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old-lorarri · 4 months

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꒰꒰ ‧₊˚𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐋𝐒𝟐 ˚₊· ꒱꒱

─ summary . . . ❨ your friend forces you onto a dating app and to be honest you weren't expecting much but maybe it was worth it ❩ ─ pairing . . . ❨ logan sargent x fem! non-famous! reader ❩ ─ genre . . . ❨ social media file ❩ ─ author note . . . . ❨ now tbh I was meant to do this for a different driver but changed last min so I hope this is still good so enjoy! ❩

❨ taglist | masterlist ❩

WELCOME TO L♡VE LINE

the app where you are destined to find the one

create an account . . .

number: xxx-xxx-xxx

name: Y/N L/N

birthday: xx xx xxxx

nationally: british

idea type: funny, nice, and not a serial killer

about you: creeps stay away 🤺🤺🤺

add a profile picture . . .

please wait while we find your matches

loading . .

thank you for being patient,

we have found 4 matches

matt markson has requested to message you

accepted decline

birthday: november 10th, 2002

nationally: american

ideal type: sexy, funny, and submissive

bio: best haircut in ohio

matt

hey baby girl 😮‍💨

how about you give me a show 😏

Y/N

no 🥰

also you hair is fucked

you have blocked this person

try again

yes no

lukas morris has requested to message you

accepted decline

birthday: january 21st, 2000

nationally: poland

ideal type: hot, horny, shy

bio: drug, drinking, sex 4 life

lukas

what are your thoughts on gun play?

Y/N

...

lukas

not a fan I see

how about blood play

has anyone told you

that you would make a beautiful corpse 🥵

Y/N

goodbye 👋

you have blocked this person

try again

yes no

amir abbas has requested to message you

accepted decline

birthday: july 19th, 1999

nationally: uae

ideal type: modest, kind, god fearing

bio: habibi come to dubai

amir

you are so beautiful ❤️

Y/N

aww thank you ☺️

your good looking to 👀

amir

I would love to bring you to dubai 😉

Y/N

bit soon don't you think?

amir

I think it would make it easier to get to know each other

you know face to face

Y/N

yeah ig

amir

great

just don't tell my wife

Y/N

your what?

amir

my wife

also you can't post me

and I can't post you

but I'll buy you channel and a ferrari ❤️

how does that sound habibi

Y/N

fucking awful

I am not some fucking side hoe

hope your wife finds out what a piece of shit you are mate 🖕

you have blocked this person

yes no

logan sargent has requested to message you

accepted decline

birthday: july 19th, 1999

nationally: usa

ideal type: funny, kind, honest

bio: american f1 driver

logan

oh thank god

this app has finally matched me with someone normal 😮‍💨

Y/N

right?!?!?

eveyone on this app is givning either serial killer or scum bag 😭

but I gotta ask dude

what's up with that pfp 💀

logan

my friend alex took it

he forced me to make this account

he said it was a good photo

is it not?

Y/N

wait you got forced on here too??????

same 😭

my friend megan said I needed to

"meet new people"

what ever tf that means

also

if I were you

I would sue alex for defamation of character 💀

cuz that photo does not do you justice

makes you look like a ✨ serial killer ✨

very ✨ted bundy✨

also question

american white man

which type of american are you 🤔

logan

florida baby

RAHHHHHHH 🦅🔥🇺🇸

Y/N

oh dear 😅

it's always florida or ohio...

but anyway

thoughts on taylor 🧐

logan

queen 👸

icon 💅

the moment ✨

mother 😌

Y/N

hummmm

you have passed the test ✅

logan

yessss

anyway question

Y/N

shoot

not literally florida

figuratively 😭

logan

florida really?

anyway

what do you do for a living?

Y/N

barista

I know I know

before you say it yeah customers can be a bitch sometimes

but I'm a sucker for free coffee

what about you

logan

f1 driver for williams racing

Y/N

oh cool

don't really know what that is sorry 😭

I only really watch football

liverpool fan till i die 🫡

logan

you mean soccer

Y/N

football

logan

soccer

Y/N

football

logan

soccer

Y/N

football

logan

soccer

Y/N

it's football you twat 🥰

listen we don't call american football

kick run catch and occasionally punt now do we

logan

okay speak your truth queen 👸

Y/N

thank u king 🤴

okay but why when I googled your name

this was the first thing that came up 😭😭😭

logan

oh god

sorry you had to see that

Y/N

not a problem mate ☺️

logan

wow 💔

I just got mate zoned 😢

going dark 😞

Y/N

no no no no no

I'M SORRY 😭😭😭

I'M BRITSH IT'S IN MY DNA

logan

all I hear is excuses 😞

Y/N

WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE IT BETTER

logan

I think you number would heal my broken heart rn 🫣

Y/N

smooth america real smooth 😭

logan

thank u thank u

Y/N

xxx-xxx-xxx

if you turn out to be a serial killer I'm going to be pissed 💀

logan

Is the photo really that bad 😭😭😭

Y/N

yes babe 😌

dw when we go on a date I'll take some yummy pic's of you

logan

bet

text me the deets

Y/N

will do mr miami 🫡

logan reacted with a ❤️

read

─ inspired by . . .

@landitolover ─ dulce hotline

─ requested by . . .

anon ─ Any driver of your choosing where the reader doesn’t know who they are and is just a regular person

2K notes · View notes

z3nitsusgf · 6 months

Text

paper bag

roman roy | reader

tw: fem!reader, toxic relations, manipulation, l*gan roy, romann is sick in the head, Roman says a slur (unsurprising), dog motif, teasing, dirty talk, ooc roman bc he's scared of pussy irl, this shit long af I’m sorry, backwards storytelling bc I’m inconsistent

The room is sticky. Sweltering in a post-august heat. The box fan churns and spits out whatever puffs of air it can muster, but the both of you still sweat on the linens of the motel bed.

The walls are stained from years of misuse and neglect, tinged a dirty yellow. You can’t tell if it’s oil or something more debauched that clings to the plaster, probably the latter.

It’s late into the night, too late for anything to be open and too early for it to be acceptable to up and leave. So the two of you are rooted here, stuck till daybreak.

The sounds of people arguing, a car horn blaring, and the buzz of fluorescent whir through your head. There’s a small box TV, it fizzles and pops every time you try to change the channel. Gurgling in a pre-2000s war cry. You could almost laugh at the circumstances.

You wonder how the fuck you’ve managed to snag New York’s brattiest billionaire, even more at how you’ve convinced him to fuck you in a shitty motel just outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Or to even fuck you at all, you only know rumors of his… strange bedroom endeavors.

You stifle an un-humored chuckle, Roman is lying like a royal Persian cat across the bed, shirt long gone and covered only in his boxers. A brand you've never heard of laces his hips, something expensive and out of reach. Just like most of him.

“What?” He asks, head resting on a closed fist. He draws shapes on your leg, neat nails dragging along the soft skin. He likes the smell of your lotion, something girlish and fresh like linen. Almost like something Shiv would wear, or a nanny from his memory. All he knows is that he likes it.

“Nothin’, just thinking.”

He likes your accent. It reveals your upbringing, obviously not the stupidly refined wealth that Roman inhabits but something humbler. It’s a little rough around the edges but not crass. Your words are straightforward and clear, unlike his family's. The bubbling words they offer to air up a conversation, you cut straight through that.

“Thinking about what?”

You give a smile, taking a long drag of your American Spirit and tipping your head back to blow it up to the stained ceiling. The smoke curls and swirls around before dissipating into nothing. He's not used to the smell, it gives the air a hint of pine-tinged outdoorsy aroma. Warm, comforting, familiar, and terrible all at once. Like something Logan would smell like when he came home, on the rare occurrence Roman was around him long enough to get a whiff.

“How I just bagged the Roman Roy, and how it’s gonna look in the papers.”

You joke, obviously. You’d never tell your endeavors to the pressing public or the sneaky little journalists that gripe for your small breadcrumbs about the family. Even if it is technically your job.

Roman hums, “Waystar son indulges in debauched acts with local journalist slut.”

He makes a gesture with his hands, eyes lighting up and going wide. A dopey grin rested on the plane of his cheeks, a row of sparkling whites glimmering under the citrusy glow of the lamp.

“Fuck you.”

You kick him haphazardly in the chest, his laugh rings around the room like a bell. Roman grabs your ankle, curling his fingers around the bone and yanking you down towards him. He’s uncaring of how you slip down the headrest, watching how you squeak and mumble small profanities.

“Prick could’ve dropped the ashes on me.” You mumble, not serious in the slightest.

“What would your father say?”

You snip, reaching down and dragging a hand through his hair, tussling the already licked-up sweaty strands. He practically melts into your touch, eyes closing and lips parting at the contact. He memorizes how your nails feel on his scalp, visualizing the soft pink of your polish running through the strands.

It feels good to have you touch him so effortlessly. As if he was nice to hold and caress, something soft to be sentimental with. Not a bad dog locked in a kennel for once but allowed to curl up on the bed.

But that's exactly what he is, isn't he? He is the dog that sleeps on the floor at the edge of the bed. Curled in on himself, happy to just be close. Nosing at the sheets, contempt with the presence of its owner. Even if he's cold, shivering from the floorboards - you just being there is enough to keep him warm. The few pats on the head allow him to sleep through the night. He is the dog that never leaves your side, sitting off to the right of you and waiting.

He lets out a bitter giggle, a small grimace twitching his lips. It hides the shimmer of despair that is pooled in his head.

“He’d probably be glad I got some pussy for once. Maybe he’ll stop calling me a fag.”

He laughs when he says it, even though a part of you knows he’s dead serious. You've come to learn he always is when it comes to his father.

The sadness cuts through the raunchiness of his words and you fight off the frown that wants to stitch itself across your face. A part of you wants to reach out and mend together the brokenness, another wants to pull out your journal and backlog it for later. A rotten, benign part of you wants to take this man apart and study it to smithereens.

Roman doesn’t say much, surprisingly. He’s reserved in his intimacy, holding back all the love and care that he wants to pour out. He's been starving for decades, yearning for a love that won't come. He's resigned to the fact he is broken. Besides, he’s not here to cuddle up to you for anything more than to get you to not publish your story on the Roy’s. You're both fighting for the same thing, just on different sides.

You respond the only way you knew how, “Fuck, that’s really fucking depressing.”

Roman admires your brutal style, honesty is a rarity that he treasures when it comes. It's why he noticed you in the first place, your articles about the wealthy family in the tabloids caught his eye. Especially the ones about him -it sounds different when you say it, not like you're vying for an undercut but like you're genuine.

He laughs.

You both laugh. Tipping your heads back and howling with laughter. He's got tears in his eyes, and you can't breathe.

///

“Not really your cup of tea, huh?”

You teased, flinging off your shoes and laying on the questionable sheets.

He gives you a snarky grimace and raises a brow, “Careful, you might get scabies or a fucking STD just from breathing in the air.”

It’s not the sort of place you’d expect to see Roman Roy occupy. You can hardly even wrap your head around the fact he’s here now. You imagine the Roy in lavishness, draped in silken white and cashmere. Sipping champagne from a crystal glass brought by room service. Watching the glittering of New York from a floor-to-ceiling window on the billionth floor of a hotel that costs your entire paycheck for just one night.

No, you can’t even pretend that Roman doesn’t look completely out of place here. With his no-tie, popped collar, Tom Ford wannabe pretentious ass. He’s comically out of place. It makes you want to giggle to hell at the way he looks so uncomfortable.

A pretty little rich boy who’s never had to worry about being in anything other than a 5-star. Who now stands in a seedy motel that looks more like a crack house than the Arlo in Midtown. And in place of the champagne, he chugs your shitty beer and water bottle vodka. Cracking open a six-pack of michelob’s and cringing at the taste. It’s painfully cheap, but alcohol is alcohol.

“Come on, don’t act so high and mighty. Relax.”

You pat the empty space next to you, scooting over so he can tentatively sit. You have your thick black journal resting beside you, inside containing all the juicy details and bits about the Roys that would burn down empires and topple over conglomerates.

You’ve hidden most of it well, you’ve had to, or else you get a hit put out on you from the man himself, Logan Roy. Using different names when publishing your work, making interviews anonymous - hell, you feel like Batman with the way you work in the shadows.

Roman inches onto the mattress, eyeing the notebook at your side. He knows, vaguely, what it contains. The secrets, the stories, untamed facts about the company and his family. Usually, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about what a snoopy little journalist had to say about him and his family.

He’ll admit your stuff is good, great even but it's all fluff, a buffer that fills up the sides of newspapers so they have more meat to them. And most of the time it's always the same thing; how horrible his father is, the treatment of Waystar employees, how disconnected the children of the billionaire were. But you- you dug deeper than that.

He never had a reason to look into you until now.

Your stories were revelations for the public. The lies, the coverups, the shady business that their media team works day and night to conceal. You spill it all. And now that you're gaining more traction, more popularity, they're losing revenue quickly. Business deals are turning to dust, stocks are dropping, and employees are quitting on the spot. It's making Waystar crumble from the inside out. And Logan refuses to lose from a puny little journalist, let alone a woman.

When Gerri and Karolina uncovered who was behind the articles, they wilted. If they had told Logan who you were - what you were - he would've squashed you like a bug. Completely ruined your life till you had nothing.

So they took a different approach, a softer more merciful route. They sent Roman after you, and like the loyal dog he is, he went. Mingling with over-eager, latte-sipping, pretentious journalists to get your contact info.

It wasn't as easy as he thought, more work than he wanted to put in. But regardless, he eventually a friend of a friend of a friend gave you up. Not soon after you got a very informal email from the COO, asking to meet up for an "interview" on the pretense of discussing your stories. Or your "allegations" as he liked to call it.

To say you were surprised was an understatement, you nearly passed out in disbelief. It started with meeting him on neutral ground, a coffee shop. Somewhere public and clean, nothing seedy or easily misconstrued.

And when Roman strutted into the small shop, you were very aware of how real this was all becoming. The starkness of his wealth is evident in comparison to the rest of the shop.

"Ah, if it isn't the little paper-pusher I've heard so much about."

Those were his first words to you.

“Mr. Roy, a pleasure to meet you.”

He sat in front of you, pulling off his jacket and haphazardly throwing it over the back of the chair. You're 100% sure it costs more than your yearly salary. At your words, he gives an obnoxious giggle.

“Please, don’t call me that. Makes me think we’re in some sick porno.”

You raise a brow at his crassness, “Ok.. pleasure to meet you, Roman.”

He stifles another giggle but reaches a hand across the table, shaking yours.

Once he’s pulled back he claps his hands together, “Alright, what do you get from this shithole. And don’t tell me you’re one of those hipster-loving morons who gets like matcha or some shit.”

Your eyes widen at how loud he’s being, uncaring that staff or other customers might hear his openness. You know what kind of person he is, you’re just not used to the oozing brattiness in person.

You can only gawk, “Well, um, usually I get a macchiato or just a regular cup of coffee.”

He nods, “Hmm, I see. Ok. I’ll get whatever you get. Throw in a Danish too, I’ll pay.”

You blink vigorously, “Oh no, it’s alright Mr. Roy-”

“Roman.” He corrects, giving a cheeky grin.

“And don’t worry about it, you’re not gonna break the bank with some cheap-ass coffee.”

You wonder if this was a good idea at all, but you quickly come back to reality. You’re here for business, you can’t treat this like a nightmare date from hell. Even if that’s what it feels like. So you do as he says, ordering the coffees and two danishes, even getting an extra muffin to-go.

Time quickly flew by, as much as you hated to admit it. You managed to tug the man back into the conversation you came for - Waystar. Though Roman was more elusive than anything.

Tapping on the table, leaning his chair back, and distracting you with other topics that most certainly were not work-appropriate. Like if you were just making all this fuss because you just wanted to get finger-blasted by the COO. That one made you flush and snap at him like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

But he was so charismatic, in his own twisted way. Like a car crash, you couldn’t look away from, the smoldering flames and heated looks were more than you thought he was capable of.

After hours of talking he drew out your more playful side, the snarky little wit you don’t usually use with the people you’re working with. It was inevitable. And soon, it was late into the evening. With the coffee shop getting ready to close for the night.

“Looks like it’s time to wrap it up for the day.”

You moved to stand, dusting off crumbs from your lap. And Roman is quick to jump up, “Aw, you sure? I mean it’s not that late, wanna maybe head out somewhere?”

He’s vague with his words, you give him a smirk.

“Are you trying to get me alone with you, Roman?”

He chuckles and puts on his jacket, “Of course, I mean, how else am I gonna murder you?”

You both laugh, “Murder me? Sweet little me? What for?”

The two of you walk onto the sidewalk, the crisp night air breezing through your hair.

“We both know you’re not sweet.”

You smile, tucking a lip between your teeth. He’s magnetic, in a venomous and dark way. You know it’s wrong to do this, to get close like this. But sometimes you have to do things in order to get what you want.

“I know somewhere we can go.”

///

That’s how you got here, at least how you remember it. It’s all blurred from the copious amount of alcohol you’ve drank.

Now you have a very not sober Roman Roy on top of you.

He’s flushed, there’s pink smattering across his heated cheeks and he’s got blown pupils the size of the moon. He leers over you, his hand cupping your throat. He’s close, too close.

You can feel the curve of his lip on your cupid's bow, the prickle of his stubble. He smells like Costa Azzurra, citrusy and woodsy. It clouds your drunken brain, making you want to pant and sink your teeth into his neck.

Roman is mumbling, you can’t quite make it out but you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek. It feels dizzying, like a waking dream.

“I’m gonna kill you. Not gonna let you leave, you’re stuck with me.”

He huffs against the warm apple swell of your cheek. You giggle at that; he feels the warmth of your laugh. The scent of lime and lone star on your breath. There’s a certain giddiness that flutters in your tummy at the words, a sick satisfaction.

One that a dark part of you craves. A feral depravity lies in between your teeth. One that aches to chew on his marrow and swallow him whole. When they trust you to completion, it makes you want to crush them completely.

“Oh yeah?”

You’re hazy. Starry-eyed with droopy lids, face hot from the alcohol and closeness. There are bruises in the shape of his teeth. Ringed purple marks that fade into shimmery blue and greens. Speckled aches across your thighs and neck - all from him. Like rabid animals fighting the very nature of their beings, you claw and tear at one another like beasts deprived.

He buries his face in your chest, trying to hide himself within it - claw his way in and sit inside your heart. Plunging his hands into your back and holding you to him like you were the only ones on earth. He kisses your skin, brushing his lips along your collarbone, down to the center. Straight in your solar plexus, like he could see through it.

As if he could see that beating organ as if he could reach in and take it.

“Yeah. Wanna keep you, like a pet or a girlfriend. What’s the difference?”

You squirm at his hot breath on your neck, the humid air making you needy. You grab his face in your hands, lifting his face up to you and pressing your mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He groans, he doesn’t even wait before he slips his tongue in. Sliding across your lips and flicking on the roof of your mouth. You make a choked sound, the feeling of his tongue invading your mouth.

You can feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing against your stomach, it makes you ache with need.

“Roman,” you pant, “I wanna fuck you.”

He hums, “Wanna fuck you too, wanna fuck your pussy.”

You moan, you want to tear him apart at the seams and eat him whole. Crack that soft apricot heart and bite down into his tissue. You bet he tastes just like it too, sweet and sugary like jam. You want to rip him to shreds, consume each sliver, and savor him like he’s raw slices of strawberries on your plate.

///

He spreads your thighs, gripping your ass in rough hands, practically moaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. There are silvery webs of slickness that glisten along your cunt. You’re panting into the sheets, fisting them as you shiver from the cold AC.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet.”

His thumbs graze along your swollen lips, and you twitch - whining like a puppy that wants a kiss. Hips jerking into the mattress when he grips the fat of your ass and swipes your folds.

“Look at you, so fucked out. And you still want more?”

You nod, humming breathy whimpers each time he gets close to your clit. You let out a sharp yelp when he slaps a hand across your ass, hands flailing and thighs instinctively trying to shut.

He keeps you spread, knee coming up to prevent you from ruining his fun.

“Gotta say it, babe. Can’t read your mind.”

You’re trembling, lips swollen and drooling as you try to push out the words.

“Yes, I want more.” You mumble, face buried halfway into the sheets.

He’s mean with it, pressing the pad of his thumb onto your pulsing clit. Rubbing till he hears the sloppy sound and you’re jerking away with a scampery yip.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

You could cry, wet tears pooling on your lash line. Your cunt throbs, empty and flushed and fucking aching.

“Please, please I want more. Want your cock-“

He’s groaning, yanking you back till your ass is in the air. Spine arching and you feel the brush of his cock on your folds.

“Yeah? Want my cock?” You can hear the smile in his voice, hips shaking in his hold.

His tip is kissing along your entrance, and he watches with hearts in his eyes at the way you coat him in slick. Rutting the length between your folds, dipping in to watch you clench on nothing. Wetness clinging to your inner thighs and painting your pussy a shimmery diamond-esque.

“Mmhm, want it. Want you to fuck me, want it so bad.” You moan, half brain-dead with how stupid you sound.

He giggles, high a girlishy. Slipping in fast and quick, hips jerking till he’s flushed with your ass. His pace is like a rabbit, practically humping you into the mattress. You yelp at the feeling, cock splitting you in two.

“Roman-!”

“What was that?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. It makes you whine, gripping the edge of the bed as he slams harder.

“I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you getting fucking pounded.”

You let out a moan when he hits deep. Slotting all the way, flushed against your ass. His tip is kissing something untouched inside you, sticky head brushing along the cushiony pucker of your cervix.

“Fuck you-“

You choke on your words when he bucks his hips. Slamming impossibly farther.

“Huh? Speak up, baby. Can’t hear you, your wet pussy is too loud.”

You bury your face into your arm. Biting at your lip to keep the drool from spilling over your mouth.

“How’s it feel? Feelin’ good? My little paper-pusher like how I fuck her?”

He makes you insane.

You fist at the sheets, nails digging into the soft gray linen. He’s pushing you into a pretty arch, thumbs keeping your ass spread so he can watch himself fuck your cunt.

“God, your pussy is insane.” His hips are smacking against the backs of your thighs. You’re on the verge of tears from how good it feels, you can feel the veins of his cock pulsing in you. Mouth parted and spilling sticky moans.

“Fuck, how are you so wet?” He murmurs, shivering at the feeling of your tight walls gripping along his length. At this point, his thrusts are sloppy and uneven, but the tip of his cock is still able to hit that special spot deep inside of you.

“Oh fuck, Roman, m’gonna cum-”

You absolutely lose your mind when he rolls his hips against you, scratching the sheets.

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

You nod, waiting for the pit in your tummy to explode. But it doesn’t come, Roman pulling out in one even jerk.

You cry out, “What the fuck?”

“If you wanna cum you gotta promise not to publish that little article of yours, babe”

You’re hazy and desperate, in the back of your mind you know what he’s doing. And it clips your chest. But the pulsing of your cunt overrides all sanity. And you’re too fucked out to even care at this point, you just want to cum.

“What’ll be, huh? Wanna get pounded till you gush over my cock, or do you want to post a dumb story about me?”

You whimper, you’re dangling on your own leash of longing. He’s pressed against your back whispering all the fucked up things he promises to do to you if you just give in. Just let go, he murmurs.

Temptation licking the back of your heels like hellfire. It doesn’t help that he’s pawing at your tits, squeezing your tender flesh like clay. Cock slipping and sliding against your sodden cunt, slick with want and need. Dripping a honey-thick desire so brutal you’d think he was a demon sent from the inferno.

“Ok! Ok, won’t post it, just fuck me! Please, Rome.”

He groans, a hearty whiny thing that makes you clench around nothing.

“Good girl, good girl.”

It’s immediate, the way he slams back in and drives home. Your sticky skin slapping against his, thighs shaking with burning effort, stretched cunt a dripping mess against his cock. You’re babbling, hands reaching back to grip his thighs, nails digging into his flesh.

It’s not long before you’re gushing, clamping down, and seeing stars in your blacked-out vision. Hearing Roman moan and whine before he’s pulling out to cum over your back. The warmth spreads over your spine. He’s shivering, thighs twitching, and abdomen clenching. It’s never felt that good before.

You both pant and heave, body relaxing into the sheets. You’re exhausted, eyes lidding and drifting, faintly feeling the sensation of a towel wiping across your skin.

“Holy fuck-”

You smile softly, eyes closed. Roman plops down next to you in bed, watching as you roll over and sit against the headboard. He’s sweaty and so very good-looking. You smile in a chagrin manner, brushing a finger against his cheekbone.

“How’s that for an interview?”

You laugh, swatting his arm.

“You’re crazy.”

He smiles at you, strangely content. A pinprick of emotions swells in his chest, and you feel that influx of rot starts to crawl its way up your chest. He’s so beautiful, that you’d hate to see him crumble when he finds out you already sent your paper to your editor to post.

But for now, you enjoy the small moment of peace between you two. You laugh and joke and keep this sweet until morning until he realizes what you’ve done.

#he’s so dog motif #yes this os about Fiona apple #this man makes me wanna roll into traffic #first time writing something in like… eons #please be gentle I’ve not written since the dark ages #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #val.writes ❦#succession smut #succession x reader #roman roy smut

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pedrostylez · 3 months

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How The Crow Flies - pt. 6

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3k

Chapter Summary: The Triple Frontier crew gets the information they need to raid the house; you ignore Javier's calls

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. DUBCON, Mentions of SA, SMUT!!!! oral f receiving, dirty talk, Frankie is struggling with addiction and you're it, baby

A/N: I realize that this is a very Frankie-heavy few chapters; do not worry, Javi makes a return eventually. You're not ready for the next chapter okay I'm just saying

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

Sweat sticks in between your shoulder blades, walking down the now familiar path to the back of Lorea’s home. A smile comes to your lips, unable to hold it back as you recall that just moments ago he was in the car passing yours. His window rolled down during the checkpoint to let you through, and he nodded as he drove by.

He nodded.

He has no idea who you are.

It gave you confidence to know that you were at least tricking the highest man of authority in this part of the jungle. Your ears perked at the sound of the otherwise still jungle rustling with movement.

It reminded you that you couldn’t trick the man lurking in the trees, smirking at you when you made direct eye contact before entering the home. His brown eyes somehow shining in the darkness, the flutter of his eyelashes hitting his cheek as he winked at you.

He hadn’t done more than say he knew you weren’t a whore, but what else he knew was still a mystery. You had to remain careful, quiet and unassuming.

Beat him at his own game.

“Come here, bonita.” One of the guards calls, reclined in one of the living room seats with his friends surrounding him, laughing. You’re shaken out of your thoughts, turning to him with a sly little smile that you have perfected during your time here. “I’ll give you a stack of American money this time around if you do a good job.”

The term “American money” peaks your interest, the distinction between that and what you had been paid previously. Was this the money that everyone was talking about? You sink to your knees in front of him, tilting your head and giving him the biggest smile you can manage. “What do you mean?”

His breathing has picked up, chest rising and falling in anticipation as his fingers are trying to undo his pants as quickly as possible. “I’ll get you a stack from the safe.”

Bingo.

You nod, lowering your eyes to the bulge in his jeans, thinking over how you will follow him to the safe itself. “Only if you’re allowed?” You ask quietly, trying to remain as innocent looking as possible. You don’t want him to get in trouble, afterall; he’s your most frequent customer. You can’t for the life of you remember his name.

He nods so quickly and aggressively you think that his head will fly off his neck. “Boss won’t mind.”

Frankie feels much calmer than usual, watching you walk into the house this time. A silent understanding that what you’re doing won’t affect him, and if anything you’ll be giving him information too. At least, that’s the impression he is under after you sucked him off again in the shower the other day.

He thinks it is sound reasoning.

He sits back against the tree, listening to Santiago over his ear piece. “Was worried she wasn’t going to last.” He grumbles, clicking off the microphone after a sigh.

It’s silent for another moment before he hears Redfly question, “Got scared of the security guards?”

“Not sure…was told she ditched early a few weeks ago, but she seems to have figured it out.” Frankie can hear Santiago’s shrug through the ear piece. He thinks of Yovanna whispering in Santiago’s ear most nights, likely in his bed or hers, and he rolls his eyes.

Then, Benny’s voice. “‘Saw she had a bloody lip the first week. I would have left early too.”

Frankie’s stomach clenches, remembering the first couple days that you had stumbled out of the back of the house with that fresh cut. He remembers how he saw it and didn’t say anything, because at the time it didn’t seem worth it to mention. Not worth bringing attention to something that wouldn’t matter in the long run. But now, suddenly–

“Fish, you got eyes on her?” Santiago rings in his ear again, snapping Frankie out of his thoughts. He looks to the door, your figure shadowed but prominent near the back entry.

“She’s still inside.” He says quietly, squinting to try and see better when you twirl and your laughter reaches his ears. “Talking them up.”

“I’m gettin’ real tired of waiting. When are we raidin’ this place?” Will chimes in.

“When we have some actual information.” Santiago spits.

You step out of the house, your purse over your shoulder and a large smile on your face. You’re holding a paper bag with both of your hands, looking in the trees briefly before stepping into the path.

“Boys, she’s got a bag.” Frankie whispers, hoping you don’t call for him before he can send the information out. “Paper–can’t see in it.” You step down the path out of Frankie’s sight. You’re not stopping for him today, disappointment roiling through his blood. He shakes his head at himself, thinking he should have known better than to get too attached. “Anyone got eyes on her?”

“Yeah I’ve got–” Will says quietly through the ear piece, cut off before he rushes. “She tripped, paper bag is full of money boys. Hundred dollar bills.”

“She trafficking?” Redfly whispers.

Frankie rolls his eyes again; Redfly always assumes the worst. Understandably, of course, but not with the context that Frankie has, and with the knowledge that Yovanna is the one in charge of the money, he shouldn’t think that. He goes to correct him, but Benny beats him to it. “She must have given them a show. Proves the money is there, boys.”

“Meeting tonight. All done for the day.” Santiago says, clicking off without another word.

Frankie sighs, wondering what it was that you did for the money. His chest tightens at the thought, pushing it away in the hopes that you would be at his door when he returned.

The steam off your coffee rolls up to your face, watching the motel quietly in the corner of the cafe. Calculations in your head tell you that you have 52 hours until you have to return to your post back with Javi. He’s been calling you nonstop, not leaving messages or text but calling twice a day.

You roll your eyes when you feel the tell tale vibrations coming from your pocket. The idea that he would be calling you more now was almost laughable, but after the last conversation you had with him, you're not surprised. Begrudgingly, you pull out your phone, surprised to see Yovanna’s name on the caller ID. You scan the road in front of you, pressing the receiver to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey!” She chirps over the speaker.

Your eyes remain on the building in front of you, watching the cars. “Hey Yovanna, what’s going on?”

“Just wanted to tell you that you are absolutely loved by the guys. Andres can’t get enough of you.” She sounds happy, suggestive in how she uses the man’s name. That must be who you sucked off this morning.

She prattles on, saying they are going to give you an advance of money in the hopes that you will stay for a few more days. “Oh, I can’t stay, I have to go back for a little while. But I’ll be back in a week or so?” You say calmly, continuing to survey the road in front of you.

It goes silent on the phone, and your focus comes back to the phone in your hand. Yovanna takes a deep breath, “The uh…the lease is up at the end of this week and...you won’t need to come back next week.”

You frown, confusion racing through your brain and how to ask what exactly is going on. “The lease? I would stay an extra day if I could–”

“It’s not you!” She says quickly, a faux laugh reaching your ears. “Just, I’m not going to be around next week, with the lease ending. I don’t want you here if I’m not here…I’ll have to find a new place for you to stay!”

You watch a car filled with men-Frankie in the passenger seat-pull into the parking lot across the street and you shake your head. “You don’t have to find a place for me, you gave me the job.” Something feels off in the pit of your stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me the lease was going to be done so soon?”

Through the speaker you hear a car door slam just as Santiago gets out of the car. You freeze, straining to listen. “Just don’t come back, okay?” She says quickly, waiting for your quiet reply of of course, sorry Yovanna before she says “Don’t apologize. Thank you…for all your help.” and hangs up the phone.

As you hang up and watch the men pile out of the vehicle, each nodding to each other and glancing at their watches as if they have agreed on a time, the gears in your head begin to turn, and you look down to your phone again to call Javi.

“Tonight, Fish. No staying in and avoiding us.” Benny calls from his door, looking through the openings of the metal stairs up to Frankie.

Frankie grunts in acknowledgement, ignoring any other comments being thrown at him and unlocking his room door to slide inside. He glances around briefly, all items still where they were left the night before, taking off his hat and setting it on the coffee table.

He’s conflicted, desperately wanting to see you again before the inevitable raid and fleeing they will be doing. He also doesn’t want to disappoint himself, knowing that nothing can continue with whatever is happening between the two of you.

Lying, fucking, pretending; all things he’s experiencing with you. Craves with you.

He could just leave you to whatever it was that you were doing–he didn’t actually have to know, did he? You dropping that bag of money in front of his team proves that what you’re doing doesn’t affect them.

Lost in his thoughts, he’s letting his boots slide off and a sigh leave his lips, before he hears a soft knock at his door. He’s too quick to open it, holding his breath when he sees you in front of him. He inhales as subtly as he possibly can when you slip past him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“‘You have a habit of falling?” He asks, watching as you take off your own shoes like you plan on getting comfortable–plan on staying.

“Nice trick, wasn’t it?” You giggle, batting your eyelashes at him. “I figured someone would be watching.”

“How did you get paid that much?” He grinds out, trying to hold himself back. He doesn’t want to focus on this nagging thing in his chest, something he could potentially identify as jealousy. No–he wants to focus on the mission he was sent here for.

You smirk, shrugging. “I have my ways. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” You call him out, tilting your head as he runs his hands through his hair, huffing out a heavy breath.

“Where was he keeping it?” Frankie presses, fingers tapping anxiously against his scalp. Maybe if he focuses on the facts, on the mission, he can stop this feeling in his stomach bubbling up into whatever he was afraid of it being.

You watch him, curious. “What do I get if I tell you?”

He freezes, watching for a second longer before a switch flips. Frankie can’t help himself–like his body is working with a separate mind, watching himself from overhead as he kneels in front of you. His knees crack, thudding on to the carpet and looking up at your body. He hears your gasp, watches how your eyes widen and darken, watching him before you.

Frankie licks his lips, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. “My mouth. My hands–whatever you want.”

You stand silent, mouth slightly opened as you breathe deeply.

His hands reach forward, pulling you by the hips closer to him. His mouth waters, at eye level with your belly button and he swears he can smell you. The want that is in his own pants, reflected in yours. “If I feel you right now, will you be wet?”

When he looks up again you’re already staring back at him, nodding silently. He moves the skirt of your dress out of the way-changed from what you wore into the jungle, and moves the palm of his hand over the front of your panties.

Warm and humid under his fingers, sliding down to where the fabric thins and becomes wet, he smiles. “Where was the money, hermosa?”

You swallow roughly, hands on his shoulders and digging your nails in. “A-A safe.” You close your eyes as his fingers move your underwear to the side. He notices how you shuffle your legs apart as slowly as possible, as if to not scare him away.

He lightly runs his first and second finger over your slit, exposing your clit and letting the wetness he had gathered on his fingers to circle around you. “Where was the safe?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, feels like he is looking at himself from the ceiling instead of being in front of you. An out of body experience that he can relive over and over again.

The bite of your fingers at his shoulders has him suddenly back in his body, listening to your moan. “The master bedroom.” You close your eyes, throwing your head back to expose the column of your throat to him. He wants to plant a kiss there, bite down on your collarbone, but he remains on his knees. “There’s a cabinet in the way. I-It was like a secret door.”

Frankie hums happily, letting his other hand wrap around the back of your thighs and squeeze to maneuver that leg over his shoulder. “What a good girl, telling me that.” He growls out, leaning his mouth forward and suctioning around your clit.

It’s quick, how you wrap his hair around your fingers and tug. How you sigh happily and do your best to not lose your balance, but have to reach behind you to hold yourself up against the back of the couch.

Frankie devours you; he feels dizzy with how hard he is pushing his face into your heat and consuming your scent and taste. He closes his eyes, blissfully letting himself get lost in the addiction of you.

The only thing that may be better is that now he is convinced he will have a full bank account when he leaves Colombia.

When you come, Frankie doesn’t even realize you had been warning him. Your calls of “Frankie, honey–” And “Oh fuck–” hadn’t penetrated his concentration, his dedication to tasting you.

When he pulls away, looking up to your heaving chest and half glazed over eyes, he realized why he had devoted the time to you. Looking up at you he’s not sure he can go without you. He stands, still close to you but rests his hands on either side of the couch behind you. “When can I see you again?”

You huff, blinking until your eyes go wide and you laugh. “I am only here for a couple more days–”

Frankie shakes his head, knowing Santiago. The next two days will be full recon work, not just observing but notating down times that the family leaves. “Let me see you in three days.”

You pause, pushing the skirt of your dress down and frowning. “I have to get back to–”

“Please.” He breathes, bringing his lips close to yours. He knows you can smell yourself on him, but you don’t seem to care as your bottom lip brushes against yours. Frankie thinks he will never see you again.

He takes the chance, pressing himself against you and letting his mouth engulf your own. His tongue peeks out, dancing with yours briefly before he groans.

You pull away quickly, confusion threading through your features. You shake your head, putting a hand on his chest to push him away. He wants to push back against you, but he obliges, taking a step back.

Frankie thinks he’s fucked up now, sure that you’re going to leave without saying another word. But you don’t move, looking at the ground and thinking through something. You finally nod, stepping around him to the notepad that sits on the bedside table.

You write an address, setting it down gently and looking back at him. “I’ll only be there for a couple more days.”

Frankie shakes his head. “I’m telling you the truth, I can only be there on the third day. Santiago will–” He stops himself, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He smells you again and feels himself twitch in his pants. “I have to tie up loose ends. I want to see you again.”

You watch him, eyes wide and unmoving. “I don’t know that I can stay that long.”

Frankie feels like he might have to get on his knees again. He doesn’t reach for you, holding his hands wide, pleading. “Just one more time.”

You swallow, furrowing your brow and looking away. He can see how your eyes get glassy, confusion clear in your expression. When you shake your head, it's like you’ve cleared your thoughts and put up a wall. “You can come by and see if I am still there.”

Frankie nods, heat rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment. The fact that he begged you, makes him question if he should even bother showing up.

But when you head for the door and he follows to open it, you turn around and lunge yourself at him, kissing him and pulling him by the shirt closer to you. His arm wraps around your back, keeping you close to him.

His lips pull from yours, a smirk unable to stay down as his other hand reaches up to rub softly at your cheekbone. No words are further exchanged, you slipping out the room and across the street while he holds the door open to watch you.

Frankie glances to the stairs, the metal holes making it easy to see to Benny’s door. It too is wide open, watching him with a knowing smile on his face.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #htcf #how the crow flies #tw: dubcon #tw sa implied

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ofallthingsnasty · 3 months

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This is highly unlikely to happen BUT imagine the show Wife Swap (old american reality show from the early 2000s). I never saw a single episode and don’t intend to but the premise is simple (and really weird lmao): two wives from vastly different families swap households for a while. Shenanigans ensue.

Anyways, there is not a chance in hell Crocodile would let his basement wife anywhere near Doflamingo, but imagine some devil fruit fuckery swaps basement wife and the family pet temporarily. Everyone, except for Doflamingo maybe, will be having a really hard time until wife and pet can be located and brought back to their proper places

Oh, anon if only you knew - the German version was a huge part of my tween years, mainly because of one specific meme that came out of it (Frauentausch-Andreas)💀 The thought is so fucking funny, though. Idk what it is about dark content with a crack-treated-seriously twist, but it makes me laugh.

tw. crack treated seriously, noncon (only for Doffy), basement wife is fat + fem, family pet is gn as always

Oh my god, call that basement wife's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. You thought your cartoonishly evil pseudo-husband was bad? Hah, you know absolutely nothing, you stupid little thing. When Doflamingo scrapes you out of the crate instead of his little bipedal dog, he's confused - but he can put two and two together, and quickly at that. Obviously, you're not some assassin (really, what kind of strategy is that? Killing one of his family, making the body disapear and then wait for him to appear? Hilariously bad, honestly), not some spy and you really, really aren't the one who's supposed to sit in that cage. And when you start crying the moment he asks you what the hell you're doing here, he knows this isn't intentional. At all. Another once-over, a look at your weird little outfit, at the clunky stone on your hand and it clicks - he only knows one man with a similar taste in clothing and jewelry. Would you look at that, it's Crocodile's well-kept (and apparently not-so-little) secret. Reality can be stranger than fiction, huh? He's real nice after that epiphany. Too nice. Sits you down with a cup of tea like you're old friends, seats himself across from you, legs perched on the table while he smiles. Chats. Laughs. Acts overly familiar. It's bizarre to witness - but he's trying to glean what exactly you, the little teary-eyed butterball you are, offer Crocodile over him. Really, he's a little hurt: you're drab and soggy and soft in more ways than one, you cower and snivel in front of him like some beaten dog. The only fact that saves you from being mind-numbingly boring is that you're immensely valuable to Crocodile - and it makes ideas pop up in his head. He really likes the way you're stunned into silence when he suddenly uses his powers to immobilize you, right as you're in the middle of talking. And he gets why Crocodile keeps you around when you're bent over the table and he fucks you until you're just a sobbing mess. It's at least a little different from his usual endeavours and he takes his sweet time with you, leaves some evidence for the other man to discover later on. Once the mix-up is solved, Doflamingo hands you back dressed entirely in pink and with a thousand yard stare in your eyes. Will ask Crocodile about you every time he sees him from then on, a shit-eating grin on his face while the other almost loses it.

On the other hand, family pet does pretty well, considering the circumstances. I'd even argue it's the best you've been in years - because someone is treating you like an actual person, for once. Even if they aren't being kind. Crocodile is wary, of course - every single member of Doflamingo's posse is not to be taken lightly - but he also knows you. The fucking bird dragged you into official meetings enough for you to be a familiar face to him. He's furious, seething, beyond angry - but it's not necessarily directed at you. Doflamingo has to be behind all of this, he's sure of it, and you're just the collateral. (Admittedly, weird collateral, as you're the apple of Doflamingo's eye, always kept on his arm, cooed at, just treated like some ghoulish human pet, but who knows how the bird works? He sure as hell doesn't.) He'll probaby try to squeeze some information out of you (and when that doesn't help, he'll just plop you into a seastone cage and try to solve the mystery on his own. Yeah, he almost killed you minutes before - but then again, maybe you're worth something? He can always get rid of you later, maybe you do still have some value... He's feeling a lot of emotions, give him a minute.) Really, it's not that bad. You've been through worse. When everything is cleared up, I think he'd even let you take a bath and feed you a proper meal (on a plate!! A plate! Not a bowl!) before he'll trade you back in for his weirdly apathetic looking wife...

#tw.noncon #honestly crocodile just goes through the stages of grief while you're sitting in a corner. slow blinking at him. bc even if he ends you #- you have learned that your life isn't your own anymore anyway jdkdk poor family pet reader...#/crocodile #/doflamingo #/one piece

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sunlitmcgee · 1 year

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Hello! This is a ramble-style masterpost type thing about the version of c!Benchtrio that is in my fic “Heal What Has Been Hurt.” It is filled with headcanons, ramblings, interpretations and general behind the scenes things that I’ve had in mind when it comes to how I write them and their various gender presentations throughout the course of the fic.

I’d like to say that I am a GNC fem-presenting AFAB transman. This is just something to keep in mind when it comes to my thoughts and opinions on the concept of gender, gender identity and presentation. If anything here doesn’t align with your personal experiences, that’s okay! Just please don’t be an asshole, because this is based upon MY experiences with gender identity and is inherently quite personal for me.

Another thing I’d like to say is that while the majority of what I say here is related to my AU fic, some things reflect my feelings around DSMP canon and my perspectives of the characters

I always wanna remind that HWHBH!Benchtrio’s relationship is strictly queerplatonic and that anything described here is not meant to be taken as romantic or heaven’s for-fucking-bid sexual. If you think something here is…just….keep it to yourself and don’t say it to me. Pretty fuckin please.

And on that last note, nothing here is meant to apply to ANY of the CCs who created these characters. This is about the characters and ONLY the characters. This isn’t a place for truthing or whatever. Get the fuck outta here with dat shit.

Don’t be weird, ya dumb piece of cu-

Let’s get into it, shall we!

For starters, let’s start off with the basic idea that, to me, Mister Author Man, whose opinions on these characters obviously shape the way I write them but shouldn’t be taken as the word of god when it comes to vague stuff that’s more open to interpretation, all 3 of HWHBH!Benchtrio embody a sort of “archetype” of masculinity. A different flavor, one might say. Their presentations and performances of the concept vary, but the core idea of “man-ess” is present in all 3, albeit to varying extents.

If we want to go in order from “most masc” to “least masc” in terms of traditional ideas/roles, then let’s begin with our darling little draggie goat HWHBH!Tubbo.

HWHBH!Tubbo is buff.

HWHBH!Tubbo is fat, muscular, and heavy set.

HWHBH!Tubbo is short but built like a full-grown bull, horns and muscles and all.

And above all else, HWHBH!Tubbo is the member of the trio that to me embodies the sort of masculinity that I shall lovingly deem “The Stronk Guy.”

When it comes to how he’s dressed/often described, you rarely see HWHBH!Tubbo in anything traditionally feminine. He wears tank-tops, button-ups, heavy coats and thick winter pants. He wears overalls,which are a very boyish sort of clothing item commonly associated with the American South and physical labor, usually on a farm. The two sets of horns of his head make up for his generally short stature, making him seem as tall as he is wide, thus increasing the intimidating presence he has thanks to his claws, scales, wings and oh yeah constant smoke that pours out from every hole on his round little face. Round face=wide facial features=square shape. Squares in terms of character design are often used for characters that are sturdy and strong with a big presence in the scenes they’re in. Another very “macho” trait. Manly men get your attention as soon as they are in the room.

Out of the 3, Tubbo is the one that works out the most.

He is the one who performs most maintenance-based tasks around the house, such as repairing furniture.

He helps with the farms in Snowchester and lifts many heavy tools.

He’s the one that gets a spider out of the house when it scares Michael when he goes to lay in his little race car bed.

He picks both of HWHBH!Alliumduo up like they weigh nothing.

And he is the one that makes Tommy go from “C!Tommy if he had proper therapy” to “stereotypical young teen girl swooning over her popular jock crush in an early 2000’s disney channel original movie” thanks to those burly arms of his. He has a way. With the Tommy.

Boy could snap you like a motherfucking glowstick-

Basically, when in regards to his gender and overall presentation, HWHBH!Tubbo is the kind of boy who is best at home in himself when he can go at with his power tools in the lab and go home wiping the sweat from his brow to his two lovely partners so that he can eat dinner, help with all the dishes, take a bath and kiss both his children’s foreheads, then flop himself onto the bed and hug both of his platonic husband’s.

He isn’t a very girly boy.

And that is okay!

HWHBH!Tubbo doesn’t feel drawn to most typical “girly” things. He mostly wears earth-tones along with his coats and leather jackets. He likes flowers, yeah. But everyone likes flowers! And he cannot cook for shit, so in his mind, he really isn’t the “”lady”” of this household.

(Any usage of words like “woman”, “man”, lady-like or “manly” here are intended to refer to the traditional stereotypical Western ideas behind gender and gender roles. Just as a friendly reminder!)

But there’s a reason behind heal!Tubbo’s specific brand of manliness that isn’t just his personal preference. Think back to Manburg. Pogtopia era. Think back to the time when c!Tubbo served as a political spy during a time of war against a nation that was ruled by c!Schlatt: a bumbling idiot obsessed with “gains” and protein powder who constantly hurled verbal abuse and beat down on anyone who defied him, be it physically with his hands or politically through various abuses of authority.

c!Schlatt is an almost Comical icon of toxic masculinity. Loud. Harsh. Always quick to Anger. Aggressive and self absorbed. Dismissive of the emotions of others including his own and valuing raw strength and power above all else. On several occasions, there were scenes where he’d directly attack the masculinity of the cabinet members, be it telling c!Fundy(a transman!) that he’ll “never be a man” or talking down to c!Tubbo and calling him weak, soft, cowardly and all manner of insults commonly hurled at people our society sees as men who don’t conform to a rigid binary.

With hwhbh!Tubbo, he has taken that weakness that an abuser saw in him and Embraced it for the strength it actually is. He is soft. He’s fat with a big round belly! He’s physically strong, yes, again, bulk like a tank. But in terms of his emotions, by Schlatt’s standards, he’s much Weaker than he used to be because of how open and vulnerable he is: and that’s a Good Thing.

Manliness isn’t toughing it out and beating down on anyone that defies you. Manliness is giving your 2 kids 20 kisses on they little heads as you hold them to your chest and carry them upstairs for bedtime.

Manliness is Softness.

Manliness is Openness.

Manliness is Gentleness.

Manliness can let you Heal.

Let’s talk about heal!Ranboo. Much like Tubbo, Ranboo has a pretty typically masculine presentation. He wears suits, formal vests, sweaters and button-ups, but has a dash of more feminine apparel with his various earrings and rings and necklaces that contrast to the lone wedding bane and bee-charm bracelet we see on heal!Tubbo.

Fashion aside, heal!Ranboo’s sheer height makes him stick out like a sore thumb. He’s a tall, thin creature with long, gangly limbs and shiny scales. He’s a fighter! He knows how to handle himself in a scuffle. He prefers to use his words and to avoid fighting via diplomacy, but he is not afraid to use violence(or at the very least Threaten To) when it comes to Clingyduo or his children. It’s best to say he simply has a bit more self Restraint than Tubbo. But only Just.

heal!Ranboo is the middle child of heal!Benchtrio. Despite this, he is the universally agreed upon “mature one” and often takes the role of the “””straight””” man compared to clingyduo’s goofy mischief.

With this notable maturity, Healboo, like his counterpart in canon, takes it upon himself to be the household’s main Provider. He’s the breadwinner. The moneymaker. The one who goes out each day to work and toil in the mines to gather resources to bring home. He brings home the bacon! Therefore, he is also the one in charge of the family’s Finances. His name is on the contract for the mansion’s construction. There were many jokes about c!Tubbo being a golddigger, way back when the two first got married. I see no reason to say that there weren’t similar jokes made between the two when they first got together in HWHBH.

Financial control is a right that’s long been limited to men. Men do the work, pay the bills, own the house and make the Big Choices for a family.

Going back to the point about his skills in combat, it is traditionally a Man’s job to protect his family. It’s Man’s Work to be tough and fend off the danger. The man brings home the Kill(money and household finances) while the woman cooks, cleans, raises the children and provides whatever Affection her husband may require. Golddiggers, as a concept, are women who specifically seek out Wealthy Men to reap the riches from this(very harmful) arrangement.

But all of this hinges on the idea that a man is a tough, strong, scary, loud go-getter who’ll lash out at any opportunity to climb up The Ladder ™.

If not that, then a wealthy man is one who has to be Smart. Clever. Good with his words. A charmer. A suave, dapper figure in fitted clothes with well-kept hair. A man with visible wealth in the form of pretty jewelry. A tall, dark and handsome kind of fella. A princely sort! This type of Man is one you see at gentlemen’s clubs and cashios who most certainly is inclined towards the academics.

hwhbh!Ranboo is. Basically that. He’s just transmasc. And aromantic asexual. And platonically gay. And riddled with 70 flavors of psychosis that’s worsened by his severe anxiety, paranoia and memory issues.

(hwhbh!Ranboo is, specifically, a young trans man who had his body hijacked and controlled by an older man in a position of authority who used that control to abuse him and his loved ones. Just a side note to think about)

Basically, hwhbh!Ranboo has the Aesthetics of the “tall, dark and handsome and filthy Rich suave ladies man” type of manhood…just as a paint over a very anxious, very emotionally-driven young queer boy.

He spoils his beloveds. He coddles and pampers them. He is a partner who finds joy in showering his qpps with material gifts In Tandum with his physical affection and words of praise. In many “traditional”(read: sexist and fucked up) circles, this would make him someone who is perceived as Weak. He’d be Emasculated for his behavior.

But ofc, he’d be denied his manhood in the first place in these types of circle, because being trans, heal!Ranboo’s masculinity is one Directly in contrast to the roles he’d be put into on the basis of his birth sex.

That makes you think: maybe there’s a reason Ranboo sticks to very masculine dress when he’s out and about, and only wears stuff like dresses and skirts when he’s at home with his two partners. People he trusts. People he feels safe around.

heal!Ranboo is a breadwinner/provider who turns to those he provides for for comfort and safety.

Manliness is seeking Comfort.

Manliness is not viewing your Fears as a Flaw.

Manliness is indulging in self Expression that makes you feel the most like Yourself.

Manliness is showing Love to those you care for.

Manliness is Caring.

Manliness is Gentleness.

Now. Let’s talk about the main character protagonist himself. c!Tommy. The boy. The guy himself. The most character ever of all time in the history of anything.

hwhbh!Tommy is, to put it simply: A pretty boy.

He’s very pretty! He’s got long hair that goes well past his shoulders, shiny blue eyes, a lean(for the most part) figure that makes him rather petite next to Beeduo, and a pair of earthy brown wings that have flecks of gold on each feather. He wears skirts, dresses, lace, silk and cardigans. Most of his outfits have either natural earthy tones(greens, blues, browns, etc) or brighter pastels(purple, pink, white etc). He wears jewelry. He had butterfly pins that he bought from Claries.

On top of that, he’s got a shit ton of plushies, blankets, pillows and general soft cutesie comfort items. Plushie Henry is a big one.

He’s got many traditionally girly hobbies and interests. Knitting. Sewing. Cooking/baking. Gardening. He loves to sing and likes to read about the symbolism of different flowers. He’s made a point for there to be plenty of plant life in the Big Innit such as in the lobby and connected cafe. While video games are stereotype as being a “boys’ thing”, one of heal!Tommy’s favorite games is OMORI, which is a game with a very cutesy art style that consists of soft pastel colors and a cute, feel good ost. Again. Very girly, very pretty.

heal!Tommy is a character that I’ve given a lot of my Personal Gender Stuff as a transguy who found myself leaning into a lot of girly cutesy feminine things when I was first recovering from my trauma. For me, it was a matter of being able to indulge in media/hobbies/aesthetics that gave me a sense of comfort and safety while also further allowing me to explore my gender.

For hwhbh!Tommy, it’s a matter of him finally being able to indulge in what gives him the most joy without being hurt for it: loving things, loving people, and caring for them. Being a nurturer.

Who sings to the flowers to help them grow?

Who made a Prime Path and keeps it maintained?

Who inspired Wilbur Soot to make L’manburg, acting as a sibling’s muse?

Who fills the server with music? With song?

Who reaches out and tries to mend broken relationships?

Who forgives?

Who tries his very best to understand, even when it hurts him more?

Who is the person that takes care of the server?

c!Tommy is a character who is Driven by Love. Platonic love. Familial Love. This boy loves and he loves to SHOW his love to people by caring for them in whatever way he is able to. He isn’t always the best at it. He is often brash and harsh and loud and blunt and yes, annoying. He’s a little shit.

He’s weird in a weird little girl way.

He is also an incredibly caring, sweet, emotionally intelligent person who always puts the needs of others First Before His own, often always to his own detriment. Caring for cWilbur in Pogtopia. Reaching out to cBeeduo during the outpost. Forgiving cEmeraldduo, time and time again. Asking his abuser “why don’t you hurt” while in the prison.

In my experience as an AFAB individual, women* (*or people society views as women) are expected to 1: keep their own emotions bottled up and tend to the emotional needs of others around them, 2: be quiet, submissive, polite and “ladylike” 24/7 constantly. Or else we will be labeled as annoying hysterical bitches who are just looking for attention.

Sound familiar?

In HWHBH, Tommy’s gradual shift from his original masculine presentation of a plain t shirt and pants to his current mix of sweaters, skirts and dresses is a visual way to show his shift throughout his recovery.

At the start of the fic, Tommy was still riding the aftershocks of his near-death in the prison. He wore simple clothes, lived in an empty house, hardly ate, slept and was unable to take care of himself. The entire first chapter is XD watching him nearly freeze to death because he wandered out into the forest without a coat while dissociating. His hair was thin and cut short. He thought that beeduo wanted nothing to do with him. He was unwell. He was alone.

But look at him now. Long, thick hair. Healthy diet. Gained some weight. (Mostly) healthy sleep schedule. Lots of family members and friends he talks to daily, either in person or over the phone.

He has a garden.

He sings to the flowers.

He sings constantly.

He is always singing or talking or downing something. He enjoys doing chores. He thinks it’s fun.

Throughout the entirety of the DSMP storyline, c!Tommy was punished for Wanting. For wanting People. For wanting to be Loved. For wanting TO love without having whatever/whoever he cared about taken away. Now he has a child(2 actually, he’s just silly and hasn’t realized it) and a father and 2 platonic partners who love him dearly. He has hobbies and favorite TV shows. He grows his hair out, wears skirts and plays with his father’s make-up. He gets flustered when Beeduo call him pretty or beautiful. He watches Sailor Moon. He made an oc self insert for it. He regularly daydreams about heal!beeduo being tuxedo mask the same way a female lead in a teen romcom talks about going on cheesy dates with her crush. He has a flower cow with buttercups on it.

Michael calling him Mummy and Shroud calling him Mimi doesn’t need an explanation, I feel.

For a character whose main joke catchphrase is some variation of “I’m a Big Man”, cTommy really is very Girl Coded. Hwhbh!Tommy is just the result of me taking that and amplifying it for the sake of comedy and fluff. Mostly fluff. Because I think he’s a character who deserves the softness that can come from “girl stuff” and things we commonly associate with femininity.

Masculinity and Femininity and all forms of gender stuff and gender expression are, at the end of the day, just made up gobbledy gook we humans made up in the same way we made up shit like Money and Language. But I still like to talk about them, because it’s a topic I find to be very interesting and important when it comes to storytelling.

Manliness is Nurturing.

Manliness is Loyalty.

Manliness is the capacity to care for and protect and fight for what you value the most.

Manliness is the attempt, however vain, to understand the people around you(though ofc, there are always times when you shouldn’t because it isn’t Safe for you)

Manliness, like Womanliness, is whatever YOU want to make of it. Same with any other clusterfuck of a queer identity.

I just think that hwhbh!Benchtrio’s gender stuff is fun to talk about. I hope you enjoyed reading about it :)

#HWHBH #hwhbh!benchtrio #hwhbh!tommy #hwhbh!tubbo #hwhbh!ranboo #tw abuse mention #ask to tag #if any of this makes no sense it is because I am So tired :“”))#but i hope it's funky all the same

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dear-indies · 5 months

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hi! this might be a little too specific but im looking for a 20s - 30s fem faceclaims with that like. "sad wet big brown eyes" look, ethnicity doesn't really matter. thanks in advance!

Tiffany Boone (1987) African-American.

Gia Mantegna (1990)

Adachi Rika (1992) Japanese.

Azie Tesfai (1992) Eritrean.

Gulnazar (1992) Uygher.

Adwoa Aboah (1992) Ghanaian / English.

Araki Yuko (1993) Japanese.

Maia Mitchell (1993)

Olivia Cooke (1993)

Luciane Buchanan (1993) Tongan and Scottish.

Aisha Dee (1993) African American / White.

Han So Hee (1994) Korean.

Erin Moriarty (1994)

Jessica Sula (1994) Afro Trinidadian, Chinese / Estonian, German.

Veronica St. Clair (1994) Cuban / Filipino.

Esther Yu (1995) Chinese.

Blu Hunt (1995) Oglala Lakota, Apache, White - is queer.

Hanako Greensmith (1996) Japanese / White.

Anya Chalotra (1996) Kashmiri Indian / English.

Mook Mookda Narinrak (1996) Thai.

Jane De Leon (1997) Bisaya Filipino.

Banita Sandhu (1997) Punjabi Indian.

Charithra Chandran (1997) Tamil Indian.

Madeleine Madden (1997) Eastern Arrernte, Arrernte, Kalkadoon, White / Gadigal and Bundjalung.

Daisy Edgar-Jones (1998)

Curley Gao (1998) Uygher and Han Chinese.

Star Slade (1999) Metis and Vietnamese - is pansexual.

Tu Tontawan Tantivejakul (2000) Thai.

Piploy Kanyarat Ruangrun (2000) Thai and Taiwanese.

Auliʻi Cravalho (2000) Puerto Rican, Kānaka Maoli, Portuguese, Chinese, White - is bisexual.

Here you go!

#fc help #rph #rpc

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beautifulfaaces · 10 months

Text

Sam Morelos

Facts

July 7, 2005

Filipino American actress

Filmography

Nikki [That 90’s Show: 2023]

Nobody [Forgetting Nobody: 2022]

Appearance

black hair/ brunette

brown eyes

Roleplay

playable: teenager

#Sam Morelos #fem 2000s #fem filipino #fem american #2000s fem american #2000s fem filipino #that 90's show #forgetting nobody #black fem teen #brunette fem teen #2000s fem black #2000s fem brunette #brown eyes fem teen #2000s fem brown eyes #teenager female

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rawiswhore · 8 months

Text

Steve Regal x Fem Reader- "Red Negligee"

"Three's Company" was the highest rated show on television in the late 1970's.

It was a sitcom notorious for featuring women walking around wearing short little negligees and nighties as well as sometimes wearing these lingerie teddy rompers and other skimpy outfits.

Despite that 1980 was the beginning of a new decade, "Three's Company" was still on the air even though Suzanne Somers had left the show and the sitcom was still fresh in our minds, not to mention still featured women bouncing around in short nighties and negligees.

Because of the show's popularity as well as teddies (not bears) and babydoll nighties being popular lingerie at the time, in 1980 you invited wrestler Steve Regal to a hotel room.

This isn't the same "Real Man's Man" Steve Regal during the Attitude era who would later on be William Regal, this Steve Regal was American with long blond hair.

As Steve lounged in the hotel room's bed, he had his long blond hair hanging down.

While Steve Regal laid on his back on top of one of the beds in the room, you slowly sauntered further into the hotel room dressed in a short feminine nighty/negligee where the bottom of it reached your upper thighs.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to wear a short nighty/negligee or a teddy/romper that was a mixture of a spaghetti strapped chemise with short shorts attached to it, or even wearing a spaghetti strapped camisole with matching short shorts that weren't attached to the top.

Steve's mouth spread and formed into smile as he watched you slowly stroll further into the hotel room dressed in that babydoll negligee.

You had a grin on your face as you slowly walked into the room to show off your negligee.

"I couldn't decide what to wear" you brought up to him. "A teddy or a negligee"

To quote the movie "Road to El Dorado": "both is good!".

Or even better...if you shed your negligee off to reveal that you're wearing a teddy, and you don't mean teddy as in bear. (come to think of it, this would be a good idea for a fanfiction!)

"And I mean teddy as in one of those teddy rompers" you explained "with short shorts attached to the chemise"

He knows what you're referring to.

With a grin on your face, you slowly crawled on top of the bed Steve was laying on, where you slowly crawled closer to him.

"As a valet, I'd love to shed my dress off to reveal a short negligee to your opponent" you told him when you laid right next to him. "Or I'd shed my dress off to reveal a teddy underneath as a distraction"

You could wear a negligee or teddy romper to the sexiest male wrestlers like Michael P.S. Hayes in the early 1980's (who I almost wrote this fanfiction about), Paul Orndorff/Mr. Wonderful and eventually wrestlers like Tommy Rogers from the Fantastics, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Terry Taylor, Marty Jannetty and even the British Bulldogs Davey Boy Smith and the Dynamite Kid.

Steve enjoyed hearing those ideas for sure, but professional wrestling was mostly family entertainment during the majority of the 20th Century.

"Or even better" you added excitedly with a smile on your face. "Walking to the ring wearing a short little negligee or a teddy romper, like what those women on 'Three's Company' wear!"

Underwear as outerwear.

"I hope I wouldn't be arrested for wearing underwear on in public!" you said, which made Steve chuckle. "Some teddies look like outfits people could wear in public, like spaghetti strapped camisoles with short shorts not attached"

Really, there are worse things than you being in a wrestling arena wearing a babydoll nighty or a teddy romper and you even said that to him.

Not to mention, there was the sexual revolution of the 1960's and 1970's, where people supported birth control, abortion, sex before marriage, pornography and even public nudity and sex in public places.

Professional wrestling has always been a reflection of the times, just look at the Attitude era reflecting the late 1990's and even early 2000's, the Ruthless Aggression era having the 2000's written all over it, and Women's Extreme Wrestling hypersexualizing the women during the 2000's as well as filled with edgelord commentary objectifying the women and saying things that were rather racist.

You actually thought of having a "Three's Company" related wrestling gimmick when the show was on the air, but cartoonish sports entertainment wrestling really didn't start taking off until the 1980's, when the World Wrestling Federation blew up in popularity.

Your "Three's Company" gimmick you brainstormed could involve you being like Chrissy Snow, wearing pigtails or a ponytail while the rest of your hair hangs down and you bounce around in babydoll negligees, teddies and even sometimes wearing nothing but a towel, as well as wearing strapless rompers and denim short shorts and a top with no bra underneath and your breasts jiggle under your top.

Another idea could have 2 female wrestling valets who have a male wrestler they lead to the ring.

The possibilities are endless.

Rowdy Roddy Piper was a rising wrestling star in the late 1970's and early 1980's who resembled John Ritter, "Three's Company"'s star.

#steve regal #1980 #80s #negligee #birthday #happy birthday

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