average college dude, you know, bro? Kinda lanky, kinda nerdy, studying computer science, always glued to his laptop, coding or gaming. He wasn’t a slacker, but he wasn’t exactly tearing it up at the gym either, bro. His roommate, Dylan, was the opposite—a total jock, always in basketball shorts, flexing his biceps, and talking about his latest PR at the gym. Dylan was the kinda dude who’d blast TikTok gym vids and chug protein shakes like they were water, bruh.
One night, Jordan was stressing hard, bags under his eyes from pulling all-nighters for a coding project. “Yo, bro, you look like shit,” Dylan said, tossing a basketball between his hands. “You need to chill, man. Can’t sleep, huh? I got somethin’ for ya.” He pulled out his phone, smirking, and sent Jordan a link. “This hypnosis video, bro. It’s, like, some next-level sleep hack. Watch it, and you’ll be out cold, trust me, bruh.”
Jordan rolled his eyes but figured, what the hell, bro? He was desperate. That night, he popped in his earbuds, clicked the link, and pressed play. The screen glowed with swirling colors—reds, blues, purples—pulsing in a way that made his brain feel fuzzy, bro. A deep voice droned through the earbuds, smooth and commanding. “Relax… let go… surrender your mind… obey…” Jordan’s eyelids got heavy, his thoughts slowing, like his brain was sinking into a warm, thick fog, bruh. He didn’t even notice when he passed out, drooling on his pillow.
The next morning, Jordan woke up feeling… different, bro. His head was kinda empty, like someone had turned down the volume on his usual nerdy thoughts. He scratched his head, shrugged, and grabbed his laptop—but coding felt boring, bruh. Like, why bother? Instead, he caught himself staring at Dylan’s dumbbells in the corner of their dorm. “Yo, Dylan, bro, mind if I, like, borrow these?” he asked, his voice sounding dumber, lazier than usual.
Dylan grinned, flexing in his tight tank top. “Hell yeah, bro! Time to get swole, huh? Let’s hit the gym, bruh.” Jordan didn’t even question it. He just nodded, like obeying Dylan was the most natural thing in the world, bro. He ditched his usual jeans and hoodie for a pair of Dylan’s old basketball shorts and a sleeveless jersey. They hung loose on his scrawny frame, but something about the swishy fabric made him feel… hot, bruh.
At the gym, Dylan took charge, barking orders like a coach. “Ten more reps, bro! Push it, bruh!” Jordan’s arms burned, but every time he lifted, his mind felt emptier, like the sweat was leaking out his smarts, bro. He caught his reflection in the mirror—pale, skinny, but he flexed anyway, grinning like an idiot. “Yo, bro, I’m gonna get jacked, huh?” he said, voice all cocky, even though he barely had a bicep to show off.
Days turned into weeks, and Jordan was hooked, bruh. That hypnosis video? He watched it every night, not even questioning why. The swirling colors, the voice—it was like a drug, bro. Each time, it rewired his brain a little more, erasing his old self. Coding? Forgotten. Video games? Lame, bruh. All he cared about was the gym, stacking plates, and chasing that pump. His body started changing—muscles popping, shoulders broadening, abs starting to peek through. He’d flex in every mirror, snapping selfies in his basketball shorts, hand always adjusting his junk like a total fuckboy, bro.
Dylan noticed the shift and leaned into it, hard. “Yo, Jordan, bro, you’re my boy now, right? You do what I say, bruh.” Jordan just nodded, eyes glassy, a dumb grin on his face. “Yeah, bro, whatever you say, coach.” Obedience felt so good, like a hit of pure pleasure, bruh. Dylan started calling the shots—when to train, what to eat, even what to wear. Jordan’s closet was nothing but jock gear now: shiny basketball shorts, tight jerseys, snapbacks turned backward. He’d strut around campus, flexing for anyone who looked, his brain too foggy to care about classes or grades, bro.
One night, after a brutal leg day, Jordan was gooning hard in their dorm, hand stuffed in his shorts, stroking away while staring at his own reflection. Every time he came, it was like his brain short-circuited, bruh—another chunk of his old self gone, replaced with pure, toxic jock energy. “Fuck yeah, bro,” he muttered, voice low and dumb. “Just a horny muscle idiot, bruh.” He loved it. The dumber he got, the hotter he felt, the more he craved Dylan’s orders.
By mid-semester, Jordan was unrecognizable, bro. A total himbo, cocky and arrogant, always flexing his growing pecs and smirking like he owned the place. He’d dropped out of his comp sci classes—too hard for his empty head, bruh—and spent all his time at the gym or posting thirst traps on TikTok. His vids were pure fuckboy vibes: shirtless, flexing, basketball shorts riding low, captioned with shit like “Swole szn, bro 💪 #GymLife #ObeyThePump.” His followers ate it up, and he basked in the likes, his brain rotting further with every notification, bruh.
Dylan was his master now, no question. “Yo, Jordan, bro, you’re my perfect jock boy, huh?” Dylan said one day, tossing him a new pair of shiny red basketball shorts. Jordan just nodded, pulling them on, already hard just from Dylan’s voice. “Yeah, bro, I’m yours. Whatever you say, coach, bruh.” His individuality? Gone. His old personality? Erased, bro. All that was left was muscle, horniness, and total obedience to Dylan’s every word.
Every gym session, every flex, every time he jerked off, Jordan sank deeper, bruh. He was a toxic, masculine fuckboy, indistinguishable from the other jacked-up bros on campus. Peer pressure had won, bro—he copied Dylan and the other gym rats, their groupthink shaping his every move. He’d stroke through his shorts in public, not even caring who saw, muttering “Feels so good to be dumb, bruh.” His muscles grew, his ego swelled, and his brain stayed empty, forever locked in the jock bro haze.
And that hypnosis video? Still on repeat every night, bro, making sure Jordan never broke free. Just a mindless, obedient, muscle-obsessed himbo, forever chasing the pump and Dylan’s approval, bruh.
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