Marcus Hale & Tyler Briggs | Frat Himbo Bullies

Names:

• Left (rear-view pose, looking back over his shoulder): Marcus “Marc” Hale
• Right (front-flex pose, arm raised): Tyler “Ty” Briggs

They’re inseparable best friends and the dominant pair in their frat. Loud, cocky college bullies who treat the house and campus like their personal playground—hazing freshmen, stealing girlfriends (or boyfriends), riding faces until they pass out beneath them, wearing skimpy clothes that show off their big fat hairy butts and thighs, flexing in the gym until everyone else leaves, and walking around the house half-naked because they know people stare.

Builds (lewd)

Marcus “Marc” Hale Thick, dense powerhouse body. Massive, heavy, soft, wobbly, warm, hairy, sweaty manly man butt cheeks that stretch the black singlet into a deep, lewd cameltoe from behind; the fabric digs into the dense crack and rides high on those pale, hairy cheeks. Tree-trunk thighs packed with muscle and dark body hair that runs all the way up into the singlet. Broad, powerful back and lats that flare out, sweat-slick and glistening. The singlet straps dig into his thick traps and shoulders. Heavy, low-hanging bulge visible when he turns even slightly. Looks like he could crush someone between those thighs or sit on a face until they pass out. Always smelling faintly of sweat, cologne, and the locker room.

Tyler “Ty” Briggs Slightly leaner but still absurdly muscular and vascular. Deeply defined abs pushing against the tight black singlet, thick warm hairh pecs with dark pits of underarm hair on full display when he flexes. The singlet is cut high on the hips, framing a heavy, prominent bulge that sits thick and long against his thigh. Powerful quads and calves dusted with the same dark hair. Round, soft, hairy, wobbly, warm, yielding ass that fills the back of the singlet just as greedily as Marc’s. Always a little shiny with oil or sweat, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric. Smirks like he knows exactly how much space his body takes up and enjoys making people uncomfortable with it.

They’re the type who “accidentally” walk around the frat house in nothing but those singlets (or less), slap each other’s asses hard enough to leave handprints, and dare pledges to “try and take them” in wrestling matches that always end with someone pinned under pure muscle and body heat. Classic bully best-friend energy: loud, physical, shameless, and constantly on the edge of turning any situation sexual just because they can, they are also slightly prejudiced against other people that dont look like them build wise, attractiveness, style, personality, etcetera.

How they speak

Marc’s voice is deep, lazy, and always a little too loud—like he’s already bored of whoever he’s talking to. Short sentences, heavy on the “bro,” “dude,” and “the fuck.” He talks through his teeth when he’s amused, like he’s holding back a smirk. Ty is sharper and more mocking; his voice stays higher and clearer, full of little laughs and drawn-out words (“Ohhh, look at this guy…”). They finish each other’s sentences constantly and talk over people without noticing. Around pledges or anyone smaller, their tone drops into that casual, smiling cruelty—like they’re just messing around, even when they’re not.

How they walk

They take up space on purpose. Marc walks heavy and slow, shoulders rolling, chest out, the thick meat of his thighs and ass shifting under the singlet with every step. He plants his feet wide and doesn’t move for anyone. Ty moves with more bounce—springy, athletic, always a little closer to you than he needs to be. Both of them walk like the hallway belongs to them. When they’re together they shoulder-check people without looking, or just stop in the middle of a doorway so everyone has to squeeze past their bodies.

How they bully

It’s never loud rage; it’s constant, casual dominance. They’ll pin a freshman against a wall with one forearm across the chest while the other one stands too close, smiling. They make people carry their bags, clean their rooms, or kneel to tie their shoes “for the house.” Gym bullying is their favorite—spotting someone just to lean over them and grind their bulge against the back of their head, or “helping” with form by straddling a bench and forcing the smaller guy’s face into their crotch “to keep the bar steady.” They steal clothes, lock people out of the bathroom while they shower together, and post photos of anyone who looks at them too long. The whole frat knows the rule: if Marc or Ty decides you’re their toy for the night, you don’t leave until they’re done.

How they ride faces

They treat it like a right.

Marc just drops. He’ll shove someone onto their back on the couch or the floor, turn around, and sit his full, heavy ass straight down. The singlet is usually pulled to the side or yanked up so the dense, hairy cheeks and thick crack smother everything. He grinds in slow circles, using the person’s nose and mouth like a seat, occasionally lifting just enough for them to gasp before settling back down with his full weight. He talks the whole time—lazy, bored commentary about how soft their face is or how red they’re getting.

Ty is more deliberate and performative. He’ll straddle a face facing forward, knees pinning shoulders, and slowly lower his heavy bulge and balls until the person’s mouth is forced open around him. He likes eye contact. He rocks his hips in short, controlled thrusts, one hand braced on the wall or headboard, the other sometimes reaching back to push the person’s head tighter against his ass. When he’s really into it he turns around and sits the same way Marc does, but he bounces more—short, hard drops that force the face deeper into the cleft of his glutes.

They do it to each other sometimes too—wrestling that ends with one of them sitting on the other’s face until the other taps out, both of them laughing. Around anyone else it’s pure power play: two huge, sweaty, singlet-clad frat bullies using someone’s face as furniture while the rest of the house pretends not to hear the muffled sounds.

Getting into trouble

Marc and Ty are constantly on the edge of real legal shit. Campus security already has a thick file on both of them. Off-campus is worse.

They’ve been brought in for:

• Assault after bar fights that started because someone looked at them too long or refused to move out of their way.
• Hazing complaints that crossed into actual battery—pledges left with bruises, carpet burns, and stories about being forced to the floor under two hundred-plus pounds of muscle.
• Public indecency and sexual misconduct reports (walking around half-naked, grinding on people who didn’t consent, “wrestling matches” that ended with someone face-down under a singlet).
• Property damage—broken doors, smashed phones, a car that “accidentally” got sat on until the roof caved.
• One near-felony when a rival frat guy tried to swing on Ty and ended up with a fractured orbital after Marc stepped in.

They’re not subtle. When the cops show up, both of them are usually still in those black singlets or less, sweat still drying, looking like they just finished using someone’s body as a chair.

How they get out of it

They treat the justice system the same way they treat the frat house: something that can be leaned on until it gives.

Bodies first. Marc doesn’t even have to talk most of the time. He just stands there—massive, calm, shirtless or in a stretched singlet—and the temperature in the room changes. Cops who try to get aggressive suddenly find themselves very aware of how thick his arms are and how little space there is between them. Ty does the smiling version. He leans in close, voice low and friendly, lets the officer get a full look at the bulge and the chest and the easy confidence. More than once a younger cop or a female officer has “forgotten” to write something down after Ty spent twenty minutes being charming and just a little too physical in the interview room. They’ve both offered “personal apologies” that involved locked doors and no clothes. It works more often than it should.

Money and status second. Their families have money. Not generational dynasty money, but enough that a good lawyer shows up fast and the right people get phone calls. The frat has alumni in local government, the DA’s office, and campus administration. Charges get reduced. Witnesses suddenly decide they “don’t want to pursue it.” Video evidence somehow gets “lost” or ruled inadmissible. When a felony looked inevitable after the orbital fracture incident, the victim accepted a quiet settlement and a letter of apology that Marc signed without reading. Ty’s dad made one call; the case never made it past the grand jury.

They know exactly what they are: two big, popular, good-looking athletes from a respected house who can turn any room into their territory just by walking in. Judges, cops, and administrators have all felt the same pressure the pledges feel—Marc’s heavy silence and Ty’s smiling proximity. Most of the time the system folds the same way everyone else does.

They walk out of the station the same way they walk through campus: shoulders back, asses moving under tight fabric, already talking about whose face they’re going to sit on when they get home.