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[yuppieverse]

Scarlet Winter

Wanda looks down as she stands over Bucky, an expression of sorrow on her face.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stop me.” She whispers as she reaches out a hand to touch the side of his head.

He lets out a groan as the fingers gently brush against his temple, and he feels the flow of her magic entering him. He feels as if his mind is being reshuffled like a deck of cards or moulded like a lump of clay as new thoughts and ideas fill his mind, things like the best ways to polish his dress shoes so that they shine, and the best way to style his hair along with the products needed.

His long hair gets shorter and shinier from years of impeccable care. He begins gaining memories of a skincare routine which he did not have 5 minutes ago as his skin smoothes and softens.

As his skin smoothes, he begins to get younger, back to his mid-20s. His muscles become firm and strong as the metal of his arm softens into smooth, tanned skin. His tough clothes and armour begin to shimmer and shift as they become an expensive suit and tie while his boots become shiny dress shoes.

He closes his eyes as his beard fades away, the last traces of Bucky Barnes vanishing. With a jolt, James Buchanan opens his eyes and looks around the grassy field, spotting the marquee in the distance. He starts to walk towards it, ready to enjoy another charity polo match.

[onelittlespiral]

Attention: Health and Safety Alert

Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,

It has come to our attention that a serious outbreak of a virus illness has been seriously harming our campus community. We take this public health threat very seriously and want you all to be aware and alert so that you can stay safe.

As a matter of transparency, we want to be clear on the origin of this virus. The Frontal Recognizance Transmutation Arenavirus 24 (often called just arena or FRT-24) has been a known threat for some time, with clear symptoms from infected individuals. A research lab on campus was known to have been studying its effects. This particular strain, the alpha variant, was of particular interest, so when a sample went missing, we exhausted campus resources to locate it. We were unable to and are now deeply sorry to our campus community. We take full responsibility for the current outbreak.

FRT-24 is highly contagious, so it is important to know the immediate signs. Look for:

Sudden headaches or migraines

Dizziness or loss of vision

Fevers and chills, especially paired with heavy perspiration

Loss of cognitive functions

Rapid muscle swelling

If you are infected, symptoms may take up to three days to develop, and you may still be a vector in this time. As the disease takes hold, you may notice a change in mood, as a lack of interest in usual activities. Instead, the disease drives the infected towards spreading. Common hubs seem to be gyms, parties, and social gatherings. We have also noticed an uptick in fraternity membership this year, a possible sign of disease spread.

Know the signs in yourself or others, as often the infected will not show traditional signs of ailment. This student has given us permission to share his story:

This young man was a healthy Junior just a few weeks ago. He was a promising young academic in biochemistry, hoping to one day do research on emergent diseases. Since his experience with FRT-24, his life is forever changed.

The changes are alarming. He has gained over 100 lbs and been unable to focus on his studies. Instead, he was spending hours in the student rec center, consumed by his illness as he worked his body to exhaustion. Since his quarantining, he has been unable to answer any basic questions about his academic career or research project. Instead, he has shown a hallucinated knowledge of a personal training and fitness program. As an early vector, we are aware of at least 10 other students who were infected before his quarantine, and he is being held for further observations on disease progression.

Thankfully we have been able to identify the method of transmission. At this time, it seems bodily fluids are most transmissible method. It seems that this virus enhances the body in this respect. Those infected will often try to spread by any means necessary. They are very good at finding susceptible men, isolating them, and finding ways to expose them directly to their sweat, saliva, and in some cases semen. They will be desperate for any chance to get you alone with them, to join their ranks. Do no be drawn in by promises of muscle, of status, or ease of life. Their brains are no longer their own. They only seek to make you a drone for FRT-24.

While we are still in the early stages of understanding the virus, we would like to acknowledge the valiant work done by Dr. Pulaski and his team of researchers. They have lead the way in this fight, throwing themselves at this dangerous line of work. Without their noble sacrifice, we would be still months from understanding the origins of this outbreak. We have narrowed down the point of origin to a party held a few weeks ago in the PKE frat house. At this time, it is unknown if frat leadership was in any way involved with this outbreak.

Sadly, Dr. Pulaski was found earlier this week a few days after conducting interviews and performing sample retrieval from the PKE house believed to be the epicenter. He was found shirtless, flexing his newly formed muscles in the mirror at the student rec center.

When reached for comment, he only smirked and reported “feeling great, bruh,” a clear sign of decline. We are still uncertain if he has exposed any of his other researchers to the disease.

Remember, you are responsible for yourself and out campus community. If you suspect you or someone you know has been exposed, please report to the Student Health Center immediately for examination. In the mean time, please stay safe everyone. We will continue to keep you updated as we know more

Regards,

Dr. Brendan Host, President

Congrats @occamstfs on 2k followers. I hope you all enjoy a late entry to the party. Go out and check out the other writers under the #occam2000 tag, some great stuff in there. And don't worry, FML: Initiate is coming soon.

[catton346]

Taureau University

What's wrong Freshmeat? Didnt research enough about Taureau University before coming here? Let me give you a little orientation. Here at Taureau razors are banned. Thats right, banned. Youre not allowed to shave anything. Especially your beard. What? You think youre going to go into town and buy razors or get a barber to shave you? Dont make me laugh! Go into town, look around, theyre all in on it too. Theyre all alumni and each and every one of them is a true Taureau man with a nice long beard. See all the guys going around campus with big bushy beards? Thats going to be you soon. Youre gonna get horny like them too. Beards turn us on, make us go feral. Youll get it soon. Soon you wont even be worried about finding a razor. Once you give in, become a Taureau man, youll love it and youll love your bearded brothers. Whats that? You say you cant grow a beard? Thats not true. Look at yourself! Its coming in great already, thick and long. What? You dont believe me? You shaved just this morning? When was the last time you looked in a mirror, bro?

Thats right bro, the chemicals in the air are already making you a hairy horny monster. Imagine, if thats the growth you got in your first day how long its going to be after four years. Welcome to Taureau University.

[catton346]

The Roomate (Taureau University)

Part One

First week at Taureau University and youre already having issues with your roommate, James. When you first met you thought you would get along really well. James was, like you, small, twinky, and shy unlike the bearish, bearded, country boys that populated the campus and nearby town. The student body was made up of loud show offs with big beards and bigger libidos. James was different until half way through your first week. James had neglected to save this week, revealing that your twink roomate had secretly been an otter all along. His chest was covered in a pelt of fur and a thick college beard was already present on his face. when you asked him about these developments he pretended he didnt know about them. "No bro I'm a twink! Just like you!" He said, but he never said bro before. You couldn't help but bring it up when one day you returned home from class to see him shirtless on the couch.

"What's the big deal bro, we're both men!" James asked with a slightly broy drawl to his voice. "Besides, I wanna see what kinda pelt you're hiding now." He was starting to sound like the other guys on campus.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, frustrated and disappointed that the one normal man on campus turned out to be just like the other hairy country bros. You run the water in the sink, splash some on your face to try and cool down. You scratched at your face in frustration trying to think of something to do when you feel it. Is that? Hair? You go to the mirror to check. You dont recognize the man in your reflection. You pull on the hair, thinking this is some kind of prank. It's not. Somehow, in the last couple hours, a massive beard had grown from your face without anyone noticing, least of all yourself. No you were in the bathroom after class and you were clean shaven! Did this just happen now as you were washing your face?

You look for a razor, scissors, something to cut this thing off your face but you can't find any. They're banned on campus.

James is at the door. "Looks good right? The dean said we'd start seeing results today." "Results?" You ask. "Oh yeah bro it's in everything, the food, the air. A perfect mix of chemicals to make this student body reach it's hairy masculine bearded potential."

The shower, you think, you want to wash it off. You turn on the water and get in as fast as possible. You rub water all over yourself, try to wash it off the beard, try to cleanse yourself of whatever is being done to you.

"No use buddy," James says through the door, "it's in the water too."

You poke your head out of the shower only to realize he's right. In the few moments you were under the water the beard had only gotten longer and thicker.

By the time you get out of the shower and try to towel off it's too late.

Your face is drowning in fur. A thick walrus mustache over a bush of fur. You just stand there, there's nothing you can do. The steam takes you. Maybe, if you hadnt tried so hard to wash it off the process would have been slower, like with James.

"Aye bro," you say coming out fo the bathroom. "Look at how sick my beard is." You're one of them now, just like all your bearded classmates, and you love it.

[alphajocklover]

you know I am a really nerdy guy who just wishes to take a break. Could you just make me into a classic Himbo?

Everyone wants to take a break now and then. With holidays having just wrapped up, a new semester of college starting, and with how chaotic the world in general has been lately, it's natural to want to just stop worrying about things and relax, even for a bit. And what better way to relax than becoming a muscular, dumb, cocky himbo? I’d be happy to give you a short break away from your regular nerdy life, but I’ll admit, I could have used a bit more detail. Not to nitpick, but a ‘classic himbo’ is sort of up for interpretation. Do you mean a quarterback type, the kind of himbo jock you’d see in a college or highschool? Do you mean a gym bro, the kind of gym you see being somewhat obnoxious but also incredibly hot at the local gym? Do you mean a work himbo, the kind of guy who is way to dumb to do his job but is kept around because the entire office would riot if the sweetest and hottest guy there was taken from them? There are so many interesting ways to be buff, kind, and dumb, and well I can generally imagine what you’re talking about, it’s hard to be sure what exactly you mean by ‘classic himbo.’ So, I’ve come up with what a solution, one I hope you find very interesting. I’m going to give you a very special, week-long break, a 7 day vacation from the bland life you usually live. One where you don’t just get to spend the time as a hunky himbo, but as 7 different and distinct himbos. That's right, for the next two weeks, every day you’ll get to live the life of a completely different himbo.

For the first day, I’m going to give you exactly the kind of life you asked for (or at least the one I think you’re asking for), the life of a classic himbo. The life of a sweet, dumb, blond beefcake who people can’t help but lust after and adore. The transition won’t be jarring or painful like it sometimes is with these transformations. You’ll go to sleep the night before your ‘vacation’ and wake up to a world that just seems brighter. You’ll wake up with a handsome face, a healthy, muscular body, an inner confidence you’ve never had before, and a dumb, bubbly brain that can’t help but see the upside of everything. The entire day you’ll feel like you're walking on air, like you’ve just had the most amazing sex of your life and are just basking in the afterglow. It won’t just be because of your sexy, incredible body either. People will treat you with adoration, almost with worship, as if they’d do anything to stay in your golden glow. You’ll spend the entire first day a happy, horny himbo, experiencing all the world has to offer to a man who has it all. You’ll cap off the night with the best sex of your life with whatever man or woman has managed to catch your eye, and drift off into a blissful sleep.

The second day, you’ll be able to tell something is different from the moment you wake up. You’ll still have that inner confidence you could feel radiating from you yesterday, but today it’ll feel different, stronger, bordering on arrogance even. You’ll still be dumb, but it will feel different from the innocent stupidity from the day before, more dull and crude. You’ll only understand after you get up and stumble over your thick feet to the closest mirror that you’re experiencing what it is like to be a true muscle bull. Not just muscular, but massive, and not just dumb, but meatheaded. And the second you lay your eyes on your enormous muscles, you’ll feel the biggest difference. If yesterday felt like a constant afterglow, today feels like the moment right after you’ve cum, when the pleasure is so much you can barely think and can only follow your basest instinct. You’ll spend most of the day at the gym, following your massive muscles' natural urge to flex and grow, before hooking up with the sluttiest twink you’ve ever met in the gym locker room. You’ll have a big, meaty dinner, and end the night with a booty call that ends with you drifting off to sleep with your cock inside another bubble butted twink, just as hot as the last one.

The third day you’re going to wake up to find, with a twinge of disappointment, that the twink you fucked the night before is gone. I’m sorry to say it’s hard to transform someone when they have a cock in someone else's ass. However, that won’t bother you for very long, as when you get up and head over to the mirror, any disappointment will be overwhelmed by an absolute, cocky confidence. You won’t even need to look at yourself to know what kind of guy you are today, though you still will. You’ll look at yourself for almost an hour, looking over your perfect pecs and shredded abs, because you’ve been turned into a cocky fuckboi. You aren’t as big as either of the forms you used before, or as dumb, but this form makes up for it with pure, unadulterated arrogance. You’ll start off the day posting your morning thirst trap, before heading to the gym and working out with your ‘squad’, hyping each other up well you brag about the ‘smoking hot babe’ you hooked up with last night. You’ll post your post workout thirst trap, before heading to a trendy lunch place to have lunch with your on-again off-again influencer girlfriend where you’ll post a picture of a lunch you’ll barely touch, and a couple thirst trap with your big tittied girlfriend. Then you’ll head out to the club, party for most of the night, fuck your girlfriend, or maybe another girl, in the club bathroom, before posting one last thirst trap and passing out back at your apartment. The entire day will be you cockily showing off your amazing body as stranger praise and openly lust after you on the internet, and you’ll fucking love it.

The 4th day, despite getting to sleep well past 2 am the night prior, you’re going to wake up early with a pep in your step and motivation like you’ve never felt before. You won’t even go to the mirror, too focused on grabbing your morning protein shake, but you did catch a glimpse of yourself as you grabbed your gym bag. Today you were a gym buff, though not really the cocky influencer bro you were yesterday. Today you were a fitness junkie, a personal trainer who loved to help other people get in shape. You could already tell you were not quite as dumb as the other himbos, in fact this version of you seemed to know tons about fitness and nutrition, just… not much else. As you made your way to the local gym, where you could already remember working, you realized that even if you were a bit smart for a himbo, you made up for it by being incredibly kind. Your job wasn’t just helping people get in shape, it was lifting them up, both physically and mentally. You spent the first 8 hours of the day working out, helping your clients and encouraging them as best you can. You had a perfect, handsome smile that could brighten up the room, and a body that inspired your clients to work even harder. After work you went out on a date with one of the other personal trainers, a sweet guy you had had your eye on for a while, and had a bit of fun together at your apartment before heading off to sleep, holding the other muscular man in your arms.

You had to admit, waking up on the 5th day was somewhat confusing. Namely because you didn’t wake up in your own apartment, or at least a version of your old apartment, like you did the other days. Instead you woke up in a messy, musky room that you quickly realized was inside a bigger frat house. Today you were spending your day as a cocky, muscular frat boy, and you already felt fucking amazing. It wasn’t just the shredded muscles, or the incredible confidence, it was the strange feeling of brotherhood you had with the rest of the frat brothers. You knew you weren’t a frat boy the day before, but today you felt like you had known these guys all your life. These were your boys, your bros, and you spent the whole day with them. You talked with them, threw around a football with them, bragged to them about your latest conquest, and later that night had a goddamned epic party with them. After spending the entire night arrogantly showing off and letting loose at the party, you headed back up to your room, a sorority girl on one arm and a fellow frat bro on the other, and had some serious fun before the night ended.

When you woke up on the 6th day, you were back in your apartment, and felt something… different. Your muscles were huge and hefty, much like they had been on the 2nd day, but you also felt… confident. Not the same kind of arrogant, narcissistic confidence you had felt as a fuck boi, or the group confidence you had as a frat boy, but a solid, absolute certainty in yourself. A silent, manly confidence that didn’t need to brag, but was visible just by looking at you. You weren’t a bro, or a fitness junkie, or a classic himbo, you were an alpha. A dominant, sexy stud who knew what he wanted and took it. Strong, solid, and certain. You spent the beginning of the day at your job as a construction worker, using your solid strength to build something in a way that left you feeling incredibly satisfied. That night you went to a bar, threw back a few beers with the guys from work, and brought home an incredibly hot girl who was like putty in your strong, manly hands. You drifted to sleep with your cock deep inside her, enjoying the last moments of total confidence and masculine strength as you did.

The 7th day, the last day, was the most surprising. Because that day, you woke up… and you were you. Or, at least, a different version of yourself. The other people you had been were completely different from your true self, but this time it was like you were yourself, just… better. More muscular, more confident, and far… happier. It was like you had woken up one day and were everything you wanted to be. You went through the day as if walking on air, enjoying every moment of your newfound confidence and joy. Best of all, you got to show off the new you to the people who you knew. Got to experience your traditionalist, masculine dad actually being proud of you for once, got to see your work crush blush when you said hi to him, got to show up the guy who had been bullying you at the gym by lifting more than him. It was all in all a perfect day, and even though you ended the day alone, you drifted off to sleep, content and knowing you’d never forget the last week.

Here’s the thing: it doesn’t have to end. If you want, I can give you one of these lives permanently, or give you something in between. Hell, we can even try another week of test days if you want. This doesn’t have to just be a break, any of these days could be your life. And no matter what you choose… I know you’re going to have an absolute blast.

[thefunkfactory]

The Pledge Paddle

The bass of the music didn’t just vibrate through the floorboards of the Gamma Delta house; it seemed to restructure the very air in Luca’s lungs. It was a physical weight, thumping against his chest in a rhythm that made his heart stutter.

"Rowan, are you sure about this?" Luca shouted, though the words were barely audible even to his own ears. He squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, his palms sweating against Rowan’s cool, confident grip.

Rowan turned back, flashing that blinding grin that usually melted Luca’s anxiety, though tonight it only spiked it. The strobe lights from the makeshift dance floor in the living room painted Rowan in flashes of purple and neon blue. "Relax, Luca! It’s senior year. We promised we’d do one real frat party before we graduated. Besides, I heard their punch is lethal."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Luca muttered, dodging a shirtless guy who was stumbling past with a red solo cup held aloft like a holy grail.

The Gamma Delta house was a architectural monster, a colonial mansion that had clearly seen better decades. The air smelled of stale beer, cheap cologne, and the distinct, humid heat of three hundred bodies moving in a confined space. Luca felt out of place. He was the quiet one, the one who preferred indie movie marathons to keg stands. Rowan was the social butterfly, dragging Luca into the light to keep him from turning into a hermit.

"I need a drink," Rowan decided, pulling Luca deeper into the crush. "Or the bathroom. Actually, definitely the bathroom first."

They pushed through the kitchen, but the line for the downstairs lavatory was a chaotic snake of twenty people deep, half of them banging on the door and chanting something incoherent.

"Forget that," Rowan said, looking up toward the grand staircase. A velvet rope hung loosely across the banister, signaling Members Only, but no one was guarding it. "Upstairs. There has to be a bathroom for the brothers."

"Rowan, we shouldn't," Luca hissed, dragging his heels. "That’s how people get kicked out. Or worse."

"Don't be such a buzzkill. Quick pee, then we join the party. Come on."

Against his better judgment, Luca followed. As soon as they ascended past the landing, the roar of the party muffled significantly, replaced by the creak of old wood. The hallway was lined with composite photos of past pledge classes, hundreds of identical, smiling faces dating back to the 1950s.

They tried the first door. Locked. The second door was a closet filled with janitorial supplies. At the end of the hall, a heavy oak door stood slightly ajar, golden light spilling out onto the carpet.

"Jackpot," Rowan whispered, pushing the door open.

It wasn't a bathroom. It was an office. And it was nicer than the entire rest of the house combined. Deep mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books. a massive desk sat in the center, and behind it, sitting in a high-backed leather chair, was a guy who looked like he had been genetically engineered in a lab to be a fraternity president.

He was massive, wearing a tight polo that strained against his biceps, his brown hair hidden under his backwards cap. He was staring at a ledger, but as the door creaked, he looked up. His eyes were deep brown and terrifyingly sharp.

"Lost?" the guy asked. His voice was a deep baritone that seemed to vibrate the furniture.

Luca froze, his fight-or-flight response short-circuiting. "We…we were just looking for a bathroom. We’re leaving."

"I’m Chadwick," the guy said, standing up. He was even taller than he looked sitting down. He walked around the desk, not with aggression, but with a predatory grace. He kicked the heavy door shut behind them. The click of the lock was the loudest sound Luca had ever heard.

"Chadwick," Rowan said, stepping in front of Luca protectively, though his voice wavered. "Look, man, we didn't mean to intrude. We'll just go."

"Gamma Delta doesn't like intruders," Chadwick said smoothly, leaning back against his desk. "But we’re always looking for... potential." He looked them over, his gaze lingering on their fearful expressions. "You guys seem tense. Way too tense for a party. You need to loosen up."

Chadwick reached behind him and picked up an object from the desk. It was a fraternity paddle, but unlike the cheap wooden ones hanging in the hallway, this one was oversized and polished to a mirror sheen. Painted on the face of the paddle was a spiral; black and neon green.

"You know what this is?" Chadwick asked, tapping the paddle against his palm. Thwack. Thwack.

"A paddle?" Luca squeaked.

"It’s the Persuader," Chadwick grinned. "It helps pledges who overthink things. Helps them empty their heads. You look like you overthink, Luca."

Luca blinked. "How do you know my name?"

"I know everything that happens in this house," Chadwick said. He took a step closer, holding the paddle up. "Look at the spiral, Luca. Rowan. Just look at it for a second. It’s pretty cool, right?"

Luca wanted to look away, but the neon green paint seemed to catch the light in a way that defied physics. It wasn't just painted on; it looked like it was moving. Spinning.

"That's it," Chadwick’s voice dropped an octave, becoming smooth, rhythmic, and inescapable. "Watch the wheel turn. Round and round. It’s hard to be anxious when the wheel is turning."

"Rowan, let's go," Luca tried to say, but his tongue felt heavy, like it was coated in peanut butter. He looked at Rowan. His boyfriend was staring slack-jawed at the paddle, his eyes tracking the green spiral.

"Rowan?" Luca whispered.

"Shh," Chadwick soothed. "Don't distract him. He’s learning how to be a good brother. You should learn too, Luca. Look at the center. See how deep the green goes? It’s like a fog, isn’t it? A nice, thick, brain-melting fog."

Luca’s gaze snapped back to the paddle. The spiral was spinning fast now, dragging his vision into its vortex. The colors were bleeding out, filling his peripheral vision with a sickly, vibrant green haze.

"You boys are so full of thoughts," Chadwick crooned, stepping closer until the paddle filled their entire field of vision. "Worrying about bathrooms. Worrying about rules. It’s exhausting. Wouldn't it be better to be empty? To be hollow?"

"Empty..." Rowan mumbled. His voice sounded distant, flat.

"That's right, Rowan. Empty head," Chadwick commanded. "But nature abhors a vacuum. If we empty the thoughts out, we have to fill you with something else. Something classic. Something unmistakably frat."

Luca felt a strange pressure building in his gut. It wasn't painful; it was warm, bubbling, and insistent. The spiral in his eyes seemed to sync up with the churning in his stomach.

"Let it go," Chadwick whispered. "Good pledges don't hold things in. Good pledges are loose. Loose minds. Loose guts."

The pressure became overwhelming. Luca’s resistance crumbled under the weight of the spinning green vortex. His sphincter relaxed completely.

BRRRRAAAAAP

The sound was thunderous, echoing in the quiet office. Luca ripped a massive fart, the vibration shuddering through his entire body. But it wasn't just gas. A visible cloud of neon green vapor, matching the color of the spiral, erupted from his backside, swirling around his hips.

Instantly, the smell hit him. But it didn't smell like regular flatulence. It smelled like old gym socks, sulfur, and something chemical and sweet, like ozone.

Luca should have been mortified. He should have died of embarrassment right there. But as the green gas hit his nose and he inhaled it, a wave of pure, dopey euphoria crashed over his brain. The stench was mind-numbing. Literally. It dissolved his panic, his shame, and his higher cognitive functions instantly.

"Oh, nice one," Chadwick chuckled. "That's the spirit, pledge. You too, Rowan. Don't be shy. Empty it out."

Rowan’s eyes were glazed over, reflecting the spinning spiral. A goofy, lop-sided grin spread across his face. He leaned forward and let it rip.

PPPPFFFFHHHHTTTTTT

A long, wet, trumpet-like blast erupted from Rowan, accompanied by a thick plume of the same glowing green gas. It billowed up, mixing with Luca’s cloud, creating a haze that filled the room.

Rowan inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Whoaaaa," he drawled, his voice dropping into a stereotypical bro-cadence. "Dude. That smells... awesome."

"It smells like obedience," Chadwick corrected, waving the paddle in a slow arc, guiding their eyes. "Every time you fart, your brain gets a little smoother. A little emptier. You don't need those smarts anymore. You just need to be gassy. You just need to be pledges."

"Just... pledges," Luca repeated. The words felt good in his mouth. Simple. Easy. He felt another bubble working its way down his intestine, eager to replace his thoughts.

"That's right," Chadwick said. "Look at me."

They stared at him. Chadwick stopped spinning the paddle and just pointed it at them. "You are now Gamma Delta pledges. Your only purpose is to fill this room with that green fog. The more you stink, the happier you are. The stupider you get, the better you serve the house. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir... President... Bro," Luca giggled. The giggle was interrupted by a sharp POOT that sent another puff of green mist up his spine. The smell was intoxicating. It made his limbs feel heavy and his head feel like a balloon floating away.

"I think," Rowan mumbled, swaying on his feet, "I think I have a lot of... emptiness... to let out, bro."

"Then let it out," Chadwick commanded. "Pledge stance. Hands on your knees. Assume the position and fog this place up."

Without a second of hesitation, the two boys dropped their hands to their knees. It felt natural. It felt like the only position they had ever known.

Luca looked at Rowan. Rowan looked back. There was no recognition of their past relationship, no shared history in their eyes. There was only the green swirl of the spiral and the vacant, happy glaze of the mindless.

"Ready, pledges?" Chadwick asked, sitting back on the edge of his desk, watching them with satisfaction. "On my count. One. Two. Three. Blast."

In perfect unison, Luca and Rowan pushed.

The sound was a cacophony of wet, ripping, thundering flatulence that seemed to go on for an eternity. The room filled rapidly with the thick, neon-green stench. It swirled around their heads, entering their noses, erasing the last vestiges of who they used to be.

Luca felt his IQ dropping with every second the gas expelled from his body. Equations, memories of his major, his parents' names, they were all pushed out, replaced by the warm, vibrating pleasure of being a gross, gassy frat boy.

They finally stopped, gasping for air, inhaling their own product greedily.

"Dude," Luca said, standing up. He felt light. He felt fantastic. He slapped Rowan on the shoulder. "Nice rip, bro."

Rowan burped, a small puff of stink coming from his mouth now, too. "Thanks, bro. You really... uh... you really stunk it up."

They both burst into mindless, hyena-like laughter, high-fiving clumsily.

Chadwick stood up and walked through the green fog, immune to its stupefying effects. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Perfect," Chadwick said. "You boys are true Gamma material now. Mindless. Obedient. And disgusting."

"Thanks, President Chadwick," they chorused, their voices slurring slightly.

"Now," Chadwick said, pointing the paddle toward the door. "The party downstairs is dying down. It needs a vibe check. It needs some atmosphere. Go down there, mix in with the crowd, and share your new gift. Make sure everyone gets a whiff of the brotherhood."

Luca felt a surge of purpose. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to study. He just wanted to waddle through the crowd, empty his gut, and spread the green fog.

"Yes, Sir," Luca saluted sloppily.

"We're on it, bro," Rowan agreed, turning around and letting out a sharp squeak of gas with each step he took toward the door.

Luca followed him, his mind a happy, static void. As they walked back into the hallway, the bass from downstairs thumped again, but this time, it felt like a heartbeat. Their heartbeat.

They marched down the stairs, two mindless, gassy soldiers of Gamma Delta, ready to turn the rest of the party into a mind-numbing, green-hazed paradise, one fart at a time.

[misctf]

The Game Show

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

[misctf]

New Man on Campus

As part of a trade for @occamstf. Also, some of my stories are old, and if you wanted to rewrite them, use similar concepts, do a "remake" etc please reach out! Happy to collab and get your spin on one of my old stories!

Tristan tried to weave in between the sweaty bodies of several shirtless frat bros, doing his best to avoid spilling the beer in his red solo cup. The smell of beer and cheap cologne clung to them, which only made Tristan feel dizzy. Worst yet, the music was loud, so loud that he could barely hear himself think.

"This was a mistake." He thought as he escaped the crowd of people and leaned up against the wall in the corner of the frat house, "At least I gave it a try."

Tristan was never someone who imagined he'd enjoy the party scene, but given that it was nearing the end of his freshman year, he figured he should at least give it a try. At least he knew now that parties were not his thing, and neither was the beer in his still nearly full red solo cup.

"Where'd they go?" He preened his neck to see if he could locate his friends from the dorm, "I shouldn't leave without them."

But after a few minutes of searching, he decided to give up. He'd text them and check in on them in the morning. And with that, he made his way towards the door. But before Tristan could reach the front door, somebody bumped into him, splashing the beer across his hoodie.

"I'm sorry!" Tristans squeaked out, looking down at his beer soaked shirt, "I didn't mean..."

The apology died in his throat. The guy he'd bumped into was huge. Not just tall. Huge. Broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of a gray fraternity shirt. Thick forearms crossed over a chest that looked like it had been carved out of granite. A backwards baseball cap sat low on his head, and even in the dim party lighting Tristan could see the confident grin spreading across his face.

"Dude."

"S-sorry."

"Damn dude." The guy barked out a laugh, "There you go again."

"Wh-what?"

"Apologizing."

"S-sorry?"

The guy burst out laughing, as did the group of jocks behind him. Tristan felt his face turn red and he looked down. But he felt a muscular arm thrown around his shoulders and he was pulled in close to the guy's sweaty, muscular torso. Up close, Tristan could smell sweat, deodorant, and stale beer clinging to the guy's shirt. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but somehow the guy seemed completely unaware of it. Or maybe he simply didn't care.

"Name's Ryan." He said, "You?"

"Tristan."

"Freshman?"

"Y-yeah."

"Figured." Ryan smirked, and Tristan could see something predatory flash through the frat bro's eyes, "You gonna take that off." He nodded towards the beer-soaked hoodie.

"I-I'll change when I get home." Tristan replied quickly.

"No you fuckin' won't." Ryan pulled Tristan towards the stairs, "I ain't letting a freshman walk home soaked in shitty beer. I've got something for you in my room."

"I really don't need..."

"Yeah, you do."

Ryan didn't even slow down. He kept a hand planted firmly on Tristan's shoulder as he guided him up the stairs. Tristan was struck by how easily the larger man moved through the crowded house. People stepped aside without even seeming to realize they were doing it. A few called Ryan's name. Others nodded in greeting. Ryan answered every one of them with the effortless confidence of someone completely at home.

"Seriously," Tristan said as they reached the second floor landing, "you don't have to do this."

"Yeah. I do."

Ryan pushed open a door near the end of the hallway and stepped inside. The room looked exactly how Tristan imagined a fraternity president's room would look.

"You like?"

Sports memorabilia covered the walls. Framed photographs showed Ryan posing with teammates, fraternity brothers, and various championship trophies. A collection of baseball caps hung above a dresser. The room smelled faintly of detergent, deodorant, and the lingering musk of somebody who spent most of his time either at practice or in the gym.

"It's... nice." Tristan replied.

"Good, glad you like it."

"You play football?" Tristan asked, nodding toward one of the trophies.

Ryan laughed, "Played. Graduating in three weeks."

Tristan watched as Ryan yanked his shirt off, revealing his physique. The guy was built. Not in the exaggerated way movie superheroes were built. Ryan looked real. Years of football, lifting, and hard training had left thick muscle packed across his shoulders, chest, and arms. Ryan caught him staring.

"What?"

Tristan immediately looked away, "Nothing."

"Bullshit." Ryan laughed and tossed the fraternity shirt onto the bed, "You were checking out the gains."

"N... No... I..."

"It's okay." Ryan walked up to him, "You like it, don't you?"

"It's not..."

"C'mon bro, stop fuckin' playing." Ryan grinned, "Everyone wants this." His hands suddenly pulled at the hem of Tristan's shirt, "Let's see what we're working with here."

Before Tristan could object, Ryan grabbed the hem of his beer-soaked hoodie and peeled it over his head. The cool air of the room immediately hit Tristan's skin. He instinctively folded his arms across his chest, suddenly aware of how much smaller he looked standing in front of the jock. Ryan slowly nodded. A smile spread across his face.

"You'll do."

"What are you...?"

But Ryan was suddenly on his knees, looking up at Tristan with a smirk. And before Tristan could react, Ryan was fumbling with his belt.

"I need this, bro." Ryan said.

"Wait... I..." Was this really happening? Tristan could never imagine that a guy as hot as this would ever...

"You want this, don't you?"

"Y-yeah..." Tristan bit his lip.

"There we go, bro."

As Ryan pulled Tristan’s pants down, letting them pool around his ankles, he leaned forward and looked up. His eyes locked onto Tristan’s with an unyielding, dominant confidence. The heat of Ryan's breath hit Tristan's cock just a second before his lips made contact. The moment Ryan took Tristan into his mouth, a strange, electric jolt shot through both of them.

"Oh god..." Tristan moaned. This was his first BJ and god it felt better than he could've possibly imagined. Ryan's tongue worked the head of his hard cock, and he could feel the jock's firm hands grasp his skinny ass.

And as Ryan rhythmically bobbed his head, his hands gripped Tristan’s thighs tightly. And as he gripped harder, Tristan’s thighs, typically lean and soft, felt a sudden, internal surge. The muscle fibers beneath the skin began to swell and density doubled. At the same time, Ryan grunted as his heavy, square jawline that had defined his face for years began to soften, the sharp angles rounding out. His grip on Tristan's thighs wavered as his own fingers lost a fraction of their calloused thickness, shortening and becoming smoother.

"Wait..." Tristan choked out, his hands trembling as he gripped his own newly expanding legs. "Ryan, what... what are you doing to me? What is this?"

Ryan didn't answer. He couldn't. His lips were wrapped firmly around Tristan’s cock, his head bobbing with an intense, deliberate rhythm. But looking down, Tristan saw a frightening yet mesmerizing change overtaking the older man. Ryan’s massive, boulder-like shoulders were visibly losing their breadth. The thick, rigid muscles of the jock's back were softening, compressing inward, collapsing into a much smaller, slighter frame.

A sudden, sharp pressure bloomed in Tristan’s own chest. He arched his back, crying out as his ribcage expanded with a loud, deep pop.

"Ah! Oh god, my chest!"

Tristan watched in absolute awe as his narrow torso erupted outward. Layers of dense, heavy pectoral muscle sheeted across his skin, stretching his pale flesh until it turned a healthy, sun-kissed golden-tan. His collarbones broadened, pushing his shoulders out so wide that he had to brace his feet against the floor just to keep his balance. He felt massive. He felt heavy. And he reached up to give his new pecs a squeeze with his increasingly thicker hands. He grunted at the feeling of the firm flesh beneath his palm and let out another moan as Ryan's pace quickened.

"Ryan... fuck..."

Down below, the hands gripping his thighs had completely changed. They were no longer the rough, calloused hands of a football captain; they were smaller, the fingers shorter and smoother. They were Tristan's hands.

Ryan let out a muffled, desperate grunt against Tristan's length, his eyes squeezed shut. The backward baseball cap sitting on Ryan's head suddenly slipped, sliding down a face that was rapidly losing its sharp, hyper-masculine definition. Ryan's jawline was shrinking, the bone structure shifting and rounding into a softer, much more delicate shape.

"Ryan, stop! Look at me!" Tristan pleaded, but the voice that left his throat completely shocked him. The high-pitched, nervous squeak of a freshman was gone. Instead, a deep, resonant rumble vibrated through his expanded chest... a rich, commanding baritone that belonged entirely to the man on his knees. "My voice... I sound like... you?"

Ryan squeezed Tristan's thicker ass, as if to reassure him. And then, without hesitating, continued to suck him off. Tristan moaned as he felt his cock start to lengthen in Ryan's mouth. Becoming girthier, thicker. All the while, the bulge in Ryan's pants became less impressive.

"S..Stop... wh-what is this?"

He looked down at his arms. His thin, spindly forearms were ballooning, thick veins pulsing beneath the skin as rock-hard muscle packed itself around his bones. Right before his eyes, a faint, dark ink began to bleed upward through his skin, settling into the exact shape of the fraternity tattoo Ryan was sporting earlier.

Ryan finally pulled back, gasping for air, and looked up at Tristan.

Tristan stared down, his breath catching in his throat. He was looking at himself. Ryan’s face had completely transformed into Tristan’s own fresh-faced, wide-eyed freshman features. His messy, soft brown hair fell into his eyes, and his expression was entirely devoid of his previous swagger, replaced by a vulnerable, submissive awe.

"I'm... I'm you," Tristan whispered, his large, heavy hand instinctively reaching up to touch his own face. His fingers brushed against a rugged, broken nose bridge and thick jaw, "And you're... you're me."

The boy on his knees smiled, a soft, tired, yet incredibly satisfied expression crossing his newly acquired, youthful face.

"I'm graduating, bro," Ryan whispered, his voice now carrying Tristan's exact light, breathless tone. He looked up at his own former body with a mixture of relief and envy. "I don't want to leave. I'm not ready for the real world. But now, I don't have to leave." He looked at his now lankier frame, "Might take some work, but I'll rebuild everything I had here."

"No... no, please. I didn't agree to this." Tristan begged, his voice a heavy, vibrating rumble that practically shook his own newly expanded ribs.

But even as the desperate plea left his lips, his new body was completely overwhelming his senses. The physical reality of being Ryan was staggering. Tristan gasped as a sudden wave of heat rolled over him, bringing with it a whole new sensory world. He didn't smell like himself anymore; he could smell the heavy, masculine scent of expensive sport deodorant, deep musk, and the faint, bitter tang of dried sweat from a long workout.

"This is how it is now, bro," Ryan whispered from below. He used Tristan’s small, smooth hands to brush a strand of soft, messy brown hair out of his eyes, looking up with a serene, relaxed smile. "Look around. You liked my muscles, right? You were checking out the gains. You liked my room, the trophies. It’s all yours now. I get to restart as you, and you get to be the big man on campus. It’s a fair trade."

"No, it's not!" Tristan protested, tears of pure panic forming. "I don't want to be the big man on campus! I want to be a student! I want to live my life, go to my own classes, hang out with my roommates... I can't just occupy your life! I'm not you!"

Ryan let out a soft, youthful chuckle, shaking his head. Tristan's old face looked so innocent, so small from up here. "Too late for that, man. Look at yourself. You are me now. In three weeks, you're walking across that stage with a degree. You need to start acting like me so my brothers and teammates don't get suspicious. Walk tall. Stop stuttering. You've got practice tomorrow morning."

"I can't," Tristan whispered, his massive chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out over his broad, tanned shoulders. He felt completely disconnected from the timid freshman he was supposed to be, trapped inside a prison of pure, unyielding muscle. "I don't know how to be you. I don't know how to act like this. I can't do it, Ryan..."

"Let me help you adjust," Ryan whispered softly, his eyes darkening with a quiet, deliberate intent.

Before Tristan could even think to push him away, Ryan leaned back in. The motion was slow, incredibly sensual, and deeply intimate. Tristan’s massive, throbbing cock slid past Ryan’s new, soft lips, and the moment the wet, intense warmth enclosed him, a gasp tore from Tristan's throat.

Ryan didn't rush. He bobbed his head with a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm, swirling his tongue around the hyper-sensitive, engorged head. Tristan’s knees buckled slightly, his massive thighs trembling under the sheer sensory overload. As the warmth of Ryan's mouth worked over his length, Tristan felt his mind begin to fracture. His core memories... the long nights studying in the library, his quiet dorm room, his nervous anxiety around crowds... began to haze over, melting away.

In their place, a torrent of foreign thoughts, impulses, and memories rushed in to fill the void. Tristan choked out a moan, his thick fingers tangling in his own soft brown hair on Ryan's head, but he wasn't trying to pull him away anymore. He was remembering the roar of the stadium crowd. He was remembering the exact weight of a football in his palm. He was remembering the absolute, unshakeable certainty that he owned every single room he walked into.

"Oh god... fuck..." Tristan groaned, but the panic in his voice was rapidly dissolving, replaced by a dark, heavy, confident heat.

His internal monologue was shifting. The anxious, overthinking voice of the freshman was being utterly crushed, flattened beneath a rising tide of raw, unadulterated jock confidence. The world was reorganizing itself in his mind. He looked down at the boy giving him pleasure, and he didn't see his old self anymore. He just saw a freshman. A cute, soft little freshman who belonged on his knees, doing exactly what he was told.

Ryan... the original Ryan- finally pulled back with a wet, heavy sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his small hand. He looked up at his old body with a submissive, wide-eyed awe, completely content to be small, young, and entirely free of the real world.

The man standing above him didn't look confused or scared anymore. He adjusted his stance, his broad, shoulders squaring perfectly as a cocky, predatory smirk spread across his rugged face. He looked around at his sports memorabilia, his trophies, and then down at his freshman, feeling completely, utterly at home.

"Damn, bro," Ryan rumbled, his deep, dominant baritone dripping with an effortless authority as he reached down, his heavy hand firmly gripping the freshman's hair. "You're pretty fucking good at this. Who told you to stop, bro?"

[forthegaze123]

Oh fuck… look at this thing! God damn, it’s so thick! You feel that? Ohhh fuck yes… that’s it. You like that, little bro? Or should I say… big bro now? Bet you never let anyone touch you like this. Too much of a straight alpha stud. But I'm here now. Yeah… just like that. I just love stroking it for you. Feel every inch. Every vein. Every pulse. You're so close… gonna paint this mirror with your load, huh? Fuuuuck—yes! Feel it! Release all of it! Cum for me! Mmm… good boy. Look at the mess you made.

[merryy3dbhsjsk]

A Fatherly Call

(inspired by an anonymous ask that I lost, sorry!)

Call to Dennis, June 25, 2026-

Dennis: Hey M, what's up?

Mila: Dude, why’d you send me a Father’s Day card?

Dennis: *laughing* You got it.

Mila: Yeah, the Father's Day card? Dennis, I'm not even a dad. Why'd you send me that?

Dennis: I don't know. It just felt right for some reason.

Dennis: ...Actually, now that I think about it, it felt really right.

Mila: Dennis? What’s that supposed to even mean?”

Dennis: Come on, just humor me. Read the card.

Mila: Fine.

Mila: "Happy Father's Day to an amazing dad..."

Mila: Seriously, Dennis, this is weird—

Dennis: Come on keep reading.

Mila: "...Thanks for always being there for your kids..."

Wait. Kids?

(A deep creaking sound echoed through the room. Mila felt her body suddenly grow heavier.)

Mila: D-Dennis... something's happening...

Mila: My voice—why does my voice sound so deep?!

Dennis: Whoa. There it is.

Mila: "There it is"?! What does that mean?!

Mila: My chest—it's getting wider!

(Mila looked down in horror.)

Mila: AAAAAAHHHHH!

Dennis: Mila?!

Mila: My arms are huge! What the hell?!

Mila: I have biceps bigger than my head!

Dennis: Nice, bro, that’s bigger than mine. 

Mila: My stomach's changing—wait, no, that's not fat. That's muscle!

(Bones cracked. Shoulders broadened. Hair spread across Mila's chest and arms.)

Dennis: Remember that card?

Mila: God dammint, who is this possible!?

Dennis: I told you it was meant for you.

Mila: My face! I can feel a beard growing!

Dennis: Funny thing is... you've always talked about wanting to be a cool dad someday.

Mila: N-No I didn't—

Dennis: Sure you did, Mike.

Mila: Mike? Who's Mike?!

(The transformation surged to completion.)

Dennis: You are.

Mike: WHAT?!

Dennis: I get it man, those kids do something to your brain. The stress, it happens all the time.

Mike: Dennis, I look like I'm forty-five years old!… wait kids!

Dennis: Yep. Happy Father's Day, Mike.

click

- End of Call -

Mike slowly lowered the phone and stared into the mirror. Looking back at him was a towering, muscular middle-aged father with a thick beard, broad chest, and powerful build. Somehow, the Father's Day card on the table now made perfect sense.

"...I still have no idea why Dennis sent that card," he muttered.

A moment later, his phone buzzed.

"Don't forget to pick up the kids from soccer practice."

(Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, a quick one for Father’s Day. Trying a different writing style with this one. Glad to finally be working though my request so if you gave me one and it hasn’t come out yet, I’m trying! Hope you enjoy!)

[gaytamorfosi]

Random Transformation 8

🇮🇹 "Ecco perché non si sono mai visti il proprietario del locale e il barista nella stessa stanza..."

🇬🇧 "That’s why the bar owner and the bartender have never been seen in the same room…"

[gaytamorfosi]

Quando mi imita - When he mimics me

🇮🇹 “Al mio amico piace farsi scopare da me, ma gli piace anche trasformarsi nella mia copia esatta per fare l'attivo. Devo ammettere che vederlo rubare il mio aspetto mi infastidisce un po' (dopotutto ho faticato parecchio per ottenere questo fisico, mentre a lui basta un attimo per diventarne la replica perfetta) eppure, sotto sotto, lo trovo eccitante, anche se non saprei spiegare il perché. Fare un rapporto a tre con lui in questa versione è divertentissimo: dopotutto, molti sognano una fantasia con due gemelli. In più, lui si diverte a stuzzicarmi facendo il verso alle mie piccole abitudini: il terzo a letto non può capire e io devo fare di tutto per rimanere serio, anche se lo trovo molto divertente… Resta un piccolo gioco segreto tra di noi.”

🇬🇧 “My friend loves getting fucked by me, but he also loves transforming into my exact copy to be a top. I have to admit, seeing him steal my look bugs me a little (after all, I worked really hard to get this body, while it only takes him a second to become my perfect replica) and yet, deep down, I find it kind of hot, even though I can't really explain why. Having a threesome with him in this form is so much fun; after all, a lot of people fantasize about being with twins. Plus, he loves teasing me by mimicking my little habits: the third person in bed can't possibly understand what's going on, and I have to do everything I can to keep a straight face, even though I find it hilarious… It's our own little secret game.”

[gaytamorfosi]

Age regression 1

[misctf]

Hi 👋

How about a jock with easy confidence and charisma with a natural of self with a jealous roommate who turns him into a needy, self ridiculing, anxiety riddled, scared of the world twink.who needs constant reassurance and support from his boyfriend (doesn't have to be the roommate can a jock like he was before) and help making nearly every important thing.

Really fun idea! And definitely on the longer side. Really wanted to capture this one from start to finish. Hope you enjoy it!

The sauna was packed, but Jack barely noticed. Heat, sweat, easy conversation—it was his element. He leaned back against the wood, arms stretched along the bench, grinning as one of his buddies chirped him about moving day.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack laughed. “Gotta go help my new roommate. Bro sounds like a mess over text, honestly. Figure I’ll get him out more, you know? Fix the vibe a little.”

“Fix the vibe,” one of them echoed. “Classic Jack.”

He shrugged, easy. “What? Dude just needs confidence. Not that hard.”

And he believed that. Always had. People overthought everything: how they looked, how they sounded. Jack didn’t. You showed up, you were yourself, things worked out. Keep it simple.

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

Jack knew within about thirty seconds that Liam was… a lot. Not bad. Not even unlikable. Just... loud in a way that filled every gap in a room.

"...and this guy was like, ‘I’m not into twinks,’ and I’m standing there like, okay, cool, did you not see my selfie?"

Jack blinked. "Wait... what’s a twink?"

Liam stopped, turned, and gave him a long, exaggerated once-over. "Oh my god. You’re serious?" A pause, then a dramatic sigh. "Honey… you have, like, sooo much to learn."

Jack laughed, a little unsure, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, man, guess I do."

Liam kept going... about guys, about rejection, about how everything always came down to looks. It was constant. Every story circled back to it. Who was hotter, who got ignored, who didn’t measure up.

"You’re overthinking it," Jack said, leaning back against the counter. "Just relax. Be yourself. People like confidence. Trust me, bro!"

Liam paused, looking almost offended, “Must be nice.”

Jack frowned. “What?”

“Not caring what people think.”

Jack shrugged automatically. “I mean… yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it.”

Liam just hummed, like that answered everything.

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

Later, in his room, Jack kicked the door shut behind him and tugged his shirt off, tossing it onto the bed without thinking. He glanced at the mirror, just a quick check, same as always. Except… he didn’t look away. His eyes dropped to his stomach. He’d never really thought about it before, not like this. But now the line of hair down his abs stood out more than it should’ve. Darker. Thicker. It broke up the definition in a way that suddenly felt… off. Messy, almost.

Jack ran a hand over it, frowning slightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered, like he needed to say it out loud.

He straightened, flexed a little. Habit. But instead of the usual quick nod and move on, he hesitated. His chest didn’t pop the same way it did at the gym. Or maybe it did. He couldn’t tell. Still, he shifted his shoulders, trying a different angle. Then again. And then he noticed his necklace. And for the first time, he wondered... Is this tacky? Did it look kinda cheap?

Jack let out a short chuckle. “Chill dude.”

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

“Glad you agreed to come along.” Jack smiled as they stepped onto the gym floor. “This is gonna be good for you. Build some confidence, get you feeling better about yourself.”

Liam looked around, already tense. “Or I humiliate myself publicly. Love that for me.”

“You’re fine,” Jack reassured with a grin, “Stick with me.”

They started easy, but Liam struggled. Arms shaking, stopping early, constantly glancing at himself in the mirror.

“God, I look awful,” Liam muttered. “Like, actually tragic.”

“Trust me, no one’s looking,” Jack said automatically, "Here, let me show you the right form..."

He grabbed his usual weight, sat down, pressed... and immediately felt it. Heavy. Wrong. His arms wobbled on the second rep, stalling halfway up. Jack’s jaw tightened as he forced it back into place.

"Okay,” He tried to laugh it off, “Off day.”

But when he reached for the weight again, he hesitated. For the first time, he noticed the guy a few benches over. Then another, across the room. Were they watching? Did that rep look as bad as it felt? And suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how he looked.

"You okay?"

"Ye-yea..." Jack mumbled, "Uh, maybe we should just go."

"Oh no! What about my routine?"

"Your routine?"

"I focus on all the right places," Liam explained, "A bottom needs a juicy ass, babe."

"A bottom?" Jack repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Really? You have so much to learn." Liam teased, patting Jack's arm, "Tops need something nice to squeeze while they rail you senseless."

Jack swallowed hard, face flushing slightly at the blunt talk. He glanced away.

"I guess I never really thought about it that way…"

"Well, now you know," Liam said airily, "So humor me, okay big boy? Besides, you could use a good leg day."

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

“This is so unrealistic,” Liam muttered.

Jack sat back into the couch, his ass sore from what had to be the fifth day in a row of Liam's gym routine. Meanwhile, Liam was curled into the other side, phone in hand, only half-watching the screen.

“No one just… ends up together like that. Not without a reason.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d be surprised, bro.”

Liam finally looked at him then. Really looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“Would I?”

Jack shifted slightly. “I mean… yeah. Me and Erica, for example. We’re good. No drama, no weird stuff. Just works.”

“Well duh…” Liam shook his head. “You’re tall. You don’t try too hard, which people love. You’re built…” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “…well, you were more built a few weeks ago, but still.”

“What?” Jack blinked and looked down at himself. “I haven’t changed that much.”

“Someone's defensive!” Liam smirked. The two sat in uneasy silence. “You think she’d still be with you if that changed?”

“That’s not...” Jack shook his head. “No... That’s not how it works.”

“Confident!” Liam smiled. “But there’s always a reason.” A small pause. “And it’s usually something you can lose.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the movie neither of them were really watching anymore.

“Dude... you overthink this stuff too much.” Jack said, quieter now.

“Maybe,” Liam shrugged.

Jack looked back at the TV, but his focus slipped almost immediately. His mind snagged on something else… something smaller.

You were more built a few weeks ago.

Erica always said this shirt looked good on him, that she loved the way it highlighted his muscles. But now? The fabric wasn't taut against his pecs. Even the sleeves sat different, the cotton no longer hugging his upper arms. Looser. Unimpressive. He flexed subtly, but the movement barely changed anything. No pull, no stretch. His arms were actually… smaller.

“L-O-L! You’re doing it again.”

Jack’s head snapped up, “Doing what?”

“Inspecting!” Liam giggled, nodding toward him. “You've been checking yourself out more."

“I am not!” The words came out sharper- and higher- than he expected, the pitch jumping suddenly before he could catch it. Jack blinked, clearing his throat quickly. “I’m not... I'm just...”

Liam raised an eyebrow, then gave a small, knowing smile.

"I-I'm going to bed." Jack huffed, "See you tomorrow, bro."

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

“You're so jittery!” Liam laughed, already pushing the door open. “Aren't these your friends?”

“Yeah, I know, I just... like... yeah.” Jack trailed off, looking down at himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

It fit tighter, which would've made Jack happy if it was his shirt. But he borrowed this one from Liam. It stretched taut across his slim torso. And his pants? Tight as fuck from all those glute workouts. Highlighting his ass in a way that would certainly draw attention.

“Yo!” one of his boys called. “There he is.”

Jack smiled, “Hey~! What’s up!?” His voice came out lighter than he meant it to, a soft lift at the end. He blinked, clearing his throat.

Erica stepped in with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi babe!”

The kiss was quick... and empty. He blinked slightly as he pulled back.

“You good?” she asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Jack said quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

One of the guys gave him a once-over. “New look?”

Jack shrugged quickly. “I mean... yeah. Just like... trying something different, I guess.”

Liam slid in beside him. “He looks good.”

“Yeah,” another friend said. “Just… not what I expected.”

Jack laughed, a little too fast. “Okay, wow, rude,” he said playfully, earning a raised eyebrow from Erica.

They settled in, drinks passed around, Liam made his introduction. But as the conversation picked up, Jack felt... off. Same topics. Same jokes. Jack found himself drifting, only half-listening, his attention snagging on other things... how people looked, who was watching who.

“So you still lifting?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “Just, like not as heavy. I’ve been doing more, like… cardio? And legs.”

“Legs?” his friend repeated. “Since when do you care about legs?” A couple laughs.

Jack felt his chest tighten. “I mean... people notice a nice ass. Sorry I don't base my whole personality off how much I can bench.” It came out harsh... defensive even.

“Woah dude, I was just joking.” his friend raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, no, I know, I just... yeah.” A small, breathy laugh slipped out.

He took a quick sip of his drink, eyes flicking around the room like he was trying to reset.

Liam nudged him. “Okay, but that guy? The shirt is… not helping him.”

Jack followed his gaze automatically. “Oh my god, yeah,” he said, a sharper laugh slipping out. “And the hairline? Like... pick a struggle.” He blinked right after, like the words had surprised him.

“Dude,” one of his friends cut in, frowning. “You don’t gotta be a dick.”

Jack’s smile faltered. “I’m just joking...”

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Right... yeah. Sorry,” Jack said again, softer now.

The conversation moved on... without him. Jack frowned, leaning back in his chair. Something about his own voice...his tone... himself...felt off. As he quietly withdrew from his friends, something snagged his attention.

“Hey… that guy over there?” he whispered to Erica. “The one in the black shirt.”

Erica frowned slightly but glanced over. “What about him?”

“He’s been, like… looking at me.” Jack said, a little too quick.

She looked again, then shrugged. “I mean… maybe?”

“No, like... he is.” he said, quieter now. Tight but not entirely anxious.

Erica didn’t answer right away. “Do you... want him to be?”

“I mean...” Jack hesitated, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth, “I don’t not want him to be.”

Erica nodded slowly. “Oh...” Jack could see a sudden sadness in her eyes, “I’m... I need to call Jess real quick.”

“Oh... yeah, okay,” Jack said, blinking.

He watched her walk off, something in his chest tightening. When he looked back at the table, the conversation had already moved on again without him.

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

Jack replayed it more than he wanted to admit. Erica across from him, arms folded, voice calm in that way that made it worse.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

And him... just sitting there. He wanted to say something. Something important... Instead, there was nothing. Just a strange, hollow feeling, like he’d missed something important without knowing when.

"God you've been moping for days!" Liam whined, "Here, throw this on. We're going out."

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

"Where are we going?" Jack whined.

"Shhhh you'll see!"

Jack slowed as they got in line, the music bleeding out onto the street, the way people stood a little closer to each other than he was used to.

"Oh my god!” he let out, a quiet, nervous laugh slipping free. “Is this a gay bar?”

Liam just glanced at him. “You’re so cute when you piece things together.”

"Is this why you wanted me to wear this?” he asked.

His tank top clung to him- tight, thin, riding up just enough to expose his stomach. Flat. Smooth. Too smooth. His eyes lingered there for a second longer than they should have. The treasure trail he was used to... gone. Not trimmed. Not shorter. Just… not there. Jack’s brow knit slightly.

Had it always been like that?

The shorts were worse. Short, tight, hugging high on his thighs in a way that made his ass feel fully, undeniably on display. And it was. It wasn’t subtle. It was the point.

“You look good.”

Jack swallowed, voice softer now, that higher, lighter tone settling naturally. “I feel like… totally exposed.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh as they made there way inside.

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

The dance floor swallowed him quickly. At some point, Liam was gone and Jack found himself hovering at the edge, watching, feeling... out of place.

“You new here?”

Jack turned and gawked at the man behind him. Broad shoulders, solid chest, the kind of grounded confidence Jack used to carry without thinking about it.

"Is it that obvious?” he asked.

The guy smiled. “A little.” He held out his hand, "C'mon."

Jack hesitated briefly, but took the man's hand. He was pulled into the crowd, the flashing lights disorienting as the music pressed in around them. Bodies moved close, the space tightening, and suddenly the guy’s hands were on him- firm at his waist, steady, guiding him into the rhythm. Jack followed without thinking too hard.

Then... a squeeze. Sharp, deliberate.

Jack’s breath caught, his body jolting slightly at the sudden pressure on his ass. He shuddered. Looked up at the man. Lips quivering. The guy’s expression softened into something amused.

“Fuck... you’re so cute.” Jack swallowed, heat rushing to his face... but he didn’t pull away. “Is that okay?” the guy asked, quieter now, giving Jack's ass another squeeze.

“…Yeah,” Jack moaned, softer. “Yeah, it’s okay. More than okay...”

And it was. The man smirked.

“You wanna get out of here?”

Jack didn’t look for Liam.

“I... Yeah.”

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

The bedroom was dim, warm. Jack stepped inside and slowed without meaning to, suddenly aware again—of his body, of his clothes, of the way the guy gazed at him. Not casually. Intentionally.

“You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer, voice lower now.

Jack nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah… I think so.”

“Do you want to?” he asked gently. “We can just hang. We don’t have to do anything.”

Jack hesitated. It had felt good... being wanted like that... being touched like that. But the thought tangled uneasily in his chest. He was straight… wasn’t he?

“…Yeah,” he said finally, quieter. “I do.”

The guy studied him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

His tank top came off easily, lifted and gone. He felt... vulnerable. Small compared to the man in front of him.

"Fuck... you're cute."

Jack blushed, turning and unexpectedly catching his reflection in the darkened window. His hair held the light differently, the dark brown he knew softened, warmer now, almost blond at the edges.

Since when...

“It's okay.”

The guy’s hand settled at his waist again, grounding him, thumb brushing lightly against his side. Jack blinked, pulling himself back.

“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve never… done anything with a guy before.”

A small pause. Then a slow, almost amused smile.

“Really?”Jack nodded, his breath catching slightly. “You sure you’re okay with this?” the guy asked again, softer this time.

"Yeah,” Jack said, and meant it.

“Good,” the guy murmured. “You really have no idea what you do to people, do you?”

The words landed warmer than they should have, settling somewhere low in Jack’s chest. Then, the guy pulled his own shirt off. Jack’s eyes followed without thinking

"Wow..." Instinctively, Jack’s hand came up, resting lightly against a muscular pec, feeling the heat, the firmness beneath his palm.

The guy smirked and leaned in...

Jack's first kiss with another man was slow at first. The warmth, the pressure... his hand tightened slightly against the guy’s chest as he responded. He giggled when the kiss broke.

The man leaned in again. Their lips connected. Deeper, more certain. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t confusing. It felt… good. The guy’s hand slid lightly along his side, resting against his bare skin, and Jack felt his breath catch again... but he didn’t pull away.

He leaned into it instead.

It had been a week since he met Paul that night and so much had changed.

“Do you think my hair looks good?” Jack adjusted it again, fingers careful, practiced. It was fully blond now... soft, styled, falling just right. Not effortless anymore. Deliberate, “I think Paul would like it more like… this.”

Liam smirked.

“Oh! Look at these!” Jack turned his head, “I got these. See?” He angled his ears, the small studs catching the light. Flashy. Begging to be noticed. “They’re not too much, right? I just... thought he might…”

Liam watched, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Jack tugged lightly at the hem of his shorts, glancing back. “Look at my ass in these!” A pause, “I want Paul to notice.”

“Oh he'll notice.” Liam laughed.

“Thank god! Like, last time we only kissed! I didn't even get to taste his cock...” He glanced down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “This time, I want him to fuck my brains out. And so like, I need to look good!"

"Poor Jack."

“Now... what about my top...? Like, does it even look good?” Every word felt like it mattered. Every look. Every reaction.

Liam’s eyes flicked over him slowly- taking in the slimmer frame, the softened edges, the way Jack held himself now. Smaller. Careful. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. Jack didn’t notice. He was already looking back at his phone, rereading Paul’s last message.

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

"Woah." Paul grinned as he opened the door, "I uh..."

“Hey,” Jack said softly. His eyes betraying his desperate need. Paul’s eyes moved over him slowly, taking everything in: the blond hair, the earrings, his juicy ass.

“I...” he murmured. “You look... amazing.”

Jack flushed, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “You think? I just... I want to look good for you.” He draped his arms over the man's shoulders and nuzzled into his chest.

"You do."

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t think. His hand moved along Paul's growing bulge. He licked his plump lips. He'd been practicing, imagining this... obsessing over making Paul feel good.

"I want to gag on it." Jack breathed, "And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please..."

Paul smirked and watched as Jack dropped to his knees easily, naturally. Looking up, waiting, searching Paul’s face for approval. The other man wasted no time- quickly freeing his engorged cock.

And Jack felt it then- the validation, that warm, consuming need to be wanted- settle fully into place. He couldn't wait for his reward.

[zanethehimbo]

For all my HIMBOS needing inspo. ENJOY! Happy Pride! 🌈🏳️‍🌈🥳

Here’s a little himbo theme song.

Muscle Up

Dumb Down

Show Off.

Enjoy the edge.

LOVE, ZANE.

@wells-gold58 @polo-drone-084 @brodygold @phoenix-071 @alton-gold77 @btmguy69

[persuasivetfs]

Finding Your Dream Man

On the sandy beaches of the Jersey Shore, a growing Church promises to connect people looking for love through godly worship.

Only time will tell if it leads to what they’re looking for.

“Lord, please send me a man. A good man to cherish and hold,” prayed Isaiah Tsang as he knelt with exposed knees in the hot sand.

He’d been invited to join his co-worker Amanda’s “low-stress” event to meet fellow Christians. While the Church had its issues with gay people, Isaiah was persuaded that most rank and file congregation members didn’t hold such stringent beliefs. There was also a chance, Amanda had hinted, that Isaiah could find a fellow gay Christian looking for the same romantic connection he was.

Eyes closed in contemplation, Isaiah pictured his ideal man. He would be stoic, clear-cut, middle-aged (Isaiah had a thing for daddies, you see), and above all muscular enough to make Isaiah feel safe and secure in his big veiny arms.

Before him, Isaiah heard heavy footsteps crunching in the sand. Upon opening his eyes, he found a looming figure standing over him. Dressed in a playful pair of pink sunglasses and bright pair of swim trunks, a muscular middle-aged man straight out of his wildest fantasies stared down at him like a gift from God.

“Get up,” his dream man ordered, his voice stern and authoritative in a way that made Isaiah shiver.

The twink dutifully obeyed, standing for the attractive stranger. The pair were the same height, but Isaiah’s dream man's wide frame and confident gait made him loom over him.

“Before we begin, I must ask, are you a man of the Christian faith?” his dream man asked, pacing in front of Isaiah.

“Yes, I am.”

“What of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church?” his dream man eyed him suspiciously.

“No, but I would join if handsome men like you were in the pews,” Isaiah insisted.

“What if I wasn’t there, would you have the resoluteness in faith to attend services, son?”

Something about the way the man said son, filled Isaiah with a rush of devotion.

“Of course. The good Lord means everything to me. I’d attend every day of the week, if I could,” it wasn’t true, but hearing his own voice say it made it feel like it could be true. Isaiah found himself standing a little straighter.

“Do you treat your body as the Lord’s temple? Tending to it, strengthening it, keeping it clean from contamination?”

“I try my best, I eat kale and run on a treadmill, but…” his dream man scowled. Wrong answer.

“Or that’s who I was before. Before I met Him and learned that wasn’t enough.”

In an instant the air shifted. The surrounding beach went silent. It was just them. Isaiah, the dream man, and a third force Isaiah felt must have been the will of God.

Contorting at strange angles, Isaiah’s body began to drastically grow. His chest expanding to the width of an airstrip, his traps rising as small mountains, his legs building muscle like the thick steel beams holding up a skyscraper. His cheap t-shirt ripped to shreds under the strain, leaving his muscular chest exposed for the world to see.

Isaiah would have been astonished, amazed at the power and speed of such a transformation if it hadn’t always been this way. At least since cutting season started about six months earlier.

Isaiah adjusted his gait, subtly flexing his muscular arms for any who happened to glance his way, proud in his curved musculature.

His dream man watched him blankly from under his sunglasses, expecting an answer.

“Have you seen me, sir? Of course, I treat my body like a temple. I wouldn’t be winning these body-building competitions without guns like these,” Isaiah chuckled, raising both his arms and flexing them tightly for the man to admire.

“Hmm, I still don’t believe you are quite what I’m looking for,” his dream man replied, distantly, as if Isaiah failed to complete every box in his romantic checklist.

“Huh? How so?”

“Simply put, you are too young. I need a man with wisdom through experience, not a boy just out of college,” his dream man chided.

Isaiah balked.

He would be anything this hot stranger wanted him to be. How were his choices not enough?

Sooner than could be rationally explained, years added themselves to Isaiah’s body. Once a man of 22, decades passed in an instant, taking with it the youthfulness of his face while adding wrinkles around the eyes. As his age changed so did his relationship to hair, his college aged mop shortening to a crisp spiffy look. His facial hair once sparse, growing out into a loose mustache and beard like his Dream man had.

Once recovered, Isaiah found himself facing a contemporary rather than an older man. A companion he could see himself grow old with as they enjoyed what was left of their middle age and then the twilight of their youth.

“You’re almost perfect,” his dream man admitted with a confirming nod.

“Almost perfect? What more could you need? A kidney?” Isaiah asked with a warm chuckle, his voice taking on the same robust tone of his dream man but without its strictness.

“You are needed to fulfill your promise to the Kingdom of God,” his dream man instructed, stepping closer. Isaiah blinked, uncertainly.

“To fulfill my promise to the Kingdom of God?”

“Your role as a man of the flock is to live justly and obediently. You must find a good Christian woman, marry her, and seed her to produce as many future followers so the Kingdom of Heaven can come about on Earth, and I see your chosen woman is not far afield,” the stranger shifted Isaiah’s direction to the group of followers in the distance. Among them, Amanda was praying in the sand, her hands tightly clasped above a slight bump along her stomach.

“My chosen woman? What about you, what about us?” Isaiah asked, his thoughts growing foggier.

He reached out to grab the man’s veiny hands, holding them in his own. It was only when pressed together, Isaiah could see that they looked practically identical.

“You’ll know all that in a moment,” his dream man promised, closing the distance between them.

Then his dream man leaned over and kissed him. His lips were warm as the sand beneath their feet and just as soft.

As they kissed, eyes shut, Isaiah was inundated with decades of thoughts and memories. His hardline Christian upbringing, his body-building career, his joining the Church and finding the equally devout Amanda, their eventual marriage and the strict raising of their two sons, soon including the third that was on the way. As he sucked in these new truths, Isaiah’s old life drained away. His live and let live personality, his art career, his past relationships, his homosexuality. Erased.

Opening his eyes again behind a pink pair of sunglasses, Isaiah’s Dream man was gone. In his place, Isaiah Tsang, a rigid man of God and family man stood prouder above the sand knowing that the dream man he’d been searching for was himself all along.

Tearing off the strange fruity number off his face, Isaiah strode back to the other members of the congregation, eager to take his place by his wife. Isaiah couldn’t wait to tell her that the retreat was a bigger success than either could have imagined.

[risefromabyss]

Our 187th Firefighting Squad has had a completely different vibe ever since our new captain dropped in. You know, before that, everyone was constantly arguing— but now it's all good vibes and teamwork. Now we don't just put out fires in the city anymore, we’re also pretty great at putting out the little "fires" that used to spark between us and we really like this part.