He should’ve known better than to break up with Owen like that.
Owen had worshipped him—Tyler, the hot, cocky gym rat with the beard, the thick chest, the sweaty pits, and the aggressive fuck-you energy that turned heads. Tyler thought he could just dump Owen, call him “clingy,” and move on.
But Owen had whispered something strange that night as he left. Something Tyler barely remembered. Something like:
“Every time you hook up, you’ll lose a little more of what makes you… you.”
Tyler didn’t think much of it. Until hookup number one.
---
It was a quick grind with a guy from the app—some smooth, lean cutie who begged for Tyler to top him hard. But afterward, Tyler noticed the mirror. His beard—it looked... patchy. His jawline softer. He figured it was just the lighting.
Then hookup number two. And this time? When he stood to piss afterward, his cock looked… different. Shorter. Not by much. But noticeable. His chest hair seemed thinner too. He rubbed his hand across his pecs and shivered. That used to feel powerful. Now it just felt… off.
---
Hookup three was with a tall, hairy man who whispered things like “Good boy” and “You’re cuter when you’re quiet.”
Tyler hated how hard it made him.
He hated that the next morning his leg hair was almost gone.
He hated how tight his shorts had suddenly become around his now-rounder, jiggly ass.
He texted Owen.
“WTF did you do to me.”
Owen replied with a single sentence.
“You made fun of twinks like they were beneath you. So now you’re becoming one.”
Tyler cursed. He stormed to the mirror and shouted at himself—his once-deep baritone now a shaky midtone.
---
By hookup number five, Tyler couldn’t grow stubble. Not a single hair on his body remained below the neck. His voice cracked constantly. His cock? Smaller than any guy he’d ever dated.
At the club, a stranger grabbed his ass.
“Damn, you’re cute. What’s your name, boy?”
Tyler turned red.
He tried to bark back, to reclaim himself.
But all that came out was:
“…Ty.”
Soft. Breathless.
He let the man buy him a drink.
---
That night, Tyler sat on his bed, legs crossed tightly, scrolling through Owen’s feed. Owen looked confident. Hairier than before. Smug. Masculine. Tyler felt a shiver run down his smooth spine.
He tried to touch himself, but the shame was so thick, so real. His tiny cock twitched uselessly. He whimpered—pathetically.
In the distance, his phone pinged with another message from Owen:
“Go ahead. Hook up again. Just a few more to go… and you’ll be perfect.”
Tyler clutched his pillow, grinding his thighs together, biting his lip.
He hated this.
---
Tyler hadn’t left the house in days.
He couldn’t face the world like this—not as himself, at least. Not in this pathetic, pale, silky-skinned body that looked more like a boytoy than the dominant top he once prided himself on being.
No chest hair. No leg hair. No beard. Just a faint, helpless blush that never seemed to leave his face and a tight, bouncy little ass that everyone seemed to stare at—when he dared to go out.
And that was the worst part. How much he missed being stared at. Not with fear. Not with awe. But hunger. He’d become the exact kind of guy he used to use and toss aside.
And the only one who truly saw what he had become… was Owen.
---
He tapped the message out slowly, every letter like a little death:
“Owen… I can’t stop it. I’ve tried. I’ve shaved, waxed, even chanted dumb shit in the mirror hoping to grow my beard back. I can’t even jack off anymore without crying.
I need you.
Please.”
No response.
He sent another photo: himself, shirtless, blushing, legs pulled up under him, cock soft and tiny against his thigh, a pink tank top barely clinging to his now-slender frame.
This time, Owen responded:
“Say it.”
Tyler’s thumbs trembled. He swallowed hard.
“Take me back, sir.”
A second later:
“Be waiting at the door. Naked.”
---
He obeyed. Shame in every step. He stood by the door, trembling, eyes wide, arms at his sides like a nervous pet. His cock—what was left of it—was hard from the anticipation, humiliatingly so.
When Owen finally arrived, he smelled like cedarwood and sweat, thick beard trimmed, chest pushing against a fitted flannel. Bigger than Tyler remembered. Or maybe Tyler was just smaller now.
Owen walked in without a word.
He circled Tyler slowly. Tyler stared at the floor, breathing shallow, his cheeks redder with each step Owen took.
“You look pathetic,” Owen said, finally.
Tyler nodded.
“You used to be the kind of man who’d spit on a guy like this.”
Tyler swallowed.
“…I know, Sir.”
Owen leaned in, close to his ear.
“And now? What are you?”
Tyler whimpered.
“…Your boy.”
“Louder.”
“I’m your boy!”
Owen grabbed Tyler’s ass, rough, fingers digging in deep.
“I’ll fuck you until you forget your name, Ty. Not that you need one anymore. You’re just mine.”
Tyler moaned. Not in pain. Not in protest. But because this was his life now, he'd never feel like a real man again.
the well written complex male character -> being mischaracterized by the fandom as a dumb slutty twink who can’t do anything pipeline will never not irk me
