Rozza's stories

Tranformations, vore, and many other kink writer. If you wish to request something dm me (UK time). Warning users should be 18+ to view my work. 

[rozza22365]

Story series Links

This is just a small post linking together some old popular series I worked on so its easier to find them. Hopefully I can update this as I add to the series' or create new stories. I won't be putting everything here as it would be a pain to add every story (I've written nearly 200).

Uni(Forms) Order:

Uni'forms' order: Alex gets a dosage of discipline

Uni'forms' order: Alex’s new partner

Uni’forms’ Order: Processed

JockFun

Jock Fun: Jacksons new football bro’s pt 1

Jock Fun 1: Jackson’s new football bro’s pt 2

Jock Fun 1: Jackson’s new football bro’s pt 3: Nerd night

Jock Fun: School Trip pt 1

Jock Fun: School Trip pt 2

Jockfun: Revelations (pt 1)

Jockfun: Revelations (pt2)

[rozza22365]

Gods plan bro

Tyler was at the gym on his usual wednesday cardio day, but really he was just there to flirt. He’d barely broken a sweat on the elliptical when his eye caught the glint of something shiny near the lost-and-found bin at the edge of the gym’s juice bar. It was a necklace. A simple silver chain with a slightly oversized cross pendant—brushed steel with bevelled edges, modern-looking in a “mall kiosk edgy” kind of way.

He smirked. “Oh my God, it’s giving… straight TikTok thirst trap,” he muttered, flipping his dyed platinum bangs from his forehead and snatching it up. “Guess I’m a gym bro now,” he joked to himself, draping it around his slender neck and letting the cold metal settle against his collarbone. “Praise be.”

As the chain settled around his neck, he felt a spike of heat surge from the pendant, burrowing into his skin like it was alive. Tyler gasped, grabbing at it—but it wouldn’t come off. Panic set in as the heat intensified, not burning, but *remaking*.

His chest was a smooth, narrow plane, but the heat from the cross caused his pecs to swell like they were being inflated from the inside, rounding out and pushing forward under his shirt. They grew heavier, denser, with veins surfacing just below taut, bronzing skin. “What the—oh my God—” he cried, voice cracking with fear.

His core tensed as abs bloomed into view, sharply segmented beneath his tightening tank top. A six-pack *snapped* into place like it was pre-carved marble, each slab rigid and unreal. His waist remained trim, but his whole midsection pulsed with a power he never asked for.

“Stop! Stop it!” he shrieked—but the pendant glowed brighter.

His arms that had once been wiry and decorative now bulged visibly as his biceps swelled, sleeves stretching over suddenly thick cords of muscle. Forearms followed, veins surfacing like winding rivers, and his hands, formerly delicate, often manicured—grew rougher, broader, stronger, fingers thickening like a manual laborer’s.

His legs trembled as the transformation spread downward. Quads bloomed like dense tree trunks under his joggers, calves popping with definition. He fell to one knee, shoes squeaking as his feet flexed and grew a half size, toes pressing against the fabric.

Then it hit his butt.

A surge of muscle gathered and pushed outward with shocking force—his flat backside ballooning into a perfect, high, muscular bubble. “No! No, not my ass!” he yelled in despair, trying to grab at it as if he could press it back in. It bounced anyway. The globes expanding that they cut off any chance of his hole being penetrated.

His neck thickened, jaw sharpening, then squaring. The hair on his head darkened into a dirty blond with a perfect fade buzzing into place. His cheekbones lifted, brows grew bolder, and his baby face was replaced by a rugged, douchey confidence. He let out one last scream as even his voice dropped half an octave into something smug and YouTube-ready.

His crop top was replaced by a tight, black compression shirt, perfectly showcasing his new chest and arms. His joggers shortened, morphing into breathable gym shorts, and a white cap flipped backward on his head without his help. A smartwatch blinked to life on his wrist. He looked like he’d walked off a sponsored post for creatine powder.

The silver cross rested proudly on his thicker chest, pulsing once, then dimming.

Tyler—now something else—stumbled to his feet, panting. He still *felt* like himself on the inside. But the mirror told another story.

He looked like a walking cliché: the kind of guy who says "God first, gains second" in every caption.

Tyler sat slumped on a bench, heart hammering, sweat clinging to his new compression shirt like glue. The silver cross hung heavy on his chest. He tried—desperately—to rip it off, but his fingers wouldn’t obey. His hands, his arms… they weren’t listening to him anymore.

That’s when the voice started.

"Yo, relax, bro. You’re finally on the right path."

The voice echoed inside his mind, deep and cocky, smooth with faux-holy arrogance. Tyler gasped, clutching his head as a pressure began to build behind his eyes—like his brain was being reformatted.

"Time to get saved, bro."

Tyler’s consciousness spiraled inward. Inside his own mind, he stood in a white, empty void. Across from him: the new Tyler. Tall, broad-chested, arms folded over that smug compression shirt, the backwards cap casting a cocky shadow over his annoyingly handsome face. He was glowing faintly, like a gym-bro angel.

"You're… me?!" Tyler said, stepping back. "You took me—this body—everything!"

The New Tyler grinned, pointing a thick finger upward. "Nah, bro. He did." He tapped the cross, and it glowed. "God’s plan, remember?"

And then came the thoughts.

“Gotta hit incline bench today. Praise up. Gotta keep the temple strong.”

Wait... what? Tyler flinched. Temple? I don’t even work chest on Mondays.

“Women love the grind. Gotta build it for the future wife—or, y’know, whoever God sends first.”

Tyler's stomach turned. I’m gay, he reminded himself.

But his body disagreed. A warm pulse rippled down to his groin.

He gasped—his crotch began to throb, swelling thick and heavy with each thudding heartbeat. His balls dropped lower, hanging with new weight, his tight gym shorts struggling to contain them. Every throb wasn't just physical—it pulsed with new desire.

Girls. Soft. Sweet. Made to be led. Breed. Spread the seed. Be fruitful and multiply.

“No—nononono—this isn’t me!” Tyler shouted in his mind.

But his new voice chuckled from deeper inside.

“Nah bro, it’s exactly who you were meant to be. Just had to be saved, y'know? Like, for real.”

"You’re not godly. You’re a fraud!. You’re judging people, treating them like crap.  You’re thinking about sleeping around with girls while thumping your Bible!"

The new form laughed, flexing his pecs with a satisfying bounce. "Hey, we all fall short of the glory, bro. But at least I try," His smile turned smug. "And let’s be real… you weren’t exactly living pure, either."

The two consciousnesses stood within the warped gym mirror of Tyler’s psyche—one in tiny shorts, terrified, trying to hold onto himself, the other in his compression shirt, radiating smug, pumped confidence, arms out like a messiah of macro tracking and misogyny.

"I want my life back!" Tyler cried, running toward him.

"Nah. You had your shot."

The douchebro stepped forward.

The void cracked around them, swirling with gym selfies, sermon clips, TikToks tagged with #SavedAndSwole, #JesusLifts, #CrossfitForChrist. Images of New Tyler giving performative high-fives to other bros after "iron prayer circles," judging people silently from behind protein shakes, staring at girls’ butts in leggings while ranting online about modesty.

Tyler tried to run—but it was like his mind was syrup, his memories, interests and personality melting into it. His body sunk to his knees, crying, reaching up with desperation as the new version opened his arms wider.

“C’mon bro. Don’t fight it. You’re just getting saved. You’ll thank me. You'll be part of something way more alpha.”

His hands gripped Tyler’s trembling form—and Tyler began to sink into him. First his fingers, then arms, then chest and legs, until only his head remained, eyes wide, mouth screaming.

“No! I want to go back! Please, don’t—”

"C'mere, little bro. Gonna save you now."

With a final smug grin, the gymbro pulled Tyler’s head into his torso like a sinking shadow. The twink’s screams echoed—then faded—as he was absorbed, thought by thought. His old interests and sexuality dissolved as his head sunk in further. "I don't want to become this" he cried one last time, the outline of his hand pushing against the compression shirt, reaching out from the inside, and then...

“Amen.” The new Tyler's pecs fully absorbed the old Tyler.

Tyler opened his eyes, grinning, as he awakened from the mental conquest of his previous self, which he now forgot. Now fully transformed, Tyler was a proper douche gym-influencer, spreading god and gains. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, flexed his biceps in the mirror, then kissed the silver cross hanging from his chest.

Tyler immediately started recording a story for his IG followers. “What’s up, fam? Remember to stay grounded in the Lord and the grind. Big sets today. Philippians 4:13—‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’”

He smirked before adding a caption

'Remember, the grind’s holy. Body’s a temple. And you gotta show devotion always. Crosses now restocked—link in bio. Let God—and gains—change your life.' he smirked know how many others he will save with these crosses. Just before he finished typing the caption, his eyes drifted to a gym bunny mid-squat across the floor. With a smirk tugging at his lips, he made his way over—ready to strip away her worldly attire and offer her salvation with his Sainted Shaft. But not before whipping up a quick hashtag to bless the moment: #GodsPlanBro

[rozza22365]

Titan Touch 2: Strange happenings

The air in Crestview High thickens, an almost imperceptible hum of change moving through the halls like a chill before a storm. Most students brush it off, attributing it to the rush of midterms or the looming excitement of Halloween. But Ethan, with his keen eye for details, starts to notice things no one else seems to see.

He usually sticks to a strict routine, but today, his schedule is off, and he’s headed to the library to spend a few quiet hours with his D&D lore books. As he walks, he glances down the side corridors, catching glimpses of the usual “loners” gathered in small clusters, typically bent over sketch pads or muttering inside jokes. But something’s different.

He pauses, frowning, as he spots a group of these loners clustered together, their heads ducked in uncomfortable silence. The Titans—Crestview’s jock elite, every one of them with perfect smiles and effortless confidence—are encircling them, their manner friendly, almost magnetic. Ethan watches as a Titan he vaguely recognizes, a tall guy with dark curls named Luke, claps one of the loners on the back, an easy smile spread across his face.

"Don’t you guys want to catch the game later?” Luke’s voice is low and oddly persuasive. Ethan can’t quite hear the loner’s response, but the boy nods stiffly, following the Titan like he’s suddenly mesmerized. The rest of the group murmurs, some exchanging nervous glances, but they don’t pull away. One by one, they’re being led off somewhere, the warm camaraderie of the Titans proving irresistible.

A strange chill works its way up Ethan’s spine. He shrugs it off and continues toward the library, but when he finally reaches the quiet sanctuary of shelves and study tables, he realizes even the library isn’t untouched by the Titans’ influence. The usual academic hum is interrupted by odd bursts of giggling and low murmurs, and the atmosphere feels tainted, charged with something strange and unsettling. Ethan settles himself at a table in the library, clutching his textbook as he tries to focus on his notes. 

The strange vibe lingered. A few tables over, he noticed a jock he vaguely recognized from the hallways, maybe a senior, with that classic all-American look: dark hair, a wide smile, and a confident, casual posture. Ethan racked his brain for a name but came up blank. The jock stood in front of a girl with glasses and a shy smile.

The jock leaned in close, speaking to her in a low voice, his hand resting gently on her shoulder as he guided her toward the far end of the library. It was hard to pinpoint what was happening, but Ethan could guess. As she emerged from the shelves, her wide-eyed stare had morphed into something vacant, her smile dreamy and docile. Her hair looked smoother, somehow, and she clung to the jock’s arm, giggling softly as he led her out, her usual sharpness replaced with a kind of empty adoration.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, pushing the scene out of his mind. He’d just walked in on some weird couple thing; high school relationships were strange at the best of times.

At the far end of the library, a familiar face was bent over a table, flipping through a football magazine with a concentration that Ethan wouldn’t have expected. It was Tom—or, at least, it looked like him. But Tom, the quiet, brooding kid who usually stuck to himself, was currently wearing a  jersey with the name: “Tanner.” stitched on. His features looked subtly different—sharper, his jaw more defined, his eyes bigger, almost puppy-like, with an inviting glint that Ethan found himself staring into for a beat too long. And that smile—a smile so bright, so warm, it sent a flicker of warmth through Ethan’s chest, scattering his thoughts as if he’d forgotten where he was for a second.

He quickly looked away, embarrassed, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, and hurried out of the library, shaken and frustrated by how easily he’d been distracted. But as he made his way to lunch, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling, the way the Titans’ charm had pulled him in, like an unspoken invitation that he couldn’t refuse.

He tried to brush it off, though, as he joined his friends at their usual table. Martin was already talking animatedly about some new coding project, and Alfie chimed in about the latest game release, but Ethan’s thoughts kept drifting back to the scenes he’d seen in the library. He hesitated before speaking, then finally broke in.

“Have you guys... noticed anything weird around here?” he asked, keeping his voice low, trying to sound casual.

Martin looked up, eyebrows raised. “Weird? Like what?”

“Like... I don’t know. Just... people acting strange. I saw some loners hanging out with the Titans today, but they looked like they didn’t want to be there. And, well, there was this girl in the library, Lily? She was talking to one of the jocks, and when they came out, she just... seemed different.”

Alfie shrugged, brushing it off. “Eh, maybe they just have nothing better to do. It’s probably nothing. I mean, Halloween’s coming up. People get weird around this time.”

But before Ethan could respond, a group of jocks strolled into the cafeteria, laughing and tossing casual nods to the tables around them. There was something off about the way they moved together, like a single, smooth unit. And as they drew closer, Ethan’s stomach twisted. He could’ve sworn he recognized one or two of the faces—a couple of those loners from earlier. But they were smiling now, walking in sync with the Titans, their faces bearing the same unnervingly bright expressions.

“Who are they?” Ethan muttered, feeling a strange tension in his chest.

Martin shrugged, glancing up nonchalantly. “Probably just more of the football team, right?”

As soon as he said it, the answer settled into Ethan’s mind, as if a layer of fog had lifted. It felt obvious, and yet something still gnawed at him, the details slipping away as quickly as they’d come. 

Ethan gripped the strap of his backpack tighter, determined to shake the odd feelings that had been creeping over him all day. He refused to believe that anything strange was happening at Crestview. People change. It's just hormones, he told himself. Stress. Football fever, probably. It wasn’t uncommon for his classmates to get caught up in the excitement around the Titans, especially this time of year. He needed to chill out.

He decided to find his friend, Nolan. Maybe they could make plans for a game night; some D&D would definitely help him unwind. But after searching their usual spots—the back hallway near the AV room, the corner by the library—he couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, he wandered over to the bleachers by the field and to his surprise he found Nolan sitting attentively on the bleachers, watching the Titan’s practice.

“Nolan?” Ethan called softly, stepping up beside him. But Nolan didn’t move, didn’t even blink. His eyes were fixed on the players, and his face was blank, his lips parted slightly as though caught between awe and emptiness. Ethan followed his line of sight and spotted Lily, the honors girl he’d seen in the library, now on the sidelines cheering with robotic, practiced enthusiasm. Her eyes held that same eerie vacancy, and it sent a chill up Ethan’s spine.

“Dude… what are you doing out here?” Ethan asked, forcing a smile, hoping his friend would snap out of it and laugh it off.

Nolan barely stirred, his lips moving just enough to murmur, “They’re… so cool, aren’t they?” His voice was distant, dreamy.

Ethan frowned, nudging him slightly. “What? You never cared about the Titans before.” 

The Titans were on the field doing some casual practice and playing about on the field, all typical jock stuff. But his friend’s gaze never wavered from the field. Ethan’s heart sank as he watched the players wrapping up their practice, jogging off the field with that same glowing, effortless confidence. 

To Ethan’s horror, Nolan rose from the bleachers, his movements robotic, his face vacant and hypnotized. He took slow, halting steps down toward the field, his expression flickering with something like resistance—his hands clenched, his body tensed, as though he were trying to stop himself from moving forward but couldn’t.

“Nolan!” Ethan hissed, hurrying after him, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. “What are you doing? Let’s go; we’re supposed to finish that campaign tonight, remember?”

Ethan, heart pounding, trailed behind him, a chill spreading down his spine. “Nolan, where are you going?” he whispered urgently. But Nolan didn’t answer; his gaze was fixed ahead, his eyes almost dazed. As they neared the huddle of players, Ethan watched, his breath catching, as one of the jocks noticed Nolan and grinned.

This guy was different from the rest, a tall, dark-haired Titan with a sharp, friendly smile and a confident swagger that seemed to radiate warmth and easy charm. Ethan remembered seeing him around the halls, always giving people an encouraging nod or a friendly high-five.

“Hey, buddy,” the jock said with a broad grin, stepping up to Nolan. “Good to see you. You’re looking a little out of it—maybe I can help you out, huh?” He pulled Nolan into a bro-like hug, patting him solidly on the back, his hands resting a bit too long on Nolan’s shoulders. Nolan seemed to snap out of his trance for a moment, his eyes finding Ethan’s.

“Help…” Nolan whispered, his voice barely audible, almost pleading. Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the jock’s arm stayed firmly around Nolan, guiding him toward the coach’s office with casual ease, like they were old friends.

“Hey, wait!” Ethan called, quickening his steps and following into the dimly lit sports corridor. He ducked out of sight as they reached the office, hiding behind a row of lockers, his heart hammering. He dared a glance through the narrow blinds of the office door.

Inside, the jock kept an arm draped around Nolan’s shoulders, giving him a friendly squeeze. “C’mon, man. You’ll feel way better soon. You know you’re meant to be one of us, don’t you?”

Nolan shook his head, his voice shaky but defiant. “No… I don’t… please… I don’t want… to change…” His face twisted, struggling against something unseen, his whole body tense.

The jock laughed, his tone light and encouraging. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Change is good, bro. You’re just fighting it ‘cause it’s new. Trust me, you’ll feel amazing when you let go.”

With one more reassuring pat, the jock placed his hand on the back of Nolan’s neck, and Ethan could see the tension draining from Nolan’s posture. His resistance seemed to weaken, his voice dropping to a whisper. “No… no…” he murmured, each word quieter, fading like a candle guttering out.

“No… no…” Nolan’s voice cracked, trailing off, his head drooping, his eyes blank.

“Yo… yo,” he murmured back, his tone shifting, his words losing their desperate edge, gaining a smooth, excited energy.

“Yo!” Nolan's voice grew louder, filled with a newfound enthusiasm, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Yo!”

Ethan stifled a gasp, his eyes widening in horror as he watched his friend, through the blinds, stand up straighter. As he turned around his once-hesitant gaze now sharp and confident. Nolan’s freckled face looked leaner, his eyes brighter, and his stance exuded a swagger that wasn’t there before. His clothes had changed too, seamlessly morphing into the bright colors of the Titans’ uniform, with a new name embroidered across the back: “Nick.”

Nick blinked, as if seeing the world anew, then let out a cheerful laugh, his eyes brimming with pride. “Man, this feels awesome!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying that same confident edge as the rest of the Titans.

The jock who’d greeted him laughed too, slapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you, bro. Let’s get out there and show ‘em what we’re made of.”

With that, Nick turned and strode back into the hallway, his grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with an eerie, new intensity. Ethan shrank back as Nick passed by, his gaze focused ahead, his posture almost too straight, too self-assured.

‘Fuck, what is going on?’ Ethan thought as panic set in. The revelation that the Titan’s were slowly assimilating everyone at school had millions of thoughts sparking off at once. How did they do it? When did they start? Why were they doing this? He thought for a second to process it. It must have all started recently, Ethan thought, fragments of memories of the jocks being douche-bags for years slowly surfaced, but the more he tried to remember it, the more he pictured Tanner, Logan and the others with cute friendly faces. The more he pictured them, the less anxiety and anger he felt towards them, as if they were calming him from within his own mind. He shook his head, he needed to get to his friends and warn them of what was going on, whether they believed him or not.

Ethan waited briefly for the coast to be clear, he then hurriedly tried to sneak out. Making his way down the thin corridor, spreading up as he saw the main hall and an escape. But as he neared it, three Titans, Logan, Tanner and Topher marched in from around the corner. It took them a couple of seconds to notice Ethan, who’s stomach clenched up, but when they did, his mind went to panic stations. Their mouths curled into grins as they marched closer to him.

“Sorry guys, I just want to go out, could you let me pass?” he whimpered, his eyes, locking on to theirs. As he stared into their dull puppy eyes, their cuteness pierced his body, trying to calm him down, but he knew what would happen if he did., He needed to panic, to escape, but the jocks kept backing him up.

“Sure bro, you can go whenever you want,” Logan said smirking,

“But why would you want to bro, come and hang with us, we promise not to bite” Tanner chimed in. 

“I need to be somewhere guys, I can’t… I can’t… hang… right now” Ethan neared the locker room door now. He wanted to escape, but their faces filled him with warmth. He wanted to be with them. Ethan’s dick grew erect the more he stared at them, . Their cute looks, their muscled bodies, it was irresistible . They were hot and this was the closest he ever got to them. 

“Don’t worry bro, you won’t be needing to go anywhere after this. Once you hang with us, we’ll be all you need,” Topher smiled. Ethan now backed into the door and the jocks pushed him into the locker room. Suddenly he was surrounded by the Titans, their faces gleaming smiles and grins, their faces cute with puppy eyes.

‘No, no, no, I need to get out, I need to run, I don’t want to become one of them’ he thought, his mind racing. But before he could do anything, Topher gave his back a pat, warmth radiating throughout his body.

“Don’t worry, bro, we know how tough it must be for you, all that studying for math, doing equations all through the night, the tests… which you're already late for.”

“What…?” Ethan asked before he remembered as he looked at the clock. His afternoon mock exam had begun, he had barely studied the night before and he wouldn’t be able to do it now. Ethan swayed, losing track of himself as Logan’s hand settled on his shoulder, grounding him with a warmth that spread from his shoulder and down his torso, reshaping him. Ethan was closer to Logan then he had ever dreamed of being, his stomach full of butterflies, his boner now at full mast, his frightened face calming. 

Nick stepped forward from the crowd of Titans, his uniform catching the harsh glare of the locker room lights. He looked immaculate—his black hair perfectly styled, his broad shoulders and towering frame exuding confidence. But it wasn’t just his appearance that had changed, his demeanor was alien to Ethan. The quiet, reserved friend he’d once known was gone. Nick’s cocky smirk radiated an easy dominance, and his voice was smooth, almost predatory.

“C’mon, Ethan. Stop fighting it,” Nick said, his tone light but commanding. He moved closer, each step deliberate. “Trust me—you’ll feel so much better when you let go. I was just like you, man. Always stressing about stupid crap, always stuck in my head. But look at me now. No worries. No stress. Just the team, the game, and good times.”

Ethan tried to step back, but his legs felt like they were rooted to the floor. His mind raced, scrambling for some kind of foothold against the tide of warmth radiating through him.  The feeling was intoxicating, and it was soothing, seductive, sapping his strength. “No… Nick… this isn’t you. This isn’t us. You… you loved coding,” Ethan stammered, his voice trembling as he clung to the memory. “You were… brilliant…”

Nick chuckled, his grin widening. “Coding? Dude, who cares about that now? What’s so great about staying up late, stressing over some lame project that nobody else gives a damn about? Or rolling dice and memorizing spells? You think any of that’s gonna matter when you’re part of the team? Nah, man, all you need is the game, the bros, and the girls.”

Ethan shook his head weakly, trying to fight the growing pull in his chest. The warmth was spreading faster now, his posture straightening involuntarily, his shoulders pulling back as if they were no longer under his control. His stomach tightened, the softness of his midsection fading. He could feel his body changing, even as his mind screamed against it.

“I don’t care about girls,” Ethan managed, his voice cracking. “I don’t care about football. I just want—”

Nick leaned closer, his tone softer now, almost teasing. “Don’t care about girls? You sure about that, bro? I think you’re just scared. But trust me, once you’re one of us, everything will make sense. You’ll finally fit in. You’ll finally be someone.”

Logan stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Ethan’s shoulder. The warmth intensified, sinking deeper into Ethan’s chest. Logan’s grin was bright, almost blinding. “He’s right, bro. You’re already halfway there. Stop fighting it—it’s way easier. And it feels so much better.”

Ethan’s legs trembled, but Logan’s grip steadied him. The warmth spread downward, firming his hips and thighs, replacing years of awkward stiffness with raw, natural power. His jeans stretched and warped, transforming into tight football pants. His shoes morphed into cleats, the rubber soles gripping the floor with purpose. His feet grew, broad and solid, the perfect foundation for the towering frame he was becoming.

“No, stop… please…” Ethan whimpered, though his voice was losing its urgency, slowing to match the haze settling over his thoughts. The panic in his mind clashed with an emerging calm, a strange contentment that didn’t feel like his own.

“You’re almost there, bro,” Nick said, clapping him on the back. “You’re gonna love it. No more studying. No more worrying about tests or nerdy stuff. Just the team, the game, and living it up. You’ll see.”

Ethan’s chest swelled, his shirt tightening before shifting entirely into the signature Titans’ uniform. The fabric hugged his body, highlighting his broadening shoulders and the growing muscle beneath. His arms thickened, veins standing out against his tanned skin. His hands grew larger, stronger, built for gripping and throwing instead of typing and gaming.

Tears welled in Ethan’s eyes as he felt his mind slipping further, his old thoughts and passions drained away, replaced by something simpler, more primal. “No, I don’t want this,” he murmured, though even as he said it, his voice deepened, resonating with new strength. “I don’t… I don’t…”

Nick smirked, his voice smooth and encouraging. “You do, bro. You just don’t know it yet. All that stuff you’re clinging to? It’s holding you back. Let it go. Be one of us.”

Ethan’s mind screamed in protest, clinging to the memories of late-night gaming sessions, hours spent pouring over books, the thrill of creativity and strategy. But those memories grew dimmer, fuzzier, as if they belonged to someone else. In their place came new thoughts: the roar of the crowd, the thrill of scoring a touchdown.

The warmth in his chest spread to his groin, and his sexuality began to twist and shift. The longing he’d once felt for boys like Logan blurred, fading into a vague admiration that morphed into platonic camaraderie. Instead, his mind filled with new desires: cheerleaders in tight uniforms, girls with bright eyes and bubbly laughs. 

‘Yeah, girls are hot. That’s just how it is’, he thought, the idea sliding into place like it had always been there. He felt his intelligence dimming like a lightbulb on a dimmer switch, his once-quick thoughts slowing, replaced by simpler ones. 

‘Football good. Girls hot. Team everything.’ 

His jawline sharpened, his cheeks losing their boyish softness. His lips curled into an easy grin, radiating charm and confidence. His ginger hair darkened, shifting to a rich, sandy blond, styled effortlessly into a tousled, all-American look. He caught his reflection in the mirror—a Titan, through and through. 

“Damn, Evan, look at you!” Tanner called, his laughter echoing in the locker room. “You’re gonna crush it out there, man.”

Ethan—Evan now—blinked, the name clicking in his mind as if it had always been his. The faint whispers of his old self faded into the background, drowned out by the team’s cheers. He turned to Nick, his grin wide and natural. “Yo, Nick, you were right. This feels amazing.”

Nick slung an arm around Evan’s broad shoulders. “Yo, man, you were looking for me earlier, right? Something about a game?”

Evan nodded, his grin unwavering. “Yeah, bro. You think we’ll crush next week’s match? Coach says we’ve got the best lineup yet.”

Nick laughed. “Hell yeah, bro. With you on the team? We’re unstoppable.”

Evan puffed out his chest, pride swelling in his heart. “Hell yeah. Titans for life, baby.”

The locker room erupted in cheers as the team rallied around their newest member. Evan stood tall among them, every inch the perfect Titan. Whatever Ethan had been was gone, absorbed into the collective confidence and camaraderie of the team. Evan didn’t miss him.

[rozza22365]

The Titan Touch: Prologue

little horror story for halloween (not sure how effective it is) Might make it a short series, hope you enjoy. ---------------------------------------- Crestview High sat nestled in a picturesque valley, where the leaves blazed red and gold as Halloween approached. It seemed like any other sleepy small-town school, but as the days grew shorter, a strange darkness slinked through the halls, cloaked in football jerseys and perfect, too-white smiles.

No one knew exactly how it had started, but it all seemed to trace back to a new transfer student, Jason—a classic heartthrob, with a warm smile, tousled hair, and a wholesome charm that felt straight out of a teen romance movie. Jason had joined the Titans, Crestview's football team, in late September, and in the weeks that followed, the Titans began to change.

At first, they had been the usual jocks: loud, rough around the edges, and generally uninterested in anything outside their sport. But as the season wore on, their roughness softened, replaced by a strange, uncanny allure. Week by week, game by game, they began to resemble Jason more and more. Their faces grew unnaturally smooth, their complexions flawless, and their eyes took on a captivating glint. Each Titan sported perfect tousled hair, and their physiques were suddenly lean, toned, and almost too perfect, like they’d been chiseled from a mold.

Rumors swirled through Crestview High, whispered at lunch tables and murmured between classes. People noticed the changes in the Titans, but no one dared to mention it outright—no one wanted to be the first to call it unnatural. Some students joked about the "Jason Effect," saying he was just a good influence, that his charm and perfect looks were rubbing off on the team. But others weren’t so sure. There was something about the way the Titans carried themselves now, something off-kilter in their sparkling eyes and flawless grins, that left an unsettled chill in the air.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh fuck its maths tomorrow, I’ve barely studied for it” Ethan moaned as it put his books away in his locker. Ethan was a chubby, red-haired student with bright ginger hair that always stood out in a crowd. His round glasses perched on his nose, giving him a bookish look that matched his obsession with D&D and its endless lore. He often stayed up late, reading up on campaigns and character backstories.

“Not our problem, maybe don’t spend so long on league and you might get stuff done” came Martin. Martin had an average build, carrying a bit of extra weight, with a mop of untamed blonde hair. Freckles dotted his face, which was often marked by a few spots. Known for his sharp mind, he had a knack for coding and anything tech-related, spending hours behind his computer tinkering with new ideas.

“Could be worse. Could be in disciplinary with the coach after trying to flunk sports… and did I mention its after school on a friday,” Alfie chimed in. Alfie, was tall and gangly, with short, curly black hair that flopped over his forehead. Though less academically inclined than his friends, he was deeply absorbed in video games and comics, immersing himself in their worlds every chance he got.

“Do you think David will be in, I need him to explain some of this advanced stuff” asked Ethan

“Doubt it, probably snogging Jay at the LGBTQ+ club, which reminds me, you're all going later right?” 

As the four nerds sat squabbling about their day, Tom, the loner, walked by unnoticed. He was 5’7 with a thin build, his skin pale with spots, with unkempt messy brown hair. He walked past everyone and straight down a corridor to his locker. Tom had no engagement with anyone, and when he did, he ended up making a fool of himself. His grades were ok, but not enough to progress far. He opened his locker and sighed, just another day, at least most people avoided him.  

But as he kept his head low, the sound of football cleats crashing into the floor grew louder until a sudden stop.

“Hey, Tom!”

He flinched, glancing over his shoulder. Logan and Topher stood behind him, both wearing those flawless, white smiles. Logan leaned casually against the lockers, his tousled hair falling perfectly into place, while Topher, taller and somehow even more pristine, grinned beside him. Tom tried to ignore the strange flutter in his chest as he met Logan’s gaze. They never spoke to him—well, unless they were up to something.

“Uh… hey?” Tom mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced around, expecting to see a camera or a laughing crowd hiding nearby, but it was just the three of them.

Logan chuckled, his eyes crinkling just so. “Just wanted to say what’s up,” he said, his voice warm and friendly. “Haven’t seen you around much.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Yeah, I like to keep it that way.”

Logan and Topher laughed, not in a mocking way but in a way that somehow softened Tom’s irritation. Logan leaned in a bit closer, flashing a grin that was just too charming, his eyes fixed on Tom’s. Tom felt his pulse quicken. What is wrong with me? he thought. He tried to look away, but something about Logan’s face—those soft, puppy eyes, the faint dimple on his left cheek—kept him rooted to the spot.

Logan extended his fist, smiling with a friendly warmth that made Tom’s annoyance melt. “Fist bump?”

Caught off guard, Tom hesitated, but Logan’s gaze held him, as if daring him to refuse. His own hand moved automatically, his knuckles meeting Logan’s with a soft bump. The second their fists touched, a faint tingle shot up Tom’s arm, as if Logan’s warmth had seeped into his skin. He blinked, momentarily dazed, his mind foggy. Logan’s face seemed even brighter, even more perfect.

“Glad you’re with us, man,” Logan said, his voice soft but sure.

“Yeah, buddy,” Topher added, clapping Tom on the back. The pat was firm, almost grounding, but as Topher’s hand left his shoulder, Tom felt an odd, heady rush, like warmth settling in his bones. His annoyance was gone, replaced by a strange, almost peaceful calm, as if all his usual worries had been smoothed over.

Logan gave him a slow nod, his grin widening just a bit. “Catch you later, Tom,” he said, locking eyes with him in a way that felt… oddly reassuring.

“Yeah… later,” Tom mumbled, the words coming out slow, his own voice sounding distant.

As they walked off, Tom stood there, staring after them. He felt like he’d just woken from a dream, his thoughts oddly muddled. His mind tried to summon up his annoyance again, that instinctive distaste he usually felt around the Titans, but instead, all he felt was a faint warmth spreading through him.

Tom stumbled into his next class, still feeling that strange warmth pulsing through him. His skin tingled with a persistent buzz that wouldn’t go away, and he rubbed at his arm, where the feeling was strongest. No one else seemed to notice; his classmates filed in, chatting, flipping open notebooks, none of them sparing him a second glance. But for Tom, everything felt off. As the teacher droned on about chemical bonds, Tom felt his mind drifting, something that never happened—he loved this class.

A faint ache bloomed in his muscles, like the warm soreness after a workout, except Tom hadn’t lifted anything heavier than his backpack. He shifted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight around his shoulders. Glancing down, he noticed his arms looked… a little more toned than usual, his forearms more defined beneath the fluorescent lights. He shook his head, feeling lightheaded, his thoughts drifting in and out of focus. That feeling from earlier, the warm, strange contentment that had come over him in the hallway, seemed to deepen.

As the bell finally rang, Tom grabbed his things, heading for the door. His head spun, but he tried to ignore it, pushing down the weird sensations building in his body. But the moment he stepped into the hallway, he nearly collided with Logan and Topher, who grinned as if they’d been waiting for him.

“Tom! There you are,” Logan said, his smile bright as ever, those puppy-dog eyes locking onto Tom’s. He felt a flicker of resistance, but something in Logan’s gaze soothed him, like everything was somehow okay as long as Logan was looking at him.

Topher clapped him on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “How’s it going, man? Looking good, you know.” His tone was casual, but something about his words made Tom’s skin crawl, even as warmth pulsed stronger through his veins.

Tom managed a weak smile, trying to ignore the way his chest felt oddly tight. “Uh, yeah… feeling a bit weird, actually,” he admitted.

Logan chuckled. “You’re probably just hyped up. We were actually thinking…” He exchanged a look with Topher, and Tom felt the weight of their shared gaze. “You should come by practice tonight. You’ve got, I dunno, potential.”

The words washed over Tom, and before he could think it through, he found himself nodding. “Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll… I’ll come by.”

“Awesome,” Topher said, patting him on the back again. That warmth surged through Tom, stronger now, and as they walked off, he felt strangely compelled to watch them go, even as a creeping discomfort gnawed at him.

As the day wore on, Tom’s discomfort grew, but that warm, tingling sensation only intensified. His shirt seemed even tighter around his chest, his legs brushing against each other in a way they never had before. He rushed out of class, and went to the restroom. When he caught his reflection in the restroom mirror, his heart skipped. His face looked… different. His cheekbones appeared sharper, his jaw more defined, his skin a little clearer, his hair somehow fluffier, softer. He lifted up his clothes to reveal his stomach now had a six-pack etched onto it, while his pecs pushed at his shirt.

His stomach dropped. He looked… he looked like one of them.

By lunchtime, the feeling had nearly overwhelmed him. He spotted Logan and Topher at their usual table, surrounded by other Titans who wore the same practiced, warm smiles and the same flawless, slightly vacant looks. He marched over, hands clenched, ignoring the way his fingers felt firmer, somehow more muscular.

“What did you guys do to me?” he demanded, keeping his voice low.

Logan looked up, his smile blank and unbothered, as if Tom’s tone didn’t faze him at all. “What do you mean, man?”

“You know exactly what I mean. This… feeling, this… changing,” Tom stammered, pulling at his collar. “It’s you. You’re doing something.”

Topher rose, grinning that same too-friendly grin. Without warning, he wrapped Tom in a warm, firm hug, holding him close. “Relax, bro. It’s nothing to worry about. Just… go with it.”

Before Tom could pull away, Logan was on the other side, clapping him on the back and pulling him into a bro hug as well. The embrace felt oddly comforting, like sinking into a warm blanket, and for a moment, Tom felt his resistance slip. The warmth spread through him again, softer, deeper, as if it were soothing all his worries. The whole cafeteria blurred slightly around him, the sounds of chatter and clinking trays fading into a quiet hum.

“Trust us,” Logan whispered, his tone light but unyielding. “This is gonna be good for you, Tom. We’re just helping you reach your full potential.”

They pulled away, leaving Tom standing in a daze, that familiar, creeping warmth pulsing through every fiber of his body. He could feel it now, the change sinking deeper, reshaping him bit by bit. The Titans went back to their table, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t just begun to unravel everything he was. Tom knew something was up, he wanted to resent them for whatever prank or thing they were doing to him, but as the warmth spread, a smile forced its way onto his face. 

The afternoon felt worse for Tom, the warmth was there, but he felt butterflies in his stomach, he didn’t know what was going to happen to him. He barely looked up at the board or even opened his book, he sat and waited until 3. But even if 3 came, what would he do? He wanted to escape whatever plot was being constructed for him, but then he saw Logan’s face in his head, his cute puppy dog eyes and bright white smile imprinted into his psyche, calling him to practice, no, to him. The bell rang and he jumped out of his seat, hurriedly making his way to the locker room. 

Tom pushed open the locker room door, his heart pounding. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat and freshly-washed uniforms, a sharp scent that felt almost… inviting. The Titans were already there, laughing and joking as they changed, their voices booming and carefree. Logan and Topher were at the center, effortlessly drawing everyone’s attention as they exchanged laughs, their white smiles flashing like polished armor.

Tom amassed as much anger as he could and clenched his fists, steeling himself. Just say it, just tell them to stop whatever they’re doing to you. But as he approached, Logan looked up, catching Tom’s gaze with those deep, gleaming eyes.

“Tom!” Logan said, his voice rich with warmth. He slung an arm over Tom’s shoulders, pulling him close. The feeling was instant—comforting and strangely familiar, as if he belonged there, as if he had always belonged there.

“Let go of me!” Tom demanded, though the strength in his voice was waning. “Whatever you guys are doing to me… I need you to stop.”

Logan laughed, his voice calm and reassuring. “We’re not doing anything to you, Tom. We’re helping you. This is just… who you are now.”

Topher grinned and moved beside him, clapping a hand on Tom’s other shoulder. Tom was locked between them now, held close by the two flawless Titans. He could feel it, that warmth seeping deeper, spreading from his shoulders through his chest, tightening his muscles and firming his stance.

“No… I’m… I’m not…” he whispered, the words coming out softer as Logan and Topher both squeezed his shoulders, grounding him between their solid, unrelenting bodies.

“You’re one of us, Tom,” Topher said, his voice so close, so calm. “No more worries, no more doubts. Just perfect, like us”

Tom’s head spun, and he looked up at Logan, whose eyes sparkled with that mesmerizing glint. Suddenly, he felt his resistance dissolve, his doubts slipping away as the warmth flooded his mind, washing away every question, every nagging thought. He wanted to look away but couldn’t; Logan’s gaze held him in place, filling his mind with easy, familiar images—football games, locker room jokes, the thrill of the field under the stadium lights.

His breathing slowed as his worries faded, replaced by a deep, overpowering confidence that left no room for anything else. “I… guess…” he began, his voice sounding distant, strange.

“There you go,” Logan said, nodding approvingly. “Just relax. This is you.”

The warmth pulsed through his mind, clearing out everything else. His love of literature and late-night gaming sessions drifted away, replaced by a drive to practice, to push his body to its limits, to feel the adrenaline of the game. His gaze drifted down to his chest as his clothes began to shift, the fabric thickening and morphing until a football jersey stretched tight over his broadening shoulders. He was becoming stronger, taller, his arms filling out with defined muscles, his entire body reshaping to fit the Titans’ uniform as though he’d always worn it.

"Football,” he thought suddenly, the word bursting to life with a strange excitement. The field, the crowd, the roar of his teammates—it all filled him with a bright, almost overwhelming thrill. He wasn’t a loner anymore; he was part of the team, a Titan. And the Titans were everything he wanted to be—confident, friendly, strong. His doubts, his insecurities—they were fading, replaced by a clear purpose, a fierce desire to join his brothers and carry the team to victory.

His old thoughts, ones that had flickered with hesitation, with curiosity, with a need to be different—they were erased, replaced by a blunt, eager certainty. He was a Titan, and Titans didn’t waste time on thinking too much. They didn’t question; they did. They didn’t hold back, didn’t think about things like “fitting in” or “standing out.” And as for his thoughts on… guys? Those memories felt fuzzy, distant, fading to dust as his mind filled with something new, something simple and straightforward.

Thoughts of girls, of cheerleaders, of crushes and dates took their place, filling him with a surge of typical, familiar confidence. He caught himself thinking about asking a girl to the Halloween dance, imagining her cheering him on from the stands, just like all his teammates had. His old self fought back, the tiniest voice left screaming that this wasn’t who he was. But the new thoughts, the team’s thoughts, were too strong, and he felt them washing over him like a tide.

Logan squeezed his shoulder, grinning wide. “Hey, Tanner, you ready for practice?”

For a moment, Tom hesitated, that quiet, begging voice in his mind trying to hold him back. But then he felt it—the final, snapping wave of confidence that drowned out everything else. His name… Tanner. Yes, that was right, he was Tanner. Proud, confident, and one of the Titans. A grin spread across his face, matching Logan’s. He could feel the final threads of his old self snapping, falling silent, and his mind cleared, filled only with loyalty to his team, his brothers, his Titans.

“Hell yeah, Logan,” he said, his voice loud, proud, and full of that new energy. “I’m ready to win.”

Logan and Topher gave him a proud, approving nod, their too-perfect smiles gleaming. Topher patted his chest, grinning as Tanner felt his heart swell with pride.

“Glad to have you, man,” Topher said, voice warm with that eerie kindness. “Now let’s go—there’s still more of the team to bring together. We’re just getting started.”

[breedertfs-deactivated20240831]

OnlyWishes

When Tim’s boyfriend jokingly wished to be an OnlyFans star so that he could help pay off their bills for the month, Tim had only laughed and shoved the twink playfully. “Sure, babe. Just as long as I’m in all of your videos.”

Little did they know, I was listening. Two wishes for the price of one are rare, but I was feeling generous that day. If Tim’s boyfriend wanted to be a star and rake in the cash, then I could make it happen. Things just had to change.

Skinny blonde twinks are boring. They’re just a quick web search away. He wanted to be every gay boy’s forbidden desire? So be it. Watch him start to stretch taller, watch his muscles begin to bloat, smell him sweat like a pig.

All Tim can do is look on in fear as before his eyes his sweet boyfriend is quickly replaced by another man. A flash of blue light and then the form of a hulking monster taking over everything that made Tim’s boyfriend… well, his boyfriend.

“Fuck, bro,” is all the new beast cares to say, smelling like the inside of a gym sock and smirking like he’s done something worthwhile. This isn’t Tim’s boyfriend, not anymore. Tim’s boyfriend hadn’t been an OnlyFans star.

“Time for a new video,” the bro says, stomping closer to Tim. That’s when he remembers his own wish, to be in every video with his boyfriend, glancing down to see the thick python straining the stranger’s sweatpants. But then…

It’s not even erect. He looks up into his former boyfriend’s eyes, and the dude isn’t even paying any attention to him. He glances at the room as it changes, weights on the floor and cum stained jock straps hanging off everything.

Posters of chicks with big tits on the walls. A fleshlight with pussy lips lying on the messy bed. He covers his nose, suddenly trapped in the lair of a straight man, forced to watch him stomp closer and closer to his prey.

And then the man walks straight into him, slamming his chest against Tim’s cheek. But to the young gay’s dismay, he finds himself unable to pull away. He lifts his hands to the two beefy pillows, only to watch his fingers sink inside.

He starts screaming, trying to free his body, but it only takes a matter of seconds until the room is silent and the fighting stops. Tim’s perspective changes, feeling heavy and bloated and so warm. Something rubs against him. He can’t speak.

“Oh, shit,” a deep voice rumbles through him, followed by booming laughter. He feels himself start to bounce, up and down until he feels almost sick. “Yeah, you fags love my pecs. Watch ‘em twerk.” Tim tries to cry out, but he can’t. He’s nothing but a money maker for his former boyfriend now.

“Stay subscribed, ass eaters, next week is the fart video y’all freaks keep requesting. Whatever, as long as I get paid! That’s all that matters!”

Tim nods in agreement. It’s all he can do,

[user211201]

— Originally posted on 2020-10-01 by breedertfs —

— Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs —

[rozza22365]

What a classic

[rozza22365]

Didn’t you publish a muscle growth story a while back about a nerdy posh British boy visiting his American cousins during the summer and he is given a pair of swim shorts at party by one of his cousins that transform him into a dumb jock that loves American football?

I recall it but it was years ago now, not sure how far back I have to go to get it.

[rozza22365]

American Pride

It was a beautiful summer day, and the sun's rays brought life to the park and city streets, where colorful Pride parade protests were happening. The streets were filled with vibrant shades, diverse outfits, and people from all backgrounds celebrating together.

Jamie Harding, a 27-year-old passionate advocate for change, was a familiar face at liberal gatherings. With his tousled brown hair, slender build, and a rainbow flag draped over his shoulders, he stood out. His green eyes sparkled with conviction as he protested against injustices, particularly LGBTQ+ rights.

Jamie, along with his friends Jay, Matthew, and Quinn, held placards decrying the government and military-industrial complex as fascists for perpetuating a fictional war against the non-existent nation of Nordhavn. Despite the nation's apparent nonexistence, the media perpetuated the myth, and Jamie's community decided to voice their concern.

Military culture was infiltrating society, with military influencers promoting discipline, obedience, and patriotism. Recruitment had become more drastic, and people were disappearing, only to reappear in boot camps. Jamie and his friends were undeterred, marching through city blocks, raising their voices against the authoritarian measures.

As the parade continued, Jamie and his friends veered off the guided path and into a shadowed street. Suddenly, flashbangs and stun grenades erupted, turning powerful voices into screams. Jamie and his friends were subdued, cuffed, and loaded into a van. The van sped off, the road bumpy and long. Jamie looked around at his friends, all cuffed and bound in the van. Eventually the van came to a stop.

The van door opened to reveal a cold, sterile factory with grey metallic walls and harsh fluorescent lighting. The air was filled with the hum of machinery and the occasional muffled cries. Jamie's heart sank as he saw a conveyor belt processing his friends and other protestors. Their arms were bound, and their feet locked in place as they screamed and yelled in vain, about to be sent down the conveyor to be transformed into something unknown.

Jamie was strapped in, his wrists and ankles bound by cold metal restraints. He stood upright, unable to move as the belt carried him deeper into the factory. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Jamie saw rows of other men, similarly restrained, pleading and struggling against their bonds. The belt jerked forward, and the first station loomed ahead. Robotic arms descended, scanning the body of the man infront, and Jamie watched in horror as they shot right into his body, the malicious substance shooting into his veins. In seconds, the man’s screams grew pained as his body grew uncontrollably. 

Next was Jamie’s turn, the belt sending him closer to the needles, while he stood helpless. The robotic arms scanned his body with a cold, blue light. Jamie felt a sharp pain as needles injected into his skin, delivering a cocktail of chemicals. He watched in horror as his chest and stomach began to transform. His once slender frame thickened, muscles swelling and rippling under his skin. His pectorals pushed out, becoming firm and defined. His abs tightened and hardened, each muscle standing out in stark relief.

His arms and legs followed suit, growing thicker and stronger. His biceps bulged, veins becoming visible under his skin. His thighs expanded, muscles coiling with power, while his calves firmed up, adding to his new, powerful stance. His buttocks tightened and lifted, squeezing up his hole tight, and forming a perfectly sculpted shape.

The transformation continued upward, reaching his face. Jamie felt his jawline sharpen and his cheekbones become more pronounced, giving him a chiseled, authoritative appearance. His skin seemed to tighten, his features becoming more defined and less expressive, embodying the stoic demeanor expected of a marine. 

His skin began to tighten and smooth out, the signs of age fading away. His features became more youthful, his muscles even more defined and toned. He could feel his body regressing from 27 to 18, the years melting away to leave behind the prime physical condition of an ideal young marine.

Next, the belt carried him to a station where his hair was addressed. Mechanical shears buzzed to life, swiftly cutting away his wavy locks. He felt the cold steel against his scalp, leaving a short, regulation marine cut. As the clippers moved over his head, Jamie's once carefree hair was replaced by a tight, disciplined style. His new haircut was short on the sides and back, with just enough length on top to be combed neatly—a practical, no-nonsense look befitting a marine.

The belt pushed on and a series of nozzles and robotic arms began to spray and assemble a uniform on him. At first, Jamie felt a cool mist envelop his body, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. The mist condensed, forming a thin, sticky layer on his skin. Then, a tighter, more substantial fabric began to materialize. The digital camouflage pattern slowly appeared, wrapping around his new muscular form. The fabric felt snug, hugging every contour of his newly sculpted body.

He felt the weight of the combat boots as they formed around his feet, the sturdy soles grounding him in his new reality. The trousers molded to his legs, the fabric stretching but remaining firm, providing both flexibility and support. His new camouflage fatigues clung to his powerful thighs and sculpted calves. The jacket formed next, buttoning itself up to his neck, the collar stiff and constricting. Patches and insignia adorned the uniform, marking his rank and affiliation.

Jamie glanced down, seeing the transformation complete. The uniform felt strange, a mix of discomfort and new power. The tightness around his chest and arms emphasized his muscular build, while the rigidity of the fabric made every movement precise and deliberate. The uniform was more than just clothing; it was a second skin, a symbol of his new identity.

As the conveyor belt moved him forward, Jamie caught glimpses of the others around him undergoing similar transformations. The factory was filled with the sounds of machinery whirring, metal clinking, and the occasional scream as bodies were forcibly reshaped. He saw a man with vibrant red hair had his head forcibly shorn, his locks falling to the floor as they were replaced by a short, brown marine cut.

Faces once full of character and individuality became stern and impassive, expressions of determination replacing fear and confusion. The diverse array of clothing and personal styles was stripped away, replaced by identical green digital camouflage uniforms. Each man emerged from the process with a muscular, buff body, standing tall and powerful.

Jamie could see the uniform forming on others, the fabric materializing and tightening around their newly sculpted bodies. He watched as Matthew, previously wearing a colorful T-shirt, was enveloped in the cool green mist, the fabric taking shape, and hardening into the same tight, constricting uniform that he now wore.

The sight was surreal and unsettling. The factory had turned the colorful diversity of the men around him stripped away, replaced by a uniform sea of green camouflage, built bodies, and regimented brown haircuts. The vibrant individuality that once defined them had been replaced by a monotony that screamed conformity and obedience. Jamie felt a deep sense of unease as he looked down at himself, seeing the same transformation reflected in his own body.

As the conveyor belt carried him forward, he was moved to another station, where a dark visor descended over his eyes. As the visor settled on his face, he felt two earpods silence the room as they went deep into his ears. He struggled, but the restraints held him in place. The visor lit up, flooding his vision with a barrage of images, words, and sounds designed to rewire his brain.

At first, there was an overwhelming flood of white noise, like static from an old television. Jamie winced, trying to shut it out, but the noise persisted, burrowing into his consciousness. Images started to flicker before his eyes—bright, vivid, and unrelenting. American flags waving in the breeze, small town parades with smiling families, rows of uniformed marines standing at attention. Patriotic slogans flashed in bold letters: "Duty, Honor, Country," "Pride in Service," "Semper Fi."

The noise began to coalesce into a voice, deep and authoritative. "You will be reprogrammed. Your thoughts, values, and memories will be aligned with those of a proud American marine."

"You are an American. You are a patriot. You serve your country with pride. Protestors are weak. Patriotism is strength." The words repeated, over and over, drilling into his mind. Jamie tried to cling to his own thoughts, but they were drowned out.

He saw images of protests being violently suppressed, and the voice intoned, "Protests are chaos. Order must be maintained. Protect the homeland." His old beliefs were being overwritten. The notion of peaceful protests felt distant, replaced by an urge to maintain order at any cost.

Scenes of small-town America filled his vision—white picket fences, families at barbecues, children playing in parks. The images were accompanied by a narrator extolling the virtues of traditional values: "Family. Community. Patriotism." Jamie felt his liberal ideals being eroded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of national pride.

The sensation was like being caught in a tidal wave. His own thoughts were suppressed, pushed deeper into his subconscious as the brainwashing took hold. He felt his resistance weakening, his mind becoming pliable under the relentless onslaught. The visor fed him memories of a life he never lived: growing up in a small town, playing football in high school, enlisting in the military to serve his country.

Jamie saw himself at family gatherings, surrounded by loved ones who cheered his decision to join the Marines. He felt a surge of pride and a deep sense of duty, emotions foreign to him until now. His new identity began to solidify, the old Jamie Carter fading away.

Jamie felt a sharp pain in his temples as the machine injected a series of neural stimulants. His thoughts began to blur, his liberal values struggling to hold on. He remembered his days protesting against war and advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, but these memories were quickly fading, being pushed aside by forced ideologies of fervent and unquestioning patriotism to the nation, and an unwavering loyalty to the military and his comrades

As his thoughts were washed away by the overwhelming power of brainwashing, he felt as if a new cup was pushed onto his crotch. The cup gave off some sensational feelings that perked up his dick, with every bit of brainwashing that was absorbed into his head the better his dick felt. Not only was it feeling good but it was growing in size, his nuts ballooned out as his weak cum was enhanced. 

The next wave of brainwashing targeted his sexuality. His sense of masculinity was forcibly redefined. He saw images of attractive women, their features idealized to fit the mold of perfect wives and mothers. "Heterosexuality is natural. Family is purpose. Breeding is duty." 

He saw clips of military fathers with their sons, passing down the torch of duty and honor, fathers playing catch with their sons, The desire to father children, to create a new generation of patriotic sons who would follow in his footsteps, consumed him. "Patriotic children are the future. Breeding is essential”

A powerful urge began to take root within him—a primal need to breed, to create a new generation of patriotic Americans. The idea of being gay, something that had once been a core part of his identity, was now foreign and repugnant to him. The brainwashing painted a vivid picture of the perfect life: a devoted wife, a house full of children, and a life dedicated to serving his country.

As the machine continued its relentless assault, Jamie's thoughts were reshaped entirely. The values and beliefs he had once held were buried deep beneath layers of patriotic propaganda.  His desire to be part of a loving, diverse community was replaced by an overwhelming need to conform. His sexuality, a source of pride, was reformed into the ideal of a straight, all-American male with a fixation on breeding.

His mind reeled, but the relentless conditioning left no room for resistance. Jamie was swallowed up whole, with nothing left. The conveyor belt moved him forward one last time, and Jamie, now Private Jake Anderson, stood tall and proud in his uniform.

The factory had done its job, transforming him into an all-American marine, ready to serve his country with unwavering loyalty. As he looked ahead with a stern expression, the echoes of the factory's machinery and the screams of transformation faded into the background. Private Matthews was ready to take his place among the ranks, his past life forgotten, his future defined by honor, duty, and country.

[sjw-publishings]

Hey Everyone,

I don’t tend to write these kinds of posts on my tumblr page, however I feel this is necessary.

In the event you are not aware, Dumb and Jocked, the main person I do collabs with, and also who is someone who most people might consider to be one of the backbones of the Tumblr TF community, has deactivated his account and left us last week.

Most of the people and I do not know exactly why or how this happened, but it's the reality of the situation unless he somehow does return in the future.

Some tumblrs might still have some of his stories reblogged, including mine, however some of which cannot be accessed as they are stuck at the ‘read more’ page. Notably his longer stories ‘Branded’ and both parts of the major collaboration we did together in ‘Narrow residences’.

If anyone has any of these stories saved somewhere, it would be great if you could either link it to me or post it on Tumblr.

Below will be my farewell to him, in the event he ever does somehow read it. This probably is not the best farewell letter, but it's the best I could do in such short notice and also posting it publicly. —————————————————————

Hey Dumb and Jocked,

Thanks for reading this, and I'm sad to see you go.

We’ve worked on various collabs together and it was fun throughout the years discussing various ideas here and there with you.

Unfortunately, after you left, it just feels really upsetting looking at the stuff you wrote. Even those that were saved from reblogs and reposts from other blogs. While I do want to keep them for memories and also because I did collaborate on some of them, it just feels much sadder trying to indulge in your stories or continue in sequels of it.

I was shocked that you would leave us out of the blue, however a part of me anticipated this.

I'm mostly speculating, but this is a hobby that can be rather controversial and you contributed a massive ton, likely without any compensation. You were quite private in general and talked about stories and bounced off my ideas now and then.

You sort of have a clean gateway if you decide to ever leave for good, as you probably are not really close to anyone here other than writing TF stories.

Some of us hoped that you might return, and speculated maybe it's tumblr accidentally banning you and you would get your account back, but as the days went by, it only reaffirmed that my anticipation was likely correct.

I myself mostly continued on tumblr for you, and I'm not sure if I would continue now that the main reason and person I stuck around for has left without letting any of us know. It is something I will have to decide for myself in the future.

If you ever do return to Tumblr or decide to message me privately to talk about things, that would be great. I do hope you return, even if you don’t write stories that frequently or even at all, so we could talk for a bit.

However I know that I won’t wait forever.

That’s all I will write in this letter. It was fun writing and discussing TF stories with you while it lasted.

-Sjw Publishings

[rozza22365]

Anyone know what happened to Dumb and Jocked

I was chatting to him a week a go, and he changed his name, but then he was deactivated. I don't know if he did or tumblr did it, but its annoying to see such an amazing writer vanish.

[rozza22365]

Helping a bro in need

Derrick sauntered into his apartment sulkily. He walked right past Max who was enjoying the big game on tv with a few beers. 

“Hey broski, wanna beer,” he asked cheerfully. Derrick was far too sad, he took in his words and sauntered on to his room. Max stared in disbelief, Derrick had never been this upset before. He wanted to help but Derrick shut his door before he could speak. Derrick and Max had been roommates and became friends over the years.

Putting his ear to the door Max eavesdropped on his friend. He could hear him talking now on the phone, probably to Sophie, his other friend. Max could hear him talking through the door. Derrick had a bad break up with his boyfriend, and complained about his struggles with guys, talking about why everything was hard for him. He then spoke about Max, not in a bitchy or rude manner, but just talking about how he could pick up girls, and had a decent job where everyone around him was chill.

Max absorbed the words from his friend and roommate and knew that he needed to help him out. His dumb head began thinking, trying to push away the sports, the drinks and the tits that littered around his mind. He thought for a moment until his mind clicked on what to do. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Later the next day. 

Derrick returned from a tough day at work. He entered his apartment and dropped his bag, turning to see Max smiling at him.

“How was your day, bro” he asked

“It was ok I guess. I need to talk to you Max, I have not been great recently and need…”

“Don’t worry bro, I got you,” Max took out a white box and gave it to Derrick. Derrick took the box and opened it. Inside was a gold chain. He took it out and held it to the light. There was nothing special about the chain, though as the light hit it, it glinted something unique, as if there was more to it. Derrick couldn’t decipher what that was, nor could he understand why Max had given it to him, he never cared for typical gym bro jewelry. 

 “Thanks…” Derrick replied, trying to sound happy rather than confused.

“Lets get it on you bro, sooner it's on the sooner we can party,” Max jumped in, taking the necklace and putting it on Derrick's neck. Derrick stood confused, why was Max eager to get it on him and help out, and party? Max was a party animal, and any cheap place would do, but Derrick preferred quieter gay bars in more affluent areas. 

Suddenly, a warmth surged through his body, emanating from the necklace and spreading rapidly throughout his body. His muscles tightened, expanding with newfound strength and athleticism. His pecs quickly bounced to life as they widened out, bringing his shoulders out too. His stomach stretched and tightened as his core grew stronger, a neat 6 pack etching itself into place. 

“Wha… what the fuck is going on?” Derrick asked pained.

”I know right bro, pretty neat, you wait to see the arms and legs,” Max replied

Derrick looked at him with confused and saddened eyes, what had Max done? Before he could ask, his arms felt heavier and they raised themselves into a flex. As he flexed them, his arms grew thick with bulging biceps and his hands became rough and calloused. Derrick could only watch in awe as his body transformed, becoming hunky and muscular.

“Bro you're looking so ripped right now, just got your legs to go and you’ll be lit,” Max continued.

Derrick wanted to speak again, to ask why his friend was enjoying his torment, but as he was about too, he felt his butt cheeks plump up with fat, before tightening. As his ass grew, so did his thighs, which grew thicker with muscle. His feet became larger, supporting his new athletic frame. In his groin he felt a ting of pleasure, engrossing him to touch it. As he did, he felt his average member grow by a few inches. 

“Looking good now, bro, let's get you to a mirror so you can check out all your gains,” Max smiled, putting an arm around Derrick happily, before pulling him towards the bathroom. Derricks felt weird lumbering forward with his hulking legs, but weirder he could feel his chin begin to itch. Max pushed open the door to the bathroom and they stumbled in. 

“So whaddya think, brah” Max said gleefully. Derrick was shocked in disbelief. He knew he had grown a lot and become absolutely shredded, but seeing himself in the mirror,  he was unrecognisable. His chin had grown short black hairs, forming a small douchey beard. As he looked closer at his face, he instantly realised it had become alien to him. The face he had known for his life, the thin, feminine and cute face that his friends adored was no more. Instead, his face resembled something closer to Max’s. His face with the same chiseled shape, a large nose, and a large mouth with pouty lips, wide puppy eyes with thick dark brows, his beautiful quiff now a short and spiky cut like Max’s. 

“Wha… What have you done to me!?” Derrick demanded

“Bro? I heard you talking last night about how hard it was for you right now. Talking about me too, and how easy I have it, and then I realized, I do have it easy. It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together to sort out your issue and make it easier for you. Why not make you more like me,” Max explained. Derrick was silent as he processed what he was saying, but his head began to feel fuzzy and thoughts became weaker.

“Soo… you're saying… br… that… you changed me to make life easier for me? Bro” Derrick stuttered, as he found it harder to turn his thoughts into words.

“Yeah bro, and you said how much easier it was for me, and I realized that yeah my life is super chill, so I thought why not make you more like me,” Max said cheerfully. Derrick was taken aback by Max’s chill and happy demeanor, despite the horror, he truly thought he was helping out.

“Well I need you to change me back… Braaaaaahhhhh” Derrick asked, before a headache took over. 

“Ah bro its this part, gotta get the cap,” Max said hurriedly, ignoring Derrick's pleas, before pulling a cap out of a drawer. Before Derrick could object, Max plops the cap onto Derrick's head. At first, Derrick feels a tingling sensation, like tiny electrical currents dancing across his scalp. Then, a strange vacuum-like sensation envelops his mind, as if something is being drawn out of him.

“W-Whoa, what's happening, Max? I-I feel weird…”

“It's the ultimate upgrade, bro! This cap's gonna make you as sharp as me!”

Derrick's thoughts become muddled, his once sharp intellect diminishing rapidly. His words start to slur, and he struggles to form coherent sentences.

“M-Max, t-take it off, dude! I-I don't like this…”

“Chill, bro! It's just sucking out your brain juice. You'll thank me later!”

As Derrick's intelligence continues to fade, the cap moves on to its next phase. It starts to extract his interests, pulling them out like threads from a tapestry. Derrick feels a sense of loss as his beloved nerdy passions are stripped away.

“Derrick: N-No, my comics... my video games... Max, s-stop it, please!”

Ignoring Derrick's pleas, Max watches with excitement as the cap completes its task. Suddenly, Derrick's mind floods with images of gym equipment, protein shakes, and workout routines. His body feels energized, and a newfound enthusiasm for fitness surges within him. 

"Max! Make it stop! This isn't what I want!"

Max, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation, simply laughed and reassured him. "Why would you want to stop, bro? You're looking great! Trust me, bro, this is what you need."

Derrick's identity continues to vanish, slowly his name begins to morph, shedding its old identity and adopting a new, bro-centric persona.

“Max… I’m forgetting my name… it’s Derri…”

“Dude, you're not Derrick anymore. You're... (thinks for a moment) ...Danny! Yeah, that's it. Danny the Bro!”

As Max christened the new bro, Danny felt as the feelings of change subside and finish. He was slowly absorbing into his new persona and life, but he knew he had lost something great and Max had taken it.

“Your looking sick brah, I can’t wait to get a pump with you Danny,”

"Dude, pleeshh!" Danny slurred, his words barely recognizable. "Why tho, bro? Stop thish!"

Max, blissfully unaware of the negative consequences of his secret gift, praised Derrick's progress. "Aw man, dude! You're changing so well. You'll have all the chicks after you in no time!"

Danny’s resistance faded, as he looked around the room, he saw dumbbells, sports trophies and Max’s other gym items. They fed into him, into his memories re-writing him into Danny. His eyes wandered to a poster of a blonde bimbo, and suddenly his mind was awash with images, clips and thoughts of similar girls. His cock perked up, standing at full mast in no time, eager to fulfill his new thoughts. The old gay life of Derrick vanished into fog. Danny, the straight bro, who loved to work out with his bro Max, and party, and fuck girls was all that was left now.

“Bro, why the fuck was I trying to go back on this? I look sick now!” Danny exclaimed, lifting up his shirt to reveal his chiseled abs.

“See, I always know how to help bro, Max always knows best. Anyway, there's a party later, and I still got two invites…”

“Say no more bro, I’m down, we’re gonna score a ton of girls tonight,” Danny butted in excitedly. Derrick had never been to a party before, so this made it a new experience for him, but Danny had a new personality that knew exactly what to do. Danny held out his hand to fist bump Max, Max bumped him back smiling. He truly had fixed his friends' problems even if he didn’t know it at first, Danny would have a better time, now that he was more like Max.

[rozza22365]

FlexVirus

Ping

Martin looked down at his phone screen to see a notification of a new message. He could see from the short snapshot of it, that it was nothing more than a spam message. He opened it up to see what rubbish it was, so he could block the account immediately. As he brought up the message though, his eyes were glued to a pic of a half-naked guy smirking right at him. His small chubby cock popped up at the sight of the guy. He stared at him before reading the message;

“Broski, The world is in desperate need of Brosephs to help fight the nerds and whiny fucks in our society. Open the app and sign up to help us take back society from those dweebs”

Martin was perplexed, the message was loaded, but didn’t seem like a conservative or republican message. His mind told him this was just a scam or a virus, but his dick knew that whatever page it took him to, there would be more hot bro’s to look at. Gulping down his fear, Martin tapped the link and opened the page. The page however had nothing on it, just a black screen. Martin looked at it for a second, before seeing a notification that an app was downloading, this must’ve been the virus. He tried to escape the link and stop the download, but his phone was frozen. He sighed, realizing he had fallen for some simple bait.

But before he put his phone down, a loading image appeared. It was a blue light at the centre of the screen with an outline of some cartoonishly bulky character. As the loading finishes, he watches as the app begins going through his images, mostly selfies but also taking memes and other things he found. Martin was horrified at the possibilities of what this virus could do with that, but then as he thought it couldn’t get worse, the app began rummaging through his messages, across multiple apps. His Instagram, Snapchat, WhatsApp, messenger and anything else he used, nothing was safe.

His mind raced about thinking of the worst possible situations this app was going to put him in. The app was beginning to lump all the data together, creating a profile of who he was. Confusion swept through Martin. A picture of Martin abruptly formed on the screen, surrounded by text boxes with aspects of his life, personality, memories, interests and body features. What was it doing?

Profile created…

Positive attributes: None

Brocess level: 5

Begin bodily changes:

Martin gazed in amazement at the sight before him. However, before he could react, his phone began to vibrate, sending shockwaves down his arms and immobilizing him.

His abdomen tightened and tensed, his previously soft stomach rippled with muscle into a chiselled six-pack. His abs form a mesmerizing grid, each muscle defining itself more pronouncedly than before. Martin is now the epitome of physical fitness, his once-soft midsection now an iron shield.

Martin's chest and pectoral muscles undergo a profound metamorphosis, swelling in size as they become larger and fuller. They push outward with undeniable force. The fabric of his shirt rips apart like tissue paper, exposing boulder-like pecs that rise and fall with each breath, oozing raw masculinity. A shadowy valley forms between the two mounds of impressive strength. Martin's calves and thighs began to expand gradually, muscles bulging and gaining definition. His once slender legs grew thicker and stronger with every passing moment.

His shoulders broaden, broadening his frame and giving him a more commanding presence. The undersized shirt strains against his expanding mass, pleading for mercy. His biceps that were once thin and weak bulged with power, filled with sculpted sinew beneath the skin, as veins snake their way across his forearms, pulsating with raw strength.

Martin was in shock at his transformation, what was happening to him? Why was it happening? But just as he thought it was over, the app continued its onslaught against him. The app zoomed in on his face, and he could feel tiny pinches happening all over it. His face began to swell in size, his cheeks and jaw becoming defined and narrow. Prickles of dark hair began to sprout all across his cheeks and jaw, coalescing into a chinstrap. His light brown eyes, deeping into darker brown, their gaze piercing the soul. The light shade to his mop of hair dimmed slowly into a brunette, the messy strands shrinking in size before gelling into a quiff of dark hairs and forming a douchey fauxhawk. His itchy sides shortened into a skin fade that accentuated his style.

Martin watched the avatar change and then looked at the mirror in his room. He would’ve gasped if he could. His face had changed completely, as had his body. He was turning into someone new. He wanted to cry, but in his paralyzed state, he couldn’t even do that. He could only watch.

“Flex…” Bright words shone on the screen, and as he saw them, his body obeyed. His arm flexed showing off his bicep, the veins bulging.

‘No please bro, I need this to stop’ he thought

Smile…” His eyes saw it and he tried to stop it, but the overwhelming strength of the app broke him. A grin, that wasn’t his, forced its way onto his face. Behind this smirking hunk was a screaming nerd, begging for salvation.

‘Oh fuck what's going brah, I need to get free of this pump, why the fuck am I talking like a broseph?!’ he thought panicked to himself, the typical gym bro language manifesting itself within him.

“Physical changes complete…

Mental changes beginning…”

Martin shrieked in his mind, he didn’t want his mind to change, what would be left of him?

In an instant, another shock went through him. The changes were quite abrupt to him. His IQ shot down, and his vocabulary took the brunt. His long and interesting words shrunk down to being grunts before evolving into bruhs, brahs, bros, before turning into complete typical gym rat speak.

“Fuck, bro! These gains are sick, gonna need a bigger pump later” He yelled suddenly, in a voice deeper than his own and spewing out his gym rat persona.

His interest in computers and all things nerd began to break apart. No matter how much he loved or was hyped for, he just found them boring now. Bit by bit, they were reduced until they were no more. ‘Nah, man! I'm all about computers, all about Star Trek, ya know? But somethin's just off, dude. Why ain't I findin' 'em fascinating? What's the deal, bro? Please, dude, I don't wanna transform into a full-on broski!’ he pleaded in his mind, his old vocabulary and speech vanished, replaced by the vulgar speech of a gym rat.

Yo bro, it was like BAM, new interests sparked, getting shredded at the gym every damn day, bumping that same old generic banger, and chugging protein shakes, became the holy grail of his existence. As a treat for his grind, he'd game a bit, nothing crazy, just some epic shooters like CoD to fire up his brain during those non-gym hours. And when the sun dipped low, you know the drill, he'd rage till he passed the F out with his broski crew. dude couldn't help but get hella pumped about a sick party, gettin' down on the dance floor, throwin' back some drinks, gettin' freaky in the sheets, and all them fine ladies around…

‘Yo, I gotta have those badass titties, fly ass chicks, and fine-ass bitches all over me freaking pronto, bruh!’ He thought as images of chicks with curves, big breasts and tight holes filled his mind. ‘bro, somethin' ain't sittin' right with me, 'cause I'm sure I’m gay… but damn, these girls, you know, them titties be bouncin' in my mind. Shit… babes… damn, I'm morphin' into a horny-ass straight broski.’

He tried to resist all of it but the app changed and a clip of some blonde bimbo appeared. His eyes were glued to her and big tits. His mind couldn’t do anything but think of her, his free hand sliding into his undies. He grabbed his member thinking about what he would do with her with his massive member. But it didn’t feel that big. A jolt went through him and his small chubby dick began engorging in size. His hand began jerking, his balls inflated and filled with new potent jock cum. He kept on jerking, with each one, he forgot any resistance and gave into his new persona. The cockiness enveloped him, he knew he looked good and so did everyone else, why fret or feel bad. He smothered himself in arrogance, the thoughts of how he could get any chick and how his arms were the biggest of all his broski’s. “Fuck… I’m the shit… I’m M… Fuck what was my name?” he tried to think as well as jerk off.

“It starts with M, then A… then…?” His secondary thought paused while his main process fired on all cylinders looking at the screen. The app then displayed the name Max on the screen, and his brain clicked.

“M A X… That's fucking right, I’m Max!” he yelled arrogantly and as he did his dick slipped out from his underwear and unleashed a torrent of cum that soaked itself into his room, changing the very environment around him. His books transformed into a basketball, and his computer turned into a TV screen with an Xbox hooked up to it. His cooking bowls turned into tubs of protein powder, and smoothies into energy drinks. Posters of Star Trek and other nerdy franchises turned into hardcore workout posters or pics of topless babes. Max flexed to himself, before texting some chicks he could pick up later.

[rozza22365]

Are you okay dude?

Miss your stories, and more than anything, just want to know if you are alright

Sorry for my long silence I'm not bad rn. I'm just having some long term burnout and focus issues. I still have plenty of ideas and pics, and am constantly discussing them with others. But I just can't sit down and write or focus on it. I just don't feel the need or push to write that much. I've also written so many stories, that writing feels pretty samey to me, so want to branch out and try other themes maybe (not sure though) We'll see if I put anything out this year, I would like too though.

[rozza22365]

Hey, just curious will you be doing any straight-to-gay stories or stories where the characters remain gay? You haven't done one of those in a while and they were enjoyable.

ATM I'm not too sure, I do love it and have had some ideas for it and some gay ideas. But with my burnout rn I'm getting through very little and the ideas or refs I have, have to engage me a lot (which even g2s and other things aren't doing much). Hopefully when I get over this burnout I will have more to write.

[rozza22365]

Submissions

Open to doing some submissions if people want to send some, obviously, I may or may not depending on if I'm into an idea. Nothing too long, and I'm open to doing inanimate or body part tfs too.

p.s. If your going to send me hate mail, don't be an anonymous bitch and show your fucking self next time :), this community could do better with less spiteful shits.

[rozza22365]

Frat Caps

Tyler stood before a full-length mirror, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of tight black gym shorts and a black backwards cap. His muscles glistened under the soft glow of the room, his defined six-pack accentuated by the dim lighting. Mark was taken aback by the sight and couldn't help but ask, "Tyler, what on earth are you doing?"

Tyler turned to face him, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Yo bro, can't you see? I'm flexing! Check out these abs! Fuck! These gains are Amazing," he exclaimed, gesturing towards his chiselled six-pack.

Mark furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the situation. "What's happened to you, Tyler? You've never acted like this before. Is this some kind of prank?"

Tyler smirked, pride evident on his face. "I got this sick cap from the local frat. They said it makes me look badass, but I've always been a bro! Can’t think of a time I haven’t been jacked,” He said proudly, Mark remained confused at the situation. He was about to raise another point but Tyler cut him off. 

 “Fuck, bro these muscles are sick, I’m so getting laid. No chicks gonna refuse these abs or bi’s," He continued flexing, before rubbing a hand over his smooth hairless cheeks. “And these looks, I’m plowing pussy tonight,”

Mark's heart sank as he tried to process what Tyler was saying. "But Tyler, you're my boyfriend. If this is some sort of prank, you can stop it now,"

Tyler's expression turned serious. "No joke, bro. I'm not gay, not into that shit. I'm as straight as an arrow, and ready to conquer chicks with my bro vibes.”

Mark's heart sank as he absorbed Tyler's words. He tried to find the right words to respond.

"But...but what about us? What about our relationship?"

Tyler looked at his sullen face, emotionless to it. The sad mood was dampening his excitement. A smug grin played across Tyler's face as he looked at Mark. It was a knowing smile that sent shivers down Mark's spine. "Bro, forget the boring stuff. You know what would look dope? If you had a cap too," he said, pulling out another black cap from his bag.

With a swift motion, Tyler slapped a black cap onto Mark's head. As the cap touched his head, it instantly tightened, as if fusing itself to his head. As it snapped tightly into place and spun backward, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Mark's mind raced with fear and confusion as he felt a strange surge of energy coursing through his body.

"Yo, dude, what's going on? Something's not right here!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief. His speech quickly devolved into typical cocky bro talk. 

As Mark stood there, he suddenly felt a chill ripple through his body, causing his spine to tingle. As he glanced down, he couldn't help but notice that he had grown to an impressive 6 feet in height, and his shoulders had broadened, providing him with a sturdier and more defined physique.

He then tensed up, and fell on one knee as muscles erupted and bulged across his entire body. He watched in astonishment as his body grew with muscle.  His calves became more defined and his thighs grew thicker and stronger. His abs were a sight to behold, perfectly sculpted and rippling with strength, only to be overshadowed by a pair of large round and perfectly cut pecs. He flexed his arms as his biceps and triceps bulged with raw power. Mark's attention was then drawn to his backside, where two perky globes grew, bouncing with newfound freedom before tightening, rendering his ass unpierceable.

His once sweet and delicate features transformed into a more boyishly masculine appearance. His mouth formed a permanent cocky smile, his nose became more prominent, and his beard vanished, leaving his face clean-shaven. His eyes gained a glint of mischievousness, and his thin brows grew slightly hairier.

He gripped his head, feeling it empty of any intelligence. As soon as his head was emptied though, he felt a build up within, an urge to let out some cocky nature within. Slowly, brocells formed within his mind, creating new interests in working out and sports, video games and partying, and chilling with bros. His identity was completely replaced, even his gay aspects. He no longer saw Tyler as his boyfriend , but his bro. They didn’t suck each other off out of love but a simple need to help each other out, the term no homo protecting them at all times. His attraction to men vanished entirely, a crude and playful attraction to women took over. A strong and lustful desire to fuck and play around with them. All he wanted to do when he was out at a party was to rail some blonde bimbo, with his new thick thrill drill.

His grin growing wider, Mark's name faded away, replaced by a new moniker befitting his transformed self. From that moment on, he would be known as Max, the ultimate gym bro.

Max turned to Tyler, excitement emanating from his newly acquired persona. They fist-bumped, a sign of their newfound camaraderie as bros. 

“Fuck bro, this cap is badass” Max exclaimed excitedly

“Told you, bro. Wanna play some cod and eat chips before going out later,”

“Sure thing bro, and with our muscles we’re bound to get laid”

As the night continued, Max reveled in his new existence. He had fully embraced his transformation. Gym sessions, parties, and conquests filled his days and nights. His once graceful and sensitive nature had been replaced by a bold and audacious demeanor, perfectly in line with his newfound identity.

[rozza22365]

Queer baited

James had been looking forward to a night out with his friends at the local gay bar. It was Saturday, and he was ready to let loose, dance, and maybe even find a cute guy to spend the evening with. Clad in his favourite colourful top and trendy trousers, he felt confident and excited as he entered the bar.

As he made his way through the crowd, James couldn't help but notice two imposing figures standing near the bar. Clad in tight, olive green shirts tucked into their shorts, the marines stood out among the sea of colourful outfits. Their hunky and muscular bodies were a stark contrast to James' own slender frame. They were the embodiment of desire - chiselled jawlines, neatly styled hair, and facial features that spoke of undeniable masculinity.

Intrigued, James couldn't help but ogle the Marines discreetly. Their masculine faces and neatly styled hair only added to their allure. What caught James' attention the most, however, was the way they seemed to be acting and playing affectionately with each other. The air grew thick with anticipation as they played games like gay chicken, a crowd forming around them waiting to see who would kiss who, before they broke off and slapped each other's asses and pretended to be intimate, by whispering in each other's ears and checking each other over to make sure they looked appealing. 

At first, James found their act cute and even hot. His thoughts quickly turned explicit, and he felt his body respond with a growing sense of arousal. His face flushed, and his boner started chubbing. Little did he know, these marines were not what they seemed. Unbeknownst to James, they were playing the crowd, laughing and teasing their way into the hearts of many unsuspecting patrons. They were queer baiting, and James had fallen right into their trap.

A strange warmth spread throughout James' body, starting from his feet. He felt a tingling sensation as his feet began to grow, His once delicate calves and thighs surged in size, becoming thick trunks of solid muscle. The sensation moved upward, tightening his torso into a chiselled six-pack. The sensation surged through his torso, pushing out his pecs and broadening his shoulders. His arms and hands followed suit, growing in proportion to his newfound strength. His clothes struggled to contain his body as they clung on for dear life, but it was a losing battle. His delicate frame was now a thing of the past, replaced by a muscular and powerful physique.

His clothes clung to his transforming body, desperately trying to hold on as he continued to grow. As they strained against his body, his clothes began to dissolve, melting into a thick, slimy substance that clung to his skin. The vibrant colours he once wore faded into the same olive green as the Marines, transforming into a tight shirt that tucked itself neatly into trendy trousers. The trousers themselves melted away, replaced by a dark green camouflage pattern that hugged his new muscular waist. 

The warmth spread to his head, the sensation so intense that it felt like burning. He felt his long quiff shrinking into a typical military haircut. It became cropped and neat, reflecting the standards of the Marines. The once-cute face he possessed hardened, sculpted into a masculine and rugged beauty. His facial features became sharper, his eyebrows thicker, and his eyes sparkled with a newfound intensity. His carefree charm faded, replaced by an air of stoic masculinity.

In a desperate attempt for help, James tried to call out. But to his dismay, no one seemed to pay any attention to him. It was as if he had become invisible as if his existence had been erased. He continued to look for some kind of help, but as he searched he saw more attendees vanish, becoming invisible like him, as they glared right into the marine's trap, forced to undergo the same metamorphosis as he was. Soon they would be united, as bros and Marines in duty, patriotism and camaraderie.  The pain in his head intensified, and his identity began to crumble.

James' interests and passions were stripped away, replaced by rigid drills, military education, and unquestioning patriotism. He no longer cared about the things he used to enjoy. Instead, his mind was filled with thoughts of duty and loyalty to his country. He spoke in bro language, worked out daily to maintain his physique, and followed orders without question.

His gay identity, once a source of pride, was whittled away by this twisted transformation. His pro-gay identity was replaced by heteronormativity. His interest and attraction were faulted, his mind was overrun with images and scenes of bimbo’s bouncing boobs or kissing him, that forced him to become straight. His desire for women became an overwhelming imperative, a primal urge to fuck them and breed them to create the next generation of marines. The mere thought of gay men repulsed him, and he believed vehemently that they should conform and be straight like him. He had become a puppet of the Marines' trap.

The power of the bait had not gone from James though. In his mind, he would carelessly do gay stuff with his bros, never truly believing it meant anything but harmless fun between them. But he knew he had gained a unique ability. Whenever another gay man became attracted to him while he was queer baiting with his bros, they too would be ensnared and transformed into a marine. They'd go through the same agonizing changes, losing their identity and becoming nothing more than soldiers in the Marines' twisted game. His mind, though transformed and changed entirely, still knew what gay men wanted, and he would use this knowledge to attack them with whatever bait he could to entrap them in conversion. 

And so, James decided to embrace his new role. With his newfound ability, he sought out more unsuspecting gay men, luring them into the same trap that had ensnared him. The Marines' quest to recruit more soldiers continued, their trap becoming more powerful with each transformation.

James was now just another soldier, another cog in their scheme. His individuality had been erased, his true self extinguished forever. All that remained was a patriotic marine, who did his duty. And so, James ventured across the bar to join his bros, engaging with his newly acquired bros in their relentless pursuit as they queer-baited more unsuspecting men into their service, carrying out their patriotic duty to convert as many into their ranks. He revelled in the power he held, enjoying each entrapment and watching as more flourished to their side, transforming others into replicas of the militaristic monsters they had become. And as James stood there, surrounded by his bros, he became nothing more than a dutiful soldier, obediently serving his country while spreading a curse that had turned him.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

CinnaMen

Based around a prompt by the marvelous @rozza22365

Damian made his way out of the restaurant, concerned that his boyfriend hadn’t returned from the bathroom in over 20 minutes. Not only that, but Russel hadn’t responded back to the 10 texts he sent, the 3 missed calls, or the alert he’d sent through their shared location app. Damian would admit that he had a tendency to be a bit dramatic, but just because he was a Theatre Arts major didn’t mean Russel could always hold that against him. Damian was just worried; it wasn’t like Russel to not respond back right away. In fact, Damian couldn’t think of anybody who wouldn’t be on their phone after the amount of notifications he’d just sent.

Walking onto the boardwalk, Damian followed the directions the server had given him when he’d asked where the restrooms were located. The pair had been celebrating their one year anniversary by taking a trip out of the city to the seaside, enjoying the heat, the waves, the seafood, and what was to be a romantic evening in an Airbnb. Everything had been moving perfectly along until Russel had left for the bathroom. Damien didn’t think anything of it at first, but as the minutes passed by he had realized something was up. 

The sounds of waves gently crashing on shores eased Damian’s stress, but not enough to slow down his pace. At 5’6, he could’ve easily been mistaken for one of the many preteens roaming around the beach. His bouncy black curls, prepubescent face, and scrawny build had him fit the bill so well that since middle school he’d only played roles under the age of 17. He’d even played the role of Jem at a big name’s production of To Kill a Mockingbird, but one doesn’t really brag about portraying a 10-year-old the day after they turned 19.

“Hey!”

The 22-year-old stopped and turned to be greeted by another man his age.

“Would you be willing to try our new candy?”

The man thrust a bulky arm out to Damian, presenting him with a reddish-colored sweet and a cup of water. Damian couldn’t help but chuckle to himself; it was almost like the man was presenting him with a pill.

“What is it?” Damian asked, curious.

“We’re calling it ‘CinnaMen’.” The dude winked, tossing his head back to motion to the small booth behind him. “We’re trying out a new cinnamon candy and are hoping it has potential with customers.”

Shrugging, Damian grabbed the CinnaMen candy and tossed it into his mouth. At first, it was a comforting sort of warmth–the mixture of sweet and heat complimenting each other nicely. But then, a violent spiciness began to hit. The warmth scorched Damian’s throat, causing him to suddenly gasp.

“And that’s what this is for,” the other man smirked as he handed Damian the cup of water. Damian immediately shot it down, feeling a little relief. The fire was still erupting in his stomach however.

“What’s–” Damian coughed. “What’s causing it to be so powerful?”

“It’s more than just cinnamon,” the vendor replied as he walked back to his stall. “It’s meant to really burn away at you.”

Damian blinked, suddenly a little lightheaded and feeling hot. Moments later, he remembered he was walking on this boardwalk for a reason. A renewed sense of urgency overtook him and he began marching towards his destination, determined to find Russel.

But that heat was still tearing away at his stomach. Damian could feel its warmth brushing against the interior walls, the fire being displaced with every step as his soft tummy bounced back and forth. He didn’t realize however that as he paced down the boardwalk, that cinnamon flavor was not only burning at his stomach, but burning it away. The little fatty flab was melting underneath his shirt, allowing for abs to be carved out underneath the rubble. One and two, three and four, five and six–different abdominals each uncovered underneath as valleys were made beneath and around his emerging pectorals. Even a small “v” became traceable along the bottom of his smooth torso. 

“God…why is the candy making me so nauseous?” Damian didn’t understand why that fiery flare had such an influence over his stomach, but he hoped it would pass quickly. It was distracting, and becoming more so, but finding Russel was still at the forefront of his problems. Damian tried to busy himself by searching among the crowds on the beach, but he never once saw any sign of his boyfriend. He moved his arms up towards his face in order to block the sun and get another view, not noticing the heat begin to spill over from his torso. His shoulders broadened out as the red current swam through his biceps and triceps, plumping them up nicely. His veins carried the flamed juices further, extending his arms and thickening his palms, callusing their interiors.

Damian’s pace slowed as it became more of an awkward stumble. The fire had seemed to drip down and seep into his legs, causing them to ache with a sort of pain he had only felt when he was sunburnt. Shifting his gait, he hadn’t realized his steps were stretching farther apart. His stick legs were growing longer with every misguided step. Not only that, but the sticks were growing into trunks, similar to what one would see in a time-lapse video of a tree growing. His thighs bulged outwards as they grew thick and muscular, while his calves ballooned out into a shape that displayed dedication, hard work, and masculinity. His head slowly inched farther away from the boardwalk until he stood at an impressive 6’3.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damian noticed a restroom. The pain had started to overwhelm him to the point that he could no longer focus on his…no longer focus on…anything else. Damian shook his head, the heat flushing his face as he clomped towards the beachside building. Each step allowed for the fiery current to be displaced within his feet, the veins pumping out their red juices in order to plump up each improvable section. By the time Damian had made it to a stall, he didn’t even realize his flipflops had been left by the door, the plastic Size 7 shoes no longer accommodating his rough Size 13 extremities.

The fire now focused on its complete ascent up into Damain’s head, stretching out his neck and vocal passages along the way. The cinnamon-and-other-components-enhanced blood pumped through his cavities, stretching out the mass along his skull to accommodate. The jaw was first, sharpening out into a more traditional lantern-like structure to rid of the baby fat Damian was known for. His chin propelled outwards, creating an admirable cleft that pulled the skin taut in order to reveal a commanding Adam’s apple. Cheekbones popped forward, nose elongated, and brow descended in order to create the ideal masculine appearance. Even his hair, one playful and childish, sharpened up into a slick, traditionally-handsome cut. 

But hunched over a toilet preparing to vomit, Damian didn’t realize anything was happening. He had ripped off all his clothes, standing naked hoping to find some form of cooling relief. The burning sensation had completely enveloped his body, setting what felt like his entire being ablaze. The CinnaMen candy had one more stop to make however. It had burned away at Damian physically, but it had finally reached the brain. In what felt like a reverse form of brain freeze, Damian’s eyes shot back in pain as the fiery flood enveloped his brain. It was like someone had set his memory bank ablaze; anything marked with higher intellect, analytical concepts, and progressive development was due to be charred into ash. It burnt away anything that was deemed unnecessary–added at one point as a supplement to the standard.

Higher education was first to go. The years in school weren’t going to make Damian smarter after all. They instead only fed Damian lies and misinterpretations of the truth. Education manipulated the true definition of authentic manhood, allowing for even the most worthless of sissies to consider themselves men. Damian’s simplifying mind began to realize that education was simply a form of political indoctrination, convincing those that succumbed to it that there was room on top for more than the white man. What they didn’t comprehend however (and what Damian was coming to believe) was that white men built the societies they survived off of.

His developed morals and values evaporated next, leaving behind only the basics of survival: putting oneself first. That meant getting rid of the free-loading immigrants who came to his country. That meant fighting the pissy-crying liberals who wanted benefits for anyone. That meant protecting his place in the hierarchy at the top of macho-mandom. He would have to protect the values that had made America great in the first place: Alpha, Conservative, and Straight.

And the last pillar fell into the fire once Damian realized what that meant if he wanted to be on top. He had to be proudly heterosexual, not some queer faggot who thought they ever had rights. He’d show those pathetic losers where they belonged: on their hands and knees at the straight man’s feet. There was no room in his world for fairies, whether it was “politically correct” or not. The flames in his head destroyed the excess that had originally clouded his brain, cleansing it to revert him from a complete fag to a developed cocksucker, then to an immature queer, then to a beta male, and finally to original, superior straight man. And Damian now understood his role role as a superior straight man was to redpill faggots in order to help them find their way. And if they didn’t succumb, then remind them of who was in charge.

As if on cue, the flame shot immediately down to the cock and caused a massive thrust of an eruption. But instead of the usual blast of semen that came out of the now 9-inch cock, instead a small red pill plopped out. The new CinnaMen candy was ready to be given to a gay in order to free them from their delusional concept of the world and their reality. 

Ian picked the candy up from the ground, smiling as he put it in the pocket of the only item of clothing that was on the ground. He’d have to to bring the red pill back to the stand. Ian then stepped into the holes and pulled the American flag trunks up, feeling cocky as he noticed how defined his pouch was in the red-and-white-stripes plus blue-with-white-stars combo.

Stepping out of the restrooms and onto the beach confidently, he made his way back to the CinnaMen stand. The man from earlier was already talking to another stern, god-fearing alpha male. He looked almost identical to Ian; the only thing really differentiating the two was the other man’s trunks being black and white.

“Ah!” The man at the stand noticed Ian. “Looking good, broski!”

“I know,” Ian smirked, handing him the redpill. “I believe this is for you.”

The vendor nodded as a sly grin spread across his face. “You two turned out to be quite the couple.”

Both the men sneered in response, disgusted at such an insinuation. 

“Don’t call us fags, man,” Ian barked.

“Yeah,” Rus added. “Just to prove it to ya, we’re gonna go find ourselves some pussies.”

Ian agreed, “There’s gotta be some sluts on the beach. Hopefully we’ll even find ourselves twins.”

“Well if you find a fairy or two along the way, make sure to send them my way.” The man winked as they walked off. “Got to get as many redpilled as possible before the next election!”

The boys agreed, and without further ado they left the stand and began their search for a few busty bimbos to breed.

[rozza22365]

Great story, man. Loved the descriptions and the sweet coming out at the end, and those guys are great.