18+ MDNI, descriptive oral smut ahead, m receiving head, established relationship, messy head, crying, vulgarity and profanity, rusty spanish (sorry), idk sorta religious undertones, no use of y/n
trying to clean out my drafts meaning this is halfway proofread. wrote this for kinktober and never finished it so here ya are *(title: there are no saints here)*
lalo salamanca prayed every night. he dropped to his knees at the edge of his bed and bowed his head asking the lord for guidance and direction. he didn’t consider himself to be a lucky man. he considered himself blessed by a higher power because how else did he manage to slip away from risky situations or cheat death? prayer was the one thing that grounded him, speaking directly to god and hearing his guidance.
the cross chain tio hector had given him was just another reminder that he was fortunate enough by the grace of the lord to continue business as normal. god would’ve struck him down if he didn’t think lalo was acting the right way. so lalo could continue his reign of “terror,” not like he was that bad, only having to step up when he absolutely needed to. unlike tuco, poor primo, locked in the pen because of his anger issues and drug usage—of course, he had to be taken down a peg. tuco was fucking crazy, but lalo—he was just calculated enough to make his crazy seem smooth.
lalo had to be one of god’s favorites because no matter how many heinous crimes he committed he still came out on top. like making you choke on his dick; he was leading with discipline because you had wronged him. it was a laughable punishment—in fact, he was laughing. he was looking down on you with that stupid smirk.
your throat ached, that stretch and burn of a hard cock sliding in and out was enough to make you gag. salty, occasionally dribbling pre-cum was still hitting your taste buds. your eyes poured with tears, but between the gagging, you were sobbing. this was retribution at its finest—the only way to make you shut the hell up.
“yeah, i know,” lalo chuckled. “ni modo, ⁽ ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ ⁾ but you made your choice.”
you had made your bed, and now you were going to lie in it. the moment lalo had gotten home you he had you on your knees because what in the hell were you thinking spamming his phone with messages after he said he was busy. when he finally looked it was filthy, your little fingers not being quite long enough to edge yourself the way he did, your cunt presented and open begging for him to come home, your breasts on display lathered in that oil you used only after you showered on date night. needless to say you knew what you were doing, and lalo would not take your teasing easily especially after he told you to wait. you couldn’t help it; the day was dragging on and on, and there was no other way to get his attention.
if anything, you had his attention now, all pathetic and out of breath drooling over his hard shaft. the weight of his girthy cock on your tounge was the heaviest it had ever been. he wasn’t cramming every inch in your tight pussy and talking you through how much he loved to fuck you. he was staring at you trying to back your head away from his shaft the moment he stopped his repeated thrusts into your mouth. he wouldn't allow that. with his hands tightly laced in your hair, he pulled you forward. you rewarded him with a stifled whine in return, trembling underneath him, wondering when he would inevitably cum and leave you a mess on the floor.
“no, you're gonna take it,” lalo reminded you while taking one of his anchored hands from your hair and lightly slapping your face. “got yourself into quite a mess tonight, huh?”
you flinched under his prodding and averted your gaze as he spoke. he pulled his cock out, all swollen and sprung. you managed to catch a short breath before he grabbed your chin. your jaw was on fire, aching from being open so long; now that it was closed the feeling of pins and needles erupted. you rocked on your knees helplessly, already sporting new bruises from kneeling on the hardwood.
lalo shrugged, “te pasaste ⁽ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ᶠᵃʳ/ᶜʳᵒˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃ ˡᶦⁿᵉ⁾, baby.” he ran his thumb over your lips. “you can't do what you want. when has that ever worked for you, huh?”
your eyes flicked up to his. those brown eyes stared down at you like he hadn't been the judge, jury, and executioner. the only part you had played in this not-so-civil case was that of the accused, who had been found guilty. your palms softened against his thighs, sniffling as you tried to formulate a sentence; although when your lips parted, he slid his shaft back inside.
“never,” he answered himself, getting back into his steady motion of using your mouth.
“never works, so why now? can’t feel bad for you when my phone just kept goin’ off. i was tryin’ to focus because i was at work and instead you had to be a fuckin’ cock hungry whore gettin’ off without me tellin’ you to.”
lalo was a patient man, one who always asked for guidance from the lord, but you had sent him over the edge entirely. he had given you plenty of chances, really and truly enough. this wasn't some act of vengeance like god in the old testament; this was merely punishment for your sins because you had negatively used your free will.
crying and pleading wouldn't help now—not that you could plead with his shaft knocking the back of your throat. you could hardly catch your breath with your mouth totally agape and filled with his length. you sniffled, trying to keep your nose from running.
with an insincere little nod of his head lalo spoke, “i tried, baby.” his thick cock slid across your pliant tounge. “tried to tell you over and over again, but you couldn't get it through your pretty little head.”
your chest heaved uncomfortably, taking every second of air you could before he decided to get excited again. “mija, i said don't bother me at work, and what do you do? you start touchin’ and fingerin’ that little cunt.”
lalo was slowly pumping his cock onto the tip of your tounge. his full glory in front of you—heavy balls marked with your spilled saliva, his girthy shaft being stroked in his hand, even the line of his belly hair trailing to his wiry pubes. he was staring back at your smeared eye makeup, your hands pressing into the tops of his legs, and that expression you wore so well when you were getting overly used.
“now that pussy hurts. i know it does, hurtin’ so bad because i won't fuck you,” he grabbed the bottom of your chin as he re-entered your mouth fully. your nails dug into him again as he groaned. you could feel every vein on his cock as he slid it in and out. he was right again; your pussy did hurt. that sore ache of something missing between your legs while you desperately held on while he thrusted his manhood repetitively.
“you coulda had all my dick,” he grunted, widening his stance, bearing down for the inevitable. “coulda filled you up nice and pretty, but no. i have to be the bad guy and stuff it down your fuckin’ throat.”
with his cock crammed in the back of your mouth, you swatted at his leg helplessly while gagging. your little coughs muffling around his member and the gasps hardly being heard as he gathered the back of your hair for leverage. he was using you the way he intended—rough and with little mercy—attempting to keep you from any trouble in the future. he was trying to save you, so you could learn to obey. he didn't want to hurt you, but you wanted to know the consequences of your actions.
you were frantic in trying to pull your head away from lalo, needing to breathe. your face was hot and you could feel your head getting lighter. lalo’s hands remained stationary, only gaining more of a grip in your hair to keep your mouth right where he wanted. your nails raked down his thighs whimpering as his balls continuously slapped at your face. his entire length in your mouth tensed.
“you're alright, mija,” he muttered through closed teeth, much too focused on his orgasm. his legs stiffened, holding your head down on his cock with your nose bunched in his pubes. both of his hands stabilized the back of your head as he released his thick ropes of cum at the back of your throat.
you immediately started choking, spitting around his cock, and punching his thigh. you didn't have much fight left, weakly hoping that he would release you.
your gagging continued even when he stood over you pulling up his slacks and stuffing his cock back in his briefs. he was fixing his belt when he nudged you with his shoe. your knees were painfully aware of the hardwood flooring again. you were coughing and heaving, dripping his cum onto your hands that hit the ground the moment lalo started dressing himself again.
lalo exhaled, pulling your hair so you could stare up at him again with those glazed-over eyes.
“don't try it again,” he warned, bending down to place a kiss on your head. he patted your cheek as you coughed dryly again. you couldn't even direct your focus on him, too broken to even respond. “get cleaned up and then we’ll talk.”
the fact that he could so casually walk out of the room after having complete and utter control over your mouth. he left you sniveling on the floor, still trying to control your breathing. you would be forgiven the moment you wiped your face clean, got redressed, and sat next to him on the chaise while he sipped a drink.
lalo could grant forgiveness as easily as he could grant a punishment, but for a man who somehow still had god in his good graces after years of brutality in the cartel, he had no issue making his punishments for you a little extra forceful.
warnings: smut, age-gap (20s & 40s), daddy kink, rough sex, roadside sex, Lalo is pissed, reader is a brat
Papi.
You had teasingly called him the name. You weren’t sure what reaction you’d get from him, but certainly not this. Maybe he’d chuckle, his moustache curling into a smirk as he shook his head, or maybe he’d berate you or give you a funny look that told you he disapproved.
I mean, it’s not like you were the only one that thought the nickname fit. In fact countless people had assumed he was old enough to be your father. Someone aged and weathered like him, silver streak in his hair front and center with you by his side. Young, supple, cheeks round and big sweet doe eyes. What else were they supposed to assume? He looked like he could be your father, easily. Plain and simple.
Well now your papi had you bent over the shiny hood of his 1970 Monte Carlo, your cheek squished against it and getting real acquainted with the paint job. The car creaked with the force of his hips meeting your ass.
You didn’t know where you were. You couldn’t really care either. You just hoped you were far enough out of town that there wouldn’t be any unwanted witnesses. The last thing they’d ever see would be you getting your pussy wrecked if Lalo noticed them.
You could tell he’d had a real shitty day, even before you went and pushed his buttons. Since this morning his moustache was pressed into a stern line and his brows were creased, accentuating his fine wrinkles. Now he had to set you back in line.
You reach up to grip the back of his greying hair, but his hand follows yours quickly and yanks it away. He slaps it back down onto the hood where you were shakily bracing yourself.
“No, bobo. Don’t touch my fucking hair.”
His voice was low and serious. Lalo had somewhere to be after this. Important people to meet with. Phone calls to make. You were already wasting his precious time, he wasn’t going to spend a second redoing his hair because of you.
“Mmsorry papi!”
A pathetic excuse for an apology rolls off your lolling tongue. Lalo was deep, the feeling of him kissing your cervix combined with the metal of his car digging into your bare hips.
His thrusts stutter at hearing the nickname again. You were really playing with fire here, using the nickname again so brazenly. Lalo grunts and pauses balls-deep in your cunt.
Your pretty manicured nails were starting to dig into his paintjob. Can’t have that.
He wrenches your arms behind your back with an angry and impatient scoff, earning a squeal from you. It ached in that position, but the pain was soon washed out by his cock slamming wildly back into you.
He switched both of your arms into one of his large hands, the other snaking up and pulling your hair back so hard your head came up off of the hood.
You screamed into the pink and orange Albuquerque sky, eyes rolling back as his hips clapped against your ass unceasing. A dry and humorless chuckle left Lalo. You could tell he wasn’t smiling though.
“No sabes lo que haces, chica estúpida.”
You moaned stupidly at his Spanish, tightening up around him. He kept using the grip on your arms as leverage to fuck your harder. Now your drool was pooling underneath you.
If this was supposed to be a punishment of some sort, then well, it wasn’t really working as he intended.
You’ll learn nothing from this and Lalo knows it. If anything it probably encouraged you more…
