whydoilovehim

[whydoilovehim]

❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞

Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k

warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)

masterlist;

authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...

*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.

He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.

The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.

Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.

Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.

“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.

But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.

It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.

“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her. “It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.

The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.

“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.

‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him. It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.

“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs. “I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”

He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.

“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.

“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.

“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were. But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.

“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”

“Are you sure — “

“Dude!”

The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.

The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.

He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.

When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."

Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”

You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.

“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”

' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.

Vander liked his privacy after all.

The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?

He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.

Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.

The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.

He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.

“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs. “Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

That makes Sevika snort. “(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.

But just for you? This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.

“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room. “About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues; “The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,

"Poor bastard."

"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.

"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."

"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"

The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.

Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.

He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.

"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.

"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider. "You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse. "Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.

The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.

Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.

"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.

The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.

"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.

"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."

He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.

The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.

Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.

"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."

He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.

The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.

Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.

Oh, (Y/N).

You're his undoing.

Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.

"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."

There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.

"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.

"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.

"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.

"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.

But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.

Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.

“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.

“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.

Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.

His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.

“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.

More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, say my name, baby.”

Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.

“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.

“Absolutely rotten.”

Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.

“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.

“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.

“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”

He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.

Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.

You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.

Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.

Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.

“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he growls out.

“You’ll die happy, don’t — mngh — duh-don’t...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.”

The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.

In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.

You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.

He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.

“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.

“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.

He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.

The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.

Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.

God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.

“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.

When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.

“Lube, darlin’?”

You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.

Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.

“I know that, boy.” “D’you?”

Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.

“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”

“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.

Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.

“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.

“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“

Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.

Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.

No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.

Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.

That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).

"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.

Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.

He loves you.

Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.

"Vander, Vander — "

He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.

The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.

"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.

"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"

Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.

"Don't flatter yourself, baby."

Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.

You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.

"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.

Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."

"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.

It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.

"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.

You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.

"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries." "About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own. "He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."

Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.

"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.

Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.

"Of course, sir."

[whydoilovehim]

can I request Javier Peña x ftm reader ?

Like reader maybe works at the us embassy and he becomes friends with javi and tries not to fall desperately in love so fluff angst smut whatever all is good idk or care what happens haha I will do anything for that man 😓 tysm for being another male writer i am so sick of Pedro universe characters being written about with only women :((

and if y are not in a fixation (am the same way with that too) of Peña I would love maybe Tim Rockford +ftm reader or Joel if u are into them at the moment. just Pedro simping out rn it’s insane

thank u so much again ! am stoked to see this or any other fics yu write!!

Holy SHIT this took a while!! I'm so sorry but i literally finished Narcos s3 and fell into a writing slump T-T I finally got this out tho and tbh, i like this one, so i hope you all too! Tysm for requesting, I hope this is a good enough Javier Peña fic! If there are any mistakes please don't hesitate to tell me! <3  Remember to Reblog!

Rookie

Tags: Javier Peña x FtM!reader, Javier Peña x m!reader, Javier Peña x agent!Reader, Steve Murphy, Connie Murphy, Colonel Carillo, other DEA personels, First Meeting, Fluff, Slight smut, making out, Kissing, EXCESSIVE eye contact, Slight OOC, Smitten Javier, Javi is DONE FOR, Bisexual Javier Peña, supportive Steve, He’s an ally!, I dont understand how police ranks work okay, so sorry if theres mistakes about those!, Period typical Homophobia, Period typical Transphobia, Use of queer slurs, sorry guy!, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Patching up, All English, Gunshot, Alcohol, injuries, No one dies! (Note: I can reclaim the slurs used in this fic as I am in fact a queer, trans man.)

Javi’s breath got caught. The man simply meets his dark browns, thick lashes blink slowly before he promptly tilts his head. Then he breaks eye contact, turning back to Carillo, continuing their conversation. The colonel said something which made the man laugh, creases on the edges of those captivating eyes, the way his lips curled with a professional laugh. Javier finds it hard to rip his attention away. Only when Steve promptly cleared his throat did Javi blink, glancing over to his workmate, who was fixing him with a glare. 

Javier scoffs, turning away. 

—

Javier was at his desk when an unfamiliar face came waltzing into the department. The guy seems to follow behind Steve, a confident smile on his lips. The agent takes a sip of his coffee, following the man with his eyes before he disappears into Carillo’s office. He blinks, promptly places his mug back down and rereads the passage before he got distracted.

A minute later, Steve walks out without the mystery man and makes his way to his desk, facing Javier. Curiosity got the best of him, so when his friend went to take a seat, he leaned over his desk enough to whisper to him.

“A new guy? One of yours?”

Steve blinks, before he huffs. “Yeah, the embassy sent him over, apparently he’s got a record with tracking down slippery dealers back in the US, and thought we need more help,”

“Sure, more mouths to feed,” That made Steve scoffs. Javier sits back down, still eyeing Careillo’s office, which makes the blond raise a brow. 

“Don't break him Jav’s,”

“What are you even talking about?” The agent picks up his cup, taking a gulp. 

“You know what I mean,” Steve simply replies, already pulling up his file folder and looking into it. Javier shakes his head, backing up into his chair and resuming his work.

The new guy spent half an hour in the office before he came out, shaking Carillo’s hand with a firm nod. Seems like he already got the guy on his side. Carillo talks to him out of earshot, then suddenly points to Javi’s and Steve’s direction, which makes Javi meet the guy's eyes. 

Javi’s breath got caught. The man simply meets his dark brown, thick lashes blink slowly before he promptly tilts his head. Then he breaks eye contact, turning back to Carillo, continuing their conversation. The colonel said something which made the man laugh, creases on the edges of those captivating eyes, the way his lips curled with a professional laugh. Javier finds it hard to rip his attention away. Only when Steve promptly cleared his throat did Javi blink, glancing over to his workmate, who was fixing him with a glare. Javier scoffs, turning away. 

“Gentlemen, meet our new field agent,” Carillo stands next to their desks, beside him the man stood, button up and in casual pants as he hugs a briefcase, a dark denim jacket over everything. 

“This is Agent Javier Peña, and you’ve met Murphy,” He continued. The man nods at Steve before extending his hand to Javi, which he shakes easily. He notes the calluses on the man's hand before he lets go. 

He introduced himself, stating his purpose. And Steve was right, the embassy did send another agent they thought could help on the hunt. “Pleasure meeting you, Agent Peña,” 

He smiled, a small nod before he moved back beside the colonel. Javier only ran his gaze up and down the man, before promptly nodding. “Welcome to the hunt,” 

—

Agent Peña looked at you up and down, before he nodded. “Welcome to the hunt,”

The colonel smirks, before he pats you on the shoulder. He turns, presumably to return to his office, which leaves you in front of the two agents. On Steve's left, there's an empty desk, which must've been cleared out for you. You gave Agent Peña a once over, the man currently blowing smoke from his lips, before you cleared your throat. “Good luck on today, agents,” 

And with that, you left the two to set up your own space. You heard a huff from one of them, you couldn't pinpoint who, which made you roll your eyes. The embassy entrusted you to help the Search Bloc on locating Pablo Escobar, or at least find more of his sicarios and drug kitchens in order to stop and raid them. You did your job well back in the US, easily finding many drug distributors, often leading the raids there. Seeing your rapid success, you’ve been transferred to the DEA, which you took with pride. In the midst of all the wars, the good guys need all the manpower they can get. 

You begin to open your case, pulling out files you brought from the US of what leads you’ve gathered even before getting assigned to Bogota. After setting them out, you slide off your jacket and drape it over your chair. Maybe it was your mistake of wearing denim to a hot climate, but there wasn't as much time as you anticipated when Steve picked you up from the apartment you were staying in, so you picked the jacket you arrived with the day before, which resulted in a steady gathering of sweat near your collarbones. After securing your jacket, you begin rolling up the sleeves of your beige button-up, exposing your forearms to what air is still available in the stuffy office. You sigh, before taking a seat at your desk, beginning work. 

—

The brunette swore under his breath as he saw their new agent standing meters away from him, just behind Steve. He begins to roll up his sleeves to combat the heat, which exposes his forearms, the soft smattering of hair running up the lengths of them. Javier could keep his thoughts to himself when the man only took off his denim jacket, which Javi almost snickered at and almost commented on the ‘rookie mistake’, but when he peeled the jacket off, it reveals the way his pants hugs the swell of the man's ass, which raises heat under Javier's collar.

He tried to look back down to the important paperwork he should be pouring work into but he’s long abandoned that when steady hands reveal entracing arms. When he sat down, Javi instead bit the inside of his cheek before taking a long drag of his cigarette. There's no way Steve didn't notice, but he appreciates the silence he gives him instead of an accusatory glare.  

Javier had his fair share of experiences with women, mainly his valuable informants around the city, but aside from that, men are unfamiliar territory for him. That doesn't mean it deters him, Javi is anything but exploratory on that side of the spectrum. But finding interest in a co-worker is new, especially a fresh face that showed up mere hours ago in the compound. It worries him, something small in the back of his head telling him to reel back, to run away from those hypnotizing eyes and soft smile, but another part urges him to know, to be curious. Javier stands, pocketing his cigar packets.

“Where are you going?” Steve glances toward his friend, brows furrowed.

“Out, smoke,” Javier simply says before he leaves his partner. Steve only stares at him incredulously before shaking his head, turning back to his papers. 

—

It had turned late. When everyone in the office had decided to retire, some of the guys invited themselves to one of the bars near there, and somehow Javier found himself roped in with the others. To be fair, Steve was the one that invited him, and Javi doesn't really refuse a chance to get himself drunk, maybe pick up a gal before bringing her home for the night, but all his plans went straight out the window when he heard that they also invited the rookie. 

He was standing beside Steven when the man decided he has had enough of socializing with the others and excused himself, heading to the bar. Javier has already started to miss his short laughs and nods as if he understood what his co-workers said. It would surely surprise him if he knew Spanish, maybe basics and everyday words, but unlike Steve, he only arrived in Bogota this week. But it’s rude to assume, people come with varying background knowledge, so Javier turns to the group instead. 

“I heard some gossip about the new guy,” One of them says, eliciting a curious glance from Javi. “Something about him not being a man?”

“Like one of those queer freaks?” 

“Apparently they're called a tranny now,” Some laugh, others shudder before muttering the Lord's prayer.

“God save them,” A couple drinks to that. Steve meets eyes with Javier, something wary in his glance. Javi only rolls his eyes before finishing his shot. He has no business spending time with the likes of these men, if they even deserved to be called men. For all he knows, the man that currently has his back turned toward the table is more of a man than any of them. 

He’s glad to have Steve as his partner. Maybe it's due to the nature of having grown up somewhere like the USA, but the first time Steve found out that Javier has an interest in men, he only shrugged and never saw Javi in another light. From this conversation, Javier also clocks how tired Steve is over the homophobic bullshit their co-workers have. The brunette sighs, blowing out smoke. He goes to take another sip but realizes his empty glass, and pats Steven to indicate his leave to the bar.

He saddles up next to the rookie, the man's fringe slightly blocking Javi to those addictive eyes. He orders another drink, which catches the man's attention. 

"Peña,” He nods and takes a gulp of his drink. Javier is momentarily distracted by the long column of the man's neck, before he shakes his head, resting one arm on the counter. 

"So, what's a handsome man like you doing here?” Javi tries to smile, which might have worked, judging by the grin that appears on the man's lips. He looks down, the condensation coating those lithe fingers, Javier notices. 

“Just trying to pass the night,” He shrugs with a small smile, deciding to humor him. He swirls the alcohol in his glass and Javier follows the movement. He hadn't realized how close he was sitting next to the man. “Listen, Agent Peña-”

“Javier- Javi,” 

Javi’s response made him chuckle. He sips at his drink, before fully turning to face the brunette. “Isn't there a rule against fraternizing with a fellow co-worker, Javi?” 

“Not when it’s outside of work,” That makes the man grin, subconsciously leaning into Javi’s space. 

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been following me with your eyes,” He says, glancing briefly at Javi's lips before returning to his eyes. Javi gulps.

“What can I say, I have an eye for attractive people,” 

“Well, considered me flattered,” Javi tilts his head just so, breathing in the tang of alcohol in the man's breath. They’re dangerously close, too close for just ‘co-workers’. Regardless, Javier finds himself entranced by those deep eyes. 

“But,” He suddenly leans back. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” The man picks at his breast pocket before putting down some bills, already reaching for his draped jacket. He swiftly pulls it on, making Javi scramble out of his seat, before he pats his shoulder twice, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peña,”

Javier is left starstruck. He stays in his seat, following the sway of the man's hips as he walks across the bar, waving to Steve, before exiting through the door. Javi swears, his brows furrowed as he gulps down what's left of his drink. He turns in his seat, spotting Steve still at the table with the others, an accusatory brow raised. 

Steve drives back to the apartment with Javi. They share an understandable silence. 

—

It's the second month since your arrival. 

To your disappointment, progress was slow. To no one's surprise, it seems, but from your prestigious work back in the US, the expectation that you’d help with the hunt was high. To just be another field agent with no lead on Escobar in the compound would be a failure to you.

Though the search hasn't gotten any easier, your relationship with your co-worker has. Mainly with Murphy and Peña, and at this point they’ve insisted on you using their first names, so it's Steve and Javier now. They've invited you to drink more than once, spent late nights with you when the paperwork came down like an avalanche, and most of the time, Steve always brings back three boxes of food when it comes to lunch. 

Somehow, Steve has grown closer to you than you expected. When you were overcome with work, Steve would make sure you and Javi weren't missing your break time. He’d pull the both of you out into the cold night air when it turned too late. He fusses over your choice of fashion more times than you could count, commenting on your choice of jacket or shirt, reminding you of the weather and how it’ll be affected with heat. On stakeouts and recon missions, Steve would be the one to pat your jittery leg softly, an encouraging smile beneath his stache. You’d nod, inhaling deeply before releasing the air alongside your tension. 

Then there is Javier. Though you met Steve before him, Javier had caught your interest since the first day. His constant sharp eyes and the lingering smell of nicotine become addictive, the memory of that night at the bar in constant repetition. You could still remember his scent, a combination of something heady, a touch of smoke and sun underneath it all. You were a breath away from his lips, the dimmed light of the bar didn't help to distract you from his captivating brown eyes. 

Ever since then, thankfully, you’ve gotten closer to him. Javi spends more time with you than Steve. Some nights, he’d stay behind when Steve needed to retire earlier. He’d give you a ride back to your apartment, which turns out just a couple blocks down from where he and Steve stayed. Some nights you’d stop by, from Javi’s invitation, and chat about nothing and everything while sharing a couple of bottles of beer. He’s good company, and you always find yourself hoping for an invitation from him whenever it gets too late. 

This week was different.

There was a shootout. While raiding one of Escobars many drug kitchens, a stray bullet from one of the guards shoots your arm. You screamed and dropped to the floor, immediately gripping your upper arm. You were sure the bullet was still inside which doesn't make it a clean shot. The pain shoots throughout your upper body, making you wheeze out every breath, sweat gathering on your crown. A minute later, Steve was crouched beside you, hauling you up, putting most of your weight on him. 

He brought you outside and into the awaiting medical group. You were rushed into the emergency room, and you shortly passed out. 

Buzzing fluorescent lights woke you up. Blinking away the groggy sleep, you notice a heavy weight on the back of your arm and realize it must've been the IV. Finally regaining enough strength to fight against the blaring lights, you open your eyes to find Javi slumped on a seat next to your bed, a thin blanket draped over him. Seeing him asleep, clear lines of exhaustion under his eyes, something wells inside your heart. You quickly dismiss the feeling as dehydration instead and try to turn your body to reach for the glass of water on the tray next to you. The noise must've awoken your partner, because as soon as you try to stretch your arm for the glass, Javi quickly fills it up with water and hands it to you. You blinked, before slowly accepting the cup and taking big gulps. 

The water extinguishes your drought, but not the other growing feeling. The cup sits on your lap, both of your hands holding it while you catch your breath. Javi has taken his seat again, the blanket draped over the back of the chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” You scoff, glancing at your currently bandaged hand. Javi looks at the tiled floor. “But, not my worst,”

“You’ve been shot before?”

“Yeah, on my calf once, the other near my ass,” You chuckle, remembering those years prior before officially gaining your Agent title. “Almost made my legs not work if it weren't for the surgery,”

You found yourself looking into Javi’s deep browns, his brows knitted. “This is just another day on the job,”

“Yeah…” Javi nods solemnly. You were back to staring into the half-empty glass before you felt your partner's warm hand wrap around yours.

It had been a couple of days after that.

Your arm was sadly still in a light, and you were lucky it wasn't your dominant one. Menial tasks are made difficult by the pain that still spreads sometimes, which also raises your annoyance. 

Javi has graciously allowed you to crash in his apartment until your arm has properly healed up. The doctors said it’d take another week or two for your arm to sort itself out, so you're stuck doing things one-handed for the time, sometimes helped by Javi. You've been given orders to stay out of the office because you were insistent on finishing work there, but Javi and Steve brought back your paperwork into Javi’s apartment against your wishes. 

The clock reads 8 PM. Javi has decided to come home earlier than his usual shifts, his excuse; is to help you prepare dinner. Javi has gone as far as to get a cookbook with the help of Connie, making dishes he’s familiar with. 

The sound of the door clattering pulls you away from your paperwork, and you spot the brunette bringing two whole bags of groceries inside. You quickly stand and rush over, prying one bag from his hand. 

“Javi, what's all of this?” The man only blinks as he hauls the bag onto the countertop.

“We can't really survive with just beer,” He shrugs, which makes you chuckle, and bring the other bag, putting it next to it.

“What were you working on?” He continues, pulling out groceries from the bag. You leaned on the counter, caressing your bandaged hand. 

“Just finishing up the report from our last bust,” You wiggle what you could of your bandages arm. “Y’know,” 

Javier solemnly nods, pushing a can into the cupboard. You've moved on pretty quickly from the incident, but something hangs around Javier, making him hard to reach sometimes, especially if you bring up the subject. You know trying to pry the reason out of him would result in coming up empty, so you've decided to wait until he's come to his own term. 

“I'm gonna start on dinner,” He turns, hips leaning on the counter so he faces you. Your eyes impulsively trace the languid way he sways before turning your head slightly, not meeting Javier's dark browns. 

You nod quickly, already feeling the blush forming. “Yeah, sure,” You add before walking back to the couch. 

—

Dinner went by quickly, Javier whipped up something easy for you to digest and quick to make. When you were writing down other notes in your report, Javi calls you to eat and spends the rest of the time talking about his day in the office. Apparently, Steve was worried, asking Javi if he’s been taking care of their partner correctly. He’s had to shrug off Steve’s insistent questions the whole day, which made you chuckle.

After cleaning up, Javi joins you on the couch, bringing two bottles of beer. He hands one to you which you accept with a thankful nod. The couch dips as Javi takes a seat, his head tilts back as he takes a gulp. You blink before taking a short sip, averting your eyes. 

When the man beside you shifts, you half-heartedly thought he was reaching for his pack of cigs. He hasn't been smoking since you crashed in his home, and it slowly became odd, watching Javi’s relaxed posture whenever you both sit together without silver smoke framing his profile. But you've been expecting wrong, because he only shifts to adjust his seating before settling back, his usual pack of cigarettes nowhere in sight. You worry slightly if he stopped because of your presence, even though you enjoy sneaking glances whenever he inhales, the muscles on his neck almost prominent, the way he’ll tilt just the slightest to reveal the expanse of skin, most of the time glistening under the Columbian heat. 

“Listen… About the last week,” Javier’s tone sobers you from your daydreaming. The man is hunched over, arms on his knees, one hand swirling the alcohol. Something in the air sours. 

“I should've been there, I should've- Shouldn’t have gone for that fucking guy, I should've stayed behind-”

“Javi there wasn't any way we could've known-”

“But it shouldn't have been you.” His hand lands on your injured arm, his body facing you. He hesitates; the movement seems accidental, but your hand covers him before he can move it away. You can't keep letting Javi get away with blaming things on himself. 

“Javier, it wasn't your fault. Like I said,” Your head tilts, mustering a small smile to coax Javi from staring at the floor. He notices the pause and meets your eyes. “It's just another day on the job,”

The air hangs heavy, only mere inches sitting between you and Javi. His brows furrowed slightly, hand tightening beneath yours. Your eyes follow the minutely twitch on the man's lips. Javi gulps when his eyes go to your lips fleetingly. Your breath catches. You feel yourself quiver. 

“Javi….” was the last you breathed out before the man pulls at your shirt, closing the gap and pushes his lips against yours. Javi’s staches tickle the top of your lips, the slide of his slightly chapped lips against yours. Your hand holds his jaw, before brushing at the short hair on Javi’s neck. He shivers, shifting himself to press harder against your lips, his hand releases your shirt but moves to hold your hips, eliciting a gasp from you. He uses the chance to slip his tongue between your lips, making you shift until you hit the back of the couch. Your hand travels down from his jaw to brush over his chest, you stored the slight hitch in Javis' breath inside your memory, before you find the man's waist and he moves to straddle your thighs, aware of your healing arm but somehow not breaking the kiss. 

When the need to breathe finally separates you and Javi, his chest heaves, pretty lashes flutter against his cheek. A steady hue of red spreads on his face down to his neck. You manage to regain your composure slightly, one thumb pressing slithy into Javi’s hip, making him drop to your shoulder, burying himself between your neck. You grin, now patting Javi’s hair softly. Your mind focuses on the unsteady beats of Javi’s heart that matches yours, still trying to tap down your adrenaline. 

“I should be careful about your arm,” Javi suddenly says, sitting upright on top of you. It makes you laugh slightly, which Javi smiles at. 

“I’ll be alright, Javi,” You grin, cataloging the way the dim light reflects in his dark irises. “We’ll be alright.” 

Requests are open! Remember to reblog! ^-^

[whydoilovehim]

All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment. 

It started innocently enough.

 Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue. 

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

 An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly. 

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise. 

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you. 

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward. 

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion. 

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally. 

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew. 

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human. 

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship? 

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits. 

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress. 

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity. 

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt. 

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him? 

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face. 

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries. 

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree. 

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to. 

He could create. 

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber. 

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth. 

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand. 

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction. 

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth. 

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so. 

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination. 

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed. 

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest. 

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix. 

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy. 

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers. 

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself. 

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again. 

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity. 

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth. 

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?" 

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile. 

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself. 

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth. 

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva. 

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him." 

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck 

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes. 

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger. 

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further. 

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?" 

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle. 

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery. 

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain. 

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt. 

Hatred. 

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment. 

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you. 

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination. 

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body. 

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree. 

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you. 

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his. 

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination. 

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan. 

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe. 

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters. 

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab. 

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth. 

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes. 

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze. 

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth. 

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship. 

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away. 

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat. 

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state. 

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine" 

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure. 

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh. 

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

 But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement. 

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him. 

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with. 

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back. 

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. 

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean. 

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused. 

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has. 

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come. 

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life. 

[whydoilovehim]

Who Had A Cookie?

Blurb: One where you're the f1 drivers manager, and when all the boys seem to have eaten a 'magic cookie' you're the one who needs to clean up all the mess.

Notes: I was inspired by the one greys anatomy episode lol but I thought this was a funny concept. This is also my first fic I’ve posted in 6 months!! I found it in my drafts and decided to post! Enjoy xx

Warnings: well mention of drugs, might be some swearing but other than that nothing lol Platonic!reader x f1 drivers and a little bit of reader x Charles leclerc

Who had the cookies?

You loved charity events, especially f1 charity events. You loved your job for giving you the opportunity to attend these events. A very easy night if you say so yourself, babysitting twenty grown men, what could go wrong? Especially when cameras and fancy investors are around they behave all on their own, leaving you to relax, and indulge in some free champagne.

“Y/n.” your name was mumbled behind you, startling you as your attention now shifted to your assistant.

You knew something was wrong by the way she was twiddling her fingers, her black nails contrast to her white dress as she brings her left index nail up to hold between her teeth.

“Jenny? Spit it out.” You stood up straight, urging your assistant.

She stands up straight as if she's trying to muster up some sort of courage, she looks around before she leans in closer to you, you can almost hear her shaky breaths.

“There were some cookies… and erm, well they were placed in the drivers dressing room, and I don’t know how they got there. I mean, I certainly didn’t sign them off so this is no way my fault and-“ she was talking a mile a minute you couldn't even understand her.

“Jenny!” You took her hands that were waving in the air and bought them back down to her chest.

“Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong?” you said sternly. 

“Don’t fire me… please.” You could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but the anticipation was killing you, you windened your eyes and stayed quiet so she could carry on.

“There were compromised cookies gifted to the driver's dressing room.”

“And?”

“And- and now the tin is empty, as in they've all gone. The cookies have been eaten y/n. Cannabis cookies.”

Your hands ran to your mouth as your eyes immediately darted around the room to look for anything out of the ordinary.

The room was spinning as you whipped your neck around in different directions.

George russel was the first to catch your attention.

He looked fine…he was leaning against a wall, chewing…

He was chewing on a cookie.

“Oh my god.” You started to push through the crowd of people in the hall.

“George! Drop that cookie!”

George’s eyes lit up when he saw you, one of his many managers. You could see the cookie crumbs falling from his mouth as he smiled, chocolate smudged around the corners of his lips.

“Y/n, you have to try these cookies!” He desperately said, holding up his half eaten cookie. But much to his dismay you slapped it out of his hand, letting it fall right to the floor. George’s lips downturned and your name fell in a groan from his lips as he looked at his cookie on the floor.

“Spit.” You held your hand out, as gross as it was.

“I will not!” He sassed you as you pointed your finger at him, eyebrows furring trying to be as intimidating to the six foot man as possible. George sent you one of his signature smirks as he swallowed the mouthful of cookie in one large gulp.

“George, those are not regular cookies-“

“Tell me about it! Send from the heavens.” he smiled, almost robotic, like the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Your own eyes widened as you realised one of your clients was stoned.

Completely and utterly stoned.

You were fucked.

You could feel Jenny breathe behind you, she let out a small giggle at George's actions causing you to turn and scowl at her.

“Grab him and take him to the dressing room, and don’t let him talk to anyone. lock him in there and then come back to help me gather anyone else who had had a cookie.”

She nodded as she grabbed George’s arm, telling him they were going on an adventure, George happily complying.

You sighed as you looked for anyone else.

You were at a very high class charity gala in Monaco. This night was about to be ruined and you were about to be fired for letting your drivers get out of control and well, high.

You decided making an announcement on the stage was your best bet, walking through the crowds of people you felt someone grab your arm.

“Y/n!” Lando Norris. 

He giggled as he said your name. Making him repeat himself.

“Y/nnnnnn.” He covered his mouth to stop the giggles. “Sorry, just, why does your name sound so weird?”

You had to try so hard to keep your face straight at the boy's child like giggles.

“Why are you laughing like that?” Carlos walked over, playing his arm over his wobbly ex teammate.

“Carlos!” you and lando both said in unison.

“Your hair is so soft, like fur.” Lando said as his hands made their way into Carlos's long brown locks. Carlos eyes widen as he looks at the boy then back at you, trying to pull Landos hands out of his hair.

“Carlos, did you have a cookie?” You eyed up the Spaniard.

“What cookie?” He frowned at you.

“Ugh, thank god! Landos had a erm.” You leaned into him so no one around would hear, “Some of the drivers have eaten cannabis laced cookies.”

Carlos’ head turned as he looked back at Lando, eyes widening.

“Take him back to the dressing room please, just lock him in there with George, and if you see anyone else take them with you.” 

Carlos just nodded, letting his mate lean on him as he dragged him to the back of the room.

You let out a sigh of relief, that was three out of a possible twenty.

Only seventeen more to find.

You walked up to the stage, grabbing the mic, tapping it slightly.

“Hello, everyone. I hope everyone is having a good night, erm, could all formula one drivers that have eaten a cookie this afternoon please meet back in the dressing room, important meeting. Thank you.” You smiled at the crowd, you could hear the whispers as you stopped off the stage. 

“Y/n?” 

Max. 

“I had a cookie, and I don't feel too good, like - like i'm not here, i've been over there.” He pointed to the corner of the room, “and I thought I was dreaming y/n. I dont know whats happening to me?” He looked panicked as he clutched onto your upper arm.

“You're okay max, you had some magic cookies.”

“Magic cookies?”

“Just come with me okay?”

He nodded his head vigorously as he followed you though the crows, clutched to your hand like a toddler. 

You noticed Daniel on the way, opting to grab him too.

“Danny!”

“Hello.” he had, in a very nonchalant tone, unlike his bubbly self. He was definitely stoned.

“Are you okay?”

“I feel great.” he smiled, but his eyes didn't quite catch up to him.

You grabbed his arm and dragged him along with max.

“Y/n? Where are we going?” Max asked anxiously.

“To sit down.”

You dragged them both into the room, when you got in there you could see George sat curled up on the window seal, lance was sat back against the wall staring at the floor. Seb was giggling at Mick who had all of a sudden become hyper aware of his body, saying he could feel his ‘skin’.

Pierre was touching his face in the mirror while Yuki was at the snack table. 

You let out a relieved sigh as Jenny had managed to capture some of the drivers, a few turning up after hearing your announcement. 

“Okay boys go play.” You pushed Daniel and Max into the room. 

“Dan, dan, danny, daniel.” Pierre called Daniel over to the mirror. “Why don't I look like me?” Pierre asked daniel. 

Pierre gasped and turned to a very relaxed Daniel, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Daniel, do you think I look weird?” Panicked. 

“Coolllll.” Daniel replied as he smiled straight though pierre.

“You're right, I'm too cool to care.” Pierre nodded and turned back to the mirror to straighten out his shirt.

“This room is full of some very… high men.” Seb looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Seb? Please tell me-”

“I didn't. Don't worry. I'm watching my weight.” he winked at you. “I'm happy to look after these guys while you get the others?”

You replied a quick thank you as you quickly shut the door, bolting back into the hall. Then you realised, opening the door back open and peering through, 

Where were Lando and carlos?

You rushed back out, looking down the bottom of the hallway, choosing to search the rest of the building, you came to the fire escape stairs where you found a curled up charles rocking back and forward. 

“Charlie?” you gently called out as you crouched down next to him, placing a hand on his knee.

“Y/n?” He quietly replied. 

“It's me, it's just me. How are you feeling?” you gently asked him.

“I- i don't know, i've never felt like this before.” He said raising his head, his eyes bloodshot and skin pale, he had a cookie.

You smiled at him as you brushed his fallen hair back from his forehead.

“You're going to be alright, come with me okay?”

You pulled him up to his feet where he looked down at you, sniffing before a little smile climbed his face.

“You're so pretty y/n.” You giggled at the boy as you took his hand and made your way down the steps to the drivers room.

“Like a princess.” he added, his hands waving in the air.

“Thank you, charlie.” you giggled.

“Charlie,” he smiled, “have i ever told you how much i love it when you call me that, charlie.” he smiled and repeated the nickname again, leaning his head on your shoulder as you both made your way down the stairs.

Charles lightly sighed as you pushed him into the drivers room, “Where are you going?” Charles whispered, pulling on your arm.

“I'll be back in five minutes okay, Seb will look after you.”

Charles nodded his head to look for seb, you both grimace when you saw mick with his head in the trash can, seb rubbing his back as pierre and yuki giggle at him in the corner. 

You walked back out the room when Jenny was running up to you, “Y/n! Huge problem, Carlos and Lando are on the stage!”

Ou barge past her and walk into the room to see Carlos with a mic in his hand, Lando leaning into him in fits of laughter.

“All I'm saying is, I race really fast cars, like that's super cool, right? There's only twenty of us that do that. So cool, im so cool, im a cool guy.'' Carlos giggled as he spoke about himself on stage.

“You could die? I could die? Imagine that! The world would be so sad, my smooth operator.” Lando giggled at the nickname and then started to sing. 

And before you knew it they were two verses deep into smooth operator, Carlos opting to show off his opera skills at one point. 

You jumped on the stage taking the mic out of Carlos' hands and putting your hand over it so you could whisper shout in his ear, “You said you didn't have any cookies!”

Carlos snickered as he looked at Lando who gasped and held his hand over his mouth.

“You lied to y/n?” Lando giggled. “Oh man you're in so much trouble.” Landos face dropped as he leaned into carlos’ face, “she looks mad, we should probably run.”

Carlos nodded along with the boy when you grabbed both of their arms, “Nope. No more running, you're coming with me.”

Carlos shook his head like a caught child and both men giggled as you pushed them off the stage, apologising to the crowd before handing the mic back to the dj. 

“Y/n!”

You sighed as your name was called for about the fifth time that night, this time though, it was serious.

Zac Brown made his way over to the three of you, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Lando straightened his posture as Carlos crossed his arms and impersonated Zac, Lando caught onto this and all of a sudden the boys were in crying fits of laughter again. You winced as Landos cackle echoed through the hall, catching the attention of people around.

“What. The. Hell?”

“I can explain.” you winced at the man.

“What is going on here?” He eyed up his driver and ex driver, who he presumed had too much to drink.

“They're high. Someone laced some cookies and I'm so sorry, I have the situation under wraps, they won't be a problem anymore.”

But when Zac started to laugh along you realised maybe it wasn't just some of the drivers who had had some cookies.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” You grabbed Zac as well as Lando and Carlos and dragged them back to the dressing room.

“Y/n, Your back!” Charles made his way over to you, engulfing you into a hug.

“Y/ns back!” Max screamed as he fell off the sofa, plunging his way into your arms along with charles.

“Hey get off her, she's my manager!” Max shoved Charles hand that was loosely placed on your shoulder. 

“She's mine too!”

While the two men started to fight over your attention you scanned the drivers that were in the room. Jenny had managed to catch the majority and even some of the drivers that weren't high had opted to help.

Max shoved Charles in hopes he would let go of you, instead causing you to stumble back into the arms of someone else.

“Okay okay, we get it, she's pretty but you're suffocating her, and she won't be very pretty when she's dead on the floor.” a spanish accent can be heard behind you. 

Fernando unwrapped both men as they both started to profusely apologise about ‘nearly killing you.’

You rubbed your hand over your head after smiling at Fernando in a thank you as he sent Charles and Max to the food table.

“You look stressed.” he said with a smirk as you both watched the men in the room.

“I need a cookie.” you joked, your eyes on mick who was still throwing up.

“I could always make you some.” he shrugged.

You laughed at the man before your eyes widened in realisation, you turned to him, face like thunder, “You!”

He threw his hands up in the air, “In my defence i didn't mean for anyone to eat them. It was a total accident.”

Your mouth agape you turned to look at the Spaniard ready to scream every curse word you know. He sensed your anger, “it was an honest mistake y/n, trust me. You think I would have wasted all of them cookies on these people on purpose.”

Your eyes darted daggers and Fernando understood you were really mad, in an attempt to lighten the mood he pointed at Yuki and Pierre who were having the time of their lives giggling like two school girls in the corner.

“You have to admit, it is kinda funny,” he said.

A smile crept on your face as you giggled, it was kinda funny.

Yours and Fernandos giggling soon stopped when you saw Max and Checo arguing in the corner.

“I think Max is about to punch Checo for taking the last slice of pizza.” you said.

“Shit.”

[whydoilovehim]

as the poets say

Pairing: max verstappen x male reader (could be read by masc presenting people)

Summary: i would recognize him by touch alone, by smell, i would know him blind. I would know him in death, at the end of the world

warnings: sad, sad angst, i felt bad writing this. Angst, f1 stuff, talk about burns, fire, negative emotions.

a/n: this was a silly little revenge fic though its not silly anymore...i do wanna apologize to leo...I am sorry leo, apology fic is coming i promise

-> do not repost, copy or translate my works nor post them anywhere else. Read at your own risk. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated.

“𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖜𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖙,” “𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑”

The moon light softly shone through the curtains in the bedroom window, footsteps could be heard outside the door “now come on off to bed you two” sounds of laughter filled the corridor. Joy, happiness, content all the feelings one could feel that made them at peace Max felt with yn beside him. Max felt happiness everyday he opened his eyes to see yn laying beside him, he felt joy everyday he saw yn, he loved the way he could just rest his head on yn’s shoulder and would feel all the worries of the world fade away.

“Max? why are you standing there like statue, you should be resting” Yn’s voice interrupted max’s thoughts “uh-I-” y/n walks towards max and guides him to the bed of the apartment they were staying in during the race week. “I’m fine ynn, you don’t have to worry about me” max said as he sat down “you just want me to let you race by the end of the week, yet you had concussion” y/n says as he walks into the en-suite bathroom to get ready for bed himself “yeah but that was at the start of the week, I’m fully rested now and feel okay” y/n looks at max with the toothbrush in his mouth before he turns and spits the paste out “okay well then how many times did we go on a date before you asked me to be your boyfriend?” y/n asks with a smirk knowing it wouldn’t do anything but it was fun to tease max “oh come on baby” max whined softly as he walked over to y/n and rested his hands on y/n’s waist and looked at him through the mirror “…” y/n looks at max trying to hide his smile “you are such a tease” max said as he kissed the (h/c) head “learnt it from the best you know” y/n said turning around to see max shake his head “so…can I race??” y/n sighed at that and looked at max “oh oh omg! you are scared that I’m going to win and you’ll lose” max laughed as he said that whist y/n gave him a look that clearly said ‘bitch be fucking for real right now’ max controlled his laughter “well I guess I’ll just have to show you that I’m a better racer then you Mr.Verstappen” y/n said as he turned around and walked out the bathroom “let’s see who wins Mr.Verstappen” max said as he walked after y/n who sat on the bed looking at max, who climbed into the bed already knowing y/n was waiting for his cuddles. He opened his arms as y/n smiled and cuddled close resting his head on max’s chest playing with his fingers. “There is something on your mind…” max says as he looks down at y/n “I know you are trying to hide it, you’ve been doing it the whole day” max adds as y/n shrinks down “what’s going on baby?” max asks as y/n shakily sighs “well…I-I’ve been thinking-” y/n starts talking before being interrupted “a lot of it obviously” max says as y/n smiles and shook his head “let me continue before I chicken out please” max nods with a soft smile “sorry continue”

“so um-I-I’ve been thinking abo-thinking that this…this season might be my last” y/n says after taking a deep breath, Max seemed shocked, he was right to be shocked. Racing was yn’s dream forever, the only thing that mattered to him before max and the children was racing. He would put everything he had into racing, y/n was very clear about when max asked him to be his boyfriend. “are you sure about it?” max asked sitting up as when sat up and looked at max “I think I am…especially after your crash, it-it scared me too much. I-I know we both have had close calls in the past b-but this one was different, it was too real. I didn’t know what was going to happen, I had to keep driving my eyes were starting to water I couldn’t focus. I didn’t know what I’d do without you but you were okay, but as I walked into the hospital room to get you and just I couldn’t help but think” max knew how hard y/n was trying to hold himself together, he grabbed y/n’s hand in his as y/n continued “I couldn’t help but think what would happen to ashton and riley if something happened…to either one of us or both of us” max couldn’t help but pull y/n in for hug, he knew what it would’ve taken y/n to make such a decision “I know this was hard for you and I will fully support you with this in any way you want. It was always going to be your decision, I would never force you to leave and I’d never force you to stay.” Max says as he whispers making y/n smile “thank you for understanding, I was really scared of how you’d react for some reason” Max shook his head before softly kissing y/n “like I said it was always your decision baby”  

“but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat you in tomorrow’s race” y/n says with a smirk close to max’s face who thought y/n was leaning in for a kiss “you-” and that’s when y/n leaned in and kissed max while trying to control his smile. Max pulled y/n closer with hands on his waist, the kiss seemed to deepen itself, gentle but still passionate. Flipping y/n onto his back max leaned over him, hands beside y/n’s head “look at you…are you sure you are going to win baby?” max whispered in y/n’s ear before pulling him in for a kiss again…

{The next day}

Light passing through the sheer curtains makes max turn his back towards the window but sleep had already escaped him, he sighed softly opening his eyes looking at y/n who was still sleeping peacefully, blanket covering him though max could still see the marks from last night littering y/n’s body. Max couldn’t help but softly move y/n’s hair off his face, in a trillion years max couldn’t have thought he would have someone like y/n be his husband but here he was laying beside the love of his life, the half of his soul, as y/n would say sometimes or had saved his name on his phone with. Max felt y/n move beside him “good morning ynn” max whispered softly as y/n softly whined and moved closer to max “can you tell the sun to shut up” max laughed and pulled y/n closer “I don’t think the sun would listen to me baby” max says softly as y/n looks at max “why are you more comfortable then the bed?” y/n asks as max runs a hand through his hair, but before max could answer there was a soft knock on the door knowing it was one of the kids. Max grabbed the shirt from the floor and passed it to y/n before grabbing his own sleeping gown as he opened the door for the kids “good morning” y/n whispers softly as both of the kids run over to y/n “good morning papa” ashton says as max walked over to sit on the bed and smiled at you “so no good mornings for dad??” max asks jokingly as y/n looked at the kids as all three of them laughed “dad stinks, so no good mornings for dad” riley says as she cuddles close to y/n, her teddy held close to her. These were the types of morning max loved, slow and gentle sort of mornings where everything was quiet but not in an eerie way but in calm way. In a way that made you want to drag out the morning longer.

{race night}

A kiss shared between the two before getting in their respective cars, ready to get in their racing mode. Y/n closed his eyes before sighing ready to win this.

Time was going by fast out and inside of the cars. At every turn people held their breaths. Max had fallen behind y/n, he smirked at thought as he tried to speed up. He was soon close to passing y/n’s car, but it seemed too easy it was never easy to pass by y/n everyone on the grid knew that “is y/n’s car okay?” max asked on the radio as he passed by y/n “he is having slight problem with the car, he might have to box” the answer came, and max felt sad for y/n but he had to focus on the race.

That was the last time he saw y/n on the track, thinking y/n had boxed and had been pissed. Max had gotten the podium, what surprised was that y/n was not there as he usually was no matter how bad the race had been for him, he would always be there for max. Max had walked into the cool down room, where y/n would usually wait for him if he was in the cool down room before him but y/n was nowhere to be seen, max felt uneasy. Charles and Daniel had entered the cool room and both seemed like they had seen a ghost “why do you both look like you have seen a ghost?” max laughed as he sat down to drink some water in that moment the other two races look at the door to see max and y/n’s manager enter the room with a same face as Charles and Daniel who exchanged a look before looking back at max “Max…we-we have to tell you something before you go on the podium” Charles says as he moves closer to max, max looked at him and Charles was clearly trying to control himself but max didn’t know why though he had a feeling that he wished with every bone in his body wasn’t true. Daniel couldn’t even look at max in this moment, lost in his own thoughts.

They knew they couldn’t let him get on that podium without having known this whilst everyone else knew what had happened.

Max looked at Daniel, y/n’s best and closest friend outside of max, his gaze then turned to their manager who was looking at max and charles. And finally max looked at charles “what is it charles?” max asked holding eye contact with him. The long pause seemed like it was hours long but in real it was mere seconds before charles answered “th-there…max…there was a crash” max knew it deep down what charles meant but he wasn’t ready to believe it “what do you mean there was crash? Was it after I had crossed the line??” max asked pulling himself away from charles a little

“max it-” this time it was Daniel and max’s eyes snapped to him “who was it?” max’s voice sounded urgent almost as if he was in some sort of hurry “max-” charles says as he lays his hand on max’s shoulder but max shrugged the hand off and cut off charles “I asked…who was in the crash?” max asked again, the manager moved closer and looked at max.

“it was-it was y/n’s car…he lost control of it cause of the engine and-” charles looked at the manager to get them to stop “he needs to know” was the only thing they said before continuing while max just looked at them hoping it was some cruel joke and y/n would just come in through the door with his usual teasing smirk but alas it wasn’t “the car caught fire-” Max’s breath was caught is his throat, he felt like every bit of gravity in the world was trying to pull him down but he had to be with y/n, his words playing through max’s mind ‘I didn’t know what I’d do without you’  “max max, wait- wait a max you have to wait…he’s in surgery-”  max looks at charles “stop-i-I need to be there when he wakes up he will be- I cant leave him alone” max looks at the manager “I need to go to the hospital right now”

{flashback}

Y/n smiled as he heard the soft tune of the music, he had just put ashton to bed for a nap. Max's eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle as he walked over to the couch, y/n focused on the book he was reading already knowing what max was going to do. Without a word, max reached out his hand, a silent invitation laced with the promise of an unforgettable moment.

"Care to dance?" Max's voice was soft like a pillow, carrying a hint of excitement. A smile that mirrored his excitement spread across y/n’s lips as he nodded, "Of course."

With that, Max led y/n away from the comfort of the couch and into the centre of the room. The music wrapped around them like a warm embrace of the tune of the song. "You know this song always gets to me," Max murmured, his voice low and filled with warmth as he pulled y/n close. "I do know that" y/n replied softly, feeling his heart flutter at the intimacy of the scene. "It's like it was made for us."

"You're a vision tonight," Max whispered, his breath tickling y/n’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at max’s playful flirtation. "I’m wearing sweats, and you think I look like a vision. Smooth talker," y/n teased, leaning into max’s touch. "It's easy when I'm dancing with the most beautiful person in the room," Max replied, a smirk on his face whilst his gaze remained unwavering as he held y/n close. In that stolen moment, surrounded by nothing but the music and the warmth of Max's touch, y/n felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him as he said

"You are half my soul,"

{flashback end}

“max, Max” the manager shook max’s shoulder to get his attention “we are here” the manager said in a soft voice, max nodded and got out the car walking into the hospital but with the news already broken people were gathering around. Max had no energy to deal with anyone, he ignored everyone around him. The manager led him into the hospital but max doesn’t say much except a thanks as the memories of y/n clouded his mind as if it were a slow motion movie.

Max now sat in the waiting room while y/n was still in the operation room, max was now told that as the car caught on fire y/n tried to pull himself out but he didn’t realise that his legs were stuck. Max felt like his whole world had stopped, he tried to hold in his emotions not wanting to cry.

{flashback}

Under the shade of their favourite oak tree, max and y/n sat close together back against the trees. Their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves, their children playing in the background, y/n couldn’t help but smile at mundane and calm it all was. In that moment max stole a glance at y/n, the golden afternoon sunlight painting his features in a soft glow. "You know, you look absolutely breath-taking in this light," max murmured, y/n turned and looked him, y/n’s cheeks red with blush as he chuckled softly “you are flatterer, but thank you” he whispered, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, max reached for his phone, carefully trying to take a picture "What are you doing?" y/n asked, a playful curiosity dancing in his gaze. Max grinned, taking a quick picture now, before y/n could protest. "Capturing the moment," he replied, max heart fluttered at the candid shot of y/n's genuine smile.

{flashback end}

Max is brought out of his thoughts by the nurse coming out the operation room and as max looked at the nurse “he is still under surgery, it will take a while” the nurse said softly before leaving. Max leaned his head against the wall with his eyes closed not wanting to think about anything anymore-he just wanted y/n to be okay. In that moment the manager walks over to max and lightly shakes him “it’s the nanny” max looks at the phone and was quick to realize it was y/n’s, a soft sigh leaves max’s lips as he grabs the phone, as max puts the phone close to his ear he realizes the kids are on the call instead of the nanny “papa?” he hears ashton’s voice “hey kiddo, its dad” max tries to make his voice sound happy as much as he could in the moment “dad, where’s papa?” the 5 year old asked “um-he-he is just busy with something”

“b-but papa said he would read us a story” the 5 year old on the call sounded as if he was about to cry “hey hey ash please don’t cry…how-how about I read the story to you and riley?”

{timeskip}

[sad ending]

It felt like years had passed by just waiting in the waiting room, this time the surgeon appears with the same nurse as before with the look on their faces almost made max want to throw up. Max was still in his entire racing suit, he felt like it was constricting him feeling too close to his skin.

“We’re sorry. Y/n’s injuries were deeper and too severe then we predicted. He passed away, there was nothing more we could do” the surgeon says, it felt like the world came crashing down onto Max’s shoulders, he carried weights everyday at gym yet this weight felt like it would crush him. Max wasn’t even breathing at this point he almost falls back and drops into the chair “we’ll give you a moment” the surgeon says before looking at the manager.

Max’s tries to say something but all that could escape his throat was a sob.

They just had a talk about this, y/n was supposed to announce his retirement after this race. They were going to go back to their house after the season, they had planned it all. All of it lost in mere moments.

Max was the one who was reckless driver, if something like this were to ever happen it was supposed to be him, he’d be the one who was in that room.

Maybe this was a just a horrible nightmare he is getting cause of his concussion, maybe he is still a sleep in the hotel bedroom they were staying in.

There was clear denial, he didn’t want to think about it. It hurt to think about it a sort of hurt where someone had torn his limbs agonisingly slowly to cause him the worst pain they could.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked at the manager before looking at the surgeon “can-can I see him?” max asks his voice trembling and unrecognizable. Cracked and distorted like it was a child asking their dad for something after being shouted at. The surgeon looked at the manager before looking at max and nodding “of course”

The nurse who had come out earlier gives max a sympathetic smile before disappearing to make sure y/n was okay to be seen, before coming out the room and letting max in. Y/n’s body was covered by a white sheet, max walked closer only for him to close his eyes and turn and leave the room.

He couldn’t, he couldn’t see the love of his life like this. He couldn’t see ‘the half of his soul’ like this.

----

Telling the kids alone was an emotional turmoil but he had to tell them, they had the right to know. But having to be at the funeral made max numb, with hearing sorries from every corner and person who walked by him. Daniel and Charles (the kid’s god fathers) were looking after the kids who though didn’t completely understand but knew they had lost something. Max just sat there, not being able to say a word. He hadn’t cried once after seeing y/n in the room. Max just stared at the coffin as eulogies and heartfelt speeches were given.

Y/n’s gone, he’s gone…forever.

Max could never be the same, he could never be able to look at anything in the same way. It was all grey now. Max sat there not wanting to leave, he couldn’t even think about leaving. He sits there until Victoria walks over to him “…its time to go max” she says softly while putting a hand on his shoulder gently “we can come back later” she says before offering him, her hand. To her max had never looked so drained in a way. He looked like someone had sucked all of the joy out of him, max looked weak to her, max was never weak even when they were kids. He always tried to be strong no matter what had happened.

In that moment both charles and daniel came over to the two siblings. Daniel kneeled in front of max whilst charles grabs max’s hand “max come on, you can’t sit here all day” charles says and with that max got up though he didn’t tear his gaze away from the now buried coffin “he-he was supposed to retire after this season, he scolded me about not being safe and careful and being reckless, he we-we were working on having another kid” tears starting to gather in his red itching eyes, blurring his vision. Max’s voice raw and cracked “we will get you through this max, we will always be here for you…always” Daniel pulled max in for a hug. For Daniel, y/n was the person who got him through the darkest of times. Daniel loved y/n, loved him like little brother. Y/n was like a family for everyone on the grid, he’d leave everything that happened on the track on the track and help anyone who’d need his help off track.

Daniel was there when y/n told him about max, daniel was there when the two married, had their first kid. He was there since day one. And the same went for charles. Charles knew, he knew the depth of the love max felt for y/n, he would spent hours and hours talking about y/n even after they were married. Charles wasn’t even sure how they were going to help him through this because really he was not sure there will ever be a day that max could truly ever move on from y/n.

____________

‘I could have never imagined you not being here, its been 6 months and I still don’t know how to live without you. You brought light to my life and now its dark I can’t see anything without you, I miss you a lot more than I realized. Things keep happening and I find myself wishing I could tell you about them’

‘its been a year and I’ve been writing to you every day…I don’t even know why I do it but it just makes me feel at peace, that for a moment I’m hugging you again, that I have you in my arms again.

In the past year we did move from the house we bought together, I wrote to you about when that happened, it was too much to stay in that house for the kids…and me if I’m being honest.

You know whats funny, ever since Riley’s 5th birthday she is been very keen on getting into karting and eventually getting into f1. We had plans on getting both of them into karting and seeing where it went for them so I might do it…but I’m scared, I have fears now. I don’t even want to talk about it or even think about it. When she talks about karting she almost gets the same smile you did when you talked about racing. I try hard for them, I even go to therapy regularly and I know you will be cheering right now. God I miss you every second of the day, with everything I do. From going to the gym, to cooking food, it just makes me miss you too much’

‘its here 14 years later, riley made her debut in f1. She was so excited and instead of her being nervous I was but I remembered what you’d you tell me when I would be nervous ‘I’m right here…always’ but you…you weren’t there but I knew you were there in sprit supporting riley, I could feel your excitement somehow. Especially after she got the podium, it was a feeling, a deep feeling. I guess you were right…you are half my soul’

--------------

[happy ending for leo:)]

It felt like years had passed by just waiting in the waiting room, this time the surgeon appears with the same nurse as before. Max couldn’t figure out anything from the surgeon’s facial expression “h-how is he?” max finally asked, the surgeon gives a sympathetic smile “...he is going to be okay, he did code during the operation but he is okay” the surgeon says, it felt like the pressure on his shoulders was lifted. Max felt like he could finally breathe, relieve taking over his body that he almost falls back and drops into the chair “we’ll give you a moment” the surgeon says with a gentle smile.

Max sat there for a moment, trying to say something like a thank you but all that could escape his throat was grateful sob.

Max felt grateful, max just wanted to hold y/n. He had assumed the worst, he thought that his whole life would come plummeting down but y/n was okay, his husband was okay.

He felt a hand on his shoulder in that moment, he wiped some tears that escaped his eyes and looked up at the manager before looking at the surgeon “can-can I see him?” max asks his voice trembling trying not to cry for sheer happiness. The surgeon looked at the manager there was some hesitation in the surgeon’s eyes before looking at max and nodding “of course but he needs to be shifted into a room first”

With that the surgeon smiled at left while the nurse from earlier gave max a sympathetic smile before disappearing to make sure y/n was okay to be moved to a private room already knowing about the crowd forming outside.

The nurse from earlier came out the operation room and asked max to follow him. Arriving to the room y/n was taken into the nurse opened the door before letting max in. Y/n laid there, eyes closed, oxygen mask on his face, max took a deep breath as he walked further into the room. He could’ve never imagined seeing y/n like this, in such a condition. Max’s eyes fell on y/ns hand closest to him, wrapped up in bandages “the surgeon is going to come back in a few to explain everything” the nurse says before leaving.

Max looked at y/n before pulling a chair beside the bed to look at y/n “I thought I was the one who would give you a scare… not the other way around y/n/n” max whispered before he hears the door to the room slide open. The doctor looked at max and nodded as max got up and looked at the doctor “how are you holding up?” the doctor asked max “I’m doing okay, I just want to make sure y/n is okay” max answered not looking directly at the doctor, who smiled sympathetically “he will be…if you are by his side holding his hand, he will be okay” the doctor says as max looks at them and nods “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to reply to me honestly” max frowned at that and nodded “go ahead”

“is y/n passionate about driving, I know you both are race car drivers so I want to make sure” the doctor asks, max frowned “…he-he is passionate about it but we-we just talked last night about him wanting this to be his last season” the doctor nodded “well I don’t think y/n will be able to drive by the end of the season, the crash that happened had massive effect on his legs which also caused blood loss.” Max nodded and looked at y/n, taking a deep breath “yeah…I figured that…is-will-will he be able to walk again?” max asks looking at the doctor now who nodded “there is potential, with extensive physical therapy he will be able to…but with recovering patients it is very common to feel stuck or like nothing is happening and they would need someone to be a shoulder they can lean on” the doctor says completely making sure that it was clear to Max, who tried very hard not to hold y/n’s burned hand “the burns-” the doctor starts but is cut off by max “I-I thought the suits were fire proof” max says as the doctor nodded “they are fire proof, but the fire was too harsh and because of the fire proof suit he got first degree burns that will heal pretty quickly…as for right now he is sleeping cause of the pain meds so he is going to wake up in a few hours. I would recommend you be here when he does wake up” the doctor says with a sympathetic smile and walks out after patting max’s shoulder.

Max looked at y/n, he sniffed and moved his chair to the other side of the room so he could hold y/n’s uninjured hand though there was an IV in it. Max gently grabbed y/n’s hand “you are a real ass you know that” max whispers “all that talk about being safe and careful just seemed to be for me, huh?” max laughed as he was joking with y/n in that moment, hoping for y/n to wake up and laugh at this and make some snarky comment but he was met with silence. Max rested his head on the bed while looking at Y/n, eventually falling asleep himself.

Max felt someone’s hand in his hair, playing with it gently. Eyebrows frowned as he woke up and looked at y/n, max sat there looking at y/n in shock who softly smiled “y-y*groan*you look li-li*cough*like you’ve seen a ghost” max snapped out of the shock and got up pulling y/n in a hug keeping in mind to be gentle “I-I’ll get you some water” max says in a hurry before walking to the table to get the water, he walks back to y/n before helping him drink the water “you are okay” max breaths out as y/n smiled “I-I’m okay” he moved his hand and held max’s hand but max saw the look on y/n’s face “…the doctor told you?” max asks as he sits on the edge of the bed as y/n nodded “i-i…I don’t know w-what to feel” y/n says and looked down at his hand that held max’s who grabbed the had gently and kissed y/n’s knuckles softly “I will be by your side through all of this y/n/n” max whispers as he wipes the tears that escaped y/n’s eyes “I’ll always be here”

{timeskip 3 weeks later}

Both max and y/n with the kids were back home, max had seen y/n’s mood change a lot. He would usually spend a lot of his off time playing with the kids or working on his many hobbies, but after getting back y/n had just either been in their room or in the dining room for dinner when max would help bring him out the room. Max had talked to y/n about it but he just said “I’m fine, I can’t move my legs without your help that’s why I’m in the room most of the day” max would sigh “you can tell me when you want to be out the room” y/n just shook his head and closed his eyes as he was already laying down “I’m getting sleepy, I wanna sleep”

It had been a few days since max had talked to y/n about it, now they were in the car with the kids after y/n’s physical therapy. The car had never been this silent, it seemed like the kids sensed that something was wrong, max sighed and looked at the rear-view mirror and put on a smile “you guys waannnt to get chicken nuggets??” max asked and both the kids perked up and nodded “yayyy” riley says excitedly, max looks at y/n who had small smile on his face hearing riley’s excited-ness “would you like something too?” max asks y/n who nods and moves his hand to hold max’s free hand “I’ll have my usual…” he adds with a soft smile looking at max who nods with a soft smile

Sitting in their bedroom max looks at y/n “you seemed better today…” max said as y/n sighed softly before looking at max “I’m sorry…I know I haven’t been the best hus-anything actually” y/n moves his hand close to max’s before pausing and pulling his hand away though max grabbed y/n’s hand and smiled at him, in a way encouraging y/n to talk “I-I knew I told you that I would leave racing after the season but…I-I was actu-actually excited about the last couple of races but this-this just destroyed everything I had worked for…I don’t-don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to drive again” Max had never seen y/n this disheartened, no matter what would happen y/n would always try and be positive but this was a completely different side of y/n that max had never in the 6 years they had been together. “...you could drive y/n/n, you just need to work hard to get to that point…your physical therapist said today, you were showing improvement way more improvement then last week” max says as he moves closer to y/n, gently pulling him in a hug “I’m sorry…” y/n whispers again only for max to kiss his forehead and whisper “it’s okay baby…we will figure this out”

{timeskip}

It had been a month since the conversation, ever since y/n’s mood and behaviour improved quite a lot, he felt like his old self which not only impacted his mood but his performance in physical therapy.

After having dropped the kids at day-care, max and y/n were now at the physical therapy. As they entered y/n smiled at his physical therapist, they had planned a surprise for max as he hadn’t been there the past week as ashton had caught the flu. After the usual warmup and exercises the physical therapist looks at y/n before saying “why don’t we try walking without the railings?” that caught max’s attention “are you sure he is ready?” he asked in a concerned tone as y/n tries to hide his smile. In all honesty they had tried walking without railing before and y/n exceled in it with flying colours “he is been walking very smoothly with the railings it’s only right to give it try without railing”

“I wanna give it a try” y/n’s voice interrupts what max is about to say, he smiles at max “I think it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try you know…and if does I’ll say” y/n smiled at the joke he made which in turn made max shook his head “let’s give it a try then” max says as he stands up properly just in case as y/n stands up with the help of the physical therapist who gives him an encouraging smile and whispers “let’s surprise him”

Y/n takes a couple careful steps with the help of the physical therapist before dropping his hand and in that moment max moves closer to grab y/n but he stops max “just…just look” y/n adds as he walks towards max who seemed to be in a shock. In that moment y/n’s gym trainer enters the room they were in and just stands there in complete and utter shock. Y/n smiles as he grabs max’s hand and gently pulls him in a hug, max’s mouth hangs open like he is just seen a ghost…but in a good way. Max couldn’t help himself when he pulled away and pulled y/n in for a kiss who laughed softly before whispering “what did you think about the surprise?” y/n had his usual cheeky smile that had made max fall for him in the first place.

{timeskip}

As the moment got closer, his heart raced. Breathing shallow, palms sweaty as with each step gets heavier as doubts ran through his mind. Yet, there is a flicker of determination pushed him forward.

A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his mind “y/n?” Daniel’s voice enters his ears making him look over his shoulder and put on a smile “ready for the first race of the season?” Daniel asks already knowing the anxieties running through y/n’s mind “a li-little nervous but I’m ready to beat you…again” y/n laughed a little at daniel’s offended look “sure you will” he says as he sees max walking over “well your ‘other half’ is here, that’s my queue to leave” daniel says jokingly before getting up, patting y/n’s shoulder as max walks over and sits beside his husband.

“how are you doing?” max says as he hands y/n his balaclava and helmet “…it’s okay to feel nervous baby” max whispers grabbing y/n’s hand, gently and unconsciously running his thumb over y/n’s wedding ring “I know-I know its okay to feel nervous but-but I have never fekt this nervous before stepping into the car” Max nods “I get that, and the trainer said that this feeling is natural after…after everything that happened” max turns y/n’s face towards him “you are going to be okay…I know you will be y/n/n” y/n looks at max and smiles “…well then get ready to loose Mr.Verstappen” max laughs at that as he shakes his head “we will see who wins, Mr.Verstappen…but whoever does win gets to pick how the night ends” Max smirks as he looks up when y/n stands up and reaches his hand out “deal” the smirk on y/n’s face made max happy to have gotten his y/n back.

Walking over to his car, he looks at max and pulls his balaclava and helmet before getting in his car and closes his eyes for a moment before he hears “its lights out and away we go”

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielriccardo and 809,988 others

ynln-offcial: From physical therapy, to everyday walks with ashton and riley to getting p1 in the first race of the season. And I want to thank everyone for all the well wishes, and most of all I want to thank max, daniel and charles for supporting me through it. But as all things come to an end by announcing what I should’ve announced during the last season.

I hereby announce my retirement at the end of the 2024 season. I’m a sole believer in looking forward rather than looking at the past, and I believe it is time for me to move on to something more. The decision was definitely a hard one but it does come to the reason of leaving, f1 has always been my top priority and my passion ever since I can remember but as things change so does my passions and goals for life change and racing no longer goes side by side with my wishes and goals moving forward. Though I love this sport and will always have a special place in my heart for all it’s given me and taught me, it’s time to move on. The memories made will forever be ones to cherish and love. Thank you for letting me share the track with you and goodbye.

x yn

view all 63,207 comments

maxverstappen1: ❤️ ❤️      *liked by ynln-official*       ynln-official: love you ❤️

comments on this post have been limited

this was longer then i realized so enjoy this angst piece children (lmao) i haven't proof read this so if there were any mistakes, i'm sorry. But i hope you all enjoyed this. I hope you all have a wonderful day/night ❤️

tagging: @leosxrealm (i'm sorry for this)

[whydoilovehim]

That Smile

Negan x TransMale!Reader (GN pronouns)

Synopsis: Negan offers some very Negan-esque support when he discovers that the Reader has had to deal with some transphobic issues at the Sanctuary.

CW: transphobia, no slurs used, Negan being very Negan, Negan being suggestive (as per usual), no pronouns used for the Reader though it is specified that they are trans male.

Requests are: OPEN

“Oh, fuck,” Negan says, looking almost like he’s about to panic. Which is decidedly not a common occurrence for him. “Shit, handsome- I didn’t mean it. I was just breaking your balls a little bit.” 

You might have made a mistake here. Of all the people you could have screamed at- the leader of the Sanctuary was probably not the smartest choice. Oh, but you just couldn’t help it. 

Not everyone stared, and not everyone was rude. There was pockets of kindness here and there- people who understood who you were and respected you for who you were. 

As always, though, there were people who did not understand. People who looked at you weird or avoided you in the market. Negan had set out rules for basic respect, but that didn’t stop the occasional hate-speech or threat. It was the end of the world, after all, not Utopia. 

“You have no idea what this is like, Negan,” you say with a sneer. He sets his jaw but doesn’t reply, letting you vent. “Every day someone makes a comment just loud enough that I can hear, or someone shoves into my shoulder. Or, hell, just the other day- someone called me something that was… absolutely vile.” 

You point an accusatory finger at the man, whose gaze is getting darker with anger by the second. 

“And you!” You start to raise your voice, and Negan’s lips twitch as if he’s trying not to grin. “You let it happen. And I am so sick of everyone’s fucking shit!” 

Negan rubs a gloved hand over his chin, chuckling darkly as he does so. 

“You done, gorgeous?” He asks, or tells, really. There’s no room for argument with the way he unclenches his jaw. “Because I have something to say, and you? You are gonna listen.” 

Negan places Lucille carefully leaned against the table before rounding it to stand before you. You swallow thickly, not sure where this is going, but not sure you like it either. 

“I need you,” he says slowly while raising a finger to brush your temple softly. “To cast your big ‘ol brain back a few days and really think about what I’m about to ask you.” 

You stumble over a few attempts at speech before he shushes you softly. 

“The fuckhead that broke the rules? Called you something he really shouldn’t have…” His eyes flit between yours, lips spreading out into a grin that would send molten heat through a celibacy-practicing nun. “...when did you see him last?”

You let out a little ‘uh’ sound, trying to order your brain to stop tumbling around and work out the answer. It had been three days since the slur, and… now that you were really thinking about it. You hadn’t seen him since. Usually he was always lurking around to get another shot in.

The realisation must have shown on your face, because Negan let out a throaty chuckle. 

“See? Now you’re gettin’ it,” he says, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Now, I know you wouldn’t want me killing anyone, so, don’t worry. He’s not dead.” You bit back the sarcastic comment that threatened to spill out.

Negan runs his tongue over his bottom lip as if savouring something very sweet. Your eyes track the movement, and you know he knows it.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s having a good time, either.” 

“What did you, uh, do to him?” You ask, voice breathy with desire. No one had defended you quite like this before. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Negan was flirting with you just to make a point. 

But it had been like this for months. Negan putting on all the charm when you were around, and doing his damndest to get you to open up to him. He didn’t care that you were trans, he liked you for you. 

You liked him too, of course. How could you not? Big strapping man with big dick energy, a leather jacket and a phallic bat? What wasn’t to love? 

“Oh, you know,” he chuckled. “Threw him the hole for a few days. Shit, I think he’s still in there.” 

You stifled a smile, knowing that the asshole was now suffering for his crimes. Well, shit- turns out Negan did give a shit about your rights. It was almost like he was an active protestor for Trans Rights. The thought made you laugh.

“I’ll have to make a trip down there to see if he’s learned his lesson yet.” 

This time you can’t bite back the smile, and he draws out an appreciative noise. 

“Oh, there he is,” he brushes your chin with his thumb. “There’s that handsome smile. Fuck, you really turn me on, you know that?” 

Your grin splits wider and blood rises to your cheeks. 

“I’m serious!” He defends himself. “My dick is so hard right now- I could cut diamonds.”

You role your eyes at his theatrics, but he knows that you enjoy his crude comments. He knows you want him. His gaze softens for a moment, and the sincerity you see there almost makes you melt. 

“No more hiding things from me,” he says. “Something happens- someone breaks the rules? You come find me.” Negan lets out a huff of a sigh, caressing your jaw now. 

“Can’t have my handsome man upset, can we? I just live for that smile.”  

You don’t even notice the grin spreading across your lips this time. 

“Yeah, that’s the one…”

[whydoilovehim]

Binders and Bonding

Negan x Non Gender Specific!Reader

Summary: Negan finds you trying on a binder. Very soft stuff.

Requests are: OPEN

Since the beginning of the apocalypse, you have had one binder. A ratty old thing you'd had from before The Fall.

And when that binder had fallen apart and was no longer useable? Well, it's safe to say that you had a considerable cry. Binders were not necessarily something easy to come by when the world was still running, never-mind when it had all but ceased to function.

So when you had found a binder in your size down in the market at the Sanctuary, you had snatched that up without a second of hesitation. You'd kept it hidden for another day or two while you waited for Negan to go out. On a run, to a meeting- to anything really.

You'd never told him about that part of yourself. Never felt comfortable enough to try to. Sure, you were relatively masculine in the way you presented yourself- in the way you spoke and moved and thought, but it was just... part of you. Not something you really thought about needing to tell people unless something was really bothering you.

And Negan didn't bother you.

So when Negan had a meeting he was moaning about having to attend for 'the whole Goddamn day, doll. Just kill me now-' you knew this was your chance.

It had been so long since you'd put a binder on, anyway- what if you didn't like it anymore? What if it hurt? What if it didn't feel like you anymore and you'd just wasted a whole bunch of credits on something you couldn't even wear?

Thumbing the fabric, you bit your lip nervously. You were standing by the window, watching all the people way down below. You were lucky not to have to be one of the workers. Lucky enough to be one of Negan's partners but also one of his advisors. A unique position created just for you.

But it just... wasn't quite you. Not yet.

Deciding to just bite the bullet and pull the binder on, you felt immediate comfort at the tight stretch of the fabric across your body.

How you could have ever thought this wasn't you anymore was a fucking mystery. You hadn't even adjusted yet for the right fit and waves of comfort and relief were pouring over you. Quickly and quietly, heart pounding out of your chest- you adjusted yourself to get the best (and safest) results.

You threw on one of Negan's tee's over the top, relishing in the flatness of your chest. Oh, this? Negan's smell and cologne wrapped around you, and the relief of seeing yourself in the mirror and feeling so genuinely you? It was... perfect.

You eyed yourself in the mirror as you pulled the collar of your shirt up to wipe away a tear that had escaped.

"Well, would you look at that-" you hear a low voice from behind you. "You know I do love to see you in my clothes."

From behind you in the mirror you could see Negan hadn't noticed yet. He was too busy looking up your legs and at the peek of ass cheek below the hem of the tee.

"Negan-" you said, hastily wiping the residue of the tear away. "I thought you had a meeting?"

"Emergency on the East Side," he replied. "Thought I'd send Simon to deal with it and come back to bed. It's good being the big bad wolf."

You chuckled and turned to face him. It took all of about two seconds for Negan to notice something was significantly different. He didn't say anything at first, just taking in what he was seeing.

You briefly wondered if he even knew what a binder was.

"I... I can explain," you said after a couple tense seconds, wringing your hands together anxiously. Negan stepped forward and pressed his finger to your lips, effectively shushing you.

"So this explains the size of your humongous balls then, huh," he chuckled. "Not lady-nuts after all. Just a pair of manly big dick-swinging balls."

You blushed at the crudeness. One of the things you liked most about him. He grinned at you, gaze flitting between your eyes and your lips.

"Suppose this might be the right time to tell you..." he leans in close, whispering into your ear with a voice deep as gravel. "I swing both ways."

He pulls away to run his hand down your side.

"And you? You are hot as fuck," he trails open-mouthed kisses across your throat. "Never thought there'd be another man here to rival me, but here- we- are."

You bit your lip, so taken aback by his support and care for you. He hadn't asked you a single question about any of this yet. But it was a breath of fresh air to have someone just understand.

"Doesn't matter why you didn't tell me, darling," he says as if he can read your thoughts. "I get it. But we are definitely gonna need to find you some more of these."

You laughed, practically tackling him for a kiss. He grabbed at your hair and pressed himself up against you, savouring the taste of you- savouring the feel of you. And if the hard tent in his pants was anything to go by, he was definitely enjoying himself.

When he pulls away, he has a soft look that you've not seen very often from him. A loving look.

"You do look very handsome," he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Guess I've finally got myself a husband."

[whydoilovehim]

The Hobie fandom has a lot of smut, and with a character so accepting on so many fronts, it means so much to me to see trans!readers being taken into consideration.

As a trans guy myself, I love seeking out ftm!smut. But often times, I often can't read them. Many times I'm left feeling unseen, reduced, or even feminized.

And I wanna talk about that a bit, if it's okay.

My take and feelings on FTM!smut - As a Trans Guy

Ngl as a trans guy myself I do feel a bit alienated by a lot of FTM!reader.

I'm gonna be honest - I feel like most ftm smut is written exactly as it would be a cis woman, just with the pronouns changed. Which is understandable, but not really how it works.

Cis women and trans men don't have sex the exact same, just because they're AFAB.

And I feel most smut writers haven't gone out of their way to research the sexual experiences of trans men and how we navigate the world.

Hobie smut is pretty vulgar, and I won't complaining! As a character, he has a high volume of smut, and probably the most diverse range, with Black!reader, ftm!readers, and male!readers being more common than most fandoms.

Black!Reader focuses on the unique experience of black people when in a relationship together. This unique experience is at the basis of black!reader.

But when we approach Ftm!reader - very often, our unique experience isn't reflected.

It's just assumed that because we are AFAB - there's no need to look deeper at the closer unique sexual experience trans men have - or to read up about it.

Most ftm!reader fic does not attempt to use affirming sexual language for trans men at all.

T-dicks - ie, natural clitoris enlargement you get after taking T - is a thing a lot of transitioning Trans men have.

But they're never called T-dicks in fanfiction. Only clits. It's very rare that a ftm!reader is described as having a dick - because so often the only dicks cis people recognize are natal dicks, and surgery-constructed ones.

Many cis writers may never even considered referring to a trans man's clitoris as a dick - pre or post T. They may see it as confusing to the reader, when it's not.

T-Dicks are dicks. Bottom growth didn't give you a full 3-4 inches, but you absolutely have growth and there are trans men that can penetrate with T-dicks - without surgery - if with the right partner.

The words pussy and cunt are used liberally in nearly all ftm!smut, and while many trans men are okay with these terms, I think a lot of cis writers ignore or do not know that often, terms like those can cause heavy dysphoria in a lot of ftm readers.

I don't think cis writers ever question if they might be making readers dysphoric - or showing them in a non-affirming way.

I feel like some writers believe that changing pronouns and calling the reader 'handsome' is really all it takes. Just write usual fem smut, change the pronouns - and done!

In reality, a large part of the ftm community feels uncomfortable with the word 'pussy' - and would much rather stuff like 'front hole'.

A poll on 'What do you call your downstairs?'

And I'm not saying that you can't call a trans man's genitals a pussy. And I'm not saying that a trans man calling his genitals a pussy is wrong.

I just feel like cis writers do not consider the dysphoria of their trans readers, when writing trans smut.

I feel like most cis writers don't actually seek out accounts of trans men and their sexuality.

I don't think they ever consider that these terms, talking about wetness and penetration (which many men on T can have problems with because of vaginal atrophy and dryness), breast, clits, cunts, pussy -

I don't think cis writers ever question 'Is this accessible for ftm readers that might have dysphoria? How can I make this accessible or easier for trans men who have bottom dysphoria?'

Or

'How can I make this more affirming of them as men?'

It's the assumption that, because we're all AFAB, because we have vaginas like cis women - then naturally we must all fuck the same regardless of gender, the only thing changing being the pronouns.

That's not true.

And also - Trans Men are never really written like gay men.

Trans men having sex with men is gay sex.

And even though most writers write trans men with male OCs - they hardly ever write their sex as if they are gay men.

99.9% of the time, it isn't written that way. Its always written as if it's 'straight sex'.

The experience of how gay men have sex is never really taken account into these fics, which makes me feel like a lot of writers don't see it as gay sex at all.

At most, the ftm reader may be described as a bottom - but never as an otter or twink or bear or cub or leather or anything.

They see it as AFAB sex.

Cause If I'm getting strictly candid - I feel like if a writer wrote mtf!smut and kept focusing on the girls 'hard throbbing cock and balls' - we'd all be like 'oh wow that's very intense centering on genitals that may alienate some trans women-'

But in ftm!smut focusing on 'wet tight juicy pussy and thriving clit' is standard. It's never really questioned.

And this is not to say 'oh trans women have it better they get better smut-' No. They really don't. I'm just bringing this up to highlight the fact that we should be making sure that trans!smut is accessible and affirming to the trans people they're about.

Seeing a fic in which a gay trans man prefers to use his asshole, like most gay men fuck, is VERY VERY rare.

I feel like most cis writers never consider the fact that gay trans men may want to perform sex in an affirming, clearly coded, masculine gay way.

It's always assumed we use our front hole, are okay with it being called a pussy, have no problems getting wet, or that we don't have dicks (T-dick is a dick).

And because of that - the lack of affirming language and the lack of affirming transmasc experiences makes it very hard for me as a FTM person to read smut about ftm!readers.

I feel like most of them don't actually take our comfort - or our experiences in mind.

I feel like most don't attempt to actually read accounts of trans guys having gay sex, and what that's often like.

If you're a writer who feels guilty of any of this - you're not a bad person or a bad writer. And I genuinely thank you for including us in your work - from the bottom of my heart.

But I want to highlight this -

Trans men having sex is not a 1:1 of cis women having sex. The same way trans women having sex is not a 1:1 of cis men having sex.

Or experiences are unique - and our dysphoria does affect our sex lives, and how we navigate them.

Please, do not let this put you off writing trans men. But please keep in mind that our experience is unique.

So often I read ftm!reader and feel reduced down to my pussy. Without breasts in the equation, so much ftm!smut focuses solely on the pussy.

If you write ftm!reader please please do not let this put you off, but here's some tips I can give as a trans guy

Please do slight research of ftm anatomy, read an article about gay trans men, or go on r/ftm (subreddit) and read some posts about trans men, read some nsfw posts where trans men tell hookup tales.

Advocate has an great article called '16 things I learned from having sex with Trans Men' - which details and dispels 16 myths about trans men in bed. It's written from the POV of gay men who have been with trans men in affirming ways.

This post is in no way meant to be an attack or subliminal at any one writer. If it was one writer, I wouldn't care.

But this is something I've experienced and seen across fandoms and across writers in this fandom too. I feel the urge to write this because searching for affirming ftm!fics - I often come away feeling even more dysphoric.

Not because of the word pussy or cunt or anything -

But because of the erasure of my experience, the idea that my gender doesn't influence my experience of sex - only my AFAB genitals do.

If you write ftm!smut, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, truly.

But I feel like I had to say this.

If you read this far, thank you! This is one of my more personal venting posts but I'm also trying to raise a point and start a discussion. And you reading through this and giving me your time and understanding is already helpful enough, so thanks!

Here's Hobie.

Bye.

[whydoilovehim]

“In A Different World, We Are Still Bookends Of The Same Soul”

Dear Erik...

(Shame x Starter For 10) Maybe in another life, you are a charming businessman and I'm a college student.

(The Book of Clarence x 300) Or maybe we're both warriors, facing each other as enemies in the battlefield.

(Centurion x The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe) In another life, you're a Roman Soldier fleeing for your life, and I'm the faun you encountered amidst the snow.

(Wanted x Assassin's Creed) And maybe in another, we are members of opposing assassination groups...

(The Killer x Wanted) Perhaps in another life you are a hired killer -- and I, your next target.

(Prometheus x Victor Frankenstein) Or maybe I'm a scientist, and you, my most deadly creation.

(Children of the Dune x Prometheus) Perhaps in a different world you are an alien, and I, too, am not entirely human.

(Trespass Against Us x Submergence) Or maybe in another life, I am a spy and you are my target.

(Atonement x Steve Jobs) Perhaps in another life we meet as noblemen...

(Inglorious Basterds x Atonement) Or maybe we are both soldiers, mere pawns in the midst of a raging battle.

But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter...

Because no matter who we are...

We will always find our way back to each other...

Fall in love...

And grow old together...

[Made by cherikdogfood for #revivecherik: #2 Alternate Meetings]

[whydoilovehim]

Hi! Could you write How would Harry warden and Bo react if they saw you got a tattoo of them?

Thxx (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

I WAS GATEKEEPING THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR WAY TOO LONG I AM SO SORRY-

•

•

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢.

slasher(s) included;; Bo Sinclair & Harry Warden x Reader

❗️❗️tws;; none!

——————————————————————————————

𝕭𝖔 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

o°✥ You catch him outside the station when you walk back into Ambrose, he knew you had gone out to get a tattoo today but he didn’t exactly know of what.

o°✥ He wasn’t particularly happy when you insisted that it be a surprise and that he’d get to see it when it was done, but by the look on your face he was just happy you were excited to show him.

o°✥ Bo is a little confused by it at first, he loves how it looks and compliments it but doesn’t understand the exact meaning of it until you explain that you had gotten it for him.

o°✥ You? HIS s/o?? getting a tattoo??? for HIM???? he’s beyond excited & he’s telling you up and down how happy it makes him!

o°✥ And of course per typical Bo behavior, you’ll get a smug comment from him but you know he means well.

o°✥ “ Damn, you must really love me to have a permanent mark on ya’ hun. ”

o°✥ He’s dragging you all across the town so he can show Vincent & Lester the piece as well.

o°✥ “ All me right here fellas. ”

o°✥ No matter how much time passes after you get it he’s always gonna show that same excitement when he first saw it.

•

𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

o°✥ Harry waits for you to come home so he can take a look at what you got, he doesn’t know what you were getting either but he was still antsy to see it.

o°✥ The second you come home he scurries up to you, motioning for you to show him.

o°✥ Once he see’s your tattoo it’s already clicking that it was for him, you confirming his thoughts sends him over the moon.

o°✥ Although he rarely speaks he’s showing you his appreciation in other ways!

o°✥ Need to replace the saniderm ? He’ll put the new one on kinda janky but he’s got it! Need to moisturize it? he might lather a lot more aquaphor on it that suggested but he’s doing his best!!

o°✥ Once its healed he’ll silently & gently trace it with his fingers, it makes him feel a whole new kind of happy when he see’s it.

o°✥ You’ve got him with you all the time now, maybe he can try to convince you to get another one..

[whydoilovehim]

Painted in You

Art shenanigans plus a little too much wine for the reader leads to a rare moment of romantic cheesiness with our favorite Chiss (or mine at least).

Thrawn x reader drabble | established relationship | fluff | little steamy towards the end

You giggled a little, the red and yellow paint surely had gotten in your hair by now. You held your wine as steadily as you could while spreading the myriad of colors out with your hands. Your minimal white clothes were already completely saturated with color both fresh and dried from previous finger painting sessions. The protective film crinkled a little as you moved back to admire your messy, but beautiful, work. The large canvas before you was almost done in all of its many chaotically vibrant hues.

"I guessed I'd find you here."

The smooth cadence of Thrawn's voice behind you made you jump a little and you turned with excitement to greet him. "I'm glad you did!" You gestured to your work. "What do you think? Would you be able to deduce how to defeat me in battle from this?"

Thrawn looked over your shoulder to the colorful canvas, lingering with his tall frame against the doorway. A small smile curved his lips as he tilted his head, considering. "Only if said battle had strict cleanliness guidelines."

You laughed brightly and his smile grew at the sound.

"You should join me! It's quite relaxing, gets rid of stress." You paused, glancing over his immaculate uniform pointedly. "Leave that outside though."

"Do I appear stressed?" Thrawn asked but began removing his outer uniform anyway until he was down to his black training clothes.

"You never appear to have much emotion...but I know better by now." You spoke softly as he approached you, his movements calculated and purposeful as ever as he took your paint-stained hand and placed a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist.

"Do you indeed?"

"Mhm." You gave a little sound of contented happiness at the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingers as you touched Thrawn's face. A streak of red paint smudged across his cheek from your touch and you couldn't help but giggle a little. "Oh stars, I am sorry it seems I forgot just how messy I am currently."

Thrawn touched the wet paint on his face and withdrew his hand, studying it upon his fingers, his glowing gaze fixated on you once more, his smile still serene. "No matter. I predict such is only the beginning."

You sipped your wine and motioned for him to sit with you upon the tarp, dragging your paints closer so they were with reach. "I've run out of canvas anyway." You looked him over, your lips twitching. "And I can't think of a lovelier substitute."

Thrawn acquiesced, he rarely denied you anything these days, since you'd become romantically involved with the Chiss. It was common for most to view Thrawn as emotionless and a little cold, but that was not the case when the two of you were alone together.

You reached forward and began lifting his black tank top up, giving him a questioning look. When he nodded, you fluidly removed the garment and tossed it to a safe paint-clear space on the floor. You paused a moment to take in the beauty of the man sitting next to you, the shades of his blue skin shifting under the fluorescent light of your studio.

Thrawn's eyes were upon your face, his expression reminded you of the phrase "the cat who got the cream" and heat flushed to your cheeks.

"Continue." Thrawn prompted silkily, his tone barely more than a purr.

You shivered a little, your own eyes meeting his briefly, knowing he could read you backwards and forwards like a well-loved book. Your fingers dipped into the cold paint, choosing a dark crimson shade at first because you couldn't resist the color matching Thrawn's eyes.

"Hold still." You instructed, a little needlessly because Thrawn was still as a statue while you moved closer. You could feel his breath on your face and had to clear your head with a little shake.

"You appear somewhat distracted, my darling." Thrawn chuckled at your blushing reaction and took your own hand, extending your arm and dipping into his own choice of paint. You glanced down, he'd chosen a crisp yellow.

"I'm perfectly cognizant, just had a little wine." You defended, narrowing your eyes at him in a teasing glare. His gaze however was focused on his own work now as he began spreading the paint over your bare arm in swirling patterns that almost tickled.

You in turn began your own body art at his shoulder, tracing the contours of his muscles with the deep red and filling the lines at your leisure with grey and white hues. The distracting sensation of Thrawn brushing against your skin sent pleasant chills down your spine and your movements faltered as you closed your eyes a moment to enjoy it.

"You are quite skilled." Thrawn murmured and you opened your eyes to see him appraising his shoulder and arm with a satisfied expression. "Your color theory is a rare talent."

You leaned forward, taking the opportunity to place a sneaky kiss to his jaw. Thrawn's hand instinctively snaked around your torso, under your shirt at your back and pulled you closer as he turned his mouth to meet yours. You felt the cold paint smear against your skin but heeded it not, Thrawn's lips were fiery against your skin as he trailed small kisses down to your throat.

Your hand found its way to the back of his neck, leaving a wake of red paint against his cerulean skin.

"As I predicted." Thrawn pecked a kiss to the tip of your nose before measuring your expression with pride. "Much more of a mess."

"Your brilliance knows no bounds." You snarked, yelping a little as Thrawn took his revenge by adding more cold paint to your abdomnen, though the heat of his hands soon overtook it.

He bent you backwards with the force of his sudden kiss, his movements swift and exact as he moved over your now prone body. Somewhere in the haze and tangled limbs the paint cups got knocked over and you could see the colors pooling around you in your periphery. Thrawn nibbled on your bottom lip and helped you remove your own shirt, the bare skin of your back pressing into the spilled paint.

Where his hands moved, color was left behind streaked against your skin. By the end of your extra-curricular activities Thrawn had to carry you to the shower in order to save the rest of your apartments from being ruined forever.

[whydoilovehim]

bo sinclair rambles oug

⚠️ warning implied nsfw !!

read under the cut! <3

okay wait hear me out imagine bo on his knees begging, like head tilted up to look at you, looking thru his lashes.. his thick accent coming through as he pleads to touch you...having him in the palm of your hand... oohmgmf jus thinkin'...how good he'd look on his knees like i KNOW he whimpers ..

[whydoilovehim]

THOSE DAMN PUPPY DOG EYES bros begging to be bred.

[whydoilovehim]

A truly beautiful fic

━ stay alive

summary: your depression is tearing you apart, and you do not think you can survive the night. darth maul reminds you of your strength. pairing: darth maul x reader (no pronouns used) tw: suicidal ideation, depression, trauma, mental health. angst and hope and comfort. word count: 1k a/n: this short fic is for the maul lovers who experience mental health distress and find themselves lost and exhausted in this life. for those who need a reason to stick around. it may feel impossible to stay alive, but try to survive the night. there may not be peace. but there is always hope. music: i always wanna die (sometimes) by the 1975

please click here to view international suicide hotlines.

“if you can’t survive, just try.”

Stay Alive - [Read this story on AO3]

Your body succumbs to the weight of your fractured mind. All the pain, loss, trauma and hardships that have been stacking up like rancid bricks in your skull over the long years of your life have become a burden too great to bear. The wall of sorrow has collapsed above you, raining down in crashes of devastation, pinning your body beneath the wreckage: you are anchored to the ground by the breadth of your mental anguish.

That wretched hollow ache in your chest is devouring you whole: you are imploding with despair and emptiness and the harrowing truth of your colossal depression. The tears come, streaming down your cheeks, the saltiness settling on your skin, in your ears, pooling in the skin of your collarbone. You hold yourself with your arms on the floor in a last ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart. 

You are languishing so entirely in your misery that you do not hear him enter the room. You do not notice the muted whirr of his cybernetics, the soft thud of his metal footsteps, the glaring weight of his gleaming amber eyes. You don't register his unique midnight scent, the usually notable gravitas of his presence. The entire galaxy, including him, has slipped away into complete sorrow. 

But then he speaks, that rich velvet voice you know and cherish so dearly breaking through the oppressive cloud of sadness. Darth Maul speaks your name with a mix of concern and confusion. A wash of shame steals your breath from your lungs as your hazy mind acknowledges his presence. 

He shouldn't see you like this. 

"Why do you weep?" He asks in a rare gentle tone, his usual severity is muted. Do you really appear so pitiful?

"Leave me," you snap at him, the emotional turmoil sharpening your shame against him. You wipe your face with your sleeves, pulling yourself up against the wall at your back, resting your head in your arms, hiding. "Don't look at me."

He ignores your demands and wordlessly approaches. You hear him settling beside you on the floor. 

"Gods, it’s disgusting," you whisper, embarrassment washing over you like a tide.

"What is?"

"These feelings," you admit between gritted teeth as you shake your head. "This weakness."

He is silent, and you refuse to look at him, your face still hidden behind your arms.

"Why do I live with it?" You ask, not him or yourself or anyone in particular. The question just comes out, a stream of truth pouring from your lips. "This gnawing distress and despair. It's a constant shadow. It will never go away. There is no use in fighting it's will any longer."

"Explain.”

"I should let the waves of it take me," you whisper, your arms falling forward, your flushed and wet face revealed to the chilled air. "Let the inevitability of mortality wash me away."

He immediately understands. "To an early grave?" 

"A timely one. A just one. Perhaps it is my fate for this to consume me tonight." A pause, weighty and loaded. "I'm just so tired, Maul."

He stays silent, allows you the relief of a confession, of his listening. 

"I am defective. Broken. This rot within me is me. The part of me that has been slowly decaying has spread so deep that I have become it. The damage is done and I cannot undo it or repair it. I cannot stand it any longer."

"You suffer," he acknowledges. "There is strength in that."

You scoff. "There is no point to my suffering. I cannot harness its power like you. At least there is some purpose to your pain, a boon you can claim from it. I have nothing." You inhale and close your aching eyes. "I am nothing."

"No," he counters softly. "Not at all. Not to me."

You look at him, bask in the sweetness of those words, the unique beauty of his strange face. He returns to his silence, and does not look at you, but straight ahead. 

"Death is not what I want," you whisper, clarifying. "But what I need, I think. It is not that I want to give up, but I want...to..."

"Give in," he finishes for you. 

"Yes," you reply, the relief of his understanding both a balm and a heart wrenching revelation. "Yes."

He turns to look at you then, his golden eyes meeting yours. "The scars of your past will always be with you,” he says clearly, “they may weigh you down, consume you, haunt you. But they do not define you."

You blink, your eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, such kindness and candour coming from him is a sweet surprise.

"It is true that I gain power from my suffering. My fear. My hatred. But all of that...it is mine. I own it. Your anguish is yours. And though you cannot rid yourself of it, it is part of you.” He reaches towards you, places a gloved palm on your chest, directly above the emotional ache. “Feel it. Embrace its wrath, note how brutal and relentless it has been. How it has battered you and worn you down over the years.”

You close your eyes and do as he says, delving into the ache, recalling the long years of pain and despair, how broken and lost you are…

“Now think of how you have endured it. That you are, despite everything, alive. What kind of person could have survived such an ordeal?”

Alive. You feel the heat of his palm on your chest, the sting of tears on your cheeks, the scent of space that lingers in the starship. You notice the cool chill of durasteel beneath your back, the beat of your heart, the breath in your lungs. The miracle of life, of experience, of tolerating the suffering and joy to this point in time.

“You have achieved that. You. The person that has endured all of that has the strength to survive another night. Stay alive. You owe yourself, - ” he pauses, moving his gloved fingers to your wet cheek, caressing your skin, “- this person that has fought and overcome so much anguish, another day.”

You lean into his touch, and his palm cradles your face. You nod softly, and almost whimper because yes, the pain is still there and it hurts and it is engulfing you entirely and it’s overflowing yet empty all at once. And it may always exist, eternal and timeless. But you have proven to yourself that you can endure it, again and again, as you have before, surviving those countless nights of misery that you have put behind you. You can stay alive. You breathe in the scent of his crimson skin, feel the weight of his strong arms tighten around you. You allow him to hold you for the remainder of the night, and you hold him in return, finding strength and the will to survive in yourselves and each other.

-

suicide hotlines

click here to join my taglist

taglist:

@stardustbee @kimageddon @corona-one @frogunderarock @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @dukeoftheblackstar @burningcoffeetimetravel

[whydoilovehim]

I read it as gn for anyone who was wondering.

Fears and Facing Them

Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Ineffable Husbands x daughter reader

Request: Crowley x Aziraphale x child reader (6 years old maybe), who caught Crowley in snake form and got scared because they have Ophidiophobia but after being comforted by Aziraphale, the child accepts it and actually likes to play with Crowley (crowley thinks the child is annoying but still loves the child) while he's in his snake form

Request by: @popfishjr

*not my gif*

Summary: You felt better about conquering your fear knowing it was just your father

A/N: Not proof read- I’m in a rush so I’ll do it later :)

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You hummed an off tune melody to yourself quietly as you stacked legos together from where you lay, sprawled out on your living room floor.

Your fathers were both upstairs, to your knowledge, but you were fine with that. Contempt in your own little world of play.

That was, until a small hissing sound rang out and reached your ears, so faint that you almost couldn’t hear it as you placed another lego piece together with another.

With that, you paused, head turning from side to side in confusion as you tried to locate the source of the noise. When you came up empty handed though, you simply shrugged and went back to your building blocks as if nothing had happened.

When the hiss sounded again though, you could no longer ignore it, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Quickly, you dropped your toys and rose to your feet, eyes narrowed as they scanned the room for any sign of where the noise was coming from.

That’s when your eyes landed on it- or him.

Crowley didn’t know what he was doing to be completely honest, he knew that you had a fear of snakes- or Ophidiophobia, as Aziraphel kept reminding him. But he hadn’t thought anything of it when he transformed into his reptile form, if not to simply have the feel of it again. He had thought you were in your room however, or he probably never would have done it.

As soon as your eyes latched onto your- unknown to you- father, you let out a horrible shriek and quickly scampered up onto the nearby couch, trying to put as much distance between you and the snake as possible.

Crowley paused, confusion overtaking his senses as he momentarily forgot about your fear for the animal, and just sat there, staring up at you.

There was a clatter behind him as Aziraphel rushed down the stairs in order to see what was going on.

“What ever is the matter, young one?” Your father asked, striding over and scooping you up into his warm hold.

“Snake, papa!” You cried, “Snake!”

The angels eyes drifted over to his husband for the first time since entering the room and the reality of the situation seemed to click in both of their heads at the same time.

Right away, Crowley transformed back, not wanting to frighten you more than he already had, watching as your eyes went wide.

“Hush, it’s alright, darling. There, there.” Aziraphel soothed, throwing Crowley an extremely rare harsh look as he rubbed up and down your back.

“D-dad?” You hiccuped, looking at the demon with wide eyes.

He hesitated before nodding, “Yes, it’s me, child.”

“W-why were you a-a sn-snake?” You stuttered out, resting your cheek against Aziraphels shoulder.

“It’s- that’s just something I can do.” He admitted, sounding meek for the first time in a long while.

“You’re just the snake?” You asked softly, “It’s not a scary monster?”

Crowley felt as if his heart melted when you unknowingly admitted that you didn’t think he was a scary monster- unlike the rest of the world.

A silence settled over your little family before you spoke up again, small bursts of confidence seeping into your question, “Can you turn back into a snake?”

Your father hesitated, looking to his husband, only to not be offered an answer. But after a moment, he did what you asked.

Instead of shrieking and cowering away like he had expected you to, you just stood there for a few seconds, blinking down at him, before slowly peeling yourself from your fathers hold and approaching the other one in snake form.

Then, without any sign of fear or hesitation, you reached over and patted the top of his head, “Hi, daddy.” You giggled.

It might have been hard to see, but snake-Crowley grinned oh so very bright in that moment.

Ineffable Husbands 😇- @popfishjr @etanordoesbullsh1t

[whydoilovehim]

The Devil's Heel - Lucifer (Supernatural)

My Masterlist

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Injury, canon violence and descriptions of gore/injury. Not proofread.

soulmate au (where an angel's soulmate can see their wings because i love thag au so much), x gender neutral reader, no usage of y/n! Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary: Reader has a bad past with angels. They get hurt on a hunt and, although they didn't know the devil that has been staying in the bunker was their soulmate, Lucifer comes to the rescue. They're terrified, understandably so.

I groaned in pain as I was thrown into a wall for the second time today. My head slammed backwards against it, and I saw stars. A weak moan left my lips when gravity worked its magic. I slid down ungracefully to the floor, my body a limp heap. My angel blade clattered onto the floor a meter away from me. The demon-who I hadn't identified yet-kicked the knife even further away from my grasping hands; just for good measure.

"You fucking-" I hissed out, shoving myself to my uninjured forearm, hunched over and gasping. My trembling voice did little to hide the panic threatening to claw its way up my throat. This was just supposed to be a salt and burn. Maybe a poltergeist at worst.

"How original." He sneered. A hand came down, gingerly taking my angel blade I always kept at my side. I raised my head and growled, low and raspy, and he suddenly plunged it into my shoulder. A strangled gasp escaped me as I toppled backwards from the force of the blow, clutching my shoulder. The demon ripped it out, cutting my palms in the process. He slashed it across my chest once, then twice over my torso. My vision was blurred badly. I could barely whimper out hoarse noises of agony, only able to toss my head back and forth. I was barely conscious.

Even so, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I couldn't help but to be forced to relive the pain, the torture that had come during my 'stay' with certain angels.

I heard a voice in the distance.It was the demon; finally tired of toying with me and, with a bored sigh, sunk the angel blade somewhere through my broken ribs. First came the shock. Then I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my chest when I drew in a surprised gasp. It became hard to breath without triggering the agony, so my breath came in short pants. Instinctively, I just wanted the thing in my chest that was causing me pain out. So, without giving it a second thought, that's what I did. I grasped at the handle of the blade, crying out as it slid out of my chest.

The demon immediately knocked the knife out of my hand, as if I was any threat to him in my current condition. I went limp, realizing my mistake of removing the blade when it now became even harder to breathe. My hand rested limply over the wound with the intent to apply pressure, that I didn't have the strength in me for. My eyes fluttered shut.

I flinched when I heard the sound of feathers fluttering; the sound an all too familiar one to me. I struggled to not bolt upright, hoping it was just a figment of my near-death brain, tormenting me before I died. Even so, I forced my eyes open. I fought to focus my eyes on the new winged figure, who was obviously an angel. There was only one angel, I knew, whose wings I could see. It was none other than Lucifer.

Lucifer, the fallen archangel. Lucifer, one of the oldest and most powerful of his brothers and sisters. Lucifer, who was supposed to be caged in the bunker, at the moment. The devil himself, who appeared to have escaped the banker's warding to keep him contained from causing the apocalypse.

My eyes widened in alarm. I forced myself onto my forearms, immediately regretting the action when pain shot through my right arm. Panting, I writhed on my side, struggling to put as much distance between myself and the archangel as I could. His eyes, red with fury, darted between the demon and my broken form on the floor. His wings were spread out in what could only be meant to intimidate. They were taut, and almost vibrated with rage. I heard him mutter something low and angry under his breath, before the demon was a stuttering mess. It apologized hastily, but that didn't stop the devil. He raised his hand, middle finger and thumb tips poised to snap. The demon backed up as if the distance would keep him safe. A snap echoed hauntingly throughout the abandoned room, and the demon exploded into a cloud of black dust. It only reminded me just how powerful the archangel, who now faced me, was. I shrank back, panting shallowly and cradling my broken forearm to my chest.

I heard him say something, but my brain couldn’t register it. All I knew was, before I could even blink twice, he was standing beside me, peering down at me. His eyes, now blue, roamed over my beaten form, taking in my condition. I shifted, struggling away from him until I coughed. My breath hitched in my throat painfully as I twisted around for the angel blade sheathed at my hip, only to remember it had been knocked out of my grip by the demon, and had clattered onto the floor uselessly. Blood bubbled up in my mouth, confirming what I already knew was true. I coughed again, and again, fighting to twist onto my stomach. No matter how much it hurt, I knew I would drown in my own blood if I didn’t; but I couldn’t. The deep wounds on my abdomen bled profusely, soaking the worn floorboards with my blood, so much that it began to pool around me. It made the floor slippery, and my hand slipped uselessly against the floor as I struggled to right myself. With every shallow breath came a little more blood. I continued to cough, instinctively, even though it hurt more than anything.

I didn’t have the strength to fight when I felt arms wrap around my body, pulling me into the devil’s lap as he now kneeled on the floor beside me. Still coughing up blood, I gratefully sucked in the air I could now get, thanks to not lying on my back anymore. I panted, unable to focus on anything but the air in my lungs; and the pain in my lungs that would have had me sobbing if I had the breath to.

When the coughing fit ended, I laid limp in Lucifer’s arms for a moment more, my energy spent. It took me several heartbeats before I began to kick my legs weakly, and then fought against his iron grip. I knew he was abnormally strong, much stronger than any human. If he didn’t want to let me go, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. And he didn’t. My eyes widened in panic, and I struggled more and more against his grip on me. He allowed me to flip onto my side, and I whipped my head up. His eyes had an uncharacteristic softness in them. That, paired with the foreign expression on his face, only served to further confuse and scare me. I had been tortured and nearly killed-only to be healed and brought back for more-by so called angels many times over. I knew how quickly angels could shift. If angels were that terrible, the fallen archangel holding me now could only be much, much worse.

I whimpered pathetically, writhing in his grip as I remembered how he had turned that demon-the one that had just about killed me-into nothing so easily. He was a creature of nightmares, far worse than a demon. He was, after all, the devil himself.

“Calm down, sheesh.” He said, though it wasn’t accompanied by an eye roll or the sarcastic tone it usually would have been. His voice was flat, deadpan at most, tinged with something bordering worry. Almost like..fear? What could the devil possibly have to fear?

I forced myself to still, my breath still coming in pained, shallow pants. He shifted me in his arms, and I found myself letting him. I didn't make any attempt to shuffle away from him, even when I had the chance to do so. Maybe I was too tired. I had lost a lot of blood, after all; I was dying. And I didn't know what the devil had in his plans for me. The thought sent a jolt of fear into my very being.

I did protest, though, when his arms slid under me and he stood, hoisting me up with him effortlessly. I found myself clutching to him with shaking hands, a strangled, painful noise leaving my throat at the

small movement. His wings curled around the both of us almost protectively, although I had the nagging feeling it was more for me than for him. I clung to him as the familiar, yet foreign feeling of angel teleportation washed over me. The few times I had experienced it, it had felt completely different; it had felt wrong. Uncomfortable, to say the least. My entire being had tingled almost painfully, like pins and needles. But this time, with Lucifer, it felt familiar in the most foreign way possible. A comfortable warmth spread through every fiber of my being. One that almost felt as if it were coming from inside me, as well as him; instead of the pins and needles that had tried to painfully penetrate my skin before. If it hadn't been for the terror of my past trauma, I might have even found it comforting.

When my eyes finally focused, I realized we were at the bunker. I felt a little better at the familiar surroundings. Simultaneously, remembering the Winchester's absence, my fear rose. But exhaustion and shock were beginning to catch up to me. As well as the knowledge that I would most certainly die if I didn't tend to my injuries.

"Let me go." I mumbled, pushing my hand against his chest.

"Do you really think you can stand in your condition?" He argued, but he shifted me in his arms anyway. Carefully, with more caution that I would have expected, he stood me on my feet. He didn't go far, nearly hovering over me as he let me go. As soon as he let go, my legs buckled, and he was holding my waist, lowering me to the floor.

"Get away from me." I hissed out painfully. My chest felt like I had been stabbed again as I inhaled sharply.

"Do you want to die or do you want to die?" He shook his head, glaring at me. "Stubborn humans." He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.

He turned around, taking several paces away from me before spinning back around. "What will it be?"

"I- I need help." I admitted quetly, hanging my head in defeat.

"I guess you're not the most stupid one." He mused, as if this were a game. "But, haven't you ever been told not to make deals with the devil?"

I grit my teeth. "'S not really like I have a choice right now."

"Right-o there." He grinned. He kneeled beside me once again. His hand outstretched, two fingers poised to touch the most fatal wound I had; the puncture to my lung.

I shrank away, willing myself to allow it to just happen. As his fingertips began to glow, I panicked.

"No, no. No grace-" I mumbled out, flinching into the wall.

He noticed my fear and, unlike I had expected, he withdrew his hand immediately. His expression was torn for a split second, but ultimately he allowed the confusion to show clear on his face. "What? Why not?"

"I can't..explain. Just.." My voice shook. "Please." I said quietly, my lungs hurting more with every word.

He surprised me yet again with the suddenly softer tone in his voice. "I'm going to have to, for this one at least." He explained gently. I debated, struggling internally. He waited patiently, never showing a hint of impatience or irritation.

"Okay." I answered softly. I felt how each breath hurt more and more; it became harder and harder to suck in air as my lung collapsed. He nodded grimly, so close now that he took up the entirety of my unfocused sight. In my peripherals, his wings curled around me protectively, though I tried not to focus on them. I had a hard time believing that the devil was suddenly protective of me, but I didn't want to think of how his wings could be boxing me in as well.

He glanced at me for confirmation, surprising me, and I nodded. Still, I couldn't help but to shrink against the wall as his glowing fingers met the fatal wound on my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my jaw and preparing for the pain that usually came with an angel's healing.

But just like before, Lucifer's grace was warm, and entirely unpainful. Compared to my previous experiences with being healed by angels, where I had felt the bones in my body shifting painfully back into place, and the stinging of open wounds being forced back together; this was a part of me. It was something bigger than both of us, I could sense that much, but there was something in me that rose up to meet his grace when he used it on me.

I found myself relaxing at the comforting warmth, the safety, I felt. My muscles relaxed, and I slumped against the wall. A small sigh left my lips when I realized I was able to breathe without nearly as much pain anymore. Still though, I hesitated to open my eyes.

"It's done." Lucifer's voice told me, uncharacteristically kind. I knew once I was in my right mind again, I would be getting serious whiplash from this.

"Thank you." I said gratefully, finally opening my eyes. I had to stop myself from jerking back at his unexpected closeness. His vessel's blue eyes were level with mine, something unreadable flitting around in them.

"Let me heal the rest." His voice wasn't pleading-he was the devil, and he never would stoop that low-but it was close.

"No, I'm-" I hissed between gritted teeth as I pushed myself to my feet. He stood quickly, mirroring my actions. "I'm fine."

I took a hesitant step forward, still weak, and stumbled right into him. "Woah there." He said, catching me by the shoulders, his wings once again curling around me; seemingly out of instinct, by now. I flinched purely out of instinct, although I didn't know what I had been expecting to happen. He had already proved he wouldn't harm me.

"I'm fine." I repeated stubbornly, suddenly aware he had healed my arm, too. I looked down at my arm, then to him, narrowing my eyes. "Thank you." I said half begrudgingly.

He shrugged. "Figured you couldn't bandage yourself up with just one working arm."

"Guess so." I grunted, shuffling against the wall. I stopped in the hallway, just outside the door to the infirmary. I closed my eyes, leaning against the doorframe and letting out a nauseated breath.

"You good?" His voice made me jump. I hadn't expected him to follow me here; I thought he would have lost interest now that the threat of death was no longer looming over me. The excitement was gone. Even more puzzling, was the seemingly genuine question from the devil.

"I'm good." I answered, a bit more harshly than I had intended to. He didn't seem offended in the least.

With more effort than it should have taken, I finally pushed the door to the infirmary open, staggering in. I immediately went for the painkillers, before remembering the archangel that had followed me into the room, not leaving my side for a second. I hesitated, before groaning and turning to the bandages and disinfectants. I hoisted myself onto the bed, letting everything onto the bed beside me.

Tugging my shirt off, I still hissed in pain at the various deep slashes that were littered across my stomach and ribs. I looked up for a moment to find Lucifer leaning against the doorframe, a frown on his face. As soon as he caught me though, he immediately opened his mouth to, most likely, make a sharp remark.

"Not in the mood." I ground out, my eyes flashing to his for a brief moment. Surprisingly, he shut his mouth.

Tears welled in my eyes at the burning sensation as I dabbed at the gouges in my skin with a water-dampened cloth. My hands shook. This wasn't even the worst of it yet.

Next came the alcohol. That was, until I couldn't help the whimper and the involuntary jerk of my hand that caused the bottle to go flying onto the floor. I grasped my stomach as if that would help to lessen the pain, gasping. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw Lucifer flinch simultaneously.

"You need, uh, you need help with that?" He offered, his voice guarded as he tried not to sound too helpful.

"Yeah, probably." I sighed in defeat. I held myself still from flinching when he came closer. His fingertips brushed mine as he took the bandages and cloth. Gently, he dabbed at the gashes running across my stomach, while my hands balled up the white sheets into fists. I grit my teeth.

"I could just heal them." He insisted again, sighing in annoyance.

I shook my head. "Why are you so against my grace?"

"I just am."

"There's more to it than that." He huffed, but the feathers on his wings didn't ruffleI as they usually did when he was irritated. I knew it was an invitation to open up to him.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the alcohol he poured onto a wound, jerking back slightly. "I haven't had the best experiences with it. Or angels in general." I said hesitantly, quietly. He hummed, indicating he was listening. "They..they tortured me before. For information." I put it bluntly. I didn't see the point in dancing around the truth, not around the devil.

A frown had formed on his face. His jaw was rigid and his wings moved towards me slightly, taut with tension as well. "What kind of information?"

"About you." My voice was small, in an attempt to not anger him further. It wasn't my fault, but I didn't know that.

His eyes began to glow with the faintest hint of red, and every muscle in his body was tensed. "Lucifer?" I asked quietly. He took a step back.

"This whole time, they knew, and they dared to-" He muttered to himself. At the rage in his voice, I unconsciously leaned away from him, my arms coming up around my now-bandaged waist defensively. He immediately cut himself off when he saw the fear on my face and in my posture, taking a deep breath. His eyes slowly faded back to his vessel's blue. His wings were still taut, but he gave me a look to continue.

"They would leave me nearly dead, then heal me up again with their grace for another round." I told him what I knew he wanted to hear; what they had done to me. Why I was afraid of his angel's grace. I grit my teeth, furiously wiping away the tears in my eyes. It had happened only a few months ago, and the memories were still fresh enough to almost feel them as I explained it.

His face held a sort of understanding now that he knew. He nodded, though I could still feel the fury radiating off of him.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, in an attempt to break the ice and as a genuine question. "I'm not going to die anymore, there's no more excitement to be had." He pretended to look offended.

"Couldn't let my soulmate just die now, could I?" Soulmate. Even though it sounded foreign to me, it almost immediately seemed to make sense. It was the word, no, the explanation I had been looking for since the strangeness of his grace, compared to the other angels. That, and the closer bond that had seemed to draw the two of us together ever since he had first used his grace on me.

Even so, I had to consciously make an effort to close my mouth that had opened in shock. "We're-"

"Surprise! Your soulmate is the devil. Lucky you, right?" He grinned, though I could see something in his eyes that wasn't right.

"No, more like lucky you." I smiled weakly, still unsure. I had come across very brief, shallow information of angels and soulmates before in different texts, but I still knew so little about it. "You get a hunter as a soulmate."

He faked a grimace. "Yeah." He seemed more relaxed though, and I knew what I hadn't been able to place in his eyes before. He was afraid that I would be disappointed. That he had waited only god knows how long for a soulmate-maybe even believing he didn't have one, as part of his punishment-only for his soulmate to hate him, to hate being tied to the devil himself.

"So how does this..work…now?" I trailed off, gesturing between us.

"We're attached at the hip now!" He exclaimed.

"Seriously. Why didn't this come up before? How long have you known? Did-" I was silenced by a finger to my lips, and suddenly Lucifer was much closer than he ever had been, face inches from mine.

"Quiet with the questions, sheesh." He groaned, leaning away. "May I?" He motioned to the empty spot on the bed beside me. I nodded.

"First of all, my grace, well, activates the bond, you could say. That's why this hasn't happened before. I didn't know until then, either. Although, I've always had this nagging pull towards you, I suppose. Annoying." He huffed. I unconsciously leaned towards him, our shoulders brushing.

"Being my..mate," He almost hesitated at using that word, glancing at me, but I didn't grimace or react negatively towards his word choice. "Your soul is intertwined with mine. In other words, you have a small bit of my grace in you. And I, a small piece of your soul."

"That's why your grace doesn't hurt." I mumbled in realization, more to myself than to him. "Oh."

He looked down at me, eyes telling me to explain. "The angels, when they used their grace on me before. It was like it was penetrating into my skin. It hurt. But yours…didn't. Not at all."

He explained more, but I began to nod off against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to me. The sound of his voice was surprisingly comforting as I dozed, until he stopped, noticing my unconsciousness.

"Let's get you to your own bed." He stood, slowly, so I had time to wake up before I dropped from his shoulder. I jolted awake at the movement, apologizing profusely once I realized what I had done. The smug smile on his face told me enough.

I leaned against him heavily as we walked down the hallway to my own room. He shoved the door open, nearly supporting me by my waist. I immediately slumped onto the bed with a sigh and a wince. My eyes already began to shut again, until Lucifer pulled away. When I opened them, his wings were taut, poised to leave.

"Don't go."

His look was one of surprise. "What?"

"Stay here." I knew, with the events of today, that my nightmares would be haunting me the minute I slipped off into sleep. I didn't know how to explain it to myself, least of all to him, how I felt safer with him there. How the prospect of him leaving at the moment was almost scary to me. I didn't have to though, he read it all through our bond.

He nodded silently, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited for my confirmation before pulling me against him and lying us both down on the mattress. With a sigh, I felt myself immediately relaxing against him.

I felt safe as I drifted off, though somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this was the devil and he was dangerous. But I also knrw there was no threat here. Not as long as he was with me.

[whydoilovehim]

Perrito Chapter 2: Protection - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

prequel to the events of chapter 1. you and lalo meet in the prison showers and strike a deal. rather than face the mercy of the other inmates, you agree to surrender yourself completely to him. tags/warnings: public humiliation/degradation, homophobic/transphobic slurs, shower sex, public sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, pet play, rimming, oral sex, face-slapping, face-spitting, squirting, spanking, hair-pulling, implied/referenced rape (nothing actually happens), BDSM, possessive behavior anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole/g-spot, (t-)dick words: 6,693 ao3 link author's notes: i am so unfathomably normal about lalo salamanca /lie como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

Whoever said space was the final frontier must have never had to shower in prison.

As if being locked up with hundreds of dangerous, violent men nearly double your size wasn’t bad enough, you were now expected to get naked in front of witnesses. Your size, age, body type, and criminal charges were already working against you. They painted a picture of a weak young man, a little boy, really, who’s no stranger to whoring himself out. Your fellow inmates seemed to heckle you wherever you went, eager to stake their claim in you. It hadn’t even been a day, and yet you were already one of the hottest commodities in here. That alone was scary, but coupled with the fact that you were trans, it was downright horrifying. You thought you’d be lucky to last 4 seconds naked in the shower before someone grabbed you. If people knew you had a pussy, everyone around you would be clamoring to tear it up.

You’d almost resigned yourself to it. It was going to happen. You were going to walk into the shower dirty, and somehow leave even dirtier, if you left at all, that is. You figured if you wanted a slim chance of maintaining your dignity, you should go when the least amount of people were there. Hopefully, less people in the room meant less eyes on you. 

Carrying a plastic bag filled with prison-issue shower necessities, you managed to sneak away from the cafeteria at lunch time and head for the showers. Before you went inside, you decided to peek in and check for other inmates. You couldn’t see anyone, but you heard one lone shower running. That’s it. No voices, no footsteps, nothing but that one lone stream. You sighed, partly in relief, partly in disappointment. One other person was probably the most privacy you were going to get. You prayed that they wouldn’t pay attention to you. You took a deep breath, scrounged up all the strength and confidence you could find, and barged in. 

Men’s bathroom etiquette was something you’d picked up after transition. Obviously, you had no experience with prison bathrooms, but you assumed the code of conduct was the same. Look down at the floor or straight ahead. Do not speak. Do not make eye contact. Do your business quickly and then leave. Lingering for longer than necessary would signal that you were open for business, which you most certainly were not. You stood up straight with your brow furrowed, probably looking more like a disgruntled bunny rabbit than a prisoner not to be fucked with, and speedwalked to an available shower. There were partitions dividing them, but no door or curtain for privacy. Honestly, that was still better than you were expecting; you only had one vulnerable side instead of three. You picked a stall and tossed your bag in without carefully checking your surroundings, which ended up being the wrong move. 

A voice that was entirely too close to you called out, “Well, hey there, little guy! What’s your name?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. You’d been hoping to get through your shower in relative solitude, but you didn’t even have to strip to be harassed by someone. Still, it was the first time anyone here spoke to you like a person rather than a set of at least two holes on legs. You cautiously turned over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your neighbor. 

He didn’t look like whatever menacing figure you had in mind. He was bigger and buffer than you, sure, but he seemed like a nice guy. Well, nice by prison standards. Actually, he was kinda hot, and he had a friendly smile on his face as he washed his salt-and-pepper hair. “Yeah, you, kid! What’s your name?”

You told him that and not much else.

He kept talking to fill in the silence. “Hm. Cute! It suits you. My name is Eduardo. Eduardo Salamanca, but you can call me Lalo. How’d a pretty little thing like you end up in here? What’d you do?”

Oh boy, here we go. You thought. You’d heard not to lie about your charges; it made you seem untrustworthy. Though with your circumstances, it might have just been easier to tape a giant “FUCK ME” sign to your back. Nevertheless, you confessed. “Drug possession and… prostitution.” You mumbled the last word, hoping he’d mishear it for ‘arson’ or something less conspicuous.

But he didn’t. “Really? Wow…” You could tell he was eyefucking you a little bit, but thankfully you still had your clothes on. Almost everything was left to his imagination. “Jeez, you poor kid. I bet you were busy on the streets. Well, at least you can get a little break from that. How long you in for?”

“6 months.” You answered. Of course, that was the best case scenario. If you left any earlier, it would probably be in a body bag.

Apparently, Lalo could read your mind. “6 months? Gonna be honest here. A little guy like you would be lucky to last 6 weeks.”

You don’t know the half of it, buddy, your inner monologue replied. What you said to him was something different, though. “Yeah, uh… I kinda got that vibe already. Honestly, you’re the first person to like… actually talk to me. I’ve been getting catcalled everywhere I go.” Catcalled being the nice way to put it. Threatened was probably more accurate.

Lalo sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately that’s par for the course for small guys here. Unless they get protection.”

“Protection?” You asked, probably already knowing the answer. “What do you mean?”

“Hm… Let me think of a nice way to say this…” Lalo pondered, and came up with, “I guess I don’t have to tell you that guys like you get passed around, right?”

“No, you do not.” You replied with a sarcastic smile. Laughing about your misfortune made it feel like it was survivable. If you didn’t take it seriously and decided to ‘yes and’ your inevitable trauma, you could move past it. The show must go on, even if the show is an improv night in Hell. 

Lalo snickered. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not exactly protection, more like a protector. Basically, you get someone to claim you as theirs. That way, you’re private property instead of public property. You get me?”

That was about what you expected. “Ah, yeah. That makes sense.” It wasn’t an ideal situation by any means, but better one than everyone. “How, uh… How would I go about finding someone for that?” 

“Well, for starters, you should get in the shower. No one’s gonna want you if you’re stinky.” Lalo pointed to your shower faucet, and tilted his head back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

You glanced up at the shower head. The way it hung from the ceiling so ominously, waiting to be the executor of your fate, it might as well have been a noose. Was this what it was like to die? Taking your last bow in front of the audience as you kicked over the chair? “Right…” You cleared your throat and turned fully around, making sure your back was to Lalo. Maybe if you kept your back to him, he wouldn’t notice. Hell, maybe he wasn’t even looking. Just don’t turn around. Don’t face forward. You took a deep breath and pulled your orange shirt off over your head, though you couldn’t figure out where to put it.

Evidently, Lalo saw your confusion. “You can put your clothes in your bag. Tie it up, though, otherwise they’ll get wet.”

Your heart sank. He was watching you. Intently. You dared not turn around to verify. “Thanks…” You mumbled as you stuffed your shirt in the bag. Figuring it wasn’t going to get any easier the longer you waited, you pulled your pants and underwear down and put them away as well. Naked but for the prophylactic flip-flops required in any public shower, you grabbed the bar of soap and bottle of shampoo from the bag, tied it up, and dropped it on the floor, all without turning around. 

Okay. You can do this. The hard part’s over. Just don’t turn around. Don’t face forward. Don’t turn around. Don’t face forward, you thought. It turned out that wasn’t the hard part, though, because whoever designed the shower controls must have been a goddamn NASA engineer. You couldn’t figure it out for the life of you.

Again, Lalo saw you struggling. “Yeah, it’s pretty tricky to get the hang of. Want some help?”

“N-No, thanks. I think I got it...” You lied. But how hard could it be? Just turn this dial here, right? No, wait. Maybe it’s this one? There we go! You were christened in your success with a stream of cold water.

Freezing cold water.

You cringed the second it hit your skin. “Shit!” You shouted and instinctively backed against the corner, narrowly escaping Snow Miser’s rain of terror. Shivering and dripping wet, you tried to reach for the controls, only to realize how badly you just fucked up.

You had turned around.

And you were facing forward.

Not only that, but you were facing Lalo.

And Lalo was looking exactly where you hoped he wouldn’t be. 

His mouth agape, he squinted to get a better look at your peculiar body. “No mames… (No fucking way…)” He muttered. 

You didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. You quickly turned back around, pressing your face into the corner. It was pointless. He already saw everything, but maybe you just did that to hide the tears that were sure to come. You wrapped your arms over your chest and hugged yourself for the tiniest bit of comfort and warmth. Your voice cracked as you said to him, “Please… Please don’t…”, not entirely sure what you were asking him not to do.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, little man. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Lalo assured you, cooing to you like you were a cat stuck in a tree. You half-expected him to start going pspspspsps to get you out of the corner. The distinctive sound of flip-flops on wet tile told you that he was walking over to you. You were left petrified and shivering as the cold water dripped down your exposed body. Eventually, the flip-flops stopped flopping. You heard a splash of water, the metal squeaking of the shower controls, and another splash. “Ah, mucho mejor… (Ah, much better…)” Lalo patted you on the shoulder, sharing some of his body heat to melt your cold demeanor. “See? I warmed it up for you, mijo. Now, can you turn around for me?”

You shimmied your stiff body around to face Lalo, who wasted no time eyeing you up and down. You could actually see his eyes flicker back and forth between your face, chest, and crotch in a perfect rhythm. One two three, four five six. Face chest crotch, crotch chest face.

“Wow…” Lalo sighed and rested both his hands on your shoulders as he continued to scan your body. He was trying to photograph every curve, every inch of you, as if he was afraid he’d never see you again.  “You… My god, you’re gorgeous… You probably made bank on the streets, huh? Body like that, I’d sell it too. Maybe even buy myself a nice place in Cancún with all the money I get for it.” 

You snorted with laughter. His sickly-sweet talk had you forgetting all about the sheer terror you were feeling just moments ago. He was an expert at talking you down, and you tried to find the best words to give him in return. “I… I wish man! You make it sound nice!”

“Well, a pretty boy like you deserves nice things. You deserve to be treated nice.” Lalo chuckled as he dragged his hands down, across the scars on your chest and over the curves of your hips. He bit his lip and looked back up at your face, “If you were mine? Psh, I’d treat you so nice. I’d give you everything you’ve ever wanted, querido, I promise. Would you like that?”

Hell, you’d like anything if it came out of that voice, a rich baritone with a sultry accent, warming you up like a crackling fireplace on a winter’s night. “Y-Yeah…” you hummed, hoping that your legs wouldn’t liquify in front of him. “So, uh… when you say, like… being yours, uh… does that mean you’ll-?”

Lalo answered your question before you finished asking it, “I’ll protect you, sweetheart. You won’t have to worry about anyone else.” He pulled you in for a hug and under the shower stream, which was now as warm and comforting as he was. He smooched your forehead before patting your shoulders and locking eyes with you. “So? You in?”

You were in. In over your head, but in nonetheless. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m in.”

“Good! I’m glad to have you.” Lalo kissed your forehead again. “But, I don’t just protect anyone, y’know. You gotta earn your keep, understand? You gotta prove to me that you’re worth protecting.”

At this point, you were used to bartering with your body. You’d spent plenty an evening face down, ass up, in some cheap motel room, scrolling through Twitter and fake moaning while you waited for whichever loser was behind you to cum inside the condom he’d bitched about wearing. But this, but Lalo, Lalo was more than just a client. He felt like much more. 

And when you looked down, you noticed that he was packing much more than your usual clientele. 

Like he had done to you, your gaze flickered back and forth from his crotch to his face. One, two, one, two. Face, cock, face, cooock. You couldn’t help yourself. Even at half-mast, you could tell he was big. Thick, uncut, trimmed hair, fat juicy balls, and fresh from the shower. It was gorgeous, and you had quite the portfolio for comparison. You’d said the same lies to every client that whipped it out: “Oh, wooow, it’s so biiiiig. I don’t know if I can take it all.” Lies, acting, stage presence, whatever you want to call it, but with Lalo, it was the truth. You unconsciously licked your lips.

Lalo was amused, but growing impatient. “You gonna do something or just stare at it all day?”

You snapped out of your cock-blinded haze and scoffed. “In a second, man! I’m just…” You dropped to your knees, gliding your hands down his back until they rested on his ass. “Just admiring what I have to work with.” You closed your eyes and maneuvered your mouth onto his beautiful cock, slurping and sucking to get it fully erect, which you did in record time.  

Lalo exhaled and ran his fingers through your wet hair, scratching your scalp as you worked. “Oh, there we go. That’s a good boy… You got good technique, huh? Get a lot of practice?”

“Mhm…” You answered with a mouthful of dick, lips buzzing around his head. For some reason, the way he said good boy went straight to your head (and your junk). You weren’t sure why, but you felt an overwhelming, soul-crushing desire to please him. Protecting yourself was definitely part of it, but self-preservation alone wouldn’t have you so enthusiastic. You’d give him whatever he wanted, anything he could ever ask for, just to hear him praise you again. You relaxed your throat as best you could, and pushed his butt towards you to get his cock all the way down. 

“Ooh, you naughty little thing, you like that?” Lalo growled, tightening his grip on your hair and jerking his hips into your face. “You like getting your throat fucked?” 

He kept you down for longer than you would have done yourself. Your throat convulsed and you spat up, coating him in drool. He yanked you off and let you gasp for air. You took a couple quick breaths, not wanting to be away from that cock for too long, and latched your spit-covered lips onto his balls. You licked, slurped, sucked, and slobbered on them while you stroked his shaft. 

Lalo threw his head back and moaned. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it. Just like that. Good boy.”

There it was again, your call to action, your sleeper agent trigger phrase. You ripped your lips off his balls and took him back into your mouth, jacking him off with your throat. You got him all the way in again, your nose nuzzling into his pubic hair while your tongue lapped at his balls. You struggled to breathe through your nose, but you didn’t care. Cock was more important than oxygen. 

Lalo laughed over your choking, not maliciously, but in pure glee at the sight before him. “Oh my god, look at you! You’re adorable!” He pulled you off before you could asphyxiate yourself, and crouched down to cup your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair, shaking some water out of it. “Heh, I’m real lucky, aren’t I? I got the best little cocksucker in this damn place, all to myself. Such a good boy.”

There it was again. He had to know what he was doing. Like Pavlov and his dog, he was conditioning you, training you to be his dog, and it was working. You were on your knees, panting with your tongue hanging out, covered in drool, being rewarded with headpats and kisses from your master. You were so happy, so proud to be doing a good job. You let your eyes close and your head lull, giggling and basking in his affection. 

Lalo took note of the effect he had on you. “You really like it when I call you that, yeah? And when I pet you? Dios mío, you're like a little puppy. So cute, so happy, so obedient… I bet if I told you to bark, you’d actually do it, wouldn’t you?”

You froze, taking a moment to assess your situation and how far you’d sunk. You weren’t actually considering this, were you? Then again, Lalo was the only one standing between you and every other violent criminal in here. His wish would have to be your command. But then again, would that be so bad? You liked what he had for you so far. “Do… Do you want me to?”

Lalo blinked a few times, like he wasn’t expecting you to be up for it. “Y’know what?” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, letting the water cascade down his body and sighing as he let his tension go. “Yeah, I do. I do want you to bark for me.” He grabbed your hair and tilted your head back so you could look him in the eye. “Go on. Bark for me, boy.”

Before you bit the bullet, you thanked your lucky stars that no one else had walked into the showers to hear you debase yourself like this. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo cackled, letting go of your hair to steady himself on the wall as he doubled over from laughter. When he was able to breathe, he answered you mockingly, clearly enjoying the role he’d put you in. “Woof, woof!” He took a moment to collect himself and wipe some tears from his eyes before he spoke to you again. “Oh, you’re precious, you know that?” His fingers raked through your hair, smoothing it out under the shower stream and scratching behind your ears as he purred to you in his native tongue. “Oh, mi chico bueno… Tan lindo… Tan lindo y solo mío… (Oh, my good boy… So cute… So cute and all mine…)” 

You weren’t listening intently, instead mainly just enjoying how sexy his voice sounded in Spanish. Though when you did hear English again, it was a question that, along with another sharp pull on your hair, shocked you out of your stupor. 

“Hey, you ever eat ass before?”

You stared up at him and shook your head. No client had ever asked, thank god, and none of your previous partners had either. You’d been on the receiving end a few times, and you’d liked it well enough. The thought of being the giver had never crossed your mind, until now. 

“Well, you’re about to. Don’t worry, it’s fun! Shower’s the best place to try it. You’ll like it, I’m sure.” He held onto your hair like a briefcase and spun his body around, letting go of you when his voluptuous ass was in your face. “Whenever you’re ready, mijo.”

You brought your hands up to his big butt and gave it a squeeze, like you were pinching it to see if it was real. Having confirmed its existence in this physical realm, you spread his cheeks apart with your thumbs. You took a deep breath to settle your nerves, and then dove in. You lapped at his hole, slicking it up with a little bit of spit. Not nearly enough, though, so you pulled back and spat directly on it for good measure. That allowed you to slide your tongue right in. 

“Ooh, yeah, that’s it…” Lalo groaned, “Knew you’d be good at this. You’re a natural!” He reached behind you to push your face in deeper. 

You got the hint and started to tonguefuck his asshole, thrusting in and out as deep as you could go. Surprisingly, you found yourself really enjoying it. Your shameless moans reverberated between his cheeks and vibrated his sensitive rim. You braced your hands on his hips and flicked your tongue up and down, side to side, in and out, anywhere you could get it. Lalo was right, you were a natural. 

But he still felt like you needed some assistance. Lalo grabbed one of your wrists and brought your hand up front, your fingertips blindly grazing his length. “Hey. Stroke my dick while you do that. C’mon.” He demanded, and you obliged, pumping his cock as you dug your tongue deep into his ass. You knew you had it right when he said, “Oh, there you go! Can’t forget that, right?”

You definitely could not. You were drunk off his cock and addicted to his ass. Everything about him was intoxicating. You stuck your tongue out and swiped it down over his rim and to his balls, sucking on one, then the other. When you got your fill of that, you spat on his hole again and went back to tonguefucking him. 

You must have been doing a good job, because Lalo couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Ay, te chico sucio, lámelo. Lame me pinche culo, puto. Usa ese pinche boca sucia. ¿Te gusta, verdad? ¿Te gusta lamiendo mi ano? Claro que te gusta, maricón. (Ay, you dirty boy, lick it. Lick my fucking ass, whore. Use that dirty fucking mouth. You like that, right? You like licking my asshole? Of course you like it, faggot.)” He hissed in pleasure and kept talking, “Carajo, te sientes tan bueno. (Fuck, you feel so good.)”  

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying, but he said it with a lot of conviction and passion. Your tongue must have grazed his prostate, because when it did, he cried out salaciously and leaked precum all over your fingers. “¡Ay, Dios mío! (Ah, oh my God!)” 

You were ready to hit that spot over and over, but Lalo was quicker than you were, and pulled your face out by your hair. “Alright! That’s enough of that!” He laughed as he turned to you and petted your hair again. “A few seconds longer and I would’ve been done for! Told you you’d be good at it! Good boy! Such a good boy!”

You whined like the pathetic little dog you were, and took his praise to heart. “Thank you, Lalo…”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, come here.” He crouched down to pick you up off the floor and stand you upright. Once he had you on your own two feet, he backed you up against the wall. Lalo’s lips interlocked with yours faster than you could process it. His hand moved with the same urgency, rushing to slip between your legs. Predictably, your dick was rock hard and your cunt was soaking wet. Lalo chuckled as he rocked his fingers against you. “Awww, look who’s excited! You want me that bad?”

You started to grind your hips into his hand while he sucked and bit your neck. “Yeah… Yeah, fuck… Y-Yeah…”

Lalo ripped his lips off you with enough intensity that was sure to bruise. “Tell me what you want.”

Because it could never be that easy, right? You’d always have to put yourself down before getting what you want. Though this time, you were feeling playful. You stuttered out a snarky response. “Isn’t- ah… Isn’t it kinda obvious?”

Lalo seemed to like your snark, supplementing it with some of his own. “Oh, it’s very obvious.” He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you off the floor, lining your hole up with his cock. You squirmed, trying to fineagle it in yourself, but he kept you still. “But I want to hear you say it first. Tell me, what do you want me to do with you?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “F-Fuck me… Fuck me right now, please… Please…”

Rather than quench your thirst, Lalo fanned the flames. “Right now? You want it right here? Anyone could walk in and see us, y’know.”

That was true, though his tone implied that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Quite honestly, he made it sound kind of alluring. You pushed it out of your mind, consenting to anything that’d get his cock inside you faster. 

You shook your head. “That’s… gah, that’s fine, I don’t care… I don’t care, please, just… Just fuck me, already…”

Lalo laughed, “Alright, alright, I will! So needy!” and brushed some wet hair out of your face. “Such a needy little puppy...”

Before you could even think of reacting, he slammed your hips down and filled you to the brim. The stretch was intense, enough for you to let out an involuntary cry of, “Oh, fuck!”

…

Having realized how great the acoustics were in the prison showers, you slapped your hand over your mouth and shut your eyes, not wanting to test your vocal performance capabilities any longer. 

Lalo took your wrists one at a time and put your hands on his shoulders, “No, no. Look at me. Don’t be shy…” He took hold of your hips again and squeezed hard enough for you to pop your eyelids open. After making sure you two were eye to eye, he thrust himself up into you. You moaned reflexively, like he’d just hit the squeaker on a chew toy. A dog’s chew toy. “Let them hear you, doggy.”

That was easy enough, because Lalo had you practically howling as he fucked you up against the shower wall. Within a matter of seconds, other prisoners came in to investigate, and you had amassed an audience.

“Yooo, check out what Salamanca’s got.”

“Holy shit!”

You yelped and snapped your neck to the side, where you saw two of your fellow inmates, two burly dudes fully clothed in prison orange, ogling your naked body. You repeatedly tapped Lalo’s chest to get him to stop. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t give less of a fuck that they were there, let alone that they were talking about you. They were beneath him. Literally. Little did you know, you’d gotten lucky. The one guy you stumbled upon in the shower, the sweet, sexy, salt-and-pepper Lalo Salamanca, who had promised to keep you safe, just so happened to be top dog among everyone locked up in MDC Albuquerque. Hell, even the guards kissed his ass everywhere he went, though with not as much tongue as you did. He barked an order at you, like you were but one of the many people who did what he said. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

You pouted and whined as Lalo fucked you into submission, rolling your head back to face him at his command. Still, even though you were a whiny, weak, submissive, slutty little bitch, you had the nerve to question him. “Nghhhh, but they’re staring at me…”

“So?” Lalo’s tone let you know how stupid that was, “I’m not gonna stop,” but he was quick to sweet talk you into it. That sneaky, sexy, Salamanca. “Everyone’s gotta find out you’re owned, somehow. Might as well have a little fun with it, yeah? And besides,” He gave you an especially hard thrust. “I think you like getting watched.”

You did. You really, truly did. As more and more prisoners packed into the tight corridor of the shower, you heard more and more voices join the ensemble. At one point, Lalo had pulled you in for a kiss, and when it was over, you were stuck staring at the spectators. You weren’t sure exactly how many of your peers were out there, definitely more than you could count on your hands, but they were all talking about you. 

“Look at that!”

“Who’s this little faggot?”

“Dunno. Never seen him before.”

“I hear he’s a whore. Just arrived today. Got half a year for prostitution.”

“No way! You think Salamanca was the one pimping him out?”

“Probably was. He’s lettin’ the kid have it.”

“You like what they’re saying about you? That you’re my whore? Heh. You wish you were good enough to be my whore. You’re barely good enough to be my dog. You wanna show them how much of a dog you really are?”. Lalo slapped you across the face like the bitch you were. “Bark for them, doggy. C’mon. Be a good boy and let everyone hear you bark.”

You had no thought in your head, no possible reason to do otherwise, because you couldn’t reason. Animals aren’t capable of reason. As the two of you fucked like rabbits, you clung to him like a koala, and barked like a dog. “R-Ruff, ruff! Ruff!”

The concert hall of the showers echoed with a standing ovation. The onlookers hurled cheers at Lalo, and cheers, leers, and jeers at you. 

“Hahaha! He’s fuckin’ pathetic!”

“Oh my god, he actually did it!”

“Dude, he has to. Salamanca tells you to bark, you fuckin’ bark. I don’t wanna be the guy to tell him no.”

“Yeahhh, get it!”

“¡Tómalo, puto! (Take it, bitch!)”

“Bark some more for us, doggy!”

“He’s a dog, alright. He’s a bitch in heat.”

“Yeah, yeah, YEAH! Take it! You take it, bitch! That’s how we fucking DO! You tell my cousin ‘thank you’, BITCH!”

“¿Qué? ¿Tuco?” Now Lalo was the one checking out the crowd. You guessed from context clues that ‘Tuco’ was his cousin that just told you to say thank you, and Lalo must have been looking for him. He scanned the mosh pit of inmates watching the show, and upon realizing that it’d take too long to find ‘Tuco’ in the sea of semi-clothed, muscular men, gave up. “Ah, no importa. (Ah, doesn’t matter.)” He shrugged and turned his attention back to you. “He’s right, though.” He slapped your other cheek, grabbed you by the jaw, and spat in your face. “Say thank you.”

On top of the other animals he’d reduced you to, you could now add parrot to the list. “Ah, thank you! Thank you, La-lo! Fuck! Thank you!”

“Aw, you’re welcome, nene.” Lalo said as he brushed his spit off your face, the evidence of your degradation disappearing down the drain. He planted a tender kiss on your O-shaped lips. “Now, I want you to stroke your dick for me. You’re gonna make yourself cum in front of all these nice men, and you’re gonna keep telling me thank you like the good boy you are. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Of course you could. You brought one of your hands off his shoulders and pinched your t-dick. You frantically jerked it, not even caring about anyone seeing your body anymore. Thankfully, they all saw you from the side. No one had caught on yet. Over your desperate cries of “Thank you! Thank you, Lalo! Thank you!” you could just barely hear the encouragement and epithets from the audience.

“Yeah, cum for us, queer!”

“We wanna see you cum!”

“Heh. Little faggot’s dick is so tiny, his whole hand covers it.”

“Look at his face. He’s even panting like a dog. I give him 30 seconds, tops.”

30 seconds was, of course, a gross overestimation. It was probably closer to 3 before you cried out “Tha-ank! You! La-lo! F-Fuck! Fuck!!!” and came, spurts of fluid gushing out with his every thrust. Everyone had screamed for you when your orgasm started, but by the time it faded away, they’d been reduced to quiet, confused murmuring. They were perplexed by the excess liquid now dripping onto the floor underneath you. You couldn’t hear a single word clearly. Your heart stopped. The shadow of dread loomed over your head once more. 

But where you saw danger, Lalo saw opportunity. Keeping you impaled on his cock, he kissed and caressed your cheek, speaking with his gentle, generous tone. “Shh, it’s okay. Look at me.” Calloused fingertips poked your jaw in his direction. When you saw his face, he gave you a great big smile, and kissed your nose. “I’m gonna show them, okay?”

Again, his ability to talk you down was uncanny. Or, maybe you were just a dumb, silly little puppy that’d go along with whatever its master said. You giggled, still riding the high from your orgasm, and nodded. 

Lalo kissed your neck, whispered to you, “Good boy. You feel so good,” and set you down on the floor. He clapped his hands on your shoulders, and engaged the crowd. “You guys wanna see the best thing about him?” 

And before a single cheer, clap, or whistle could be sounded, Lalo spun you around, and bared your front to the audience. 

If you thought the prisoners had gone crazy before, they would’ve needed lobotomies after seeing you in full. The collective screeching in the room sounded unhuman. Some couldn’t believe their very eyes, and were left questioning reality. 

“Oh my god!”

“Ayo, what the FUCK?!”

“No shot, dude! There’s no way!”

“That’s not real! You’re fucking with me! That can’t be real!”

“Lucky bastard!”

“Is that a pussy?! Fuuuck, it’s been so long…”

Some knew that what they were seeing was real, but struggled to make sense of it. 

“Wait, wait, wait, so then did he just fucking squirt?!”

“Is that a chick? How she get in the men’s block?”

“That don’t look like a chick, though, man. How’d this dude get a pussy?”

“Shi-i-it, can I get one too?”

“Yeah. I’ll carve you one.”

“I think he’s a tranny, right? Or is that just when chicks have dicks? Didn’t know they could go the other way.”

“Is that why he just got here today? Salamanca wanted some pussy, so he just had one of his whores get caught and sent to him?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. He could do it.”

“Yeah, he’s a gorgeous little puppy, isn’t he?” Lalo laughed and shook you gently, as if to emphasize your already eye-catching presence. He snaked one of his hands down to your crotch and spread your pussy lips open, showing off your cute little dick and your drenched hole. You squealed with embarrassment and closed your eyes, not wanting to see the hundreds of prisoners salivating over you. “Think he tastes as good as he looks?” 

Wait, what?

Whatever he just said, it drove the peanut gallery wild. Your ears started to ring from all the shouting.

“Well, let’s find out!” Lalo took his hand off your front and slapped you on the behind. “Put your hands on the wall and bend over.”

“Ah! Okay! Ok-kay…” You shuffled back over to the side, faced the wall, and braced yourself with palms splayed on wet tile. Then, you bent over, sticking your ass out with your legs far apart. “Like… Like this?”

“Perfect!” Lalo spanked you again. “Stay just like that.” He groped your ass and knelt down behind you. Having been in his position not too long ago, you could guess what was coming, though you still groaned when he dragged his tongue up your slit. 

“Ohhh, f-fuck, thank you, Lalooo~…”

Lalo said “you’re welcome” by slurping up as much of your essence as he could. He swallowed a mouthful and then winked at the crowd. “Tastes pretty damn good.” He pursed his lips around your dick and sucked, making your knees buckle and your hands slide down the wall.

A few seconds of that had you begging for mercy. You knew if he kept it up, you’d inevitably collapse onto the grimy shower floor. “F-Fuck! Fuck, Lalo! Lalo! Oh, god, I can’t take it! P-Please!"

Lalo popped your dick out of his mouth, and spat your words back at you. “You can’t take it?” He got up off his knees and forced two of his fingers into your sopping wet hole. Then, he rammed them into your g-spot over and over, as fast as he possibly could. When you started wailing, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so he could growl in your ear. “Well, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take what I fucking give you, whore. You’re my bitch. And I get to do whatever I want with you. Do you understand that?”

“Y-Yes! Yes, yes, ah, fuck, yes! Yes, Lalo!”

“Say thank you.”

“Nghhh, thank you, Lalooo…”

“Aww, good boy! You’re such a good boy! Who’s my stupid little slut? You are! Yes you are! You’re my stupid little slut! And you’re not gonna cum until I say you can, right?”

You balled your hands into fists and dug them into the wall, sobbing from the intense pressure building inside you. You knew you were going to break, but you agreed to his terms nonetheless. “Mhm! Ah! Uh huh! I… w-won’t… c-cum… I wo-oh fu-u-uck, I can’t! H-Hold it! Please!”

Lalo sighed, and decided to take the slightest bit of pity on you. “Oh, alright. But you gotta bark first. C’mon, doggy. Bark if you wanna cum.”

You took no time to process the depravity of his request. You just followed the command instinctively, like the well-trained puppy you were. “R-Ruff! Ruff, ruff! Woof! Woof!”

Lalo chuckled, satisfied with what he’d made of you. “Good boy. Now, you can cum.”

And with his permission, you squirted all over his fingers as he jackhammered them into you. Your throat was sore from moaning so much, and you imagined the audience must have felt the same from cheering. It was understandable, though; it’d probably been years since any of them had seen a pussy in person, let alone one that belonged to a cute boy and could gush like a firehose. 

Lalo slid his fingers out of your hole, sucked them clean, and quickly replaced them with his cock. You let out a garbled moan as he bottomed out again, yet he spoke to the inmates with perfect poise and posture.

“So!” He pulled you up by your hair and turned your face to the masses. “This kid here? ¿Este chico? He’s mine, got that? Mío. You fuck with him, you fuck with me, and you fuck with my entire family. Si se chingue con él, se chingue conmigo, y se chingue con todo el cartel. ¿Comprende?”

Astonishingly, hundreds of prisoners from all walks of life, all types of crimes, many of which were truly horrendous and unspeakable, answered to Lalo Salamanca. Thanks to him, you had gone from one of the most vulnerable people here, to one of the safest. You were untouchable.  His peers in name alone, his subjects in practice, all chanted in unison. “Yes, sir!” 

“Good! Now, all of you get out of here so I can finish up with him.”