I posted some short Hcs on my tiktok and wanted to expand on them because gawddddd I lurv this man.
Around others you defintely could describe Lalo as mean and chauvinistic. What can I say? He likes to show his woman off. It's mostly another twisted way of rubbing his lifestyle in others faces.
At cartel parties he always has his princesa attached to his side, dressed oh so prettily, all dolled up for him. He tends to pick out her clothes, laying them out for her to find in the morning. When other men are around he definitely talks about his girl like she's an object but she usually doesn't mind. Lalo is so manipulative he could treat his girl so poorly in public and then go back home and be so sweet- its an intoxicating cycle for both of them.
Sometimes Lalo gambles with the other men, sending his lovely woman to get them drinks - keeping an eye on her, making sure she does it with a polite smile and no second thoughts. When she gets back he wraps his arms around her hips and pulls her down onto his lap. Lalo insists princesa is his "good luck charm".
Naturally, she would eventually meet Nacho and the younger man can't help but pity her. Nacho doesn't understand how a young woman with so much life ahead of her would settle for an older man like Lalo. He's always kind to her but doesn't go out of his way to make conversation.
Lalo would catch on to the subtle sorry looking glances Nachito gives his lover and would totally mess with him by being even more touchy or mean to his girl around Nacho. Lalo loves how it gets under Nacho's skin and how it embarrasses his princesa.
At home Lalo is always there to wipe away his silly girl's tears, even though they're most likely caused by him. He never apologizes, maybe he has once or twice but that's even being generous. No, typically the morning after a big fight or a cartel party his girl will wake up to gifts in pretty wrapping paper. The gifts typically are either jewelry or lingerie that'll probably need to be replaced later.
Lalito doesn't typically let his princesa leave the hacienda unless he's with her. He truly cares for his little girl- he just has a funny way of showing it. If anything happened to her while he was gone he'd never get over it...honestly he'd probably end up killing a good amount of his men for not keeping an eye on her.
His perfect girl definitely knows how to make all his favorite foods. Even though Lalo likes to cook he does unfortunately harbor some old fashioned beliefs (which once again, his princesa doesn't care- how could she when he's so charming). Lalo expects to come home to some sort of food made exactly to his liking. Don't worry, he taught his girl the recipes himself, she's a natural.
mhm mhm okay that's all for now :) it was really a struggle not writing any smut but I hath prevailed
summary — lalo’s temper is out of control after you unintentionally talk back
word count — 9.2k
warnings — 18 + MDNI, age gap (reader 24, lalo 44), gunplay, controlling/threatening behavior, unhinged responses, established relationship, ass play, vulgar, demeaning speech, hair pulling, rusty spanish (sorry), natural bodies with hair & curves, TOXIC
author's note — i have no excuses…i just hope this reaches the right type of people xoxo
part 1 | part 1.5 | part 2 coming soon
what did you expect to happen when giving lip to lalo salamanca? he already made it clear that you were disposable, useless, and only used your dumb little mouth to take his cock. you were a piece of arm candy, a sweet little treat only meant for him and him only. if lalo didn't care about you then you'd be buried in the desert, but lalo cared—to an extent. the extenuating circumstances of his care meant you weren't allowed to interrupt him, be mouthy, or interfere with his business dealings. that was simple enough, but unfortunately, you slipped up today after a very long spell of good behavior.
it was as hot as a day in hell, and you were lounging on a pool float, occasionally spooning water onto your stomach and chest. that little neon green string bikini didn't leave much to the imagination, but it didn't matter seeing as everyone was more interested in the drinks, music, and hired women. lalo knew how to throw a party, a little morale booster, to celebrate an increase in territory which in turn turned more profitable.
your drink in the pool cooler had floated too far away; the most difficult task was being unable to keep the miniature ice chest closer so you wouldn't have to go without your fix of the fruity seltzers lalo always kept stocked for you. imagine that you, the young, hot fiancè, have no other issues in the world other than your drink floating away and keeping lalo happy. what a hard life, being fed with a silver spoon by a don of the cartel.
the laziness was apparent when you slid off the raft and had to wade over to the fleeting cooler. you adjusted your rounded sunglasses on the bridge of your nose as you made your way across the length of the pool. you moved sluggishly, letting out an exaggerated sigh as you managed to capture the floating drink holder.
lalo was standing in the water, leaning over the edge of the pool to play his next hand of cards. he folded, tossing them to the center of the low fold-out table, a curse leaving his mouth. he ran a hand through his graying hair. the ends of his shirt were wet from resting in the pool water. the light pink shirt was unbuttoned, which left just enough of his chest uncovered to not be indecent, yet somehow more sexy because he looked so put together.
lalo had folded at the turn and was slightly perturbed that he wasn't able to have any luck as the cards were overturned. he couldn't continue to bluff when he knew vasquez, a short portly man sporting three thick golden chains, who was responsible for the product transportation routes definitely had good cards. he kept smirking around the rim of the red solo cup he used to spit out his chewing tobacco. lalo knew he could stay in through the river, but knew vasquez wouldn't fold ultimately leading to lalo's loss during the showdown.
another round began. all seven players had placed their initial bets to begin.
“amor⁽ˡᵒᵛᵉ⁾,” lalo called softly, using two of his fingers to gesture you over. “give me some luck,” he said looking at his new hand of cards once they were dealt. “solo un poco⁽ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ⁾,” he insisted, pointing to his cheek.
this hand didn't seem to be in lalo’s favor either seeing as the highest card he was dealt was a five of clubs and that was paired with a three of hearts.
you rolled your eyes though it went unnoticed because your sunglasses were shielding your eyes. you dragged the miniature ice chest with you, gliding it through the water behind you. lalo’s mustached face revealing a sly smirk as you planted a kiss onto his cheek. your drink was in your hand, ready to return to the drifting pool float.
“stay with me,” lalo had a firm hold on your hip as you tried to pull away. he hadn’t had enough of you just yet. your oiled and exposed skin was enough to celebrate especially after having basically nothing to work with as the flop was revealed.
you stood in front of him with his arms wrapped around you. he had his chin placed on your head so he could still focus on his poker match. you moved your ice chest to the pavement so there was no chance that you'd have to exert any extra effort to chase it down again.
lalo was studying the group silently while listening to you run the poker chips through your fingers. the thick discs clicked together softly as you put them in their proper color-coded stacks instead of loosely sorted in front of him in his section of the table.
his wide nose pressed into your cheek, dragging up to your temple and then right above your ear. his breathing was even as breathed in your scent of coconut sun cream, a spritz of a hibiscus perfume, and the salt water.
you were looking at his cards, knowing his hidden annoyance would probably grow if those community cards wouldn't become any better. he raised the bet by another five hundred dollars, forcing the next two men to fold before the turn was revealed. he was hoping his ability to bluff this round would ultimately result in the overall win.
it was interesting to see how little lalo valued money. he had more than he knew what to do with, spending wads of cash on casual poker matches was nothing in comparison to the stacks of money he and the other salamancas were sitting on top of. even the men sitting across from lalo, unrelated to him, had more cash than they knew what to do with.
you couldn't deny your carelessness as well; you had everything you wanted plus more all because of lalo. your swimwear might not have been designer, but the pareo you carelessly threw on the pool chair before getting in the saltwater was pucci, and so were the matching shoes. now the singular piece of wavy patterned coverage and vibrant sandals were discarded. the tortoiseshell printed glasses from neiman marcus that you bought with you into the resort-style pool brought your outfit of very few pieces to cost right over seventeen hundred dollars—now, that was simply pocket change. that was, of course, without mentioning the price of the princess-cut diamond engagement ring that lalo had hired some foreign jewelry expert to design.
so, yes, you were a good, little spoiled fiancè, dumbing yourself down just enough to please lalo, accept his every will, and stay the fuck out of his way to keep receiving the treatment he had promised you. he didn’t want to be alone—correction—he didn’t have to be alone, so why wouldn’t he pick someone pretty, yet still impressionable enough to control.
you dug into the cooler, taking your seltzer to your mouth. the cold sweat from the outside of the can dripped onto your chest. you swallowed the fizzy alcohol, a sickly sweet blend of trouble because it tasted more like candy rather than the tipsy blend of liquor it contained.
lalo’s nose was buried in your hair as you continued to drink. a stream of the cold canned seltzer beaded down your chest, splashing between your cleavage. a stray few droplets flecked onto the cement immediately being absorbed into the searing ground.
the fellow card players noticed you more than the ladies being paid who sat next to them. their wandering eyes finding you, becoming easily more relaxed on the cushions and beach towels they were sitting on.
“ten cuidado⁽ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ/ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵉᶠᵘˡ⁾,” lalo mumbled into your ear. his mustache grazed the lowest part of your helix, just above your ear lobe, brushing into contact with the three small rings. they were pierced one on top of the other.
you stiffened in his hold, setting down your drink next to his empty bottles of modelo. you looked at the stout bottles and cleared your throat. a flush had risen on your cheeks, embarrassed from the lingering gazes and drink mishap.
lalo couldn't blame anyone else for looking at you because even when working in his study he made you sit by him so he could watch you. it was like you existed to be stared at.
“i’ll be right back with another drink for you,” you offered, collecting the three empty bottles from his area of the table.
you didn’t give him a chance to deny it. you parted ways from him. his arms were bowed out wide as if you were still standing in front of him as you left. he was still lingering on the fact that your body was against him only moments prior.
you held the scolding railing as you dragged yourself out of the pool heading to the outdoor bar. you passed the caterers who had overtaken the patio area and helped yourself to the fridge pulling out a fresh bottle of unopened modelo.
“helping yourself today, chica⁽ᵍᶦʳˡ⁾?” ignacio “nacho” varga, a frequent goer of lalo’s social events questioned from his stool. he wanted no part in another poker game after lalo’s pestering from the first round. he tried his best to be a good sport but was finding it hard to focus with a gnat in his ear. a gnat he would never be able to shoo.
ignacio was under the covered patio, leaning against one hand. although he was in a shaded area, he could still feel the sun on his bare back, beads of sweat were on his forehead even with the ceiling fans circulating the area. his glass was dripping from the condensation occasionally making him wipe the droplets on his paisley-patterned swim trunks.
“no, helping mi bebé⁽ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᵇʸ⁾,” you corrected nacho while wiggling the beer bottle.
ignacio wasn’t surprised by that answer. no one at that party would've been surprised by that answer. you were devoted to lalo, and he liked it that way. he wouldn't put up with anything less.
“you don’t seem like you’re having any fun.”
your head peaked up at nacho’s assessment of your attitude. you were plucking olives out of a chilled dish and taking a handful of them.
“cards never were my strong suit,” you shrugged, placing a salty snack into your mouth. your left eye slightly twitched, moments prior you were dropping sugary onto your taste buds and now the olives were counteracting every taste of saccharine.
“they aren’t mine either, but definitely not when i’m taking lalo in large doses,” he teased, taking a long drink from his short glass. by this point in the day, he probably made himself an ungodly amount of mixed drinks, trying to look busy enough to not join the other men for poker again.
“what?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing together. you were trying to figure out if you heard him correctly. he didn't bash lalo, but he definitely made a comment opposing him.
“i never was good at figuring him out,” nacho leaned against his hand, sliding his half-empty drink forward as if he was telling himself to give up on his solo drinking. “i don’t know how you do it every day.”
he wasn't being condescending or rude. he genuinely was questioning how you did it, hell, a lot of people did. you always were properly dolled up any time you made an appearance with lalo, kept your mouth shut, and seemed like a hired servant doing whatever he mentioned.
you shrugged as you slid the cover of the ice well closed on the counter. it concealed the olives, cut citrus, and other garnishes that needed to be chilled. you could feel beads of water still occasionally running down your legs from your soaked bathing suit.
you could hear laughter coming from the poker table, specifically lalo’s. you didn't know if he was the most distinct or if you were just more accustomed to hearing it.
“i never figured him out either,” you confessed, your eyes trailing up to make eye contact with him. a smile cracked at the corner of your mouth.
nacho chuckled, taking his drink back into his hand. he could drink to that. “so, the senorita does have a mind?”
“i never claimed i didn’t,” you said looking back at the card players. your fiancé’s voice had only grown louder. he seemed to be in better spirits, maybe his luck had finally turned around even with a poor starting hand, or even if it hadn't lalo had chosen to hide his annoyance.
soon your conversation turned to wedding planning and all the endless dates, fittings, and projects you were busy with. lalo’s beer was growing a little warmer and the olives in your hand soon diminished.
at the table, the card players were taking sips of their drinks as they bantered. lalo was occasionally glancing at you and ignacio. this wasn't the first, nor would it be the last time ignacio would visit lalo’s mansion. he took notice of your body language, watching as you casually leaned in as you spoke, the way your fingers gripped the drink you should've brought back to him by now, and the way you stood with one hip slightly higher than the other.
“amor,” lalo called halting your conversation with ignacio. “coming back?” he questioned, peeking his head over to you.
you held your finger up to lalo as if a normal person had interrupted you and you needed to excuse yourself. this was no normal person; it was eduardo salamanca.
“it’s scheduled for valentine’s day next year,” you reminded nacho.
“yeah, that's right, lovebirds,” he joked, remembering the bright-colored sketches of the lovebirds on the save-the-date invitation he had received by mail. that intricate and vivid envelope stamped with a lime green seal was now sitting in a pile of odd junk mail next to his whores’ cutting tray.
“amor,” lalo called again, throwing his arms up curiously. he was trying to act casually as if he wasn't feeling pestered by being ignored. you normally would have responded immediately, and yet your eyes were still on the shirtless ignacio attempting to wrap up your conversation.
you gestured lazily back to the card table. “i better get back, but you're welcome to—” you were cut off when you were inviting nacho back to the group.
“amor,” lalo repeated for what he hoped to be the final time, wading through the water closer to the side of the pool near the bar. he knew you could hear him, yet you were trying to be polite to nacho by finishing your conversation.
“give me just a moment, please,” you requested, looking over at lalo directly. you didn't even notice why you shouldn't have said that until it was too late. you were already forcing him to wait, and now, even in your nicest tone, you were not making him your good priority.
“like i said, you're more than welcome to join us again,” you turned back to ignacio as you spoke. he was about to take your offer, standing and refilling his glass with the bottle he had beside him.
lalo was now out of the pool, his arm snugly around your waist. you could feel wet swim trunks pushing against the back of you. he took you into his arms again. he didn't take the offering of his drink. his thumbs were hooked into the band of your bikini again slightly exposing your tan line as he secured his fingers.
“nachito, you keeping my lady to yourself now?” lalo had that iconic smile on his face. anyone who met him would remember it. the one that made his cheeks and mustache lift. the smile that brought out the wrinkles in his eyes. the one you thought loosened his hardened nature. you could feel the lightness in his voice as he spoke.
“she was talking about your wedding,” nacho said as a smirk began to play on the corner of his mouth. “i don't think i could keep up with her like you do.”
ignacio knew how to play. no one had lalo completely figured out, and just as nacho had previously stated, he didn't have lalo figured out, but knowing how to play his game was the way to stay preserved in lalo’s vicious circle.
“i think i’m getting too old because i went with her to the bakery to test the cake and i was winded on the way back to the car,” lalo chuckled. you tried to adjust your stance although your fiancè wasn't allowing you to move. that slight uncomfortably was enough to silence your giggle and feel smaller than you were.
“oh no, you're still kicking it,” nacho brushed off lalo’s comment casually, his eyes glancing back to you. “i don't expect some cake to get in your way.”
“i don't know, some of it might,” lalo teased, moving one of his hands to firmly grasp your ass, giving it a shake.
“if it gets in the way, make her hold it,” nacho jested, though you weren’t unamused.
that was how it always went. everyone wanted to appease lalo even if the joke was at your expense. so, the pleasant conversation you had with ignacio had turned into a bawdy attempt to humor lalo.
lalo took his hand off of your ass extending it to ignacio which he graciously shook.
“i knew i liked you, nachito,” lalo praised, now pointing his finger toward the shorter male. “she’s sure got a lot of it, huh?” he asked, nudging you forward.
ignacio shrugged, holding his hands up in defense. “too much woman for me,” he admitted, giving you a gentle glance. his eyes said enough. he was apologizing without having to say anything. “but the perfect amount for you.”
“don't be modest, nachito, give her a feel,” lalo said, pushing you even closer to ignacio. “i don’t think you're giving yourself enough credit,” he insisted. his arms were crossed over his chest as he watched ignacio.
lalo’s mind games were just a little too intense sometimes. lalo wasn't jealous of ignacio he was jealous of the attention you had given him. he didn't care that ignacio was a muscle pig or closer to your age. lalo had something ignacio didn't—the ability to ignite fear in you. he was able to make you uncomfortable, yet intoxicatingly in love with him in one fell swoop.
“lalo, no, she's your business, not mine,” nacho’s hands were resting by his side, hoping lalo’s prodding would end quickly. that gnat sure did know how to soar high.
they were talking about you like you weren't there. your head looked back to lalo. an uncomfortable pout across your face was met by your fiance’s hand patting your cheek.
“oh, you're telling me this little face is too much for you?” lalo gripped your cheeks turning your head back towards nacho, slightly distorting your face as he turned you back.
“too much and also not mine to try,” he stood firmly on his words.
the moment lalo loosened his fingers you spoke. “bebé, i’m going to see if anyone else needs anything,” you had to pause their conversation for the sake of your own sanity.
“i hired caterers to do that, not for you to serve them hot cervezas y coño⁽ᵇᵉᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘˢˢʸ⁾,” lalo chuckled, placing a kiss on your temple. you looked down at the modelo bottle in your hand with a huff.
“i tried to give it to you while it was cold,” you pushed your sunglasses onto your head. it was clear that the sun had been brutal because even with the application of sun cream there was red resting atop your tanned cheeks. the bridge of your nose had two faint lines etched into it from your glasses.
“did you now?” lalo asked, taking the golden beer bottle from your hand, and holding the neck of the bottle. his thumbs worked to push the shiny foil down and bent the cap back against the side of the patio bar, leaving a permanent scuff in the wood.
he took a quiet drink, his eyes closing, and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“amor,” lalo paused, scooting the bottle onto the bar. he cleared his throat, taking his sweet time with it.
ignacio had been awkwardly standing there, unsure of what to say or do. his employer’s comments about you had gone from joking to seriously uncomfortable. lalo’s possessiveness over you was nothing new, but unfortunately ignacio, just like you, had become a victim in his new game today.
“this is the worst fuckin’ beer i’ve ever had,” lalo’s face dropped, making your eyes instantly wide. his smile lines were no longer smiling, sitting unhappily at the corners of his mouth. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.
you pulled your arms to your chest, your lips parting to speak. “i tried to give it to you ten minutes ago when you came to join us,” you shook your head, eyeing the opened bottle on the counter. “that one was colder than the stuff you were sipping on,” you retorted without thinking. “and you've had three of those all of which sat in the sun longer than this one has even been out of the fridge.”
ignacio’s hand raised to try and interject the conversation but was met with lalo’s laughter.
lalo patted the bar stool as he guided you over to sit. his head dipped to lean against your forehead, still chuckling away. you cautiously sat, trying to laugh along with him although finding it hard to see the humor in his joke. nacho was doing the same uncomfortable chortle. lalo really knew how to command a group of people.
“just fuckin’ with you, amorcito,” he smiled, kissing both of your cheeks as he held your face.
lalo placed a drawn-out, over-the-top, lengthy kiss onto your lips. a kiss that no one in their right mind would ever want to be a victim of watching—tongue and all, as lalo tilted your head back, letting his hands wander. ignacio was biting the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't cringe. his eyes darted away multiple times wondering when it would be over. his fingers drummed against his leg and his toes were slightly curled. it was hard to watch. very hard to watch.
lalo pulled away like it was nothing while you sat there a bit stunned and puffy-lipped. your fiancè had gone from perturbed to comical to sultry on a whim. that was probably the most unsettling part about him.
“up for another round of cards?” he questioned nacho, lightly pinching the bit of fat on your side where his tattooed name sat on you. the cursive letters being prodded by his fingers made your mind snap together. that’s when you realized you had fucked up.
you didn't know if it was because the summer heat was unprecedentedly hot, or maybe because you had accidentally skipped lunch, or even if it was because you had one too many seltzers, but when the realization hit that you had ignored him just a few moments prior and now you had sassed him.
anytime he corrected you, even slightly, made your stomach churn. lalo was a man of many faces, but the one he chose when reprimanding you was one you disliked. pinching your side looked affectionate but it was always his sign of saying ‘watch yourself.’
“uh, yeah, another round sounds great,” ignacio had wasted no time beginning his trek back to the table after that mind fuck.
“amor, why don't you go and freshen up then help yolanda with her pozole?” he suggested to you with a gentle smile. another code for ‘get in the fuckin’ bedroom and don't come out.’
the walk back to the bedroom was embarrassing. maybe not for anyone else, but for you it definitely was. your throat was tight and your shoulders were tense.
lalo was calculated and smart, but when it came to you he became stupid and irrational. what man didn’t change when a woman had him wrapped around her finger? although his irrational tendencies with you wouldn't start until the last guest from the party left.
you went from pacing to sitting, knowing it wouldn't do you any good to keep worrying. no matter how much pleading and begging you would do it wouldn't be enough. lalo had made up his mind from the moment the words left your mouth.
you hadn't changed out of the damp swimsuit or even taken your sunglasses off. the most you had done was slide your sandals off, and that was at the front of the house only because you didn't want to be reprimanded again for having yolanda, the housekeeper, doing any extra work.
lalo swung open the door to the bedroom, grabbed his gun off the dresser. your eyes widened, scooching back on the bed. he maneuvered the slide back, efficiently racking the black pistol back and loading a bullet into the chamber. your breath halted, wondering if today was the day that lalo was finally fed up with you, wondering if this would officially be the last moments you spent with him.
he hadn't forgotten a single thing in the two hours he left you to sit and dwell on your actions. he had time to stew and fester. if anything his anger was stronger.
“get up,” he demanded.
however, it wasn't fast enough for his liking because soon he was dragging you by the shoulder and forcing you to the wall.
you shut your eyes as his movement became rougher, the barrel of the gun pressed against your lower back as he guided your legs and feet apart with his armed hand.
his wrist prodded your inner thighs, forcing you to spread further apart. you tried to steady yourself against the wall as you moved your legs apart but were tripped by his brutal enforcement. his unspoken demands were filled with fury just as his spoken ones were.
you were eying him, trying to look over your shoulder. you wanted to read his face. you needed to know if there was more to him than just anger. you wanted to know if your sweet little eyes could give you a glimmer of hope to calm him down.
those sweet little eyes were the same eyes you used when you begged for him on a nightly basis. he was overlooking them—dumb and routine, the same bullshit you always pulled to get your way. not now, he wouldn’t pay any attention to them now.
you hadn’t seen him this way in a while; you hadn’t caused him to be this way in a while. business dealings that went awry, skeevy rats trying to take down the salamancas, lost product, all of that was different, but you, his pretty little toy, had done it. you knew what happened to the others who had interfered, so why wouldn’t you be any different?
that ounce of care—well, mindful attentiveness—that lalo had for you was disregarded at this moment. he didn’t care who you were. he didn’t care about the five years he had spent with you. all of those little times he had remembered letting his guard down around you while you stroked the curled hair on his chest were squandered.
his eyebrows were furrowed together and his forehead wrinkles were prominent. he seemed determined and fueled by his unhinged distrust in you. losing thousands of dollars in a poker game prodded at his agitation, chatting casually with a man he had introduced you to countless times before was enough to irritate him, ignoring him when he spoke provoked him, but you talking back caused him to lose control.
that gun was shoved between your thighs as he held your head against the wall. his slender fingers were laced haphazardly in your hair, gripping at anything he could. he didn’t care about your flinching or attempting to push yourself away from the wall. it was a feeble attempt anyway; lalo had more control over you than you liked in this moment.
“what were you thinking, huh?” his voice lowered, though previously the grip lalo had on your hair only tightened, smushing your cheek further into the rust-colored wall of the bedroom.
“i was—” the barrel of the gun slid across the thin covering of your bikini making your legs tremble. you immediately stopped speaking. how could you speak when lalo was inching his semi-automatic pistol to your entrance? the neon fabric pressed into your hole concealing the cold muzzle.
“no, you weren't thinking,” lalo spat. you recoiled as his be took his hand out of your hair and flicked your temple. “you didn't think at all before you kept talking,” he repeated harshly this time, a bit of spit leaving his mouth from his sharp tongue.
“lalo—” you pleased softly, teary-eyed from being so roughly slammed against the bedroom wall.
“and you still don't know how to shut the hell up,” he ranted, tugging at the knots to the elastic straps on your waist. the bikini bottoms fell. lalo shook them off the barrel of the gun. the front sight was back at your entrance.
“you think it’s cute to do that in front of ignacio?” he asked, tapping the gun against your hole. his other hand was untying the two straps to the bikini top. your breasts fell. the little support they did have in that skimpy top was at least saving some of your modesty.
you didn't say a single word, how could you when he was uncontrollably angry about you speaking?
“i said, do you think it is cute to do that in front of ignacio?” lalo repeated his words slower. his words were condescending.
“i-i don't k—”
he huffed, rolling his eyes. he flicked your temple again. his gun was caressing your inner thighs, prodding slowly at your entrance. he wanted you to be prepared to take it. he couldn't waste you before he fucked it one more time.
“such a dumb little thing, it’s a yes or no question, so use that brain between those empty little eyes and answer me.”
“no,” you mumbled, closing your eyes tightly as if you were waiting on the trigger pull as you felt the gun lift from your lower half.
“so, why the fuck are you talking to me like that?” his hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you to face him. he was overlooking your body. the hand he used to adjust your positioning was now holding your face.
“i didn't—”
“oh, you didn't mean to?” lalo interrupted, completing your sentence for you.
you were looking up at him, silently pleading again. looking through your eyelashes at him, your lower lip trembling. you were trying not to break down completely, knowing your tears most definitely wouldn't help.
“didn't mean to,” he repeated with a scoff. he removed his hand from your chin harshly, making your head flick to the side. you faced him again, the guilty expression on your face still evident. you were like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“you didn't mean to,” lalo tsked, having to hear the words come out of his mouth again. “of course you didn't mean to,” lalo was nodding slowly. he adjusted the pistol in his hand, feeling the textured handle. he held it out to you. he had a steady grip on it flipping his hand from one side to the other to present the gun to you.
“amor, what’s in my hand?” he asked, clenching the grip panel and the front strap.
“your gun,” you responded, swallowing hard as he lifted it to your forehead, placing it right between your eyes. you closed your eyes tightly, feeling him push your head back against the wall with the muzzle.
“mhm,” lalo agreed, satisfied with your answer. “look at me when i’m talking to you,” he reminded you. you opened your eyes hesitantly, looking straight ahead. your vision was unfocused due to his hand and pistol blocking most of your view.
“now, do you think i should pull this trigger?” he questioned, prodding your forehead again. a soft thud was heard from the back of your head clicking against the wall.
“no, lalo,” you breathed out. that’s when the tears started to fall. the sniffling came with it.
“don’t start,” lalo groaned, taking his free hand and wiping under each of your eyes as you tried to calm yourself. you tried to stand straight, having to catch yourself as you slouched.
you felt defeated, belittled, and downright humiliated, standing naked in the bedroom you and your fiancè shared knowing your family would be none the wiser if you were alive or dead after this day, not like they had any idea as of now.
“why shouldn't i pull it?” lalo asked, his thumb caressing the grip plate. “and before you answer, make it worth my time, not just because you ‘don't want to die.’” he said mockingly, rolling his eyes. he was already sick of the sniveling.
you took a deep breath, biting your bottom lip trying to collect your thoughts. what would make lalo salamanca have sympathy?
nothing. nothing at all.
you were uneasy trying to find even the smallest amount of something in the brain that lalo always deemed was empty.
“because i live for you,” you mumbled, exhaling as you felt a bit of pressure being taken off your forehead. he lifted your chin with the barrel of his gun, looking you directly in the eyes. the tears started again, though your sniffling was contained by your body occasionally doing small jerks so you wouldn't outwardly cry.
you weren't completely wrong. you did live for him—well, because of him anyway. he had spared your life, taken you in, and trained you accordingly. you were going to get married to him because he asked you to do it. you had everything because of him.
lalo made a soft fawning noise, wiping your tears again. “you came up with that all by yourself, amor? maybe there is some potential still left in that hollow little head.”
he leaned his forehead down, placing it on yours, closing his eyes. “now, tell me now how stupid you think i am to believe it,” he gave a smug smile, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. a quick peck that only lasted a second but that left a lingering flutter between the both of you.
you never understood how he could go from making you terrified to wanting him. he had you wrapped around his finger and able to control your every whim.
useless, mortified, deflated—no matter what bad lalo brought upon you he always managed to easily weasel his way into what he wanted, and in this moment he wanted you.
“i don't think you’re stupid.”
“see, if you could've been this well-behaved earlier i wouldn't have to be so rough with you, amor, but you can't ever just make things easy for me.” lalo lectured. he pulled the gun away from your chin, letting it fall. he tapped the barrel against his lips, the muzzle brushing against his mustache. “now, get on your knees like you do for me.”
you cautiously got down. execution-style seemed a little excessive for talking out of place, but lalo had his cynical methods. your hands quivered in your lap as his thumb guided your mouth open.
instinctively your mouth fell into position, nice and slack, as lalo’s amusement only grew larger. in a demented little way, he liked how fearful you were. he liked the way the anticipation was causing faint perspiration to lay across your neck and forehead.
he placed the tip of the gun into your mouth. a wincing could be seen in your eyes as he brought the barrel further into your mouth, not that you couldn't take it, but he was testing you seeing if you'd move from the position he had requested. you wanted to move your head as your entire body started to rattle again.
he patted your cheek with his free hand signifying you to close your mouth. you had been in this position many times before, though instead of sucking the head of a gun you were wrapped around the head of his cock.
the metallic taste of the heckler and koch was enough to make you gag on the spot. lalo didn't care, nor did he stop until your bottom lip was pressing into the trigger guard. his index finger was stroking the trigger.
“not wanting to say anything now?” he jabbed the gun further, though his index finger now laid to the side of the trigger. it made you flinch, thinking even with his hand pulled away from the trigger it would cause the bullet to come speeding through the chamber. you slouched slightly, earning a sharp nudge with his foot, correcting your unsuitable posture.
you couldn't say anything, not that you wanted to, knowing it would result in a swift slap or even worse him actually pulling that trigger. you knew you couldn't test his patience anymore because the game he was playing was only for his benefit, not to give you more time to live.
he started slowly working the barrel in your mouth, as I'd trying to find the right fit as he repeated his repetitive in and out motion. this free hand was now stabilizing your head, gripping the mess he had made with it earlier.
it was nowhere near as satisfying as the fit of his thick girth in your mouth, but even he couldn't deny that he had created an image that would haunt his brain—shit, it would rewire it for the better. his slack-mouthed bitch taking his gun so well. making the steel so slick and pretty, somehow even better than he ever did when cleaning it.
“take it, amor,” lalo berated, as he became rougher with his movements. the clunky metal entering further, the trigger guard forcefully spurring into your bottom lip, the only cushion and protection for your bottom teeth. a soft whimper was escaping your lips and his hand was forcing more of a connection of your mouth to the gun. “fucking take it while you can.”
he was fucking your mouth good, the kind that made the saliva pool into your lap and run into the cracks of your neatly placed, but quivering hands.
his cock in his pants slightly twitching as he watched with interest, letting your mouth satisfy that odd urge inside of himself. you noticed it too, his well-endowed member increasingly becoming more excited as you were only more dehumanized by his words.
“see, this is what you're meant for, listening,” he huffed, trying to reiterate the fact that other than being his little toy you were useless. his began to get overzealous with his armed carry, knocking the front sight against the bottom of your top teeth. you tried to extend your jaw more without parting your lips, but the raised sight kept scraping the bottom.
“listening and not showing your ass out in front of the men that work for me,” lalo added, shoving the pistol harder. your eyes closed for a brief second as you winced from the sight chipping the slightest bit out of your top tooth. you could feel the tiny white fragment floating in your mouth. lalo felt part of your tooth give way, taking his firearm out of your mouth.
“let’s see what i broke this time,” the annoyance was evident in his tone as you looked up at him further so he could inspect your tooth. he wasn't checking because he cared, mostly because he wanted to see the damage he inflicted.
he unlaced his hold from your hair, tugging it as he tried to flick the few loose strands from it. his thumb felt the top portion of your teeth. it was barely noticeable, though enough for lalo to find and inspect the fragment he pulled out of your mouth. he then caressed the forming bruise right below your bottom lip from the trigger guard being rammed into your face.
he rolled his eyes, flicking the chipped portion of your tooth away, a small click signifying it had hit the hardwood somewhere else in the room.
“get on the fuckin’ bed ass up, so i don't have to see that shit.”
lalo wasted no time getting behind your naked body. his gun placed on the duet as two of his slender fingers buried themselves in your slick arousal.
“and you see that?” he pulled his fingers out harshly, holding them in front of your face. “about to blow your fuckin’ head off and you get goddamn wet.”
he was taunting you still, and yet you had no excuse for your overly stimulated cunt producing ungodly amounts of wetness. he was right. he was always right. the sheer dominance alone was only partially the reason behind your body’s reaction to him.
he tugged down his swim trunks, letting them grace his ankles. you were glancing over your shoulder seeing very little at the angle you were in. you wanted to, like the little whore for lalo you were, you wanted to see what you were pleasuring. you had an imprinted metal image of his large veiny cock, but you would be lying if you weren't excited to see it every time he dropped his pants.
he let out a low whistle as he gathered more of your wet slick onto his fingers and began to slowly jack off his length. you were trying to turn your head, feeling a painful ache in your neck as you craned too far back.
he knew working his own hand up and down his shaft was killing you. god, he had just let your mouth get fucked by his pistol rather than the deadly snake in his pants.
his pinky and ring finger were guiding the majority of his length as his thumb stroked his tip. your wetness was aiding him, but he could tell you were becoming restless. your knees were padding into the bed and your fingers were fidgeting with the duvet.
every time he went back for more of your sweet wetness you were trying to push back on his fingers trying to entice him into leaving them for a moment longer.
you could feel the handgun nudging your knee as it slid closer each time the bed even slightly rattled from movement. that was a quick reminder that you still weren't safe, but somehow, without lalo immediately sticking his dick in you was more torturous than having a gun to your head.
“you can't expect me to want to fuck you after you didn't listen,” he scoffed, nudging you forward keeping your hips in line with your knees. your head dropped down, your nose nuzzling into the sheets.
“you aren't worth a nut if you have some piss-poor attitude attached to you,” he stuck his fingers inside of you again, curling them ever so slightly this time. a soft moan left your lips.
he placed his hand back on his solid cock, working the arousal up and down. “but you don't care. you know i give you whatever the hell you want,” he ranted, placing his free hand on your ass to spread your cheeks further apart for a better view of your slick cunt.
“that’s why i have to act like such an asshole right now because you started expecting things without asking for them.”
his fingers were soon back inside of you as he rambled. “i’m fed up with you treating me like i owe you something.” lalo moved closer you could feel his knuckles begin to graze your skin as he worked your arousal around his cock.
his words were loaded and ridiculous, but you couldn't help but utter the smallest apology. his head slightly tilted as he heard it, stopping the jerking of his hand and pulling your hips even closer. you could feel his shaft against your backside.
“dear fucking god, that’s worse than you crying, amor,” he complained, prodding his dick forward against your wet hole. “some shitty little apology?” he exhaled. “i’m gonna have to use all your little holes to make up for this.”
you were gnawing lightly on the interior of your cheek in anticipation. he was giving in to what you wanted even if that meant giving a little extra.
he ran his clean hand through his salt and peppered hair, dragging it down his chest, and positioning his cock right at your entrance, giving not an ounce of mercy as he pushed his girthy cock into your desperate cunt.
“oh—” you couldn't fully formulate the rest of the words you wanted to say. your breath halted as your muffled gasp hit the duvet.
that tight grip you had on him was enough for him to understand why he kept you around for so long. your pussy was flawless to him; it was the one thing he never had to correct—the one thing he never wanted to correct.
he had one knee propped up guiding you back slightly so his entire length would be sheathed in that gorgeous cunt of yours. his hand had released from spreading your ass and instead guiding your stomach back pinching the soft pudge as he adjusted to the warm hold you were providing him with.
your manicured nails dug into the bed, as he began driving his cock into you. you couldn't understand why it was so satisfying, having him take complete and utter control over your body. he easily made you fall apart with the pleasure he delivered.
lalo’s mouth was slightly agape as he watched the jiggle your ass as he rammed into you. even though he was always reluctant to admit it he was wrapped around your finger and that was mostly due to the sweet pussy you brought into the relationship.
“hold that ass for me,” he demanded, adjusting the positioning of your hips as your hands became situated, around your ass cheeks.
you moved your neck uncomfortably, having to dig your shoulders further into the bed in an attempt to keep yourself in a stable position without falling.
the way you opened up for him was divine. full spread, displaying your holes, one clutching his length as he continued to thrust into you. your ass hole twitched as he kept fucking you.
your face was almost fully buried, smelling the breath from your fruity seltzers being recycled to your nose alongside the gentle cotton-scented washing detergent from the bedding.
he was stretching you just right, just how you needed. the urge of sexual desire was so strong that he forced you to wait as he played with himself.
your erect nipples were being stimulated as his rough thrusts moved your body against the bed. your hands were desperately trying to keep to their instructed place so lalo could watch himself inside of you.
you were enjoying yourself a little more than you should've been, even lalo didn't mind. those sweet whiny moans meant he was fucking you the right way—his preferred way.
the gun that was lingering to the side of your leg was not only pressing onto you but on lalo. he was looking at the black steel, an idea surfacing—or adding to the idea he already had.
lalo slowed his rough movements, leaning his head down, a heap of spit landing on your back door. he made quick work with his thumb, plunging it into the clenched sphincter. this wasn't the first time lalo had decided to use all of your body, but dear god, each time he did you needed to refocus because it always took you by surprise even if he announced his arrival.
a rigid pant left your body, glancing back at him picking up the gun was enough to incite another panic as he lazily fingered your ass with his opposable digit. he was focused and determined to make his pistol fit. his brows were slightly furrowed as he acclimated your ass to his finger again. he figured if you had taken his cock then you were more than capable of taking just the first few inches of the gun’s barrel just as your mouth had.
lalo was liberal with his spit; he wanted his idea to be executed correctly.
he stroked the barrel of the gun with his lubricated hand and began edging it into your ass hole. his dick was throbbing inside of your cunt. your nails dug into your ass cheeks as the handgun entered you. it was upside down to keep the area he wanted to later thrust into clear and available.
“taking that even better than my cock,” he muttered, watching your skin expand around the tepid steel. what did he expect? you had to be good at something to have stayed with him for this long.
his head dipped as your ass fully accepted the barrel of the gun. your eyes rolled to the back of your head. your under eyelid twitched. you felt so incredibly stuffed.
lalo’s hand supported the semi-automatic pistol in your ass as his unsatisfied cock began moving again. he had no concept of ‘this might be too much.’
his hips were pressed into yours with each thrust he gave as if it was incomplete without being completely inside of you with each movement. it was hard for him to hold back with you. you were just so goddamn easy for him to push around; which was, of course, all due to his dutiful training and development he put you through.
being in his mid-forties didn't slow him down. if anything it made him more relentless, trying to prove himself. his body may have more years on it than yours, but even with that being the case he knew his purpose with you at all times.
“so fuckin’ tight, that little pussy has some grab,” he praised from behind you. the hand on the gun occasionally pushed in further, keeping his hand firmly on the handle. his other hand supported one of your wrists in keeping your ass spread.
the wet squelching noises he was creating just from being deep in your walls made his head tilt back. beads of sweat leaked from his face from the sheer amount of effort he was exerting.
your noises of pleasure were covering his own low groans of enjoyment. he was angry, yet still praising you for your sexy body even if it meant he was calling you dumb for only being able to use your body to make him happy. you didn't care, how could you? not when you had a thick length inside of you—his first favorite toy, and then being plugged with his second favorite toy—his gun.
dear god. he had it all the right way. hitting exactly what he needed when he needed to. you knew your body better than you knew it yourself. you were at lalo’s mercy, letting him ravage your pussy and ass as he wanted.
he was so deep inside of you, and your pussy allowed it, swallowing his girthy cock like a fine wine as he forced himself in until he was banging against your cervix.
the vaginal penetration alone was enough to make your mind too dumb, but the more he gave made you go null. so much overwhelming stimuli that caused dribbles of squirt to coat his cock and drop down to the pristine bedding.
“b-bebé,” you sputtered out, almost ignored because the sheets that had become bundled in your mouth muffled your noise. you were unwinding right before him, becoming so tense right before your orgasmic release, unknowing if he would even allow it after your spell of insolence. “p-please, c-come on please,” you managed to plead from your befuddled state.
lalo didn't have much more self-control left in himself either. he kept having to distract himself from the sight below him.
“fuck, let it go, amor,” he agreed as the hand on your wrist bared down harshly.
your back sweat glistened in the natural room lighting, the setting sun only warming the bedroom as it filtered through the windows. lalo’s long shadow casts over you, essentially ramming into you twice.
your eyes closed, having to lift your head just to breathe through your orgasm. a ridiculous noise between a scream and a whine filled the room as you pushed your ass back against him, taking a bit more of the clunky gun and stimulating more of lalo’s cock.
“stay just like that,” he demanded, as his rigid thrusts were coming to a sloppy end. you were riding on a high that was finally seeming to subside, though the aftermath caused your eyes to be droopy and low, stuttery moans to exit as his actions quickened in pace. he was chasing the end, although he would never deny being inside of you longer but he wanted to release.
with your hips and ass causing a pleasurable resistance, lalo drove himself to his climax, his chest pounding and the tops of his ears flushing red. he unloaded inside of you, not needing permission to release his cum in someone he already owned.
he hung inside of you for a few moments, having his eyes adjust to the scene before him as he removed his cock, watching his load spill from your puffy walls. he pulled the gun out slowly, watching your ass hole pucker again. he rubbed your anus softly, watching it clench as your pussy dripped more of his load.
gun in hand he turned you to his side, leaning next to you. he dragged the gun across your chest, prodding your nipples teasingly. you could barely move your arm enough to try and protect your sensitive chest.
he brushed some of your hair back with the pistol as he made himself comfortable next to your limp body.
lalo laid back, placing the gun to your temple. he turned on his side, holding your face so you would focus only on him. your eyes were still hazy, you could barely move, and you were waiting now since he had his fill. you thought lalo’s antics were so incredibly deranged—having seen you orgasm once more, the way he said you looked prettiest, and now was going to end you on the sleek white sheets from charlotte thomas.
his dark brown eyes were fixated on you, as you held the button placket of his pool shirt. he didn't have remorse for what he did. he had fun, though you couldn't read it on his face. you were waiting for him to lay your head down and fire.
at this point when he would allow the bullet to discharge, at least you would be relaxed, halfway buried in his chest in the comfortable bedding.
“if i wanted to kill you i would've done it already.” he tapped the gun’s muzzle against your head. “would've had that pretty little head splattered against that wall.” he gestured with the pistol to the wall he had previously slammed you against.
he gave a low chuckle, pushing the gun on the bedside table, grabbing your face. “just remember that, amor—remember that i can make that decision.”
lalo placed a kiss on your lips. your barely responsive body uttered a peck back to him in understanding his words.
Michael Scofield fic when?? I neeeeeeedd some. Only if you want too 🫶🏼
Blueprints
Pairing: Michael Scofield X reader
Summary: You wake up to find Michael already sketching blueprints at the kitchen table, and he sheepishly admits he was designing a dream house for the two of you.
A/N: This is pre Fox River.
You wake up to an empty bed — expected, but still noticeable. Michael never sleeps long; his mind moves faster than the speed of light. You sit up, listening for him. There’s a faint, steady sound from the kitchen: pencil on paper, rhythmic, controlled.
When you walk in, he’s already there, seated at the table with his forearms braced on either side of a large blueprint sheet. His eyes are fixed on his work with the kind of focus that shuts out the whole world.
He notices you instantly, somehow sensing your presence like he always does, “Morning,” he says, voice low, even.
You step closer, “You’ve been up a while.”
“Yes.” He sets the pencil down carefully, parallel to the edge of the paper, “Didn’t want to wake you.”
You glance at the sheet in front of him, and he exhales — not embarrassed, not unsettled, but… caught in something he hadn’t planned to reveal yet. He reaches out and straightens the page slightly.
You think he might slide it away or hide it but he doesn’t.
“What is it?” you ask.
He hesitates for a few seconds and then he answers honestly: “A house.”
You move beside him, leaning over the table. It’s not some rough outline. It’s detailed — mathematically sound, precise, full of intention. A two-story structure with wide windows, an open floor plan, notes in his neat handwriting marking structural considerations, natural lighting angles, and even potential outdoor space.
“This isn’t just any house,” you murmur. “This is a beautiful home- who’s it for?.”
His eyes stay on the blueprints, like he’s analyzing the lines for flaws. “For us.”
Your breath catches. He doesn’t soften the statement, doesn’t cover it with a smile or apology. He just says it — straightforward, like a fact.
“I’m not assuming anything,” he adds, voice quieter, “but… last night I kept thinking about what comes after all this. What life could look like, if we ever let ourselves have one.” His fingers tap lightly on a corner of the page — a small tell, the closest he gets to nervousness, “Designing it helped me think.”
You trace a finger along the sketched outline of the living room, “You added so much detail.”
“That’s how you build something that lasts,” he says. Then, after a moment: “I wanted to get it right.”
“Michael,” you say softly, “this… is beautiful.”
His eyes finally meet yours. A quiet breath leaves him, like he’d braced for a different reaction entirely.
“You’re not overwhelmed,” he says, not a question but a diagnosis he’s checking against your face.
“No,” you tell him. “I’m… touched. And maybe a little impressed.”
“Good.”
You slide a chair beside him, “Show me?”
He shifts the blueprint toward you, posture relaxing by degrees. He explains the structural load points, the window directions, the way the upstairs hall catches morning light. His voice is steady, but there’s a softness under it — a quiet hopefulness he doesn’t know how to show any other way.
As he talks, you realize the truth: hedidn’t sketch a house. He sketched a future he never lets himself admit he wants.
“Michael,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his,“if you ever build this… I’d live there with you.”
His fingers turn under yours, lacing them together with slow certainty, “That’s the idea.”
Could you write something on T-Bag ? Something sweet ? We lack of content about him here !!! xx
See I really really want to do this but I fear I would completely mischaracterize him in my attempt. I’m not against this ask at all just wondering if anyone has ideas of how I could make Tbag even the slightest bit fluffy??
Warnings: DDDNE (seriously!!!), Tbag himself is a warning, age-gap (reader is legal I imagine her to be like 20-21), dumbification, faux!Cest, kinda dbf themes, degradation, could be considered grooming, he's kinda mean, ddlg-esque, Reader calls Tbag ‘Uncle Teddy,’ but they aren’t related.
Summary: Good ole ‘Uncle’ Teddy has just broken out of Fox River, and he knows you’re just so eagerly waiting for him. He tries to be good, but once he gets a taste nothing can stop him.
Sometimes you wonder if God exists…and when you’re not you’re asking him why he’s so cruel.
For the longest time you had a great life - you were never rich, never had much but it didn’t matter, your father loved you unconditionally. He was the light of your life, always spoiling you, encouraging you with sweet words even after your mother left.
So- now that he’s passed it’s ironic that the only person you still have left is none other than Theodore Bagwell. Theodore (or ‘Uncle Teddy’ as you learned to call him) was a close friend of your father’s. He didn’t come around much but when he did he stayed a while and he was always sweet to you- always made you feel special. However, even though he was kind you never knew much about the man, just that he cared for you.
He’d been locked up when you were 18, a few years ago now. When you’d heard about his crimes it made you sick to your stomach. Not only because of his vile actions…you felt sick because a part of you still wanted him in your life. A part of you felt like he was the only piece of your father that was left.
Your house is one of those medium-sad rentals stuck between “barely functioning” and “sentimental enough to keep.” The floors sigh, the windows rattle, and the porch light flickers like it’s rehearsing for a horror movie.
It’s nothing special.
But it’s yours.
It was your dad’s.
And you stay because leaving would feel like letting go of the last person who ever cared for you.
Except… he wasn’t the last.
The TV hisses from the kitchen counter, lighting the room in blue. The newscaster repeats the same line for what has to be the tenth time:
“Escaped inmate Theodore ‘T-Bag’ Bagwell—”
Your pulse jumps.
Not because you’re afraid.
But because for once in your life, something you want is actually coming back to you.
You met Teddy through your dad—late-night beers, careless jokes, that slow Mississippi drawl that knew exactly how to curl around your nerves.
After your dad had died Teddy began to reach out more, tried to stay in contact.
First came the letters—handwriting sharp, messy, unmistakably his. Some playful, some teasing, some unexpectedly thoughtful. Little snapshots of the world he lived in behind those walls. You wrote back every time, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t.
Then the visits started. Not conjugal, of course, just two chairs, one phone, a thick pane of glass, and the kind of attention that made your skin tingle long after you’d walked out of the prison gates.
He’d press his palm to the glass and you’d mirror it. And for a few minutes, it felt like you weren’t alone.
You never said you missed him but he always smirked like he knew.
Now he’s out.
The thought hits you like a warm, breathless rush. You set your mug down before your hands can give you away. The porch light flickers—once, twice—and steadies, glowing bright against the night.
Maybe it’s just faulty wiring or maybe it’s him.
You step closer to the door without really meaning to, heart thudding in a rhythm you know he’d smile at if he could hear it.
Because Teddy promised—more than once, in letters smudged by the way he pressed too hard on the pen:
“When I walk outta here, darlin’, I’m comin’ straight to you.”
And now, for the first time in years, you finally let yourself believe he meant it.
Still, it is getting late so you pad over to your little room tucked the corner of the house and perch on the corner of your twin bed.
You lie down, head swimming with images of Teddy, before dozing off into a light slumber.
————-
You wake up to the unmistakable sensation of your hair being stroked.
Turning over in one swift motion, your gaze meets the unmistakable big brown eyes of none other than Theodore Bagwell.
Filled with an incredible sense of embarrassment at your clothes (or lack thereof- since you'd worn a tight shirt and panties to bed) your face turns an incredible shade of pink.
“Didn’t realize you were such a light sleeper, sugar”.
There it is, that stupid nickname he’d bestowed upon you years ago that just seemed to stick around.
You scoff, “How’d you even get in?”
Teddy’s tongue glided across his teeth, a slight sparkle in his eyes, “You hide the spare exactly where your daddy did.”
You roll your eyes and finally get a good look at him. It seems that in his efforts to avoid the authorities he had bleached his hair. You giggle at his new look and stand to ruffle his wild locks, “looks good”, you shyly admit.
“Oh you’ve always been too sweet to me…exactly why I call ya Sugar”, Teddy mumbles out.
You giggle again, grabbing his hand and pulling him down onto your bed, a cheesy grin plastered on your face.
You engulf him in a hug, legs straddling his lanky body- arms around his neck and look him in the eyes, “I missed you”.
His cold hands wrap around your hips, nose digging into your neck- inhaling your scent. He groans, “Course you missed your good ole Uncle Teddy”, he bites his lip, sighing like he’s fighting a war inside his head.
“What is it Uncle Teddy, what’s wrong?”, you ask with an adorable pout adorning your features.
He chuckles lowly, one hand toying at the hem of your sleep shirt- which now that he’s paying attention he realizes is quite see through…he wonders if you’ve done that on purpose.
“It’s just, you could make a man go crazy looking at him like that, sugar. You’ve grown so much”, he admits, now smirking.
You blush at that, a sick part of you flattered by his words- craving more.
“Y-you don’t have to hold back- wanna know what it’s like being with someone I care about…not just another silly guy my age”.
His ears perk up at that, fingers tracing your waist and slowly but surely moving up
Up
Up
Until he cups your breasts with his signature smirk, “You ain’t expecting me to be gentle are you, Sugar?”
“I don’t want you to”, you admit sheepishly.
His eyes roll back at just your words, “Alright, show old Teddy what you got, Princess”.
You spring into action, the kiss a messy clashing of teeth with tongues battling for dominance. He tastes like whisky and smoke a surprisingly fitting and pleasant taste.
His one hand keeps kneading your breasts while the other moves down to your hip, grabbing it firmly, encouraging you to move.
You start eagerly grinding against his hardening member, kissing and panting like a bitch in heat.
Teddy pulls away for a second and whispers, “I wonder who taught you to be such an eager little slut…”, before starting his assault on your neck.
His beard is scratchy on your soft skin, making you whimper- which only encourages him to nip at the exposed flesh. He leaves marks all over- hickies and little red blotches from his facial hair.
You whine as you grow even more desperate, grinding down harder while gripping his body and pulling at his hair.
His hands travel up the nape of your neck, sifting through your hair, and you yelp when Teddy suddenly yanks at the ends, forcing you to look up at him with teary eyes.
Tongue tracing his teeth, he chuckles darkly, "I told you I wasn't gonna be nice."
He stares down for a few seconds, tilting his head, "Now, why don't you take your dear old uncle for a ride?"
You nod like a mad woman, all self-respect thrown out the window at the suggestion.
"Hmm, what would your daddy think if he saw you right now, huh?", he taunts while pulling down his slacks and boxers just far enough.
You sigh with relief at the sight of his cock, hard and ready for you. Teddy pulls your panties to the side and lines himself up underneath you, prodding at your entrance.
As you sink down, you can't help but feel so unbelievably full. The sensation is so overwhelming, you bite down on his clothed shoulder and whimper wantonly.
"Knew you'd fit so perfectly around me", he claims with gritted teeth.
You moan at his words and start bouncing slowly, forehead pressed against his. His breath fans against your face, hitching as you make eye contact. He grips your hips, squeezing the plush flesh, almost definitely leaving bruises instantly.
"C'mon girly, I know you can do so much better than that, can't you? Or are you just that dumb, huh? Have you already gone all stupid on me, sugar?"
At his words, you speed up; the unmistakably wet sound of skin slapping takes over your home.
Teddy's head falls back in pleasure, and you swear you've never seen something so sinful.
He chokes out a groan and then pulls you off of him before all but flipping you over, your ass in the air, and head buried into your pillow.
"Should've known you'd be a needy little bitch", he spits out before pistoning into you without warning. He places one hand atop the back of your head, the other gripping painfully at your hip.
His nails dig further into your skin as his thrusts grow harsher. He moves his hand from your head, only to deliver a harsh smack to your bum- the sound ricocheting off the walls.
You squeal, tears welling in your eyes as he continues his assault on your ass, smirking to himself as you try and scoot away.
"Does it hurt, sugar?", he asks, already aware of your impending answer.
You nod your head, whimpering out the smallest "y-yes" he's ever heard.
"Oh, but I bet it hurts so good", he bites back before delivering on last smack.
Your legs begin to shake, and an orgasm that you didn't even feel building up crashes over your entire body like a tidal wave.
Teddy shakes his head and tuts, thrusts growing sloppier as he bites his lip, suppressing his own moans.
"P-please", you mumble underneath him- too far gone to truly understand what you're even saying.
He laughs lightly at your plea, "Mhm, I know, don't you worry, I'm right behind you, sugar".
You barely have a moment to process his declaration before he's letting out a string of curses as his spend fills you up. His tight grip on your hips loosens as he pulls out with a sigh, flopping next to you on the bed.
"I'd say we did a sufficient job of making up for lost time, what do you think?"
-just because i wrote about this does NOT mean i am into this or agree with it THIS IS FICTIONAL !!! Theodore Bagwell IS NOT REAL !!!!-
I feel so weird asking for this because I haven't found anything for him on Tumblr...feel free to deny if you aren't comfortable. Tbag x readerrrrr plssss
Oooo wait a minute you’re onto something. Take this as a warning in advance, I WILL be writing an absolutely horrendously dirty Tbag fic….🤭
I’m gonna need another mahone fanfic asaaaaap….please lol
YESSS I am obsessed with writing for this man!!
Pairing: Mahone x Scofield! reader
Summary: You were the first to forgive Mahone, the first to treat him as if he wasn't some fuck up, and the first woman who had truly seen him since Pam. The only problem- your brothers hate his guts.
Warnings: Canon-typical language, M receiving oral, legal age gap, degradation, and Alex is very dom.
You couldn't pinpoint when it had started- when the man who once hunted your family became one of the only people you trusted. Maybe it was how he so effortlessly listened-really listened. He listened like you always had something valuable to say, no matter how stupid you thought it was.
You were also the first to forgive him and the first to treat him like he wasn’t a walking mistake. Then, somehow, in the mess of Scylla and running for your life, you realized you fell hard for the man you once hated.
Shame your brothers still wanted his head on a spike.
Yet, here you were, next to the man they despise. The room still warm from what had just happened—heat humming in the air, your heartbeat slowly settling, his breath still uneven against your shoulder. You lay beside Mahone on the cramped safehouse cot, the kind that wasn’t built for two people, which only made everything feel closer.
He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, breath steady but tense, like he was already regretting how badly he’d needed you.
You turn your head, “You’re thinking too loud.”
A low laugh slips out of him, tired and gravelly. Then he shifts, propping himself on his elbow so he could really look at you—eyes soft in a way he’d never let your brothers see.
“Every time I try to stay away,” he says quietly, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek, “I end up right back here—with you.”
The words hang between you, heavy with everything you weren’t supposed to want.
You swallow, “My brothers would have a stroke if they knew.”
Mahone’s mouth curves into the smallest, saddest smile,“Yeah...That’s the part that scares me least.”
You don't answer because right now lying beside him, skin still remembering his touch— you don't want to stay away.
"I just-", Alex starts talking but cuts himself off, seemingly embarrassed to speak so freely about his emotions.
You nudge his side with your elbow, "What is it?"
"I'm tired of being seen as some kind of monster", he admits, forcing a small chuckle out afterwards to lighten the weight of his words.
You stroke his cheek with your thumb, thinking of the right way to comfort a man who rarely ever opens up like this.
However, before you can open your mouth, two loud thuds erupt from the other side of the door, followed by Lincoln's biting tone, "Ya gonna sleep all day or what, Mahone?"
Alex sits up quickly, squinting to make sure his door is locked before huffing out a sigh and pressing a finger to your mouth, shushing you. He lets Lincoln's words sit for a few moments before replying, "Ya ya I'm coming", dismissively.
The answer seems to satisfy Lincoln: "Just get your ass out here", he grunts before stomping away.
Alex looks at you, a slight frown resting on his face, "Get out...I'll come down in a minute. Nobody will notice unless we make it obvious".
————-
A couple of minutes later, everyone crowds around the safehouse table, the air thick with stale coffee and anxiety. Don Self has maps and files spread everywhere, talking a mile a minute. Mahone slips into the seat across from you, composed, calm… maybe a little too calm considering what had transpired this morning.
You try not to look at him. You really do.
Sara comes in late, taking the open spot beside you. She doesn't even sit before giving you one long, sweeping look. Her mouth tugs up at the corner—subtle, amused, entirely too knowing.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” she whispers, just loud enough for you to hear over Self’s rambling.
You shoot her a glare that only makes her smile wider.
She nudges your arm lightly, “Relax. I’m not judging. Just… noticing.”
You feel heat creep up your neck.
Self slaps another folder onto the table, launching into the next phase of the mission, but Sara isn't done. Her gaze drifts from you to Mahone, then back, like she's following a trail no one else sees.
“Didn’t picture you going for an older guy,” she teases, lips twitching. “But hey, I get it. He’s… intense.”
You almost choke. Sara has to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing.
Across the table, Mahone stiffens—not visibly, not to anyone else—but enough that you catch the slight lift of his shoulders, the careful way he avoids looking in your direction.
Unfortunately, someone else catches it too.
Michael.
He’d been focused on Self, but his eyes flicked up at the wrong (or right) moment. First to Mahone and then to you, then lastly to Sara, who was still absolutely failing to hide her grin.
His brow creases just a little. Not in suspicion or anger, just that familiar Scofield calculation whenever he realized something didn’t add up.
“You okay?” he asks under his breath when Self pauses to take a phone call, “You seem… awfully quiet this morning.”
You open your mouth, but Sara steps in smoothly, pretending to examine one of the maps, “She’s fine,” she says, a little too casually, “Just looks tired to me.”
Michael doesn't quite buy it. His gaze lingers on you for another beat before drifting back to Mahone—who was studiously pretending to read a document upside-down.
Sara leans closer, voice softening, “Just… be careful,” she says, tone shifting into something gentler than teasing. “Not because of him. Because your brothers would absolutely kill him if they knew.”
You swallow harshly and across the table, Mahone finally risks a glance your way—barely a second—but it was enough.
Michael sees that too.
And this time, he doesn't look away. He just sits back slowly, quietly, like someone filing away a piece of information they weren't supposed to have.
Self finally wraps up the briefing with a shaky, overconfident, “We move in thirty,” and starts gathering his papers like he’d just solved world hunger. Chairs scrape, people clatter about, and Sara squeezes your arm one last time with that I know exactly what you’re doing and I cannot wait to tease you again smirk before slipping out.
You stand too, pushing in your chair — trying to act normal, trying not to look in Mahone’s direction even though you feel the weight of him across the table.
And that's when Michael looks up.
Not fully — just that sideways, calculating glance he does when he’s observing something he’s not supposed to see. His eyes drift from you… to Mahone… back to you.
You pretend not to notice, and he pretends to let you walk away.
Lincoln notices Michael's expression...of course, he does.
As you head toward the hallway, you hear Lincoln’s low voice behind you, “The hell was that?”
Michael doesn't answer right away, just stares after you with that quiet tension that means he's thinking too fast, “Come on,” he mutters to Lincoln, barely audible, “we need to talk.”
You don't look back, but your shoulders tighten involuntarily as you slip out of sight. You feel their eyes on your back until you turn the corner.
Behind you, their voices drop even lower — just enough that you catch pieces as they step into the adjacent hallway.
Michael exhales hard, “You saw that, right?”
“What, the weird tension?” Lincoln grumbles, “Yeah, I guess...I mostly noticed your scowl.”
Michael rubs a hand down his face, “This is… this is not good.”
“It could be nothing, she is a Scofield after all...always kinda has that kicked puppy look to her.”
“It’s not just her.”
Lincoln sighs, “Yeah?"
Michael pauses, taking a breath, “Yes. We have to get ahead of this...her and Mahone before it gets dangerous.”
“Should’ve done it yesterday,” Lincoln mutters.
Michael runs a thumb across his lower lip — a nervous tell he thought nobody noticed, “We talk to her. Now.”
They exchange a grim, mutual nod.
You're halfway down the hall, pretending to study the peeling wallpaper, when they finally come around the corner.
“Hey,” Michael calls, too calmly, a curt smile on his face, “Can we talk to you for a second?”
You freeze, fucking fantastic.
Lincoln jerks his head toward an empty room, “C’mon.”
Your stomach dips, but you follow, mostly because if you didn’t, they’d just drag you in anyway.
Michael shuts the door behind the three of you with a soft click.
That was the only gentle part. He faces you with his arms crossed, expression taut, “Okay. Let’s just all be honest.”
Lincoln crosses his arms too, mirroring him, “For once.”
You blink, “Wow, love the energy in here.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes, “Cut the crap.”
Michael’s voice stays controlled, but strained, “We saw something.”
You give the most innocent look you were capable of, “Did you?”
Michael’s stare sharpens, “Don’t do that.”
Lincoln steps in, chin lifting, “You and Mahone, what’s the deal?”
You raise your eyebrows dramatically, “Is that what this is about?”
Michael doesn't blink, “Yes.”
You open your mouth, but he shakes his head, “No games. Just tell us.”
You cross your arms to match their posture, “Tell you what?”
“That nothing is going on,” Lincoln snaps.
“That you’re not getting involved with someone dangerous,” Michael adds, quieter but heavier.
You throw your head back with a groan, “Oh my god, you two sound like dad.”
Michael steps closer, voice tighter, “We’re worried about you. Mahone is… complicated.”
Lincoln folds his arms even harder, “He’s unstable and grief-stricken. Not to mention he used to hunt people for a living.”
“He saved you more than once,” you point out, “Or did we all forget the part where he didn’t let me die?”
Michael’s jaw twitches, “No one is questioning that, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Then what does it mean?” you shoot back, “That he’s off-limits because you two have history?”
Lincoln scoffs, “He’s off-limits because he could break your heart and neck in the same day.”
You snort, “Very comforting.”
Michael holds up a hand, “Just… tell us if this is serious.”
Your throat goes tight- you don't answer. You can't.
Michael’s sigh is soft, disappointed, “Okay. Then it is.”
“Jesus Christ,” Lincoln mutters, dragging a palm down his face.
You press your lips together, suddenly tense, “You’re both overreacting.”
Michael won't budge, “We’re trying to protect you.”
“Okay, cool, but I didn’t ask you to,” you retort quietly.
Lincoln jabs a finger toward you, “Well, you got us anyway.”
Something about the way he says it—rough, brotherly, terrified—hits you harder than you expected.
Michael’s next words drop like a weight, “If he hurts you… we can’t fix that.”
For a moment, you have no idea what to say.
“So what,” you finally breathe, “I’m supposed to just… I don’t know, join a convent? Never look at anyone again?”
“I’m telling you to be careful,” Michael insists.
You let out a humorless laugh, “Would you rather it was T-Bag I was getting frisky with instead?”
Lincoln gags violently, “What the—NO. What the hell is wrong with—”
Michael’s face twists, “Oh my god. Why would you even—don't—stop talking.”
“Well, then maybe mind your own business,” you snap.
Michael’s voice softens, though his eyes stay sharp, “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”
You swallow the knot in your throat, “Then trust me.”
They don't answer, but they step aside.
You push past them, pulse hammering, breathing shaky with irritation.
You make it halfway down the hall before you feel it.
That stare.
Mahone stands partially in shadows at the end of the hall— not dramatic, just quietly devastating. Hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, eyes locked on you with a heat that makes your breath catch.
“Everything alright?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.
Something in your chest tightens, and you step toward him without thinking.
“Define alright,” you mutter, shutting the door behind you.
“What did they say?” he asks, “Or—what didn’t they say?”
You stop a few feet from him, “Nothing I wasn't expecting...they were tag teaming me like overbearing parents. It was… a lot.”
Mahone winces, “I’m assuming I wasn’t portrayed favorably.”
“Nothing you haven't heard before”
He waits, eyes drifting over your face—searching.
“What did you tell them?” he asked quietly.
You shrug, like it's no big deal, “That it’s none of their business.”
His hand drops, and he stares at you like you’d just given him a gift wrapped in explosives. “You defend me,” he murmured, voice low, rough, “Even when it costs you.”
You step closer, “I’m not ashamed of wanting you.”
He inhales sharply, as if the room suddenly has less oxygen in it, “You should be careful saying things like that,” he said, voice low.
“Why?”
He doesn't answer at first. He just looks at you the way he only did when no one else was around. Then he steps forward, closing the space like he couldn’t stay away one second longer.
His hands don't touch you yet, but they hover at your waist, close enough that heat spreads across your skin.
“Because if you say things like that,” he whispers, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you too.”
You smile faintly, “Everyone knows now. What’s left to pretend?”
“Come here,” he says, barely audible.
You don't hesitate. You step into him, and his hands land on your waist—firm, almost greedy. His mouth finds yours with absolutely no hesitation this time—hungry, decisive, like he's done pretending he has limits.
You make a soft sound against his lips, and he swears under his breath, pulling you tighter against him.
His lips drag down your throat, slow and deliberate, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters against your skin.
“You say that every time,” you breathe.
“And yet—” His hands slide under the back of your shirt, fingers warm and demanding, “Here we are.”
“Here we always end up,” you whisper.
That breaks something in him. He kisses you again—deeper, harder—his hands gripping your waist, thumbs brushing dangerous paths along your spine. You arch into him, and he groans, mouth moving hungrily to your jaw.
“We’re supposed to be out the door soon,” he says, breath hitting your ear.
“How soon?”
“Twenty minutes.”
You slide your hands up his chest and whisper, “I can do a lot in twenty minutes.”
He freezes—just for a beat—like the universe had just whispered something blasphemous in his ear. “You’re going to get us caught,” he murmurs.
“No,” you correct, tugging him closer by his collar. “I’m going to get what I want, Agent.”
“And what is that?” His voice is nothing but gravel.
“You, right now.”
He breaths out a shaky laugh, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Your fingers slide into his hair, “Then show me.”
The sound he makes is low, almost a growl. He pushes you gently—but firmly—onto the table, stepping between your legs, mouth claiming yours again like the twenty minutes were already evaporating.
“Fine,” he whispers against your lips, “But don’t blame me when we’re late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”,
You tug him closer, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt — and that's all the invitation he needs
His hand slides up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair with deliberate slowness. You feel the breath leave your chest before he even pulls. He gathers your hair, twisting it around his fist until he holds it in a makeshift ponytail, forcing your head to tip back just enough for him to look down at you.
Your heartbeat tripped.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“I do,” you breathe, “and so do you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches — not a smile, something hungrier. He leans in, lips dragging across the pulse in your throat, and the way he holds your hair makes your breath catch audibly.
His other hand slides to your hip, pulling you forward, and for a moment, there is nothing in the room except the hot press of his body and the sound of your breathing tangling together.
The hair in his fist tightens just enough to guide you exactly where he wants you.
Your hands grip his belt, shaking with anticipation. You fumble with the buckle and slide the leather off, staring up at Alex.
He chuckles lightly, keeping his hold on your makeshift ponytail and stroking your cheek with his other hand, "Go on, babygirl", he urges.
You pull him out, blushing slightly before leaving a few short licks to his tip. You continue to tease him, licking down his shaft and making out with the head in a rhythm.
His breathing shallows as he tightens his grip on your hair, forcing you to look up at him, a knowing smirk plastered on his face. He tuts, "I know, baby, I know, but we don't have much time".
He pulls you away from his member and taunts, "Show me that pretty little tongue, won't you?"
You nod and stick your tongue out almost immediately.
Alex chuckles darkly, slapping his dick against your tongue, and you squeak out a moan in response.
"Dirty girl", he says before forcing your jaw open with his free hand and shoving himself inside your mouth.
You look up at him as he uses you—driving his member deeper and deeper down your throat, groaning in satisfaction each time.
Your hands grip his thighs as he continues, looking down at your submissive form, wiping away a stray tear from your watery eye.
"I'm almost there just keep that dirty little mouth wide open, okay?", he grits out more like a command than a request.
You whine around him, and the noise pushes him over the edge. You feel his spend collect on your tongue, and he loosens his grip on your hair.
After he withdraws, he looks down at you expectantly, "Let me see", he demands.
You open your mouth, letting your tongue slip out showing him how you'd swallowed all he'd given you.
He grips your arms and supports you back up, but he doesn't step back. He has one hand braced on the table beside you, the other at the back of your neck, breathing hard like he wasn’t ready for any of this to be over.
“Hey—” he says quietly, voice uneven, “what about you?”
You glance down at your watch, the second hand ticking mercilessly forward. Then you lift your head, eyes meeting his, and let a slow, smug smile curl onto your lips, “Twenty minutes is twenty minutes, Agent.”
His laugh is disbelieving, "Then let me take care of you tonight, ya?"
