“What the fuck—take it, take it, you dumb bitch ... gotta—oh shit, yeah, just like that...”

Amy was a complete, glistening mess. Jamie had a death grip on her hair, his knuckles bone-white as he pistoned into her mouth, making her throat take every last inch of his rock-hard teenage dick. He moved with that terrifying, athletic stamina, grunting “all of it, c’mon...” under his breath, like a broken record. A little manic locker-room laugh ripped out of him. He was looking down, watching himself disappear into her throat, over and over again, obsessed with the muffled, desperate gagging sounds she was making. His eyes flicked up to see an equally handsome face with identical features smirking back at him. Bryan, his brother, was hammering Amy’s pussy like a jackhammer. Relentless, rough, unstoppable. The two jocks shared that same infuriating, yet irresistible cocky smirk that only people with their elite genetics can pull off.

Then there was me. The literal definition of a side character. A background NPC in my own fucking life.

I was stuck in the corner, hogtied and stripped bare like a piece of meat. The word FAGGOT was carved into my chest with a thick, permanent marker—a brand I couldn’t scrub off. My mouth was stuffed with a pair of their crusty, sweat-soaked socks, then sealed shut with duct tape so I couldn’t spit them out. My own cousins. The twins from hell. Two fucking demons I grew up with, and right now they were treating my girl like a disposable meat toilet just because ... well, because they had the stats and I sure as hell didn’t.

Amy looked traumatized. Her face was a total mess of spit, tears, and their sweat. I could see the literal evidence of them breaking her in—a little virgin blood streaking down her inner thighs, mixing with the crazy amount of juices they’d forced out of her. This was her first time, and these two monsters had already cummed inside her like three times each, total disregard for anything. Me and her? We hadn’t even made it past second base because she was all about “waiting for marriage.” Yeah, okay. Absolute cap. Seeing her now, I realized she wasn’t waiting for marriage—she was just waiting for someone with enough “alpha” energy to just take it.

In her defense, it’s literally impossible to say no to these guys. They have that fucking aura that you just can’t turn down. Like I said, it’s some genetic lottery shit that completely skipped my side of the family. They don’t ask; they expect to be obeyed. And everyone—Amy, me, even the world itself—just falls in line. Every single fucking time.

But here’s the most cursed part of it all: while I’m watching my entire world get torched, choking on the heavy, masculine stink of their sweat and the grit of their nasty-ass socks ... I was fully bricked up. Crazy, right? My own body was siding with the enemy. They were demolishing the only thing I gave a shit about, and my biology was giving them a standing fucking ovation. I wasn’t just a cuck. I was a fanboy. I was a literal slave to the fact that they were better than me in every way that mattered.

“Yo, check the loser’s face!” Bryan’s ice-green eyes cut right through me. “Bro, no cap, this bitch was engineered for this. Born to be a cumdump. Zero fucking debate.”

Jamie leaned back, cackling. “Facts! Too bad she’d never even let a fag like you get a look at the goods, huh? Massive L for you, cuz! You’re just here for the show. Front row seat to your masters!”

“We’re running the fucking script now, fag, just like you always wanted, hahaha!” Bryan cackled, then turned back to Amy and cracked a sharp slap against her hip that bloomed red. “Spread ‘em, you thirsty thot. Let’s audit the equipment.” He shot me a look of pure venom. “You don’t mind us stress-testing her, right, bruh? Sharing is caring!”

“Mind? Look at him!” Jamie crowed, his voice dripping with contempt. “He’s thriving! He’s gonna blow his load just watching us put in the work. Pathetic.”

“Totally,” Bryan nodded, grinning. “And remember what his old man said? ‘What’s his is ours.’ That obviously includes her.”

“He really did say that! Direct quote!” Jamie was losing it, his chest heaving as he stared down at Amy’s ruined face. “Don’t worry, though, once we’ve properly wrecked her, we’ll toss her back to you. She’ll be high-mileage, fully used up ... but hey, maybe there’ll be a little bit of us left inside her for you to scoop up and eat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, fag?”

They were roasting me in real-time, their voices thick with victory-lap arrogance.

“Yeah, then you can wife our leftovers,” Bryan sneered. “The ultimate simp. Can’t wait for the wedding invitations, bro. Hahaha!!”

So, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this fucking nightmare. Would you believe me if I said it’s one hundred percent on me? My fault, my own pathetic doing. You can judge for yourself, but the facts don’t lie. Well, to get the full picture, we have to rewind a few days. Tuesday afternoon, to be exact—the day Jamie and Bryan pulled up to the crib.

See, Dad had this brilliant idea that they’d spend the whole summer crashing with us. Or at least until Aunt Deb “got her head straight.” Personally, I was fucking thrilled. Not.

Okay, fine—they were my only cousins. In theory, having some people my age around beat rotting alone in the house with my old man, right? Yeah, problem is theory and these two assholes had nothing in common. Why? Simple. They were a pair of arrogant pricks who operated with the unshakable belief they were just ... better. At everything. Period.

And the kicker? They’re two years younger than me. In a normal world, that should have meant something, right? They should’ve been showing me the tiniest bit of respect, or at least staying in their lane. But nah. That wasn’t their style.

They were fucking terrible. Always had been. Their main hobby was ripping into me for any stupid thing that crossed their minds. My height (or lack thereof), my hair, my ‘beak’ of a nose, my voice, my walk, my fucking breathing, the jokes I told—everything was weak, everything was fuel. Just straight-up bullying under the guise of “boys’ rivalry.”

But it was a “family emergency,” so I had to suck it up. My dad’s sister was going through another messy divorce—World War III levels of drama—so my dad drove to San Diego and scooped them up. We’re their only family left. Aunt Deb had gotten knocked up in high school by some kid named Nick who, upon hearing the delightful news, decided fatherhood wasn’t really his vibe and ghosted her the literal next day. The twins had never met him. But according to her, they were his literal clones. Go figure.

When they hopped out of the car, it was like a fucking reality glitch. Identical in every way, down to the smirk, save for a tiny mole on Bryan’s neck. Both standing at a clean 6’1”, carved up from a lifetime of competitive swimming—that insane V-taper, those broad shoulders, no cap. Jet-black curly messy tapers, ridiculously perfect bone structure, and these sharp, evaluating eyes that scanned a room like predators. They moved with a natural, toxic rizz that instantly downgraded every other guy in the vicinity and short-circuited girls on sight. They were the kind of guys who looked at “normal” dudes like we were a different species.

And look, let’s keep it a buck—I’m not some basement-dwelling gremlin. I’m 5’8”, lean, I get some play. But my face? It’s just ... mid. Straight up forgettable. Especially standing next to demigods. Fuck, looking at them was like looking at the finished product, while I was still a rough draft, you know what I’m saying? Anyways...

“Yo, Stewie! What’s good, lil’ bro?!”

I wanted to crash out the second Bryan used that name. It was like nails on a chalkboard to my soul. Stewie, god I fucking hated it. Like I was still five years old. I’d been begging them for years to drop it, but it was like talking to a brick wall. They knew it crawled under my skin—that was the whole point. I just bit down on my tongue.

“Hey, guys. Welcome,” I managed, trying to sound like a person and not a panicked animal. They didn’t even really look at me. Instead, they treated my driveway like their personal stage, launching into this loud, exaggerated post-drive stretch routine. Guns flexing against their thin tees, chests puffing out, yawning wide like lions. Their shirts rode up, flashing athletic shorts slung so low on their hips it was a miracle they stayed on, the waistbands of their boxer briefs cinched tight around the sharp crest of their pelvic bones. The fabric dug into those insane V-lines, pointing down like a crude map to their sizeable crotches. A thick trail of dark, coarse hair led from their navels down beneath that dangerously low elastic band. It was an obscene, intentional display. One of them even casually hooked a thumb into that waistband, giving his balls a slow, possessive adjustment before letting the fabric snap back against his skin with a soft thwack. I couldn’t help but stare for a second, weirded out by my own fucking eyes. Why was I even noticing that? I cleared my throat and looked away.

My dad was still buried in the trunk a few yards away. “Stewart!” he barked over his shoulder. “Make yourself useful. Help with the bags.”

The twins traded a look—that same nasty, mirrored smirk. In one fluid motion, they shrugged the straps off and let their duffels thud at my feet. “Yeah, Stewie,” Jamie whispered, his voice low enough so only I could catch the venom. “Be a pal. You’re good at carrying stuff, right?”

Of course, my old man didn’t notice a thing. That was the part that drove me insane. They were fucking masters of the “hidden camera” play. No matter how hard they went in on me, they had this radar for adults—my dad, my aunt, whatever step-dad was in rotation. On God, they’d always pull back right before crossing the line, leaving me looking like the sensitive, whiny, little bitch while they floated through the house like a pair of fucking angels.

I swallowed that, too. Just bent down to grab the straps of their duffels.

Bryan reached over and gave me two condescending pats on the head, like I was a dog that finally learned a trick. “Good cousin. Atta boy.” He snickered, and then the two of them sauntered off toward the front door, leaving me holding their baggage.

I followed them, loaded down like a pack mule, trudging up to my room. Here was the next L I had to swallow: our house is tiny. Two bedrooms, total. My dad decided bunking with them himself was a no-go, so he had another one of his genius ideas. He dragged my desk out to the garage and crammed a double bed and a rickety-ass cot into my space. The cot was shoved right at the foot of the big bed. Guess who got the cot?

“Sorry, guys. It’s kind of a tight fit,” I mumbled, basically apologizing for my own invasion as I dropped their shit on the floor.

“Don’t even trip, buddy. You won’t even know we’re here,” Bryan said, his voice all fake sunshine. He kicked off his grimy flip-flops and then, to climb onto the big bed, planted his massive, dirty feet square on my pillow—using it as a fucking doormat.

“Oops, my bad, cuz,” he giggled, not sorry at all. “Didn’t wanna track any shit onto our bed. You’re cool with it, right?” He made a deliberate show of grinding his heel back and forth, smearing an imaginary stain, his eyes locked on mine with a triumphant smirk. “There! All clean. Look!” He actually held up his foot for a mock inspection before flopping onto the queen-size.

Needless to say, Jamie wasn’t about to be left out. He mirrored the move perfectly, lining up his own filthy footprints right beside his brother’s on the white pillowcase. “Hahaha! Facts! Gotta keep the main suite pristine, STEWIE!” He dragged my name out like it was the vilest slur, then launched himself onto the bed to smack a deafening high-five with Bryan.

“Come on, guys. Seriously,” I muttered, but it was useless. This was the script since we were little. I stared at the stains darkening my pillowcase and felt that black-pill reality sink in my gut. This summer was going to be pure fucking agony.

We spent the rest of the afternoon setting up. I was lowkey relieved my dad was hovering; his presence was the only thing keeping them from going full demon mode. They definitely didn’t want to ruin their “golden boy” image in front of “Uncle Mike.” But honestly, after two hours, I wanted to scream. My dad would not shut up about how they should “make themselves at home” and how “everything I own is theirs.” Like, thanks Pops, give them more ideas, why don’t you?

Then, at dinner, he really sold me out. I was supposed to have a solo night with Amy, but he insisted they come along. “It’s rude to leave them alone on their first night, Stewart!” he said, like he was the moral authority. I tried to explain it was a date, not a group hang, but he wasn’t hearing it. The twins were absolutely gassed, whispering locker-room jokes under their breath the whole fucking time. What the fuck could I do?

I called Amy to give her the heads-up, and she sounded straight-up annoyed that I was dragging my ‘little cousins’ along. But the second she laid eyes on them, the vibe did a total 180. That attitude just ... fizzled out. Poof. Gone. You think I was surprised? Please, saw that coming from a mile away.

She came down the stairs wearing this white cotton sundress. The skirt was definitely shorter than usual, fluttering with every step. My girl was a straight-up knock-out tonight—long dark curls, blue eyes ... just elite. And of course, I wasn’t the only one noticing.

“Babe, this is Bryan and Jamie. My cousins from San Diego,” I said, trying to keep my voice chill. They hit her with these slow, hungry smiles that didn’t reach their cold eyes.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Bryan purred, leaning in way too close, invading her space. “Finally putting a face to the name Stewie won’t shut up about.”

Amy glitched. Hard. She was staring at their stupidly handsome green eyes, their builds, the whole identical-twin mystique, and just ... broke. She started giggling, this high, airy sound. Look, I love her, but Amy’s never been winning any IQ contests.

“So, real talk,” Bryan said from the backseat while I was driving, “how does a ten like you end up settling for a mid-ass loser like our cousin?” Before I could even form a word, he cut me off with a fake-innocent grin. “No offense, Stewie, all love! But come on. Amy is clearly out of your league.”

They were “accidentally” touching her constantly—a hand on her shoulder, playing with her hair, fingers grazing her arm. And Amy? She just kept up that brainless, tinkling laugh. Fucking end me.

“Hehehe! He totally knows he lucked out, right, babe?!” she chirped, hitting me with this over-the-top saccharine tone that made my teeth grind while they all howled. I wanted to swerve the car into a pole, but I just gripped the wheel and took the fucking L. Again.