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[alexiswritingstuff]

Hey, I was wondering if you could write a Nanami x reader where they're on their first date together? Love your blog and I hope you have a good day

As of right now I am unsure if I could accurately write for Nanami, but I will 100% give it a go because who doesn’t love that man.

I’ve got a few ideas to deal with, so I hope you are okay with this possibly being on the back burner a little bit.

[alexiswritingstuff]

Not just a man.

Pairing: Hiromi Higuruma x gn! reader

Warnings: none?

Summary: during one of the initial meetings in the culling game, Y/n decides to spark up a conversation with the mysterious man in the black suit.

Other mentions: like one thing about Itadori.

A/n: okay, I'm honestly not too confident about this one but if I leave it any longer it is just going to rot in my drafts, so here is my first fic with Higuruma! This is spoiler free, and even though it is based on the culling games, there might be points in this fic that don't accurately depict the situation in the manga. I have read it multiple times but my brain is something else, man. Also, be aware that there could be mischaracterisation, or general moments that would seem OOC for Higuruma. As much as I love him, this is my first fic with him so it will probably take time to nail down his characters, especially because the only thing that I can base it off is content from the manga. Either way, and despite the possible downsides, I hope you enjoy reading!

Finding a definition to encapsulate the past few days since the event had started was... difficult to say the least. While that may be because there wasn't a singular word to describe it, the options were unlimited.

Before anything had the chance to process, it was right onto the next thing. Another problem. Another fight, both physically and verbally.

It was the sort of cycle that may have already been usual in your kind of world, as there was no point in resting when curses were about, yet somehow it almost felt faster. Instead of potentially running into some form of beast, it was now an expectation instead.

Initially, you would think that was the most unnerving part, wouldn’t you?

Though, as you sat in a vast room with more people you had known in your life, it seemed that thought was more wrong than you could have known.

At some point during the game, a bunch of sorcerers were rounded up. You, somehow, just ended up being wound into it at some point. I mean, you may barely grasp the meaning of the culling game, but there were enough clues to fill it in.

There were only a few reasons why people like yourselves would gather in this way.

Something big was going down.

The room itself had become quieter over time. Most of the people within had left one after the other. Either having personal things to attend to, further discussions, or just trying to grab a breath of fresh air before even more stress.

You, however, had made yourself comfortable in one of the randomly placed seats. Or at least tried to.

In all honesty, your body was almost rigid. A lack of a want to move as the urge to fidget continuously antagonised each limb. It made it more tricky to maintain that hard exterior everyone else seemed to be able to keep up with ease. 

The whole sorcery thing wasn't exactly new to you. Your ability wasn't something you discovered young, like many others. It had given you enough time to learn about it. Grow it. Though being surrounded by other people who also had some form of ability was new.

Yeah, considering the fact that you had previously only met about a handful, it was most definitely new.

But you had to admit that it was very interesting to see the different kinds of sorcerers there were.

No matter how apparent, there was an active difference in mindsets, attitudes, personalities, and the general looks of these people. Most of what they could do even contrasted with it.

They had their own stories, their own abilities, and their own worlds. It was like the more you looked around, there was an increased possibility in becoming intrigued by something different.

And eventually, it landed on one thing in particular.

One person.

To your left was this man. He was sitting in his respective chair almost as if he were one with it, his hand simply resting against a table that separated the two of you, while his eyes gazed forward without a specific focus.

There wasn't exactly anything obscure about him. There was nothing on the surface that made him stick out from the rest; in fact, he was probably the most generic-looking person here.

He was just a man in a mere black suit and matching tie, though there was something that made it increasingly difficult for your eyes to stray.

And apparently keeping your mouth shut too.

“It's Higuruma, isn't it?”

It seemed to take a few seconds for the sound to register in his ears. Or, more so, the fact that it was directed at him if the words weren't enough. So a moment passed, he blinked, and eventually his head began to turn in your direction.

It was a lazy movement, one that soon revealed his other hand to be resting against his chin while the hook of a finger pressed into the space beneath his bottom lip. If he had glasses on, his eyes would be peering right over them, startled yet tired enough that they could barely be seen.

The man before you hummed, a deep sound that grumbled within his throat until his lips had finally decided to part. “I don't believe we've met before.”

His voice was pretty much what you were expecting it to be: lacking interest, flat, and a tad accusatory.

It was paired with this furrowed eyebrow, which created a light look of confusion, either simply because of the sudden conversation or the fact that it was with someone he hadn't paid much attention to beforehand.

To others, it may have made them uneasy. Filled them with a regret just for opening their mouth in the first place. But not for you. In fact, it had you finally settling into your seat.

“No, actually, I overheard that, uh, Itadori kid talking about your previous... interaction,” you explained, trying to use a new tone in hopes of loosening him up and making it clear that you were just wanting to talk. However, there was barely even a reaction.

A muscle in his face had slightly twitched in response to the phrasing, but otherwise he was still. He just stared back at you with those blank eyes.

He looked to be thinking, which helped relieve some of the tension, though in reality, it didn’t seem like he was one for conversing. At least not right now, anyway, and it should’ve made you turn away. It should’ve shut your mouth and made you go find somewhere else to bother. I mean, you had learned quite a few names by now. 

But the more you looked back at the so-called Higuruma, the more questions began to pile high up inside your brain. And it was only a matter of time before one would decide it was right to spill through your lips.

“Okay, look, I'm sorry, but I really need to.” You huffed out a breath, letting your feet fully plant against the ground as your torso twisted towards the man for proper delivery. “Can I ask you a question?”

There was a speck of hesitance that appeared within his gaze once it focused back on you, but nevertheless, “Go ahead." He relented, his tone enough of a warning that this was either going to continue or finish this conversation all together.

“Did you really take a bath with your clothes on?”

When the question settled for a moment, Higuruma leaned back a little, allowing a full view of you into his vision before he challenged, “Is it that unbelievable?”

“Well... I can't say that I've thought of doing it myself.”

“Exactly,” he stated without missing a beat, and it stilled your body. Your lips stayed apart for a moment, attempting to find the right words while he continued to stare into your soul. “So you just woke up one day and decided to bathe fully clothed?”

You blinked at him. He blinked right back. “Pretty much.”

Within the next few seconds, you found yourself sort of mirroring the way he sat. Like all the care you had on keeping up some form of appearance just went right out of the window.

And though a string of words failed to encompass your reaction to his experiment, it seemed that whatever expression was on your face was enough to entice a further explanation.

“Not to disappoint,” Higuruma had begun through a slight strain, somehow sinking even further into the chair until the back of his head was planted against the top rail. “But truthfully, I was only trying to do something I normally wouldn't.”

“That's all.”

Never in your life have you been more curious about a singular man. He hadn't done anything crazy; I mean, at some point, you must have had that same thought. So what the hell was it? Why was there an urge to keep this conversation going?

“And… how did that feel?” 

At this point, Higuruma's eyes had fallen closed, getting tired of staring up at the same boring ceiling, and basked in the growing silence from the fewer sorcerers. “Damp... though I must say it was better than I thought it would be.”

The only response you could think of was this barely audible hum. It was the easiest conclusion, seeing as it would acknowledge the comment while buying you time to figure out what exactly to say next. But it was rather challenging.

This whole scenario was just strange to you—something you probably couldn't even dream up if you tried. Yet here you were in the real world, having the most entertaining conversation with a man who you most likely wouldn't get the chance to if it weren't for the fact that both of you were sorcerers.

“You know, I didn't think I was going to get along with a lawyer.” you spoke up after a moment of silence, and Higuruma sucked air into his nose. His head lolled to the side, a movement fulfilled with somehow less energy than before. “That obvious?” he questioned, which in turn had you raising your eyebrows.

“What—that you're a lawyer?” you attempted to clarify, properly meeting his heavy gaze just in time to see his short nod. “You're the only one in here dressed in a full fancy suit; it was either that or you were a member of the men in black.”

It wasn’t entirely visible, but you swore the next time you blinked that the corner of his mouth that you could see sort of quirked upward. It wasn't a full smile; it had barely even created that little crevice, though it got accentuated by a huff that slightly shook his body. 

And then it faded: “Are you going to ask about my abilities too, then?”

“No, no, I got the jist,” you waved off initially, noting the way the question drained all the expressiveness from his face. “Honestly, I was more interested in the bath thing anyway, but now that you mention it, it must've taken you a while to master a thing like that.”

Higuruma hummed again, his gaze becoming unfocused once again as he started to search through his recollections. “I believe... It's been about twelve days.”

If it weren't for the statement itself, the nonchalant delivery would have also caused your eyes to widen in the way that they did. “What?” Your body turned as much as it could until your knee knocked into the crooked coffee table. The man before you remained unfazed.

“Twelve days—forget being a sorcerer; you're a damn magician, Higuruma!” you insisted, trying so hard to keep your voice at a minimum level while he lazily began to push himself to sit up straight. “Is it really that impressive?”

Your eyebrows were completely furrowed this time, your gaze narrowing on the man in disbelief. “There are some people who get their abilities at birth, and they can still not have them under control no matter what age they reach.”

“But that would also depend on the effort they put into doing so in the first place, if any,” Higuruma countered without missing a beat, though the conviction layering his voice faltered when he continued, “I… just got that chance of getting something that wasn't much different from my usual job.”

“Still, you managed to understand it—in what, a little more than a week? And it’s already at the point that you can just fully use it?” you reminded him almost at the same speed that he had, “I mean, even for a lawyer, that's got to be at least notable.”

The rest of his face may have been void of any emotions, but those eyebrows weren’t fooling anyone. His mind was moving. What wasn’t apparent, however, was in which direction it was doing so.

Higuruma may have been new to the world of sorcery, but this wasn’t something he thought was part of it.

Your genuineness, your curiosity, that look on your face—that was anything but the disgust he had seen in his own eyes. For once, he was face-to-face with something he couldn't solve right off the bat.

“How long did it take you?” He finally spoke up after a moment, and it seemed that both of you were equally unsure if the change of subject was due to it being uncomfortable or if he was now the one to be genuinely curious.

Now it was your turn to lean back a little. “Truthfully,” you started, averting your gaze for pretty much the first time since this entire interaction had begun. “I don't think mine is story-worthy, to be honest.”

Higurumas brow twitched upward. “How come?”

“Well,” You took in a breath, “not everyone has eventful lives. It’s as simple as that, really. In a world with a multitude of different abilities, there is bound to be a plethora of expectations and disappointments.” you stated with a light shrug, “Besides, I'm kinda tired of the whole 'introducing people's abilities before themselves'.”

“Isn’t that a little contradictory?” he inquired, and the defensiveness beat your urge to laugh. “What? No-- You were the one who willingly confirmed what you could do. I was only asking about–”

“The bath thing,” Higuruma affirmed before you could. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.” The look he gave you was one that had a grin fighting to take over your lips. It may have been filled with some annoyance, further concluded by a slight shake of his head. But it wasn’t the bad kind.

“Listen,” you began, trying to regain that seriousness so that you could get back to your point, even if it faltered. “All I’m saying is that we have every other day to discuss our abilities, man, but right now we have the chance to just... sit and talk about anything but that.”

That feeling of defensiveness was back, no matter its battle with amusement. And this time it was on a level that had you crossing your arms over your chest, as if it would do anything. “Then what do you have in mind?” Higuruma questioned, simply watching you complete your movement.

Your lips parted immediately for some reason. It was like your mind had pre-prepared some form of comeback as it got ready to let the words roll off your tongue… but they barely even formed into a sound. It was more like a slight croak, in all honesty. You paused. 

“... I didn't think that far."

For the first time in the minutes that you had known this man, the corners of his mouth had finally, and visibly, curled. 

He looked at you, his smile begging to grow further and further, to the point that he started biting it down. 

It was sort of unusual to see. Most of the time you looked at him, he had this blankness that latched to his face in a way that made it almost look embedded into the skin. There wasn’t really any difference in expression; it was more the movement of muscles. 

Yet now, whatever he was showing had almost reached his eyes, and it sat very nicely.

“What?” you half breathed out, a sort of nervous laugh breaking through your lips despite most of your face being screwed up in confusion. Higuruma waved a hand lazily and said, “Nothing. It's nothing; you're just…”

“It's all just been a little interesting,” he finally confessed, and though you were sure of its meaning, the phrasing put a crack in your amusement. “In a good way or a bad way?” you quizzed with a lighter tone, settling back into the chair, which never actually relieved the tension from your spine.

Higuruma shook his head once more before his gaze shifted to find your own. That previous spike of enjoyment seemed to use up the last bit of energy he had for the day as his face slowly reverted back to its usual state.

“It's good now, I think…” he started, dragging out the ending word, and it wasn’t until he lowered his chin that you realised he was gesturing in your direction. He was asking for your name. You hadn’t told him your name?

“Oh… Oh, just call me, L/n.” you informed quickly, trying to hide the confusion that had made itself known once more while the man before you simply nodded. “L/n,” he repeated quietly before continuing in a fuller voice. “Well, I hope your first impression of me wasn’t as bad as it sounds in my head,”

The slight grimace dusting over his face had you huffing out a laugh in seconds. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that any time soon, Higuruma,” you insisted, letting that smile take its rightful place on your lips to further prove it. 

And though it took a moment of looking at each other, he finally had a reason to do it too.

“Not at all.”

[alexiswritingstuff]

guys I have to confess that my fixation has changed again. I am so deep into Jujutsu Kaisen that it's all that I can think about.

I know for a fact that I will continue writing for Mulder, but in the meantime I was wondering if anyone had any X reader requests related to JJK?

Preferably with Megumi because I believe he is the one I would be confident in writing for the most genuinely as a starter. Though, I must say Higuruma is a close second.

When sending in requests please know that I don't mind anything as long as it is SFW, and that I usually write the reader as either gender neutral or male.

Feel free to write them under this post, through my inbox, or even as a message!

[alexiswritingstuff]

A Starry Night.

Pairing: Fox Mulder x gender neutral reader.

Summary: After a tough week, L/n and Mulder find themselves seeking out the quiet of night that finally unveiled the stars, and an unusual honesty.

Wordcount: 3.2k

A/N: this is my first time writing for Mulder! I haven't watched the X-files in a hot minute, but this man has me stuck in my mind for months, so I just had too.

That being said, because this is my first time writing for this man, please take into account that there could be some mischaracterisation, things that seem OOC or information that doesn't entirely line up with the show. I've tried to avoid it to the best of my abilities, but I can only ask for your patience while I find my footing.

Either way, I hope you find this an enjoyable read. Let me know your thoughts!

The amount of things people could outgrow across years always felt strange. More so, the fact that things could change right under a persons nose and they might not even notice.

As a kid it was a universal experience, for most, to have this stubbornness when it came to sleep. An utter defiance. There were fits thrown, young voices loud and filled with rage, as if laying down in a bed was simply the worst thing in the world.

Eventually you would learn the truth, and maybe even regret the years of fighting. It was almost every day that you found yourself practically begging for that blanket of darkness to return the moment morning had risen again. Even if it didn't always allow the ability to sleep.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The city had gone as much as it could, enough so that you could actually hear the wildlife that lived amongst the people for once.

For most, a sleepless night probably sounds... tiring. The exhaustion from the previous day should be active within your system, signalling your body to settle down, let your eyes fall closed and rest. But that wasn’t the case.

At least not tonight.

In truth, the past week had been ruthless in itself, which is usual given the kind of cases you normally worked on. Obviously, it was to be expected; it wasn't like your tasks were to chase after unicorns or a phoenix every single week.

However, this last one… there probably wasn’t a word for.

Let's just say that it was another abduction case. Kids had disappeared from rooms like they weren't there to begin with in ways that left the parents not even realising that they were missing in the first place.

So, of course, Mulder was hooked. Instantly. Stuck onto that singular word like a damn magnet.

Abduction.

It wasn't like there was outright evidence that screamed a difference between any other case, there never really was, but that didn't stop him. It never did.

It was just the two of you in the office at that time. Scully was busy doing something, trying to do research for a topic she hadn't fully elaborated on, which meant that Mulder was stood in front of you within seconds. That file clasped in his hands.

It turns out that he is a very persuasive man... More so, because he would just walk right out the door before any objection could be made.

Overall, this case was like many you had previously experienced. You went through all the effort, exhausted every source available, to try and uncover the possibility of things unimaginable to the present minds... only for it to be what it seemed. 

Just like any other case.

It wasn't like either of you were fully displeased in the events. At the end of the day, lives were saved no matter the actual intentions. But that didn't mean the disappointment could simply be shaken off.

Eventually, the day of work had finished. The paperwork was completed, handed directly to a certain Skinner in person. Though after, you just found yourself standing around in a hallway, the surrounding building mostly empty at this time.

The idea of being encased in a room all by yourself wasn't exactly inviting. It wasn't going to rid your mind of the past 24 hours, and apparently your partner felt the same way.

And now that brings us here, a random park that you couldn't recall the name of off the top of your head. 

It was the furthest from the city, allowing the sky to finally show what was behind the layer of blue, clouds or light pollution.

The air was cool around this time, cold enough that it affected the temperature of your skin but, thankfully, it didn’t leave you shivering where you sat.

The two of you had found yourselves sprawled out along the gentle grass in almost mirrored positions, though you had your hands by your sides. Mulder had his clasped over his stomach.

For the most part, it was silent. There were no sounds of an active city. No cars, no voices, no machines. You could hear the birds, singing on the branches that bobbed whenever the wind picked up.

It was calming. Well, in any other instance that would in fact be the case. But not right now. Not as you stared up at the balls of light that dotted around the sky as if someone had flicked it with a paintbrush.

You could hear yourself, the way the air filtered through your nose and then back out, any time the clothes on your body rippled. You could hear everything around you no matter how loud, or quiet.

But mostly you could hear Mulder.

Each breath he took, filled with so many things that it was almost heavy regardless of how relaxed he may have seemed. It meant he was thinking. Something you started being able to notice without having to look right at his face, though you could never tell what.

There was this constant urge to twitch. A want to shuffle yourself around as if it was the ground itself that was making you uncomfortable.

But you remained still, the stars your eyes were, supposedly, focusing on just blurs at this point.

“I don't know what to believe anymore, L/n.”

The sudden sound had your head turning within seconds. It could’ve been the hyperawareness, but even that apparently wasn't enough to prepare you for the sound of his voice.

“When people close their eyes they can picture whatever they want. They can see anything, though I guess some can only see darkness.”

Mulder's eyes remained on the stars as he spoke. They weren't searching, flickering from one ball of light to another, they were just... still. Fixated on one spot.

“I... I see her. That night. All of it. So clear like it only happened a few nights ago.”

Finally, for the first time in hours, there was something that you could understand.

Samantha.

“I know the mind is a very... powerful thing,” Mulder continued, his voice more monotonous than usual, creating an uncertainty that he was even paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth, “I know it can create scenarios, birth ideas that become prominent enough that you can forget its origin, that they can... change details that are just as minuscule, but...”

He sat up, pushing himself against the palms now planted at his sides, with a groan that sounded as if his whole body suddenly started to ache.

Mulder turned his head, finding your startled eyes, “Is it really possible that... that I made the whole thing up? To forget what actually happened, to compensate-- I mean, an alien abduction? That's exactly what I would want it to be, right?”

“Mulder, no,” Your words were immediate, the sound lightly wavering as you pushed yourself to sit up… in a much less graceful way, “What you would want– What you want is the opposite.” 

Any reference to that kid was quick to create a feeling of walking on eggshells. Looking into his eyes, mentioning something that he just admitted still plagued him.

Bear in mind, Mulder was not the guy that simply talked about these things. He did the typical stuff: brushing off the questions, ignoring personal comments, building walls to secure the appearance of mental stability.

“Look,” you sighed, your shoulders slightly sagging, “I can't… I can't see into your mind, especially what you saw that night. I can only picture it. Piece it together through what you have allowed me, so...”

“I have no way to confirm or deny.”

You could see it regardless of the fact that it hadn't reached the surface of his face. It was that look he had whenever anyone denounced his theories, though this time a little different, almost... hurt.

There was this quiet huff from his nostrils as his gaze lowered, digesting the words he had heard for years in different forms all over again, his head began to bob.

In some ways it sort of reminded you of a kid when he did that. Maybe it was the sulk tugging at his otherwise neutral features, or his posture that had started to progress into this kind of slouch.

Or maybe it was that look in his eyes.

It wasn't an annoyance over things not going his way; a tantrum just waiting to erupt. It was this worry that almost made him appear lost. An ability to know that something is in fact wrong but not knowing what can stop it. Fix it. 

Last time Mulder checked he was an adult, right? Aren't adults supposed to be able to fix anything that gets thrown at them? At least older siblings.

“We get these cases,” Your voice pierced through his ears like a speaker. And though he had turned instinctively in response, that look in his eyes told you that he had almost forgotten you were even there beside him. “It's week after week of witnessing these... things that I don't even think the average person could imagine unless they watch specific media-- So, tell me.”

“Tell me, Mulder, how is this any different? How is this abduction any different?”

For a good few seconds it was like the only thing he could do was stare. Something that looked so... unusual.

I mean, we're talking about the guy who practically had a line for everything. Little quips, references, and of course jokes right up his sleeve whenever he noticed an opening no matter how small.

Yet this time, it was like he couldn't even move his tongue.

Was he overloaded? Had it all caught up to him at this time? Was there enough differing thoughts rampant through his mind that he just couldn't think anymore? The presence of another unsolvable problem?

He needed familiarity. Something present that he could work with, something that required little brain power. A reminder of something that Fox Mulder was known to be good at doing almost every single week. 

“How do we prove that a case is real or not?”

It took a moment for your words to settle, the active silence honing in on the surrounding area as seconds passed. And then there it was. That spark, a recognition that zapped him right back into the present. 

His eyes refocused, alive once more, “We find the evidence.”

Even if it wasn't the right time, there was still an urge to smile. Nothing was over yet, neither the case nor the conversation. You were still so far into the woods, and yet none of it seemed so bad when you looked at him, “Now that is something I can help you with.”

By now Mulders torso was twisted in your direction, full attention on you and the words that came from your mouth. He leaned further into his hands, “You would do that… for me?”

No matter how masked it was by the monotone, there was this sound that was almost disbelief. A timidness disguised within the jokiness he always added to phrases like that. 

It had your eyebrows furrowing, antagonising the ache already active in your muscles, “Scully would too?”

Which was true. There was no reason not to believe that seeing as it's been proven many times. I mean, after working together for literal years, shouldn't that be expected?

“Yeah, but...” Mulder had begun initially, though the second the words came out he faltered. His lips were parted, sort of wavering. Even with the lack of sound uncertainty was spewing right through them.

And then he turned, his torso soon setting back into its proper position.

His full weight was leant into his arms by now, one of his legs even began to bend at the knee for what you were assumed was additional support. Mulder cleared his throat.

“Scully denies my theories,” he started, his voice almost quiet this time. Or at least more than before, “She hears a sentence with the slightest implication or acknowledgment of the existence-- Even the possibility of the paranormal, conspiracy's, anything extra-terrestrial, and is so quick to shut it down because naturally it... it's taught-- It is welcomed in human society to think that it's simply impossible.”

“And then there's you... You who sits there, listening to my rambles of what is supposedly nonsense to anyone else, like you understand every word I say, and accept it no matter how ridiculous-- But, truthfully,”

He was looking right at you, the voice he spoke with and the expression subtly creeping across his face appearing almost accusatory the more he went on, “I don't even think you believe in any of it.”

Like he had done before, your lips had parted immediately, quick to defend the opposing words in one breath... But was he wrong? Did you think that way?

Mulder was the original member of the X-files. He was the one that found these cases, linked the theory that fit the closest with the themes and jumped on them until they were proven wrong.

There was no time to think about how you truly felt, and even if you did, agents working together with opposing views in your kind of area could have bad outcomes, right? Bad consequences? You could ruin the relationships that you tried so hard to keep.

Though, wouldn’t that depend on you having a lack of belief?

A breath seeped deep into your lungs only to escape through your nostrils in a slight huff. Your gaze fixated on the dark landscape consuming the rest of the world as if you could seek refuge in it, “Mulder, I... I don't know what I believe.”

The discontent was evident even if all he did was shift a little in his spot. Or was it disappointment? Anger? Did you fumble it? Did you lose it? Him?

“We...”

You can't lose him.

“We live in a world where people can tell the same story over and over again... and yet there can be something different each time,” you continued clearer, practically grasping onto the blades of grass beneath your fingers, “A world where you can ask a member of the government an important question, someone who is supposed to work to protect, or at least try to ensure the safety of humans, and they... they can just lie.”

“Truthfully,” you started again with a change of voice this time, meeting the eyes of the man whose own apparently hadn't moved, “I don't know how to have opinions on things like that if I haven't seen it. Felt it.”

There was another deep breath, this time escaping through your mouth as a simple exhale, “But I know that I do believe in you, Mulder.”

An acceptance.

“And I know what I have seen. Even with the work that has been done to cover it-- even if all odds are against it, so... If you really do believe in aliens, werewolves, uh... The Loch Ness Monster-- Oh! And bigfoot too—”

The scoff was immediate, “Alright, alright, I get it,” Mulder went on through a grumble, trying to sound as annoyed as he could even if it wasn't enough.

“No, I'm serious,” you insisted, having to fight back your own amusement as you watched him practically flop right onto his back, “Seriously, Mulder, if these are your beliefs then I'm not exactly going to shut them down.”

He settled himself against the cold ground, raising his arms behind his head until he could rest on top of his hands. This time he merely hummed in response, practically almost sulking again.

It may have been clear that it was just his usual act, but after the previous conversation, the feeling that still lingered, there was a small part of you that grew concerned. Unsure if your words had been the right move.

I mean, sure, Mulder knew exactly how to take a joke, he was confident in himself. He had to be. He was made to think that his beliefs were stupid for years and still is. Becoming a part of that is the last thing either of you would want. 

Especially because it wouldn't be true.

“You know,” you began after a beat of silence, quieter, not only because your voice would be the only thing heard for miles, but it was only meant for one person, “Just because I'm not sure of what I believe in, it doesn't... it doesn't mean that I'm not sure about you.”

In about a second, Mulder's eyes had flickered to yours. His head soon followed as he couldn't properly see from his angle. It had rocked once, and then twice, before fully turning to the side. “Is that so?” he questioned, that familiar mischief finding his voice until finally, the corners of his lips began to curl.

You merely shrugged your shoulders, a warmth spreading through your body at the look on his face, “I joined the X-Files, didn't I?”

But right before that smile, you were so desperately waiting for, could fulfil its rightful shape, Mulder pursed his lips, sending a light nod your way as a form of touché, “We need more people like you.”

“Like me?”

Your own head tilted just a smidge, your eyes trying to seek out meaning from his expression while he simply repeated his previous movement, “Open minded,” he then clarified, though it didn't seem to soothe the confusion at all.

“Well... Technically, I did just say that I find it hard to believe in things if I haven't seen them,” you pointed out, slightly shifting your body to face his more directly, and he groaned, removing his hands from behind his head so that he could rub at his eyes, “Yeah, but that's just your poor phrasing.”

You wanted nothing more than to roll your eyes, perform some kind of facial movement to bask in the… great compliment. But by the time you would’ve started to carry it out, Mulders hand dropped.

He blinked a few times, slowly gaining the vision back as he rubbed his chest, until the first thing that he managed to see was your unamused expression. Those disapproving eyes that made him want to laugh more than anything, “Hey,”

“It may not seem like it, L/n, but I do in fact possess the ability to see things that are right in front of me.”

And now you were right there with him, your eyebrows deciding to move in the opposite direction this time, “Oh yeah? And what is it that you see right now?” you practically hummed, slightly leaning towards him in a way that made him bite the inside of his cheek.

You were expecting him some joke to fly from his tongue, waiting for that hand to come up and shove you away as he usually did in moments like these... But he didn't move.

At least at first, anyway.

He simply stared at you, unlike before, his gaze dotting from spot to spot as if he was trying to look at every aspect of your face he could possibly see.

Then suddenly he turned his head, a light sniff huffing through the air as the back of his head touched to the ground, the wisps of grass tickling the shell of his ear as they danced in the wind.

Mulder stared up at the sky once more, finally, after what felt like hours, reminding himself of why the two of you had even come out here in the first place. He took in a deep breath, his chest expanding into the surrounding fabric.

And then it appeared, “Something...”

A smile took over Mulders lips.

“Beautiful.”

[alexiswritingstuff]

guys I know this is completely out of nowhere but does anyone have any ideas for a fox mulder fic with a gender neutral/ male reader???

I wanna get back into writing, but I've only been able to think about him since starting the x-files like two month ago.

It can be pretty much anything as long as it's SFW. I just need something to get me going because he is just floating around in my head even if I can't think of decent scenarios.

[alexiswritingstuff]

Hey guys, I didn't mean to disappear for as long as I have but there have been a lot of things that have had me a bit side tracked recently, and because there are more people finding my writing, I wanted to just pop on.

It's a bit more difficult for me to write things as my amount of free time has been decreasing, though more prominently, it is because my interests in breaking bad/better call saul has in fact drifted over the past few months.

I'm not implying that I am going to fully stop writing for those shows, as I'm sure I will revisit them very soon, but as of now, I have been watching a lot of stuff for the first time and it has caused me to gain new fixations.

I am really sorry to the people who have been waiting for new content, but because of the changing of interests, I feel unable to write genuine fics as I am not properly in the headspace of Gustavo anymore, which is something I need to be able to write.

I will 100% keep you in the loop for when bb/bcs related stuff will be in the works, but for now I will say that it might take a while. Again, very sorry.

[alexiswritingstuff]

guys i think i might've entered my writers block era. 😭😭😭😭😭 The ability to write out scenes in the way I want is just not working.

It also doesn't help that my brain is like fixated on other shows or movies that have come out recently.

This is not me saying that I'm going to stop writing for Gustavo, or anything breaking bad related, cause I already have all the requests in my drafts. I just can't complete them rn for some reason.

I promise that I will try to write them out as soon as I can, but I can't promise that it will be done within the next week or smth.

I'm so sorry guys, idk what is going onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

[alexiswritingstuff]

Just wanted to let you know that I've been binge reading all of your writings and I love them so much, keep up the good work! :)

I know you might have a lot of Gus requests, so it's okay if you put this one on the back burner for a bit. But I read the "Not So Scary After All" work and I was wondering if you could write a sort of sequel to it?

Maybe Jesse keeps trying to tell GN reader how obvious it is that he likes them. How he's seen him try not to smile when talking to reader, the softer tone of voice, things like that.

Reader obviously doesn't believe him and thinks that Gus is just being nice to his employees, especially the ones that are responsible for the cooks.

Anyways, after a few days of Jesse pestering the reader about it something happens to make them realize he might be right. I was thinking maybe they would make another mistake with the cook and Walter is there to see it. Maybe he gets mad, a little TOO mad, and Gus walks in 🤭 Or anything else works too! I just love the premise of a protective Gus that doesn't like to show how protective he actually is

First of all, thank you for the comment about my writings, I'm glad you have enjoyed them so far! Initially I didn't think about writing a part two, so I hope this does it justice, as well as that I hope it was what you were looking for!

Thank you for sending this in!

Not so scary after all. 2/2

Pairing: Gustavo x gender neutral reader.

Other appearances: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White.

Warnings: arguing, walter being a douche.

also be aware of spelling mistakes, or other errors. I do read these over but I can tend to miss stuff either way!

A/N: my brain has been fixated on other characters recently, so if these guys seem ooc then that may be why. It's hard to write scenes where gustavo is interested in another person because we barely get to see that in either show, so I also hope my portrayal of him just generally feels correct.

I hope you enjoy!

more Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

previous part.

It never mattered how many times you had gone through the same routine. Surprisingly, considering your line of work, waking up in the morning was always the most jarring part. 

You could’ve had a great nights sleep, not woken up at any point, had no distractions or noisy neighbours. Yet the second you were in that car to get to the laundromat, it was like you had to force your eyes to stay open. 

Which was apparently the same for Jesse too as there was a series of mumbles and grumbles that would fill the car every few seconds. 

Each time you spared a glance to the passenger seat he would be leant further and further into window, his head bobbing whenever there was a difference in ground level or direction of the wheels. 

It had you amused, but also a little concerned, “Did you wake up too early, or too late?”

Seeking no comfort from the hardness of the glass, and after his temple ended up smacking right into it, Jesse got himself to sit upright in a speed that closely resembled one of those stairlifts. 

He groaned, having to make consistent attempts to keep his body from just slumping all together, “Both?” His hands raised to his head, the sides of his fingers beginning to rub at his eyes as if it would rid them of their tiredness.

In all honesty, outside of the cooking sessions and other shenanigans you found yourself in, you and Jesse never really... hung out. There would be times where you had lunch together, or had to show up to his house if there was something to drop off.

But that was mostly it.

And there wasn’t exactly a reason as to why. You had absolutely nothing against Pinkman, it was like the opposite. The more you spent time with him, the more you felt like some kind of guardian watching over some kid. Even if he also was an adult.

“You had breakfast, though, right?” Your gaze was trained on the lane ahead despite your ongoing conversation.

You had just turned onto a state road, meaning that, regardless of it being early in the morning, people were up and about. Trying to get to their jobs.

It always made it seem busier than it was.

At first, in response to your question, Jesse simply emitted another mumble of something. He was thinking, the intensity in which he rubbed at his eyes increasing for a moment, and then his hands dropped. “Oh,”

“Shit, I don’t... I don’t know.”

You supressed the urge to sigh. It had already happened a few times. Depending on what he did the night before, there would be some mornings where his mind was rattled enough that he would almost forget where he even was, so.

You came prepared. 

“Well, I guess luck is on your side today.” you commented, flexing your fingers against the grips of the steering wheel, “There should be a sandwich or something in the back.”

By now Jesse’s head was leaning into the headrest, definitely having the same problem of trying to keep his eyes open like you did. The heat outside probably wasn’t a helpful factor either. “Seriously?”

You didn’t want to take your attention off of the road. The cars in front were starting to slow, and you needed to keep note of the distance from the ones at the back. “Check.” you told him, adjusting the rear view mirror for better visibility.

Jesse sort of rolled his head to the side after a moment, his chin almost knocking into the bone of his shoulder as his gaze cast onto the few items that were in the back seats.

He lazily blinked for a good few seconds, his eyes trying to adjust to the redirection of a sunlight beam. And then he saw it. Right in the middle.

A brown bag.

“No way.”

The next move he made was so fast that the seatbelt strapped around him had immediately stalled against his body, attempting to keep him in place at the assumption of sudden danger.

But that wasn’t enough to stop him at all. 

He pushed against it once, then twice, and then one more time before simply manoeuvring himself around the belt so that the top half would basically be protecting the car seat instead of him. 

When Jesse leaned himself between your seat and his, it was so much harder to keep your attention on the road. He was reaching out, arm extended as far as it could go and waving almost madly, until eventually, he grabbed the bag.

Jesse practically had to shove himself backwards to sit upright again, but soon he was able to resume his previous position with a big sigh of relief. Your head could only shake. 

Now, there was this sound a rustling paper that filled the entire car as you moved onto the accompanying lane. Something that was definitely not supporting your concentration. “Damn.”

His voice was muffled, the noises coming out of his mouth barely even sounding like a word which in turn made you send him a look.

He had finally gotten to the sandwich. “You make this?”

“Nah, I had too many errands to run.” you informed with a slight sigh, finally beginning to let yourself relax in your seat, “Would’ve done it if I had the time, but I think that is better anyway.”

Jesse didn’t even have to speak for you to know his response. He had taken another bite, nodding his head just slightly in proper approval. If his eyes were closed it would look like he was in pure bliss.

After relentlessly chewing for a hot minute, he attempted to swallow it down, “I didn’t-- I didn’t take you as an early riser.” Yet his voice was still almost unintelligible.

“Well, believe it or not, other people are in fact active in the mornings.” you pointed out, slightly leaning to the side for further emphasis on who the comment was aimed at in a way that had Jesse rolling his eyes. 

You swear you saw a clump of crumbs fly from his mouth when he next spoke, “Yeah, yeah-- You sure your too many errands wasn’t just you making sure that you looked good for a certain Fring?”

Your head snapped in his direction in a way that had looking back to the road immediately after, and probably almost gave you whiplash. But you saw it either way.

That damn grin had taken over his lips.

Again. 

“Please don’t do this right now.”

Jesse had to clear his throat to stop himself from almost choking, “Aw come on, man, it’s-- There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did.” Your head shook like it had done before, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was always so stupid to you how the indirect mention of someone made your body react the way it did. You were only trying to get to work, yet your heart was acting as if you had just gone for a run. 

“But I do.” The look you sent Jesse almost had him wanting to put his hands up if he wasn’t so focused on his sandwich, “What? I do-- Look, I may not have that much experience, or whatever, but there is totally something going on.”

“Definitely on his end at least.” He moved the sandwich around in his hands, trying to locate the best part to bite as he had finally swallowed the last one, “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him give you the look.”

Your eyebrows furrowed within seconds, “The... The what now?” You tried to turn in his direction for confirmation, but he seemed a bit too busy to notice your movement.

Due to a junction being up ahead, your foot had moved onto the foot break, watching the lights fully change the closer you drew.

“The look.” Jesse finally repeated, his mouth full all over again in a way that needed real concentration to understand the words coming out of it, “Yeah, he gives you the look, like, all the time.”

Soon, the car in front of you had fully stopped, and then so did yours as you put it into first gear, keeping your feet on the first two pedals.

The moment the car had stopped moving, you turned to Jesse within seconds, eyebrows furrowed more than they had ever been. “What is the look?”

Pinkman gave you a simple glance at first, thinking that you were just messing around as he kept munching away... But no matter how much time went by, you didn't move. Still watching him.

His chewing slowed when his head turned back in your direction. He just blinked for a moment. “You don’t know... You don’t know what the look is?”

Your chin lowered, your eyelids slightly doing the same, “Does it sound like I know what it is?”

“Okay, but... how?” Despite Jesse’s previous complete interest in his sandwich, it lowered with his hands to his lap. There was utter confusion written all over his face while he remained smacking away. “How do you not-- How old are you?”

Your attention went to the road ahead all over again, the back of your head sinking into the headrest as a huff left your lips, “Older than you.” you pointed out, trying to sound more authoritative, but that just seemed to spark an already lit flame. 

“Then how do you not see it, huh? I mean, even I can tell that it’s pretty obvious-- And not just because of the look either,” Jesse fully twisted in his seat so that he faced you, “He like... He wants to actually, like, talk to you, and shit-- I’ve seen him smile-- genuinely smile at you, okay?"

“Now, if he was doing it to me? I would... Man, I would be terrified-- But it’s you, it’s... different.” You were trying so hard not to shake your head again, but Jesse’s voice practically being right in your right ear was making it a lot more difficult. “It’s something else--”

“It’s not...” You regripped the steering wheel, “You do realise we’re talking Gustavo Fring, right?” Your head attempted to turn back to Jesse, though your eyes were trying to keep the attention on the road as one of the final vehicles seemed to cross through the junction. 

“Exactly!” Jesse practically threw his arms up, almost losing his grasp on the sandwich in the process, “You should be caring about this more than you do.”

Your head shook as your gaze fully went back to the road, your foot readying to release the clutch while your fingers tapped against the steering wheel in anticipation. 

You were trying to find something to zone in on, something to distract yourself from the kid sitting in your passenger seat as he was still eagerly trying to get you to see the things the way he did. But you weren’t giving it to him. 

“Fine then.” Jesse reached behind him, grabbing the top half of the seatbelt, pulling it until it was in front of him again, before he ducked himself beneath. 

“But I’m telling you, Y/n.” It was back, slinging diagonally across his torso by the time he was seated properly, and also by the time the lights had finally turned green.

“You’ll see.”

~

There was something about this day that was starting to feel a little familiar. 

You and Jesse had arrived ages ago. You had gone down the windy red stairs, did the whole thing of taking off unnecessary clothing so that you wouldn’t completely boil in the obnoxiously yellow protective suit you would put on next. 

And at first, once you were all geared up, the two of you stood in front of the machines. Your heads were raised, eyes cast up to the walkway above as you awaited the arrival of your usual partner at their usual time...

But the door never opened. 

There was no proper estimate for how long the two of you just stayed waiting as you had set your watch to the side, and the clock was on the other side of the room, however, there was one thing you knew for sure. Someone was late. 

Eventually, the two of you were trying to compensate, finding something useful to do while giving the benefit of the doubt that maybe it was just tough traffic or something going on that made them lose track of time.

Though, the ability to sympathise got smaller and smaller the more minutes began to turn into full on hours. 

You found yourself at your usual table with your hand supporting the weight of your head, attempting to occupy your mind by looking over the paperwork from passed cooks. A habit that you only recently developed. 

“Dude,” you heard somewhere to your side before there was an exasperated sigh, and a quick creaking of a chair, “What the hell is taking him so long?”

Earlier, Jesse had taken one of the other wheeled chairs from the table connected to yours and had rolled somewhere, enough so that you could only see him from the corner of your eye.

His body was slumped back, the seat beneath him creaking with every move that he made. And considering that he didn’t have anything to do, that was like every. Single. Second. 

He had tried out the difference created when he would shift his weight, tested what it would feel like to have his legs hanging over the left side of the chair and then the right, he had pushed his feet onto the floor to roll himself backwards and forwards against the smooth tiles.

And now, as apparently none of that had seemed to have settle his mind, Jesse had resorted to zipping and unzipping the protective suit he was so ready to take off by now. Over, and over... And over again. “Okay,”

“That’s it.”

The pencil held in your gasp was cast to the side of the notepad, you were barely looking at this point, before your hands moved to the edge of the table so that you could push against it enough that your chair started to roll.

You stood up, winding round the seat that was still on the move as you began to walk towards one of the pathways between the machines. Jesse fully planted his feet on the ground, “Yo, Y/n, where are you going?” 

Your fingers grasped onto the zip of your suit and you yanked it down as far as you could without having to bend for the rest, beginning to pulling your arms out one after the other moments after. 

You moved round that damn settling tank and soon ended up at the wall where you would keep or hang up your loose items. “I...” you began, your voice becoming strained as you bent down to free your feet of those big welly boots, “am going to find out what the hell is going on.”

The squeak of a chair echoed somewhere to the back of the room. “Well, don’t-- Don’t leave me in here by myself.” 

Finally, after one last tussle, your, once worn, protective suit was now sprawled on the ground beside the clothing rack. You moved to your usual shoes, putting either feet in their respective ware before tying the laces to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. 

Before Jesse could even appear by your side to complete the same process, you were on the move once again, directing towards those windy red stairs that always made you feel like you were going to fall up and/or down them. 

“Y/n, wait, dude, wait-- Just give me a minute.” You could hear the hurried rustling of plastic suit echoing through the steps you took on the metal staircase. 

Eventually, when your movements had allowed you to arrive at the cat walk, you found yourself complying to Jesse’s words... While the man himself was still trying, and failing, to get the suit off. 

It gave you a moment to catch a breath you hadn’t been able to take all day. You were stood high, looking down at the problems below, and not drowning neck deep in it like you usually did. 

A deep breath sucked into your nostrils as you let your eyes fall closed, the air of the lab starting to cool the warmth that had festered across your skin--

A sharp whistle squealed through from your left before it bounced around each wall one after the other. 

Your eyes had snapped open as soon as the sound appeared, but it wasn’t until your head had started to turn that your brain realised what it had come from. 

It was the door.

Your body twisted in the direction of the man who was almost stumbling across the cat walk, a series of huffs and puffs spluttering from his mouth that would have you worrying any other day. 

But as of now, all you did was cross your arms over your chest.

“Yo, Mr. White! What the hell took you so long, dude?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he began through a slight wheeze that ended with him doing this horrendous cough. And once he was about three steps in front of you, he stilled his apparently over exhausted body, using a hand to shift his weight onto the railing, “There was... car trouble, and stuff with the kids, you-- you know kids.”

“You would think, maybe, after the first one that it was going to get easier and then...”

In the midst of Mr. White stabilising himself, his head had turned to the right in at attempt to locate Jesse, which wasn’t hard to do considering the fact that he was still taking off that damn suit, to further emphasis his... guilt?

But instead, after he did a sort of double take, he began to slowly face you once again, “Why aren’t any of the machines on, why... Why aren’t you wearing your suit?”

“We were waiting for you. I was just about to try and find at least someone to tell us where you were.”

“Wait... Wait a minute,” Mr. White started, holding his hands up while he took a step closer. “You didn’t start?” His chin slightly lowered in a way that made his eyes peer at you over his glasses. 

“No?” you stated simply, your eyebrows furrowing at the sudden change to his demeanour, “After last time... We didn’t think you wanted us to do it by ourselves.”

“But that was-- That was last time, Y/n.” With every word that the man spoke, his hands rose higher and higher until they were inches away from touching his face, “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

The urge to scoff was stronger than ever, and you had to hold it back more than you ever had in your life, “I think I should be asking you that question.”

The man before you began shaking his head in a way that was almost not visible. “I told you... I was having problems with my car.” For a moment his expression remained the way it was, a visible attempt at holding back what you were guessing was anger. 

But then it failed. 

“I have... a family to take care of...” His hands dropped to his sides. When he next spoke the corners of his mouth slightly downturned like there was utter distaste for the words coming out of his mouth, “They are not going to be put at expense because, again, you weren’t able to do a simple job.”

Regardless of how loud it usually was when someone walked up the windy stairs, right now, as Jesse began to do just that, it was barely audible to your ears. The sound fading more and more the longer you stared at the man before you. “Guys, can we just--”

“I am doing my job just fine, Mr. White.” you started up with this lack of emotion to your voice, trying to make it as clear as possible that you wanted to get this over and done with, “We just didn’t want to do another batch all by ourselves, simply, because you couldn’t be bothered to show up.” Though it seemed your mouth had other plans. 

There was something that almost satisfactory when you saw a side of his face twitch. But soon, it was one that ended with this sort of smile curling at his lips, his eyebrows raising more than you had ever seen in your time working with him. “Oh.”

“So, you want me to apologise for making a singular mistake? Is that it?” He took yet another step towards you, “You know what, how about we count how many times you have made-- No, caused, a mistake, hmm?”

You couldn’t count the amount of voices that were telling you to take a step back, to move away the closer he got to stand directly in front of you, “But that wasn’t only my fault-- There’s a big difference between actually trying and just not showing up.” 

Your feet remained planted on the ground beneath. Your arms were held tighter than ever across your torso as you tried to maintain the blankest expression possible.  

“Dude, both of you just... just chill out, please.” Jesse tried to insist as he walked up the last few steps, but no one paid any attention to his words, “We can-- We can work this out--”

“You allowed a contamination,” Mr. White began, narrowing his eyes as if in disbelief, “How did you-- Did they not teach you to read, or listen, to instructions in school?”

“My education has nothing to do with this.” you insisted without missing a beat. And regardless of your attempts to keep your composure, it was inevitable that something began slipping into your voice.

You had been up early.

You had been running back and forth to make sure that certain things were sorted for certain people, had to drive all the way to downtown to pick up Jesse and then all the way back up to get here. To work.  

And then, while at work, you weren’t even able do your damn job because your other partner, that was supposed to be there at a specific time by contract, just didn’t show up. 

Which then lead you and Jesse to have to stand and do absolute jack shit for hours on end. 

Walter just shook his head again, even raising his hands like he was about to shove you or something, though he might have wanted to simply point a finger, “Well, apparently it does, because if you still aren’t competent enough to follow something so basic, then--”

“What is going on here?”

Within the next second, the man in front of you had twisted round in a way that almost gave you whiplash just from watching. He stepped to the side, and moved backwards until he was practically next to you. “Oh, Gus, I, uh... We were just... Slow start.”

But, of course, he was still a little ahead. 

Your feet, however, hadn’t moved an inch. In fact the only move you made was to let your arms finally fall free to your sides as you stared onwards. 

It was Gustavo. He was stood in the doorframe, one hand pressing against the weighted metal so that he had enough time to take in his surroundings. And then he took the final step inside. 

It was only when the door closed behind him that you realised you hadn’t even heard it open in the first place. 

The lab was back to what it had been minutes ago. Silent. No sound at all filtering throughout the entire room. 

Gustavo stilled himself not far from the door he had walked through, but enough so that you could feel his presence as well as see it. His arms were unmoving by his sides, a trait that would’ve carried out through his entire body if he hadn’t started moving his head. 

Like Walter had done when he arrived, Gustavo looked at the room below. He studied it, looked from one section to the other while noting the quietness that was effecting even him. 

And then he turned back to the people across from him, the expression on his face unwavering, “Why is that? There’s nothing in the machines.”

“You know, ex-- exactly.” the man to your side suddenly spoke up, snapping your attention from the other guy you wanted to look at a little longer. “I had... countless problems with a lot of things this morning, and I wasn’t able to arrive on time.”

Walter sort of took a step forward, but instead of what you would naturally think of when someone carried out such a movement, he didn’t properly face Gustavo. 

He stood side on, his body turned towards the machines so he could look at you or his boss with a simple movement of his head. And as of now, you seemed to be his main target. “Apparently they couldn’t be bothered to start the batch themselves.”

“That’s not true.” You mirrored his stance, faced directly towards him, instead of the man who was just trying to seek answers, as your eyebrows furrowed as much as they could. 

Walter tilted his head, “You sure?” he asked, using the most condescending voice that would of set you off had you already lost the grasp on your, slowly dissipating, self control. 

“Yes, I don’t understand--” Your hand rose to your face, fingers pressing into the skin beneath before dragging down to your chin. And then they dropped. You took in a deep breath. “Look... I admit it, sure, we could have started the cook. But.”

“Me and Jesse both thought it was smarter to wait after the previous mistake,” you began, emphasising your point by gesturing to the dude who was now stood behind, and his eyes sort of widened at the sudden attention. 

This time it was you who took the step forward. “But yet again,” You made sure to hold yourself back from blinking as you stared right at the man who was trying so hard not to cut you off, your fists clenched at your sides. “You. Weren’t. Here.”

Your heart was thudding in your ears, a sound louder than any other thing in the room. The exhaustion was rampant through your body, continuously attacking system, and at this point testing your patience that had already become thin. 

The ability to control anything was about one minute away from collapsing. 

“Why were you late, Mr. White?”

When Gustavo’s voice caught your ears, you hadn’t even bothered to look his way despite the fact that Walter did. In fact, he took the chance to move away from you, which almost made him bump into the other railing. 

“Car troubles, and, uh... family stuff, too, you know... all that.” he informed, his voice and the look of his face switching into one that you could instantly tell was the fakest attempt of trying to get sympathy. 

“And you didn’t inform anyone of these... troubles?”

Your head turned in about a second, your gaze snapping to the man who hadn’t moved a singular inch since the last time you properly saw him. His attention was only on Walter, his eyes now slightly narrowed. 

“What...” Mr. White started, the shock clear within his voice and the expression on his face, “Are you... Are you trying to say that this is my fault?”

“I am not saying anything, Mr. White.” Gustavo’s turned in the mans direction with such slowness that had a look of regret taking over anything else that was threatening to appear on Walters face. And once he stilled, he had even slightly tilted it to the side, “I am simply asking questions to understand why a job hasn’t been completed.”

Walter let out this sort of scoff of a sound as he gestured with his hands like before, “Well, then your asking the wrong person, Gus.” 

He pointed towards you, this time not even bothering to look unless it was to make sure his finger was actually aimed in your direction, “They... They have been here for who knows how long, I... I-- I mean, the batch could’ve finished by now, if they just--”

“You are putting the blame... on them?” Gustavo’s voice was low, deep in pitch that it was almost gravelly and harsh to any ears that heard it. There was no direct tone, or emotion clear within it. But paired with the slow step forward, anyone could tell that it wasn’t good. 

“You are putting the blame on a person who was actively trying to solve a problem that you created... because you weren’t competent enough to make a phone call?”

You were use to his intimidation tactics. In all honesty, usually, it seemed even more affective when he wasn’t using them, like when he wore that smile that never really reached his eyes. 

But this...

This was different. 

When Gustavo wanted to intimidate someone, or remind them of their place in the bigger picture. He had relationships to maintain, an act to keep up so that nothing could expose him and/or his business, so he never risked insulting a person in case it would backfire, create unnecessary problems.

Gustavo Fring wasn’t a man who directly insulted someone unless he was going to gain something from it... Well, apparently, until now. 

For the next few seconds it seemed that Mr. White couldn’t find the exact reaction he had. His lips twitched almost every way that they could, his mouth would open and close again and again like he was mimicking a fish, all the while his head began to shake once again, “I don’t... I don’t know what to say-- I can’t... Gus, I just--”

“I have heard all I needed.” There were no movements that accompanied his words. No change to his voice a part from a mild show of a tested patience. Gustavo just stared at the man before him, unblinking, “You still have plenty time to cook.”

“You can’t be serious--”

“That’s what you came here to do... Is it not?” Gustavo pointed out simply, his head tilting to the side in a way that almost made him look like a puppy. But his face said all that it needed to. 

Walter sort of cowered, avoiding the mans gaze as he took a moment to think, “I... I-- Well... Yes, but--”

In about a second, though there was almost nothing displayed on Gustavo’s face, everything sort of... dropped? His eyelids lowered in a way that wasn’t enough to hide his eyes but it was still visible, his jaw unclenched, his lips almost looked like they were turning down the way. 

But again. Not once did he blink. 

“Then cook.”

For a solid ten seconds, there was just utter silence. Someone could have drop a pin on the other side of the room, and it would still echo like any other sound. No one moved. No one twitched. No one spoke.

Walter took in a deep breath, his shoulders deflating when it made its way back out. And then he turned, beginning to do just as Gustavo said this time without any argument.

But the moment you started to do to the same thing--

“Not you.”

You froze. Your body hadn’t even managed to twist yet, so after sending a look to Jesse who sent one right back, you simply rocked back on your feet, resuming the same position you were in before. 

His eyes were only on yours. The first time he had fully looked at you since he had entered the room. 

“We have... other matters to discuss.”

~

After you left the room, it was practically silent when you began to walk.

There was the usual sounds that occurred from the machines within the laundromat, and the workers who you were still not sure knew about the giant meth lab beneath there feet, but between you and Gustavo there was nothing. 

No exchange of words and barely even the sound of your own footsteps. 

He was a few steps ahead of you, which may have been one of the main reasons, as he lead you across the paths that had big machines towering over you on each side. 

There would be a few moments were you had to duck, or even completely manoeuvre, around certain objects that were hung, either needing to dry or they were connected to a moving system that would bring clothes from one section to another.  

You had no idea where you were going. The second the two of you had officially exited the lab, his lips had became sealed. He just started walking, and of course, you only had one response to that. 

Your gaze pretty much remained on Gustavo’s back no matter how far you went, only fleeting to make sure that you weren’t going to bump into anything, as you followed the man in front of you like a lost duckling... Though, you felt more like a child getting ready to be told off. 

Eventually, after stopping yourself from getting caught up in the thoughts swirling through your mind, you found yourself walking out of the big vertical door. The entrance of the laundromat. 

If your heart wasn’t pounding before it sure was now. And no matter how badly you wanted to just focus on the feeling of fresh air after being stuck in an underground room for what felt like, and probably was, about five hours... Gustavo stopped walking. 

He was stood at the edge of the paved platform, hands moving to clasp behind his back as he resumed that usual straight posture. 

Your steps grew slower the more close you got to standing by his side. You wanted to gage his mood, predict what was about to happen or what he was going to say, which was a bit difficult considering that you could only see the back of his head. 

You cleared your throat when you had arrived to the right of him. Your eyes were slightly narrowed, adjusting to the sudden presence of the sun, while you gently leaned back and forth on your feet. 

“Sir, I... I’m really sorry about this... Again,” you had begun, but almost immediately your speech planned in your head seemed to have fallen apart. 

You turned your head to the side, trying to properly convey your apology through your face more than your words. “I know it doesn’t help the business, but I really, really, don’t know why this keeps happening--”

“Y/n.” 

You had already been looking at Gustavo throughout your words. And maybe it was because you were too caught up in your mind, or because originally the man before you had been gazing into the distance with the usual expression that barely gave you anything to work with. 

But now he was looking right back at you. 

“Yes?” you answered subconsciously in a way that had your mouth snapping shut immediately after realising that you didn’t need to actually do that. 

This time, Gustavo’s chin lowered, “I’m not going to scold you, Y/n.” His gaze was the most gentle you had ever seen it, along with sound of his voice. He may have said the words simply, and matter of factly, but his face told you otherwise. 

You sort of just stood there for a moment, blinking at him. “You... You’re...” And then your eyebrows furrowed all over again, your body turning so that you faced him directly, “You’re not?”

Gustavo kept looking at you, and finally, since thatsituation with Mr. White, you weren’t presented with an expression of judgement. It wasn’t a look that visibly told that they thought whatever they were seeing was utter stupidity. 

He took in a breath, letting his eyes fall back on the busy town ahead for a split second, before they were back on your own, “I want you to go home.” 

His voice was lighter, the expression on his face no longer holding the tension that had clung to his skin. 

Your lips parted, even if no sound initially came out. You stared back at him for a moment, your eyes a little wider than they were before, almost unblinking, “Did I mess up that badly?”

Gustavo’s eyebrows furrowed so quickly that you hadn’t caught onto it until he turned his body in your direction, “Forgive my phrasing.” he started, his hands remaining behind his back no matter the change of position, “This is not a punishment.” 

With his next words, Gustavo made sure that you were looking at him, right into his eyes, just in case his meaning was conveyed through his voice, “You are not in trouble for the wrongdoings of another man.”

... Were you missing something? Why would Gustavo take you out of the lab? 

I mean, sure, you made the deduction that not starting the batch might’ve not been such a great idea, and honestly at some point expected to get a good talking too because of it. Maybe it would be the final straw... 

But here you were. Theman himself, the big boss, stood right in front of you. Directly telling you that you’re not in trouble.

“Then... I’m going to have to say that I don’t understand, Sir.” The muscles beneath your brows were getting a good work out from consistently changing between being normal and then furrowed within, practically, every thirty seconds, “We still have a batch to do, a deadline to follow.”

Influenced yet again by a man stood before you, “And who is that for?” 

Your whole body felt like it wanted to deflate, fall limp and just collapse on the ground. This time it wasn’t in anger, or fear, or annoyance. It was because after everything, you could exhale the nerves that had clung to your insides. There was no use for them now. 

You lightly nodded your head, the fact of not being in trouble officially processing in a way that had your gaze lowering, “... You.”

Gustavo wanted to smile. He wanted to display his pride of finally cracking the code that was your mind, having created even a bit of equal understanding, but he could still see the ghost of the previous expression that held your face hostage. The genuine concern over possible harming his business.

And him. 

“I am not asking you to leave because I think that you are bad at your job, or that you don’t do anything for this business-- Because that would be entirely wrong.” he started up with this new voice that was difficult to ignore, “I am simply saying that you have the day off.”

“It is... normal in a workplace, is it not?”

By the time your eyes met Gustavo’s, your brows had furrowed once again, though now, it was for a very different reason, “I mean... Yes-- But not in this business, just...” 

There was a huff of air that passed through your lips. Theexhaustion from earlier was presenting itself back into your system, making the want to talk become a lot less than before, “Let me-- Let me go back in there, we can work, we can... we can get it done.”

Gustavo’s head began shaking before you had even finished your sentence, “I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” you questioned, leaning back slightly so that you could fully take in his demeaner, analyse any look that took over his face, “I thought you said that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“You didn’t.” he insisted almost immediately, the expression he wore going blank the way it usually did. But now wasn’t the time. “Then...” You took in yet another breath to cut off your words, trying to suppress the urges to sigh, scoff, or the sudden want to raise your voice, “Why?”

To say this day felt long was truly an understatement. Things just kept happening one after the other and still you were left in the dark. No answer as to why things progressed into the situations they had. 

“Y/n, I am not... risking the loss of more time to arguing.” It was like you could visibly see the words he chose to say. The pure caution, decisions careful enough so that he wouldn’t set off the things he could see getting ready in your eyes, “I know that if you go back in there, Mr. White will not... let go. Not unless I place someone in there to stand and watch at all times.”

“All I am telling you is that you are free to go while I... sort things out.” Gustavo somehow made himself stand taller, trying to prove the confidence in which was already heard in his voice and to also prepare for the possibility of you finally reacting in the way that your body had wanted to for hours. 

But despite what he had envisioned playing out, or tried to predict, it was pretty much the opposite. In fact, the only proper reaction to his words was your shoulders deflating, ridding your muscles of its constant worry. 

And then you crossed your arms over your chest, sniffing as you did so, “And what about Jesse... Mr. White? What-- What about them?” you questioned, waiting for the words to settle before you looked back into those other pair of eyes, only to find that the look from earlier had repossessed his face, “It may not seem like it, but I assure you, Y/n.”

“Mr. Pinkman and Mr. White can handle it themselves.”

For the first time throughout the entire day, you felt the want to smile. “Okay then.” You nodded your head once, your grip tightening on your arms as you took a step backwards, “Thank you, uh... Mr. Fring. It seems you have saved me again.”

“Gus. Call me Gus, and please, there is no need to thank me.” Gustavo started up before you could even try to turn in the direction of your car, “It comes under being an employee.”

Your body stilled after about one more steps backwards, your eyes narrowing at the man before you, playfully, “Then how come I haven’t heard you getting protective when someone else makes a mistake?”

Gustavo mirrored the look on your face, “I wasn’t... I wasn’t being... protective?” In his case, however, he wasn’t doing it in a teasing sort of manner, he was just genuinely confused at the comment. “I simply understood the situation and acted accordingly.”

Your arms loosened in your hold until they lowered to your sides once again, “And yet you defended me.” If you were close enough to Gustavo you would probably have started circling him, “Even though I was in the wrong... both times.”

Gustavo unfurrowed his brows, “You weren’t in the wrong just because some man has an incorrect idea of authority… and a very poor concept of time.” His tone was the flattest you had ever heard it. There was no emotion behind it until the words of... slight insult. 

The urge to smile grew stronger that had you pressing your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh. “Still,” Though, after a moment, you managed to compose yourself, “If you hadn’t arrived when you did...”

Gustavo huffed air through his nose, bowing his head a tad before he let it shake a few times. When he looked back up it was clear that he was trying to hold back whatever was wanting to take over his face, but you could see it in his eyes. 

“Go home.”

There was this feeling of giddiness begging to erupt in your chest. It spread a warmth to every part of your body until it was a collective feeling. It caught you of guard, causing the smile you were trying to hide begin to curl at your lips.

So, after a sharp breath and a nod as a thanks, you sort of ducked away, twisting yourself around so that you could make your way towards your car. 

However, the nearer that you got to the vehicle, it seemed there was a thought pushing itself further and further to the centre of your mind. It may have been more of a feeling, as you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to go back to your house.

I mean, sure, being able to take a nice long shower, grab a bite to eat, and completely flop on your bed sounded... Well, pretty nice actually. 

But the next session for a batch was now going to be days away. 

Days from your work and a certain Fring. 

You had completely stilled about a step away from your car. There was a quiet breath that huffed through your nose, one that only you could hear, “You know what, actually.”and then you turned on your heel, the concrete practically scuffing under your shoe. “I’ve worked for you for quite some time now, and yet…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside your restaurant.”

The man your eyes managed to focus on seemed to be closer than he was the last time you saw him. A fact that made your brain almost completely miss the words that came out of his mouth. “Well, it’s not an obligation.” 

There was something about the look on his face. Something about the way he pressed his lips together immediately after he finished speaking. He may have assured that the visit wasn’t needed, but... there might have still been a want. 

“What hours is it open?” you asked, the sound of your voice almost echoing through the parking area, even if the noises from the active laundromat were louder. 

Gustavo’s head slightly rose after a moment, one of his brows slightly twitching as he processed your question. And then he cleared his throat, “That would depend on the day.” he informed, readjusting the hands he still held behind his back. 

You hummed in response, letting your gaze fall into the distance as you thought.

Honestly, after the past few hours you could barely remember what part of the week you were in right now. So, instead, you thought back to what a usual week would look like. 

What was the day that was perfectly set between the times you would possibly be able to see Gustavo at work? Right in the middle?

“How about Thursday?” you suggested, now watching as Gustavo began to make his way across the concrete, slightly nodding his head, “Then... Seven to ten, I believe.” 

“All right,” you breathed out, the speed in which your heart beat increased the more the man approached. “One less lunch to plan for the week.” You practically gulped as you reached backwards, fingers patting against the cool metal of the vehicle for a moment until they located the handle. 

Gustavo stilled himself about three steps in front of you, the look on his face signalling that he was thinking about something as he wasn’t making direct eye contact, “Actually... I would suggest to come around dinner time.” 

Just as you were about to tug on the handle, your hand froze, along with pretty much every other part of your body. 

The man was now looking right at you, his voice sort of timid in a way that caught you even more off guard. And apparently himself too. “It’s... more quiet.” He cleared his throat, “Less people around.”

Your arm slowly moved back to your side, releasing the warm handle from any sort of grasp. 

There was a fight going on in your chest. A want to give into the urge of running away like you would’ve done in a situation close to this as a kid. But you weren’t a child anymore, far from it. 

It took a good moment for any sound to be able to roll off of your tongue. And as soon as something eventually had, it was like your lungs remembered how to properly function. “Will you be there?” 

You felt younger. The two of you may have been stood pretty much right in front of the other, yet neither of you could maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds before you collectively had to look away, no matter how confident either one of you tried to seem.

Gustavo cleared his throat, though it sounded like it had barely done anything. “I believe so.” he finally confirmed, and regardless of the fact that his voice was still quiet, there was this tone that took over his words. 

“Well, good...” That giddy feeling returned, even if it had probably never left. “I think I probably would still go if you weren’t there, but... it would be a lot less... fun.”

The man before you let the slightest smile curl at a side of his mouth, “Well, we wouldn’t want that now would we?” He sounded more breathy this time, a natural progression from his already quiet voice. But it wasn’t because of nerves, or a reaction of his lungs, which you had initially thought. It was intentional.  

“Not at all.” Your voice in question was more full than his, however, there was this slight whisper to it, as if Gustavo should be the only person allowed to hear it. 

“Then it’s settled,” he began, slightly lowering his head in away that had your back pressing into your car. His normal tone had seeped back through his words like he was back in boss mode. But not quite Gustavo Fring just yet. “How does... eight o’clock sound? Unless you eat earlier?”

Your head shook practically without a second of hesitance. The ability to move your lips was barely thereso you resorted to moving to the side, finally pulling on the handle of your car door until it swung out far enough that you could stand behind it. 

You could see Gustavo raise his eyebrows just the slightest as the door had created a sort of separation, and it had you biting back a grin. “It’s perfect.” you insisted, trying to sound as neutral as possible despite the, possibly, clear ways you felt at that moment. 

And then you lowered yourself into the car, having to slightly shifted backwards a little bit to properly get into the drivers seat before you swung your legs inside.  

Your hand grasped the inside of your door, your fingers making certain that they had a good grip, before your eyes landed on the figure through the glass of the window that hadn’t moved an inch.

And then you smiled. 

“Gus.”

[alexiswritingstuff]

For people sending in requests!

I feel like this title makes it seem like I’m about to tell you guys off, but I promise you, I am not.

This is just another one of those moments where I remember that I should probably keep you guys in the loop, and let you know where I currently am with fics and writing. 

I have read the requests in my inbox, okay guys don’t worry, I have seen you, and I will be working on them as fast as I can. 

This post is more so just me telling you that it may take a while for me to actually get to writing them as my brain has apparently decided to be a bit slow recently.... And also, I will admit, that I keep having the urge to write about characters I haven’t before.

But all in all, I promise you guys that I am actually working to get these fics out. More Gustavo content will be with you soon!

[alexiswritingstuff]

Gustavo Fring fics.

◉  For him. (Gender Neutral reader)

Summary: A run in with a rival business ended with a friend of the readers being sent to hospital, all because of one mistake. A situation that a certain Fring is seemingly trying to pretend didn’t happen. But why?

◉ Not so scary after all. (Gender Neutral reader)

Request: I was wondering if you could write a short story/oneshot where the reader (gender neutral) works in the lab with Jesse and Walter, and Gus has an obvious soft spot for them. Being lenient with them when they make a mistake, being more gentle with reader, etc.

-- Part one -- Part two -- 

◉ A Man And His Guard. (Male Reader) 

Summary: During the rise of Gus’ paranoia, Mike hires you in an attempt to ease it. You work where he does, do everything he says and later even learn that you are to go home with him to further ensure his safety.

-- Part one -- Part two --

◉ Removal of the mask. (Gender Neutral reader)

Request: I had an idea for another Gus fic! I just want him to finally break , mask off and just actually let himself show emotion and be upset with the reader comforting him or something? I just need cute and fluffy stuff with him in my life. Poor dude just needs a shoulder to cry on.

◉ Just a truck. (Gender Neutral reader)

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you’d be okay with writing a Gus piece where maybe Gus and the reader are having an argument and the reader gets scared or flinches if he says something (in THE tone). Naturally, he feels really guilty and comforts the reader or something with a happy ending? Thank you!

[alexiswritingstuff]

Hello! I was wondering if you’d be okay with writing a Gus piece where maybe Gus and the reader are having an argument and the reader gets scared or flinches if he says something (in THE tone). Naturally, he feels really guilty and comforts the reader or something with a happy ending? Thank you!

Okay, this took wayyyyyy to long to write, and I'm very sorry to the person who requested this. I really hope that you like this, and that I conveyed this in a way that feels natural, but most importantly correct. And that it's also what you wanted.

Just a truck.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x Gender neutral reader.

Content: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: arguments, implied past abuse and/or trauma.

A/N: If anyone has any issues with phrasing, anything, then please inform me! The last thing that I want to do is offend someone with my writing.

I would also like to say that this fic is very long, so please grab a drink, take a seat and a snack.

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

“Sir?”

The time of day had arrived where the restaurant had grown calmer, passed the designated hours that people usually chose to have a meal with the things served at Los Pollos Hermanos.

It sounded like it echoed when the knuckles of your dominant hand knocked on the door in front of you a good few times. “Gus, It's Y/n.”

There was a beat of silence. The cause of which unclear due to the wood blocking your vision, but it was something that created an urge to fidget as you flexed your fingers.

And then you heard the muffled sound.

“Come in.”

Now, any other person who had to do this probably would have walked in already without knocking. Most of the guys on your side of the business had attitude problems, that whole thing where they thought of themselves as higher than each other.

In turn, it usually meant that a lot of people would just do things without proper thought.

But not you.

It's wasn't like you were scared of Gustavo. At this point you had known him and worked alongside him for so long that it was honestly difficult to remember when it had started.

However, when the door in front of you slowly swung inwards, revealing the office that always seemed to be engulfed in dark lighting, a ball of nerves gathered at the bottom of your stomach.

Your posture straightened, attempting to present yourself as stoic as possible when you finally took a step in.

Here we go.

The door latched behind you after a few more slow and careful steps further into the room. And then you halted, looking down at the man who was staring right back at you.

Regardless of the fact that he was simply sat in a chair, the way he held himself always brought a feeling like you were about to start sweating. He was unmoving, the breaths he took not appearing to expand or deflated his chest.

Gustavo didn't even twitch. And neither did his eyes.

This time, when the air passed into his lungs, you could hear the whistle from his nose. “I'm listening.”

Every joint in your body felt as if it stiffened the longer he held your gaze. It was like he could see into your soul and, from his tone, your mind as well. “We believe that one of the has been stolen.”

It felt like you were stood in the centre of a stage. As if the words said had just echoed around a grand hall and you now awaited some kind of response from an audience. Either overlapping boos or shocked gasps.

Gustavo merely raised his chin, “And how do you know this?”

“The truck didn't arrive when it was supposed to.” You swallowed, “We asked the men at the previous checkpoints and it appears that it had missed quite a few before that as well.”

It was probably the need to deliver bad news that had your body feeling as stiff as a board, so, when you finally allowed yourself to take a proper breath, your shoulders lowered with it, “We're not sure who did it.”

Now, since the moment the door had opened, was the first time that Gustavo looked away. His gaze dropped, lowering to a neat pile of papers you guessed he had been going through before your appearance.

Was he mad that you interrupted? Processing the news? Thinking of what to do?

When Gustavo started to lean back it had your eyebrows itching to furrow. 

It was a slow movement that shifted almost every part of his body, except his hands that remained in the same position on the desk no matter how stretched his arms became, until his back fully pressed into the chair. And then he met your eyes again. 

This time it had you gulping.

“May I ask why you've come all the way out here to tell me information that could've been passed over the phone?”

You blinked for a second, waiting for the words to process even though they already had. Your head slightly tilted, “Pardon?”

“You have just told me that one of my trucks has been intercepted,” Gustavo rephrased, pronouncing his words a little slower as if he needed to speak more clearly, “And Instead of trying to find it. You are here. In my restaurant.”

Whenever it was time to tell someone bad news, there was always an ability to get consumed in the what ifs. There was no way to accurately guess how a person was going to react to something, especially when it came to Gustavo.

But this hadn't been one of the possibilities you imagined.

Your eyebrows officially furrowed, “Sir, we already have men on the job-- I came here to collect Victor and Tyrus, and I just thought it would be good to inform you--”

“Do you have a last known location?”

His tone had switched again, his words fast in a way that said enough. He was looking at you expectantly, the expression on his face making it clear that his patience was being tested.

“Um...” You just blinked for a moment again, jarred by the sudden change in topic, “Yes... Yes, we do, but I'm afraid it's from a long time ago.”

Within about five seconds, Gustavo rid his hands from their overlapped position. He slid them towards himself across the smooth surface and, when they got to the edge of a table, he pushed.

His chair rolled for about a second, the wheels squeaking being the only sound throughout the room, until he could stand on his feet, “Great.”

Gustavo grabbed one of the armrests, stopping the big chair from smacking into the corner of the table for the printer and moved it to the side so that he had space.

Above the printing machine was the only window in the office. The bottom portion of it was the vent system as the creation for viewing the outside world was just for that. It wasn’t openable.

And though the blinds were mostly drawn, the slats so close to turning to their full extent, you could just see a sliver of the outside world. Gustavo turned towards it, his stiff hands slowly clasping behind his back.

There was some accompanying noise, like the muffled sound of cars outside, chatter from the dinning area in the restaurant, the blow of air that almost brought goose bumps to your skin.

But the silence was what you could hear the most.

You cleared your throat, attempting to do it in a way that wasn't to loud. Now you understood why Mike didn't want to interact with Gustavo when he was angry.

I mean, you could understand his frustration. It wasn't like you were happy with having a truck go missing yourself, or that you wanted to say something that could make Gustavo upset.

However, this was a reaction you didn't properly know how to respond to. And that meant that it could escalate within a breath.

“My intention wasn't to... disturb your peace,” you began, trying to word your sentences as carefully as you could, “Is there a particular way you would like this to be handled?”

Once again the man remained still. The wind was coming from right in front of him and yet his body didn't even sway. He was just staring out of the window. “Isn't that for you to judge?”

His voice was flat this time, like he wasn't even paying attention to the words he was saying.

The ability to stomach his attitude was getting a little harder with every statement Gustavo made, but you remained calm. It was better to get this all over and done with than to argue like a game of ping pong. “I could make a judgement, yes, but it isn't my truck.”

“We also don't have that much information on the whereabouts, so--”

“Well, did the truck just disappear? Into thin air?” By the time you had blinked he was facing you once again, his expression matching the way his words snapped throughout the room.

You tried to hide the shock from your face, but in doing so your confusion seemed to take over instead, “No... But, Gustavo, we don't know where it went since it's last destination--”

“Then follow the tracks.”

You leaned back within a second of the sentence catching your ears. Your eyes crinkled, lips curling upwards at the joke... But Gustavo’s expression remained the same.

He was being serious.

“You can't...” Your head slowly rose, your brows remained furrowed while every other feature had dropped, “Sir, with all do respect, that could take hours. The truck would have already reached wherever those people wanted to take it.”

“And not to mention that wind-- The sand has probably shifted by now.”

The more you spoke, the more you realised that you could say anything and it wouldn't change the way his mind was working right now. He was frustrated, the tension visible in the way his muscles sat.

Gustavo wasn't going to listen.

“Then I suggest you start making progress.”

Unbelievable. His tone, the look on his face, the request-- No, the command. It was unbelievable.

Of course, you could understand where he was coming from. You knew what was being transported in those trucks, and you knew what could happen if other business found out how easy it was to take Gustavo Fring's stock.

He had every right to worry about the situation, though he seemed to be too stuck in the possibilities of what could happen.

It was strange to see him like this. You were expecting to see the intimidation tactic you had seen him use more times than you've seen him smile, fuelled by anger which was very common in this line of work.

But as he stood in front of you, the way his body presented itself, the way his face remained in the same expression like he was trying to stop something from appearing. You could see it in his eyes.

Right now, he wasn't angry, he was... scared?

Gustavo Fring was scared.

“What if he don't find it?” you finally spoke up. If he was going to make you do this, he would need to think about all the other possibilities and consequences, “What if we send people out in that desert searching for hours, but the only thing we get is heatstroke and sunburns? Hmm?”

His eyelids lowered enough that it hadn't really narrowed his gaze, but the movement was visible. The lines closest to his mouth had deepened and you swore the side of his nose had twitched in way that made it look almost like a snarl. “That truck holds a shipment of something that has any person of the law waiting to strike.”

“If they found it, if the people that took my truck let others know that they have taken my truck... What could happen is endless.”

A sigh huffed through your nose as you looked back at him. This was pointless. The decision to talk to him was pointless. 

Maybe he's had a bad day, maybe being the owner of a business like his had gotten too much this morning and then you just decided to come in later in the day and add onto that.

But now you couldn't just back off. You couldn't apologise, leave and pretend this never happened. You were too far in.

Gustavo was staring right at you. He was stood in place, the breaths that he took now visible in his chest as the emotions started to attack his facial features.

It was like a standoff. A fight just because two people had an understanding of a situation with different perceptions.

Who would've thought.

“I get that... I do, okay-- Just... Look, we have no idea who is behind this, Gus. ” you started up, wanting to fully collected your words before attempting to speak, and Gustavo's head slightly lowered at the phrase, “We don't know if those people are waiting for us to act, and if they are, then we could start something far worse.”

“What we need is more time--”

Out of nowhere, all at once, was this sound that purely rippled through the air as if it was played through a multitude of speakers.

It was something that felt like it had engulfed the room longer that it had rung out. Something that had then been followed by a set of words that you were guessing came from Gustavo. But you couldn't hear it.

You couldn't hear.

It was only when you tried to look for the source of sudden panic that you notice that you couldn't properly see either... And that's when you realised.

Your arms were up, your hands held in a way almost lined perfectly with your eyes. Your palms were open, but your fingers were ready to curl as if they needed to ball into a fist. 

They were twitching, doing so with every second that went by until your brain clocked onto the fact that they weren't in fact twitching.

They were shaking.

The movement was almost staggered when your arms finally attempted to lower, and soon you could see over your limbs. Right as Gustavo's hand had removed itself from the desk.  

This silence was different.

Your eyes were wide, your heart on a rampage within your chest, by the time your arms stilled at your sides. And despite the movement of Gustavo’s arm, he was frozen as well.

It replayed over and over in your head. The moments prior, the words said, the second you saw something erupt within his eyes. The attention that you had on him seemed to end with your mind missing his movements.

He had slammed his hand on the desk.

His anger had gotten the best of him so much so that it overrode his usual ability to maintain a calm exterior, and though Gustavo still resided behind his desk, you were now stood closer to the door than him.

No words could find themselves flowing through the air. Every attempt Gustavo made, every twitch of his mouth, ended with the same silence.

The two of you could stand in the same opposing position for hours and still no words would be shared.

You had been doing so well.

After however long it felt, the ability to feel began to return throughout your body, and soon your shoulders deflated once again. Like the stance you held upon entering this room, your spine was straightened as much as it could. Your chin rose, expression devoid of any emotion.

Until you smiled.

It was small. Weary, though held in a way to show otherwise. “You're right, Sir.” No matter how many times you swallowed, the lump formed in your throat never ceased, “I'll-- I'll get right to it. Sorry, for the... inconvenience.”

And then you turned, your body stiff enough that you had to actually force it to carry out any sort of movement. You could feel it regardless of the way your muscles shifted. 

By the time you next blinked the door in front of you was open once again, allowing the cool air in the hallway to meet with your skin, that you didn’t even realise was as warm as it was. 

You began to walk through.

Gustavo's mind was screaming at him to move his legs, to walk round that damn desk and close that door before you could... But what would he even say? 

What could he do that hadn’t already been done?

His actions had caused this. His inability, for once, to not control himself ended with you... you thinking that he was going to harm you? Hurt you?

He didn't move. There was a spasm of a muscle throughout multiple parts of his body, but it wasn't enough to set him off. Gustavo remained where he stood, watching as the door to his office slowly closed so that it wouldn't make sound.

~

“Oh, come on.”

Nothing. 

There was still no sign of that truck. It had been hours since you were first informed of the news and yet there had been barely any progress, no step closer to finding it.

Sure, a multitude of people had been out, wondrously travelling back and forth across the same dirt and sandy road. But it's not like you could follow tracks when you got to the tarmac.

So, you were lost. Unsure of what to do next.

You leaned forward in the chair beneath you, waiting until your elbows could land on the table to stop. 

A sigh seeped from your mouth, your hands raising to your face. Your fingers pressed into the sides of your nose, almost touching the corner of your eyes that had been closed.

The room was well ventilated. Cool air flowed around often enough that it could be felt, but it also seemed like the hotness of most places of America was a tough battle to defeat.

Your skin felt clammy despite being indoors, out of direct sunlight. But whenever it got to the point where it was too much, the cold air would complete it's cycle. Meeting with your body once again, though it apparently couldn’t ease the warmth of your face.

When another breath was sucked into your lungs, your hands slid from their previous position. They glided to the top of your head, smoothing out the hair beneath, and then followed the back of your skull until they reached the nape of your neck.

Your head sunk a little the moment your fingers began to press down, letting your eyes fall closed all over again.

This was supposed to be your job, something that you were supposed to be good at. 

I mean, sure, this wasn't the exact reason that you were hired, but surely you were expected to be able to handle something like this? You should be able to handle something like this.

Yet here you were, sulking in the meeting room of the poultry farm while your team tried and failed again, and again, to find that damn truck.

At this point, you didn't even care to find it because of what was in it, what could happen if some officer stumbled upon the hidden compartments. All you cared about was Gustavo.

If it got to the 24 hour mark, he wasn't exactly going to be happy about it. I mean, he wasn't before when he...

But this was your fault. You were the person that dedicated more time talking to him when the truck was first lost, and maybe that was what made this whole thing worse.

You lost the truck and made Gustavo mad.

Your body was about to give into the urge to slump forward, wanting to lay against the table in a way that might grant the ability to sink through it and the ground beneath it.

But then the door to the room unlatched.

Instead of carrying out any of the wanted movements, you stilled, an attempt to gage any other sounds that may follow more clearly. Though, it proved to be a bit difficult when your ears caught onto a set of footsteps.

Finally, your head rose, the bones of your elbows beginning to ache due to the amount of time they remained on the table.

Your eyes were almost lazy when they opened once again. You were expecting to see Mike, or other members of your team so that they deliver some other form of bad news. You did not prepare for anyone else.

It took a moment for your vision to focus on the new figure. They had taken a few more steps before they remained in place, even clearing their throat.

Truth be told, your eyes didn't even need to rid themselves of the blurriness to catch onto who it was.

You could recognise that stance from miles away.

In about a second, all the tiredness seemed to drain from wherever it clung both inside and outside of your body. The features on your face relaxed but your eyes grew wide instead.

You jolted up from the chair you sat on enough so that the back of your knees bumped into it. The legs squealed in an echo as they scraped backwards against the floor, “Sir.”

“Sir, what-- What are you doing here?”

Like before, when the door shut, the surrounding room was engulfed by a silence that was hard to ignore.

Now, the two of you were stood on opposite sides. You were the one behind the desk while Gustavo was the one waiting to speak.

Despite how you imagined the man presenting himself at this hour, he wasn't in one of those fancy suits that always looked like they were freshly bought even if he had them for a long time. He was still in his uniform. Like he had come straight from Los Pollos Hermanos... But he never did that. 

Gustavo always changed first.

“What am I doing in my own factory?” The tension wasn't in his face anymore. It had dissipated, leaving behind a much lighter look that settled across his skin and within his eyes.

He even had the slightest smile worn on his lips but it was hard to tell if it was genuine or the one he usually used to hide.

You cleared your throat, the amount of blinks your eyelids allowed increasing as you processed your past phrasing, “I meant... I mean, I thought you needed to be at the restaurant?”

“All that is awaiting me now is more paperwork.” Gustavo insistedsimply, even sounding as if he was about to chuckle through his words, “You don't have to worry about...”

In real time it only happened for about a second, but Gustavo suddenly sort of froze. His lips were parted, the words still urging to roll of his tongue while the skin under his eyes crinkled.

And then his face dropped. It was a subtle movement, one that you had almost missed if it wasn't for the way his gaze narrowed almost immediately after.

That feeling came back again. Being centre on a stage with all the lights shining right on you. Only this time there was no tension, there was no fear created by the attention being put onto you.

Just general confusion.

“Sir?”

The man before you merely hummed to acknowledge your voice, the expression on his face remaining as he started to move forwards.

He was analysing you, taking slow steps closer to the opposite side of the table as if you were about to take off running if he did it any other way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gustavo stilled himself right behind the back of the chair on his side. His posture was the same as it always was, straight as a ruler, though his shoulder looked a little lower than usual. His chin slightly raised.

He could see it. He could see the sort of dullness to your eyes that seemed to have increased the more the day had drained you of life.

He took in your stance, the rigidness clear within your arms that were held by your sides and sometimes even twitched in a way that made it clear that they wanted to drop down, hang loosely in the air.

Usually the lines of your face weren't visible to the naked eye like Gustavo's were. When you would smile, make a face in response to something, it would bring them out, show them off to whoever was looking for about a second until you needed to focus again.

But there they were, carved beneath your eyes in a way that made the skin almost look like someone had pulled on it for hours.

You looked as if you shouldn't have been able to stand without swaying but there you stood, determined to act any other way than you had earlier.

“Sit down.” It took a minute for even Gustavo to realise the words had left his mouth.

You blinked, the previous reluctance to move further stilling your body regardless of the command. Thus, when you still made no sign of compliance to his words, he even gestured to what you had previously been seated in for further insistence.

“But...” It felt like it took hours for your lips to move for a singular word. It was the most confusing feeling too because you had worked so many shifts like this, so what was the difference? Why were you reacting the way that you were?

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, even if it was going to return either way, your stiff arms now allowing movement as you clasped your hands together in front of you. “I-- I shouldn't have been sitting in first place, Sir.”

Your eyes weren't on his anymore. Your gaze was sort of mindlessly flickering about as it succumbed to many thoughts that swirled through your head, “I didn't-- I didn't mean to sit in your seat.”

“My seat?” The skin between Gustavo’s eyebrows crinkled. He wasn't angry, or looking at you like you had done the worst thing in the world. It was genuine confusion, “Y/n, that is a plastic, foldable chair.”

“It is not mine, or anyone else's-- It is an object with a purpose that I would hope that you're familiar with.”

He was trying to not be direct this time. The command of telling someone to sit down felt harsh, forceful. He had already been both of those things today.

When there was still no movement, his jaw clenched. There was a quiet breath that seeped through his nose, the cold air almost making it feel like he inhaled water, until he blew it back out.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the difference in attitude that made it hard for you to choose the proper reaction. Earlier he had looked at you with such hatred that even though you weren't the direct cause or reason for it, it still affected you.

But now his gaze was light. It held remnants of the tiredness he always felt after a shift, though he would never tell. You could see the mixture of emotions that stormed as the release from work allowed a genuineness that he couldn't always feel. That he didn't always want.

He wasn't commanding something this time. He was asking.

After another breath filtered through your system, your body finally made the choice to move. You took a step to the side, hearing the way the floorboards creaked beneath your feet. And then you took a seat.

The slight relief was visible within Gustavo's face as you brought the chair a little closer to the table. But like it always did, the look disappeared within a second.

“Now,” By the next time you blinked, resuming your position from earlier, Gustavo had began to walk along the length of the table, “I'm guessing you found Victor and Tyrus?”

Your eyes were on him not matter how fast or slow he decided to move, “Uh, yeah-- Yes, I did.” You watched him move round the edge of the table, aiming towards a set of four cabinets that sat against the wall. Each both a different colour and height, though not by much.

“We followed the tracks as far as we could-- As far as they went.” you insisted, taking a moment to lean your elbow against the table again while Gustavo moved towards a certain cabinet.

“They went onto the main road.” the man concluded as his feet finally stopped. You could hear a slight breath huff out of his lips, his head even tilting a bit before it went right back.

Just in the way it had earlier, the ability to part your lips had become a sort of struggle.

He hadn't shown an ounce of hostility, and even now, as he stood with his back towards you, it should allow you some feeling to be able to speak your mind. But that cautious feeling reappeared like you were dealing with a wild animal.

“Yes.” you finally confirmed regardless of the fact that it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. It was a wonder that the words even left your mouth, “I'm sorry, Sir.”

In about a second, Gustavo had turned his attention from what it was previous on. He looked over his shoulder, most of his body still facing the cabinets, until his eyes met your own. “No need to apologise, Y/n.”

“You weren't driving the one driving the truck.” That was it. The was his only other comment in response to yet another one of your failures before he turned right back to the wall.

“What about Mike?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your back leaning further into the chair while your gaze remained on whatever he was doing, “Mike? Um... He was the one to figure out which ways the truck turned.”

Gustavo reached for the top of the cabinet farthest to the left. It was a sort of greyish green, contrasting with the carpet and the particular wood the walls were made of.

There was this white fan that sat atop the set of drawers. It was an item that you honestly hadn't realised was there until now, even if it was one of the main reason that the heat hadn't completely consumed you.

Gustavo's hand moved along the long neck of the object and soon it arrived at the front grill. Though, when he began to shift it, moving it to face more to the right, your train of thought sort of slipped.  

“Oh-- Actually I forgot to... tell you, but Mike managed to find an angle from some of our cameras where you could see the number plate.”

Gustavo lowered his arm back down, seeming to get lost in the spinning blades as he just seemed to stand there for a moment, “He found it?”

Your excitement fizzled out almost as fast as it had appeared. Alas, when you thought a piece of information was usual, in reality, you were a step further back than you were before.

Still so far from solving the problem.

“The truck was very fast.” you informed and that seemed to jump start Gustavo's brain again as he turned away from the cabinet with a slight hum.

“It would disappear by the time you blinked... Too blurry every time we tried to pause it.” He started walking again, following the wall that was now to his right until he got to a table closest to the corner.

This time Gustavo didn't respond as he stopped himself once again. Instead he reached for the divided tray, that was always brought to this room for Mr. Fring himself, the cling film over it crackling when his fingers touched down. 

You should’ve known he was coming.

“But he's-- He's working with a few of the guys right now. Trying to see if they can fix it up enough to get a match.”

Once the plastic was peeled back, Gustavo took the tray into one of his hands and lifted it from the surface below before twisting back round. “Good... Good.” he remarked in a way that had your eyebrows yearning to furrow, but your mind lost focus when he chose to walk behind you.

Your body stilled, waiting for him to appear in your peripheral vision once again. But even when he did, your muscles never managed to ease the built tension.

“And what about you?”

Before your eyes could snap towards what could be seen of him, his arm suddenly reached to the side as he rounded table corner closest to where you sat. And now, for whatever reason, the tray that he took was placed right in front of you.

“What about me?” you questioned a little lazily as your mind zoned in on the new presence. There was a different vegetable in each section, cut up smaller than they actually would be so that they would fit. And also because it looked nicer.

“What are you doing?” The clarification allowed your attention to shift and this time, when you got yourself to look up, you found Gustavo stood to the side of table. 

The question had you just staring at him for a moment. If he had asked this earlier, your heart would have been pounding in a way that felt like it would come up your throat.

But his tone was normal. One that held nothing but genuineness that conveyed curiosity. Not anger, or burning hatred. He just wanted to know.

Either way, you will admit that it had you almost gulping when you realised it in fact looked like you hadn't been doing anything when Gustavo first walked in.

So, you cleared your throat, “Well, I... I didn't want to stand around while Mike and the other guys did their thing, and Victor took Tyrus with him to gather more information, so.. I decided to wait here at a local point so that people could easily keep me updated.”

On the table, in front of where Gustavo stood, sat two metallic bottles.

“Makes it easier for me to pass it on too.”

The one to the left helped the water within maintain it's heat if it wanted to accompany a tea bag, or keep a coffee hot. You could even put a hot chocolate in their if wanted.

And the other, the one Gustavo had took in a hand, kept the water cool. Useful for days like these, as if you left the water out on the table you could half expect it to start bubbling. “Hmm...”

“Good system.” He reached for the set of tall glasses that sat in front of the bottles. It slid against the uneven surface of the table, slightly managing to scuff up the wood, until it was close enough to Gustavo.

The thumb of his other hand pressed into what you were guessing was a button close to the neck, and soon, the lid clicked, snapping open. All Gustavo had to do was tilt his wrist and then the stream of water began to spill into the glass below. “Any word from... local businesses.”

It was piecing together. A lot of things were. The longer your eyes trained on watching the glass get fuller and fuller, the more points began connecting in your head.

“No.” You blinked, trying to bring back a sense of reality as you attempted to swallow the sudden feeling of thirst. “Noone wants to make any moves.”

There was something going on here. Something Gustavo was doingsince he entered the room.

If he needed something he would have already asked. He would have immediately sat right down in the chair opposite you and said whatever he needed to say.

But he wanted something.

“I heard that were even hesitant about...” Something that he apparently couldn't get with ease as you watched that glass begin to get dragged in your direction. “About?” Gustavo questioned, his arm slowly extending the further he pushed.

“About...” you repeated, the next few words proving difficult to locate through your mind, “About conducting meetings--”

In a split second, before you could even process it yourself, your elbow rolled until your forearm met with the wooden surface. Your hand barely had to reach out, as within about a second, it was pressing into the oncoming glass, halting it before it could fully get to your side of the table.

“Okay, what is this?”

Gustavo's head snapped in your direction, eyes aimed on your hand that trapped his own against the glass for a good few seconds before his gaze flickered to yours, “I'm trying to give you water.”

“No, not--” you huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to shake your head, as you freed both yours and Gustavo's hand from the grip. “All of this. The-- The pouring me a glass of water, which I can easily do myself. The turning the fan in my direction, even though I made no remarks of wanting that.”

“And this.” You grabbed the tray in front of you, the cling film sticking to your fingers as it still hung on the side, and held it up between the two of you. Your eyebrows were completely furrowed now, “Why did you give me this?”

“There has been no one else who was allowed to even put a hand near it, let alone eat it for themselves,” Gustavo's eyes were practically the only part of his body that moved as the travelled to what you held. “So, now I am asking you.”

“What are you doing?”

That silence was back again, layering across every surface that it could in a way that even made the fan sound loud, while the two of you stared back at each other.

The next breath that he took was heard by your ears. Finally, he removed his hand from the glass, that had begun to feel like it was freezing his skin, letting it remain where it was placed on the table.

His footsteps echoed once again as he begun to slowly move along the side of the table, rounding the next corner so that he could do the same on the next side.

It felt like your heart was in your throat by the time Gustavo had reached the chair opposite you. Even more so when he pulled it from its tucked position.

When the chair was a good distance a way from the table, he sat down, his back straightening in a way it usually did. Which you could never managed to do yourself.

He leant his forearms down onto the table top, his palms flattening against it while the fingers on each hand overlapped, resuming the familiar position that made it seem like you were back in the Los Pollos Hermanos office.

But you weren't. 

This was the factory. A place settled far within the middle of no where to the point that you couldn't hear those cars anymore. You couldn't hear the chatter of customers, or the people working away in the kitchen.

The only thing that met your ears were your own breaths. And Gustavo's which were steady, though the look in his eyes told you something different.

“There are... a lot of things that need to be said...” He was almost nervous, the fingers pressed onto each other begging to twitch the longer your gaze stayed on him, “And yet, I forget that a voice is needed for that.”

For once, Gustavo didn't care how he felt. He didn't care about the argument, or that damn truck, even if it still made him anxious to think about what could happen.

But even then, the consequences wouldn't just effect him. They would damage his employees for both this business and the restaurant, which could then extend to their families, and that meant that it would end up at your feet.

This situation wasn't just about him.

It was about you.

“Y/n, I don't want to make you uncomfortable by sitting here, and talking at you about... what happened.” There was no name for that moment. No word to accurately convey the events, how it made either of you feel.

Still, it was like your body wanted to shy away from the singular mention of it.

“But, I can't ignore it.”

You wanted to get up. Wanted to move through the room as fast as you could and just bolt out that door, “Sir, we have more important things to talk about--”

“No.” His voice was louder than before. It wasn't enough to echo, or make you almost jump out of your skin, but it was a sound that had your mouth snapping shut. “No, we do not.”

It was like he was staring into your soul. As if he could read every thought the was in your mind, even if it was only there for a second.

It was like he was staring into your soul. As if he could read every thought that so much as passed through your mind, even just for a second. 

“A truck is a truck. You are a person, living and breathing.” Gustavo continued, this unwavering insistence held within each word, “A person who, even after... wrongful treatment, stayed working hours on end for my benefit.”

Your head was shaking before the sentence had finished, “You didn't... Sir, this is my job.” No matter the difference in conversation topics, or the change of reasoning, your eyebrows always remained furrowed.

“Sure. Your job is whatever I say it should be,” Gustavo began, the slightest shrug shifting his shoulders, “But do you know how many people would have quit if I told them to do what you did?”

The nerves within your system had fizzled out at this point. “So what? Were you trying to to test me?” The only thing rampant through your veins was the exhaustion. A feeling that would soon lead to frustration, “Trying to find a weak spot to see if you needed to let me go?”

“No, I'm trying to say that there is no one else here like you.”

Your back pressed further into the chair you sat on, the upper half of your body almost slumping with it, “Mike could easily do what I did today.”

“Maybe so,” Gustavo did the opposite, he leaned forwards. And this time when he spoke, his voice was filled with this simplicity that it almost annoyed you, “But doing it without complaining? No... No, I do not think so.”

“Gustavo,” One of your hands raised to your face, while your head shook, in a way that sort of squashed your nose.

Your fingers rubbed at the muscles, trying to ease the tension that had begun to ache, and then your hand lowered so that you could look at the man across the table once again. “Are you going to give me a medal? A gold star? I was just doing my job--”

“And I am just trying to-” Gustavo caught himself. He let his lips fall closed, and so did his eyes while a breathing sucked through his nostrils. Though, when the breath cycled back out, they opened like before. 

“This morning. What I asked... What I forced you to do-- The way that I spoke.” Gustavo's brows lightly crinkled. There was this look on his face while his head lightly shook, like he could see the past events right in front of him, “It was completely unacceptable.”

“I am... very sorry for what I caused.”

Your hands lay still in your lap, your fingers gripped onto the edges of your shirt as you stared back at Gustavo. “You didn't...” you started, almost forgetting that you could speak in a way that made you pause for a moment, “You didn't do anything.”

Gustavo nodded his head without a second to waste. “I did.”

The expression on his face remained regardless of how much time passed. His gaze flickered, his iris jumping from side to side, up and down, as if he was scanning every feature he could see. “I don't... I don't know what has happened in your life. And I don't need you to tell me.”

“But I know what I saw.”

You wanted to look away. Wanted to look down at the surface of the table below and let your mind zone in on the discolouration of the wood, or the difference in texture.

But you couldn't. You couldn’t move your eyes away from his face, the look on it that was such a thing that you had never seen it before. At least not on Gustavo.

“What I am trying to say-- What...” He took in a deep breath, attempting to unscramble the words in his head. And for the first time, you recognised the look of tiredness that washed of his features.

Or maybe it had been there all along.

“There is only one thing I want from you. One thing that I want to ask.” he finally managed out, and though their was clear frustration over the struggle, he spoke in such a careful way. Correcting himself of his past mistake.

“Okay.” Your voice was just above a whisper. In all honesty, it didn't feel like the sound was going to get passed your throat. But it did. And now, there was this look of relief that almost cleared the lines of Gustavo's face.

His back straightened, something you didn't even notice that he had to do.

“Will you work for me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed like they had many times before. Your head slightly tilted to the side, lips about to part in a way that Gustavo seemed to predict. “Not for the business. Or the company-- Not for any other person...”

“Just me.”

It felt like one of those jokes that took too long to understand. A phrasing of words that everybody else could get within a second. But not you. The most you could do was stare back at him. “What for?”

“Whatever you would like, I just-- Today made me realise a lot of things.” Gustavo began to lean backwards until his back was pressed against the chair. “I get so caught in what people do, what they say, that I only react for myself.”

“I am controlled by my own wants and needs, but my ability to react, or to feel, has only been allowed because of you.” The way his eyes crinkled, the upturn of a corner of his mouth. He was trying to be serious, but there was something else peeking through. “What you have done for the business, for me, surrounds us everyday, and...”

Suddenly, the expression on his face drained. Whatever sentence was about to roll off of his tongue got put on hold in a way that made you almost want to look around for whatever caused it. But then Gustavo cleared his throat.

He almost looked... shy.

“I... I do realise that the timing of this makes it sound like I'm trying to bribe you.”

It had felt like it had been the longest time since the urge to smile had tugged at your own lips. And at this point it was almost a strange feeling. You shook your head, “No, I get it.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the corners of Gustavo’s lips allowed themselves to curl. He looked down, nodding at your assurance that visibly eased his mind.  

Finally, the two of you were on the same page. 

“What I know... What I see is that there is a difference in a lot of things when you are in charge.” His voice oozed with a sincerity. It was this genuine and confident sound, like he had seen whatever he was a million times before. 

With his next words, when he had mustered up the courage that was usually so easy for him to utilise, his eyes found your own set across the table, “When the mornings comes back, there is want to get through the stages of a day instead of a need to.”

His gaze swirled with an intensity, something that he almost looked confused about, unsure of how to deal with. And either, it was because he had never felt it before, or it had been a very long.

“I want you to work with you by my side.” It was insistent at this point. The way he sounded, the tone he used, the look on his face. Gustavo wasn’t asking anymore. It was a want. 

A need. 

It clicked. In a second, that very feeling sort of faded after his phrasing settled within his own ears. He was thinking about himself again. Acting based off of what his mind was telling him to do. 

So, Gustavo’s back straightened, his head rose high and the expression on his face returned to the usual one he held when needing to deal with business. “If you would want that.”

It didn’t matter how tired you were. It didn’t matter what you had been doing all day, or the way your bones were practically aching by now. In fact, it was like your mind had completely forgotten that there was even a world outside the room you were in. 

Right now, you were looking at Gustavo Fring. A man who was feared by many, not just because of his job. A man who was fuelled by the want for revenge, to seek justice for things no matter what extent he had to go to for it. 

Yet here he was, sat on the opposite of the table he usually ruled at, naked under your unmoving gaze. 

There was no part of you that wanted to leave the room anymore. No part that wanted to succumb nerves that told you to avoid the eye contact, and his presence all together. 

When you finally spoke, finding the voice that felt like it was going to falter like a flickering candle, it was the fullest it had been all day, “Yes.”

No fear. No want to run for the hills and never come back. You remained in your seat. 

Gustavo fought for control of the muscles beneath his brows as they nagged to pinched together. He was nodding again, fully processing your confirmation in a way that allowed him to properly breath again. 

And, for the first time in what felt like months at this point, the two of you were smiling at each other.

After all, it was just a truck.

“I would.”

[alexiswritingstuff]

Update for fics!

Like last time, I forget that I just disappear for ages and then appear out of nowhere with a new piece, so I want to inform you guys of where I currently am with writing. Especially since a few new people are here!

At the minute, I am mostly writing for Gustavo Fring and have about two fics left for him, one of which I am in the middle of completing right now. And then after that I am hoping to write my spiderman fic.

However, If you guys have any requests for more Gustavo Fring stuff, or for something else Frank Castle related, then by all means send them in!!! I don’t tend to use gendered terms in my work anyway, but I would be more comfortable with using either just neutral pronouns or male.

It may take a hot minute for the fics to be released as I seem to need to be in the mood for writing sometimes, so I do need to ask for your patience if you are planning to send in a request.

Either way, I just wanted to let you know that I am still writing stuff and that there will be a new thing out at least within the next week or so. 

Thank you for reading! - Alex 

[alexiswritingstuff]

Not only is ur writing 10/10 but the mc in the frank x reader was semi verbal coded for me that u know what. Slay. Finally. As a semi non verbal person that is so real. I love it so much. It was so well written. U get it. You get everything acually and are the realest.

Wow, thank you so much, that is so kind! 😭😭 I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

I think I wrote it that way intentionally, but forgot the term for it. When I planned out that last scene, it was something that I just chose to do.

It's a high stress situation, in multiple ways, and on top of that the mc was surrounded by unknown people, which made the not talking part feel like a natural instinct. To me at least.

I only go non verbal sometimes, though I wasn't quite sure how to put it into words, so the fact that you like it and can relate to it makes me very happy!

[alexiswritingstuff]

Saved by the unexpected.

Pairing: Frank Castle x teen! reader (Gender Neutral)

Other appearances: Micro, aka David Lieberman. 

Summary: Your run to the grocery store goes sideways on the way back home that leads you to being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and with a fresh gunshot wound. Upon waking up you find yourself somewhere unknown with people you had never seen... Or so you thought.

Warnings: gun fights, murder, gun shot wound, mentions of other injuries like cuts and bruises, implied parent loss. 

Be aware of possible spelling mistakes or sentences that are worded wrong. I read over my writing before posting but stuff still manages to slip under my radar!

A/n: Bro I really am bad at creating titles for fics. Anyway, I watched The Punisher a few months ago, and previously finished DareDevil, and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about a certain Mr. Castle. That man in general already activated my daddy issues and then I watched season 2, and... Yeah, that was a lot, but this is what my brain created! 

Like I say whenever I write for new characters, because this is my first attempt, the way portray them and the characteristics may not be a 100% accurate, so bear with me while I find my footing.

Either way, I hope you enjoy reading! 

It was supposed a morning like any other. Started with a bright sky and chirping birds before slowly melding into the warm afternoon. 

You had just done the weekly shop, collecting everyday items, things that would give the most important nutrients, with basically the same amount in snacks and drinks. 

I mean, what else could they mean by a balanced diet. 

The main route you would usually take had been closed off by the time you had finished with the store, the road cracked from something unknown, and that meant that you had to take a detour. 

It was one that you had walked through many times before, leading you almost directly towards where your trailer was stationed without having to wind round block after block of apartments. 

So, the decision to choose it was simple. 

You took of down the pathway, that was slowly becoming overgrown, between two very large buildings which almost looked as if they could reach the sky from your angle.

This part was more commonly known as the run down area. 

The complexes on either side of you were empty. Most had the windows boarded up, due to the lack of ability to get them repaired, and the walls themselves were stained from a plethora of things, parts even looking like they were about to crack and crumble. 

It was a lot harder to get funding for these buildings as the further you walked down the path, the further you got a way from the main street. For the occasional tourist, or people who had a stuffed schedule, they wouldn’t know what was down here. Which usually meant that they wouldn’t even try to find out.

And soon, it took its toll. Most, if not all, had been abandoned unless someone was able to turn something into an apartment of some kind. 

You moved under the overhang section created by a walkway that connected the two opposing buildings, and honestly it sort of felt like a tunnel due to its width. But eventually, you arrived back in the open and by god the area was massive. 

To the left, behind a wall that separated a descending pathway from the  ground levelled with your own feet, was a car park. 

The size of it would give the implication that there was a mass of vehicles coming in and out during the week, easy access for people working in the surrounding buildings. 

But now, it was always empty.

… Or it was supposed to be. 

In the furthest corner of the parking lot was this very specific looking handful of cars. A sight that should have been acknowledge as the first sign. Your first warning. 

It was too late.

All of a sudden, there was this echo that felt like it drilled through your ear. It was violent through the air, one that rung for almost a full minute through the complex to your right. 

It wasn’t something you really questioned off the bat. I mean, the building was old. It could’ve been a loose panel finally deciding to break free from the ceiling, or a cracked wall weighing in on itself. Or even someone trying to fix up the building?

And all of those assumptions weren’t exactly bad... They were just the wrong ones. 

Something you realised the moment the sound appeared once again. 

Whatever it was reverberated from the broken windows in a way that properly allowed the ability to hear in its entirety. It was closer this time, more full. “What the...”

It was a series of bassy pops, collectively almost imitating the blast of fireworks, but within the sounds was this sort of clinking like something had fallen to the floor. 

And though it was a very muffled detail that took a moment for your brain to register, it didn’t stop the cogs from making their final turn. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Within the same moment that you made the decision to practically slide to the side, trying not to completely slam into the wall that you ended up behind, the doors of the building burst open with such force that it echoed around for ages.

There was chorus of yelling, even more shots, and heavy boots that practically skid against the concrete as they moved. It was as if you just stumbled upon a damn army.

You were sat on the ground, one leg stretched out from your hurried movements while the other was still bent at the knee, ready to move if necessary. The backpack was still strapped around your shoulders meaning that the further you tried to press against the brick wall, the more certain items began to stab into your back.

Your heart was hammering, chest heaving, as you continuously looked up and down the path you sat on. It was the only thing you could see. Everything was happening on the other side of the wall, so pretty much all you could do was just sit and listen for people that might decide to come your way.

You fought the urge to cry out when bullets skimmed the top of the wall, causing little clumps of rubble and dust to hit the top of your head. “Why me, why me, why me!” you hissed through a whisper, trying to ruffle the stuff out of your hair. 

Hurried shouts were passing back and forth across the huge car park like a game of tennis, though it seemed that due to the other sounds that followed, and the panicked state of your mind, all of them were unintelligible. 

It sounded like they were coming from everywhere.

The multiple objects in your bag had started to make your spine ache so, at the same time as yet another shot, you leaned forward. Quick enough so that the sound of items unsquashing themselves would ring at the same time as the bullet. 

You reached back, making sure that your bag wasn’t going to hit any surface, and then took it off of yourself one arm at a time. 

Soon the bag was placed in front of you, your fingers immediately unzipping it, before you began to search through. You wanted some kind of weapon, or if not that then at least some form of protection... But you had just gone shopping. 

I doubt a banana would be useful in a gun fight. 

You moved onto the pockets on either side of the bag when the main compartment made too much noise. It wasn’t like it was going to do any justice anyway because it was all just a bunch of food, a carton of juice and other little things for your trailer. 

This wasn’t a planned situation. 

When you woke up this morning and picked up your bag to go grocery shopping, you weren’t exactly imagining that you would need to bring something to fight with.

A huff of air passed through your lips while your fingers began searching through the left pocket. You felt around, following the lining of stitches for at least something, but the most found was a wrapper from some sweet or chewing gum. 

So, it was on to the next. 

This time to do the same routine was a bit more difficult as this pocket was where you kept your water bottle. You were trying to be more careful when you started to comb through the compartment, even if you had to move a bit faster to properly squeeze around the lack of space. 

And then, finally, you felt something.

In that moment it was hard to tell what it was. It felt long enough to at least administer some form of damage, or maybe only be needed to threaten someone from a distance, so your stressed mind just chose it. You began pulling your hand out. 

But, despite what you wanted, it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

Right as the item had been tugged vertically, making it easier to pull it out, the movement had caused the bone of your wrist to hit into the bottle.

Ordinarily, it was something that you wouldn’t think twice about. You were just trying to get an item out of a pocket, surely you could do that without something bad happening... 

Half of whatever you were trying to grab had been stuck under the bottle in a way that already had it tilting. And then the impact landed. Your wrist hit near the top of the bottle and that was all it needed. 

It started to tip out of the pocket. 

A sharp breath sucked into your lungs at the feeling, but with no ability to catch it in time, the metal cylinder simply fell to the floor from a very unfortunate height for you. 

And that apparently wasn’t all. 

In fact, even after the sound echoed in a way that most definitely had already blown your cover, the world seemed to have other plans for you as after yet another bounce and a few more smaller ones, it was starting to roll. 

You leaned to the side as fast as you could, reaching your arm out to its full extent with your hand wide open. But it was like trying to catch a fly, and soon, it just rolled right passed your fingers, moving even faster the more the water sloshed inside of it. 

The only thing you could do was watch in utter horror as the bottle travelled right passed the edge of a wall for the whole world to see. 

Eventually, about halfway through the path, it ran into a rock or a crack in the ground. The bottle bounced about one more time before it finally stalled. Though, at this point I don’t think it really mattered. The damage was still done. 

The shots had placated a bit, the only ones being fired sounding far away, as the confusion dispersed the men on the other side of the wall. Murmurs were passing back and forth.

“What was that?

“Did you hear that?

“Where did that come from?” 

Your eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting into the skin of your bottom lip as your body just purely froze no matter how much your brain was telling you to make a run for it. 

“Okay, okay, all of you keep moving! Spread out more while I check it out. We’re not alone out here!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Okay, sir!”

However many people were on the other side of the wall scattered within the next beat of your heart. More shots and shouts began to ring out with the same loudness, now joined by the heavy smacking of boots as they moved further away...

But a pair of footsteps still remained. 

Now, your heart was purely thumping in your ears. It was by far the most prominent thing you could hear in that moment, though the sound of those harsh shoes kicking up stones without care was an active competitor. 

Especially when they started getting louder. 

Your eyes flicked to the open backpack in front of you, an ache beginning to pulse through your forehead while you stared at the contents. There was this sort of desperation, and almost disappointment, that built in your system at the thought of losing the freshly bought items. 

Though, what was the point in trying to save the food if you wouldn’t be alive to eat it. 

Within the next second, and after a very deep breath, you propped your hands firmly against the path beneath on either side of your body. You pushed your strength into your unstretched leg until it was folded under you. 

By now you looked like some kind of runner getting ready to do race, and honestly it was pretty much how you felt. The thought was the only thing suppress the panic active in your chest, so you indulged.

There was this internal count down as you moved your other leg to stretch behind you, even if there wasn’t that much space to do so. 

And then the timer went off. 

You were about to push yourself onto your feet. About to ready to get up, adopt a sort of hunched over posture so that no part of your body could peak over the wall, and run like hell.

But again. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

The movement was caught from the corner of your eye. 

You had barely even started carrying out your wanted movements when a man suddenly appeared round the corner of the wall, slow and intense. 

He was pretty decked out from what your panicked mind could comprehend. There were a multitude of weapons that clung to his belt, and he was in fact holding this massive gun. 

Initially, his focus was on your bottle. The barrel of the gun was pointed directly at the object of confusion, as it didn’t really look like the standard water bottle from afar, with his finger hovering over the trigger. Ready to fire at any moment. 

At this point you had resumed this sort of weird crouched position, stuck between wanting to stand up and finally run away or stay frozen to the ground as if you could just meld into it. 

Either way, it was a kind of stance that didn’t provide a sense of balance. And soon, despite how much the dread utterly pooled at the bottom of your stomach like it did on a rollercoaster, you fell. Right on your ass.

The gun, that you had pretty much only seen in movies or on the news, was pointed right in your direction before you could even blink once. 

You attempted to crawl backwards, winding round your backpack, eyes wide and fully open as they trained on the man who in turn had started to follow your movements. And then you stopped, knowing full and well what was coming even if you got to your feet. 

Your breathing was erratic, arms moving stiff and slow as you raised them above your head with your palms open, facing the man who made no implications that he was going to put that gun down. “Listen,” You gulped, “I didn’t see anything, I swear-- Look, there. My bag is there-- Take it. Take anything.” 

“Anything you want.” 

It was no use. No matter what way the words tumbled from your mouth, that finger never tried to move away from that trigger. 

You closed your eyes, feeling the way your body heaved with every breath, the way your hands shook. Your ears listened out for the wind, the wildlife that had most definitely moved on from here already, or just something that wasn’t from guns. 

And then a shot rung out. 

It was an indistinctive reaction when your body jolted at the sound as it echoed through the large area, pinging within the windows of the abandoned buildings. You had almost fallen, your arms springing down even if you thought there was no time to protect...

You could still move?

Your eyes snapped open, the ability to take in full breaths yet to come, and you looked down at yourself. You tried to scan across what you could see on your body, that was somehow still alive, and leant on a hand to further support yourself. 

However, just as your brain attempted to register a lack of a gunshot wound, the sound of something hitting the ground stopped your investigation. 

Your head sort of bobbed for a moment, the want to continue your search fierce in your veins, but then you finally looked away. Your gaze rose.

The man before you had tumbled to his knees. 

His hands moved around for a few seconds, desperately trying to grab apart of his chest as if in disbelief of what just happened. And then another shot fired again. 

Like before, your body had jolted in response, still having no idea which gun it was coming from. 

However, when a particular part of you scrunched, the shock in your system decided to completely drain. Your pain receptors activated in a way that you weren’t ready for. 

It was hard to pin point exactly where the feeling had originated as it spread like a wildfire, but it was intense enough that the arm you were leant against almost buckled. 

Sharp burning. A sensation that made it feel like you had been bitten by hundreds of thousands of fire hands over and over again. 

Or, when you finally managed to get yourself to look down again, it was because you in fact had gotten shot. “Oh...”

He got you.

“Oh, shit.”

There was this hurried voice that bounced through the walls. Your head attempted to snap up like it had previously done, but this time it was just unsteady. Almost like it was moving in points.  

By the next blink, that practically didn’t even feel like one, another man had made his way round the corner. He also had a gun raised... but, it seemed different.

His general stance, the way he carried the weapon, the expression on his face even if you could only see half of it. It was clear that he had a lot more experience than the last guy. 

They weren’t from the same group. 

The man lowered himself onto one knee beside the body, head still raised cautiously to make sure to keep full awareness of his surroundings while he searched over any pockets he could see. 

And then he stilled. 

You didn’t have to move, or even make a sound, for this guy to spot you.

Within about a millisecond the man had the gun back in both of his hands in a way that had you immediately raising your own despite the pins and needles that ached at all of your muscles.

The world around you was starting to spin, making it more difficult to pay attention to the mans movements. “Don’t... Don’t kill.” Your lips were heavy, the ability to even part them becoming some kind of workout. 

And then, like someone just flicked a switch, it was like all the strength and power in your body decided to dissipate. 

For the second time now, you fell. Though, in this instance, it was your back that collided with ground in a way that had your head smacking into the concrete path afterwards. 

Your skin felt hot all over your body, but it also felt cold at the same time. 

You were trying to move, wanting nothing more than to get back up, go home, curl up in bed and forget this ever happened. But the ability to budge any limb had faded from your brain until you couldn’t even feel if your arms were lifted in the air or not.

So, you just laid there, eyes staring blankly up in the sky while your eyelids acted like they had forgotten their main function. “Hey!”

Right before you gave into that nagging want to sleep, something blocked whatever view you had left, “Kid? Hey, kid, are you... Oh, no-- Kid, can you hear me?” You could feel hands on your arms, and soon, one had pressed onto the wound in a way that had a sound gurgling out of your mouth. 

“Kid!”

~~~

It took your brain a significant amount of time to realise that you had awoken when the time eventually came. 

The sensations within your body were either mild or piercingly intense. There was no in between. 

Every muscle in your face was rigid, aching in a way that made the want to move diminish within seconds. You were trying to blink, your eyelids remaining heavy and ignorant no matter how many attempts were made. 

It hurt to breathe. Any movement within your torso would stretch the skin closest to your armpit and immediately sent a crackle of fire spreading through it like a shock of electricity. 

Your muscles flinched, almost spasming, as you slowly reached back, trying to grip onto some part of whatever lay beneath you so that you could push yourself up.

There was no attention aimed at any sound that spilt through your lips and it was only when a harsh pain erupted, engulfing your shoulder, that you had realised how loudly a sort of strained yelp had burst from your throat. 

You fell back onto the pillow, the agony in your body burning so hot that it had you light headed.

If it wasn’t for your current state the sudden echo of quick footsteps would’ve registered a lot faster through your ears, and in your mind. 

There was words passing across the air, some may have been aimed at you for a response, but this was the first time you had fully managed to open your eyes since you had actually woken up.

Your head slowly turned as voices continued to echo, muffled no matter how many times it rung in your ears, until your right cheek met with the pillowcase. Your eyes cast through a metal wall, more so the frame of one, which looked as if it previously had some sort of murky glass within.

The place was massive. 

This dim lightly spread throughout most sections as the source above couldn’t reflect on any surface due to the fact that everything around was either a form of black or a gloomy grey. The lights themselves were also the kind of ones that aimed straight down, meaning that it would only cover what was directly beneath. 

“Hey.”

In the centre of the main area was this sort of ring. There was a walkway that cut through the middle so that people could get from one side to the other, and on either side were desks that followed the rim, a plethora of monitors and electronic devices cluttering the surface. 

Some you hadn’t even seen before.

“Hey, uh, kid?”

Your head snapped back into its previous position in a speed that felt like it shook your brain. You squeezes your eyes shut for a good minute before they opened again. 

And after blinking a few times, your vision came back into focus. 

There was this dude stood to your side. He was tall, slim in width with curled mid length hair and a beard that wasn’t connected to the moustache covering his lip.

“Oh, yeah-- Must be pretty disorienting to wake up in a place like this.” The way he sounded matched almost exactly like you had guessed. It was nice. Not harsh and not too soft. 

He held your gaze in such a way that made it seem as if he could see right through you, even taking a slight step back when he noticed how wide and cautious your eyes were set on him, “It might take some time for you to believe us, but I assure you that we don’t want to harm you. You’re all good... Well, I mean, apart-- apart from your injuries.”

“Generally, you’re good-- Or like... Yeah.” 

Your hand lifted from where it had previously flopped and you reached it to your left shoulder, slow and steady. 

Your fingers travelled lower, gliding across the exposed skin before it reached the edge of tank top arm slot. Your movements halted in the space between the end of your shoulder bone and the beginning of your chest. 

Finally, you realised where the source of pain was coming from.

Somehow, the shot taken at you had landed right above your first rib. And from the uncomfortable feeling, constantly there, from what you were guessing was another bandage on your back. It had gone all the way through. 

The dude that had been previously talking cleared his throat after a moment. He was sort of shifting the weight back and forth from one foot to another, unsure of what to do or say which then ended up with him looking away. 

Your attention landed back on him, your arm happily moving back to lay by your side. Though, your eyebrows then furrowed, realising that the guys eyes had settled on something, and it even looked like he was asking a question.

So, after allowing yourself to give into your curiosity, you followed the direction he was looking in. 

You almost jumped out of your skin.

There, leaning against the thing you could barely call a wall, to your right was a guy stood perfectly still with his arms tight across his chest. 

It was that man from earlier. The one that found you. Saved you?

His eyes were already on your own which left the questioning gaze from the other dude unanswered. At first the muscles in his face were visibly tense, crinkled eyebrows, slightly narrowed gaze, jaw clenched tightly. 

And then you looked at him. 

In an instant it was like everything taking over his features eased. He raised his head a single time before it lowered back to where it was usually held. A greeting. 

“I’ll bet your hungry, huh?”

Your attention snapped back to the other dude once again to find that there was this gentle smile pressing into his lips once your eyes met his. 

The question circled round your mind for a good few seconds before it fully processed. It had you thinking, a silence falling within the little room while the hum of electricity barely caught your ears. 

In all honesty hunger had been the last thing on your mind. To solve the sudden mystery was even more difficult since you couldn’t even remember the last thing that passed through your body, other than a bullet. 

Though, right before you could even try to figure out the wanted response was to be, it seemed like your stomach decided to do it for you as it suddenly rumbled through the quiet. 

It may have not exactly sounded like some kind of missile, but considering the building was very echoey and your lack of answer had created a pause within the people stood in the room, it was louder than any other sound at that moment. You were horrified.

The man with his arms crossed dared to huff a quiet laugh through his nose and before you could even send him a look, or give any sort of reaction for that matter, the other guy took a step back with this expression on his face.

He was practically beaming as he clasped his hands together, “Good answer.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed once again, gaze now following the man as he moved round of what you now realised was a cot underneath you and out through the doorway a moment later.

You were going to attempt to continue watching him, wanting to know where he was walking despite the context clues, but after trying to look through the empty frames in the wall, the figure of the quiet dude blocked your view.

And for the first times since your initial meeting, if you could even call it that, your eyes properly took him in. 

Regardless of the position of his spine from the leaned pose, his posture was sharp. Straight like he had to practice it many times. He was tall too, though a little shorter than the other guy. 

The hair on his head looked like it was just growing out from being shaved, the sides a lot shorter than the top. It looked like a marine cut. 

Admittedly, he could’ve done his hair that way cause he simply wanted to. But you saw him earlier. 

He knew the ins and outs, every little detail, of the gun he held strong in his arms. You saw his stance, one that could more commonly only be from having to do it 24/7. 

And where was the most known place where you had to stand at attention almost every day?

Any item of clothing that covered his body was full black, including the shoes and his belt, which was a drastic contrast to any skin that was exposed. It also meant that you could spot any cut or bruise he had very easily. 

There was a good few on his face. Some had become scabs already, looking like they had been there for some time, while others almost looked fresh. The most noticeable appeared like it followed his cheekbone. 

Your eyes immediately snapped away upon realised that you had been looking at him for so long that he had in fact noticed it. I mean, there wasn’t really anything else to occupy his mind. 

You tried to shift your body against the cot, a mixture of wanting to distract yourself and a test to see how much you could move without it hurting. 

But either way, it was hard to do anything without being able to properly use a side of your body.

So, ultimately, you were stuck. Trapped under a blanket which forced you to lay flat on your back, against something that you wished had the same feeling as your bed, while sounds started to echo from what you were guessing was the kitchen. 

“Hey, kid.”

The voice that hit your ears was a lot gruffer than expected, gravelly enough that it almost sounded like it was hurting his throat. The way the words passed through his lips were clear, but also hushed as if he was trying not to be loud for an unknown benefit. “What were you doing out there, hmm?” 

With his stance, you half expected that whatever he wanted to say was going to come out harsh. That he was going to yell and tell you off for something. But he didn’t. He was... actually concerned?

“It’s a decent walk from the store you went to.” he then added on, and now that seemed to get your attention. 

Your head rolled to the side, narrowed gaze finding him with a newfound cautiousness. 

The man in turn must’ve realised the suspicion his wording caused, so he simply gestured to the side with his head, “I got your bag.”

Sure enough, as you moved your lower against the pillow, it was in fact there. The first familiar thing you had seen all day was sat on the ground beside the guy. It may have had some slight rips, some of the material had even been scuffed enough that it was visible. 

But it was there. Zipped up and everything.

Your favourite backpack.

Despite your distance, the bag looked plump with some of the contents clearly poking against the sides of it. All of the items were still in it. Hell, even the water bottle was back in the same side pocket you always put it in.

“We couldn’t find your name in the system,” the man spoke again, and honestly you had forgotten that he was there regardless of the fact that he stood next to where you eyes were aimed. “Did your parents know where you were?”

You looked at him within seconds of the question catching your ears and that dread from earlier began to pool at the bottom of your stomach all over again. 

I mean, you should’ve expected the question at some point.

It was common for you to forget that other people could look at you and see a child, ask the whole ‘where are you parents’ when you had to buy stuff that apparently didn’t seem normal for a child to get, even if it was just household items. 

You will never forget the time you tried to buy scissors. 

But the question still stung. It would make all of the memories of countless things flood right back until it was fresh in your mind, creating a wave of nostalgia that you hated at this point. 

Your head slowly rolled back to its previous position, your gaze now cast up at the rotting, grey ceiling while a deep breath seeped through your nose. Your body practically deflated when it went back out. 

Like before, you didn’t need to say anything for the guy to understand the situation.

Obviously, from your position, you couldn’t clearly see him as anything more than a blurred blob from the corner of your eye, but he had sort of loosened his crossed arms. Was the look of loss that clear on you?

How could he even notice it that quick?

Your body almost jolted when he cleared his throat and pain shot through your shoulder that had you biting back a grunt.

“Listen, we’re not-- We’re not going to hurt you... all right?” His tone was different this time. Lighter in a way that reduced the grumble of his voice, even if it didn’t sound unpleasant. “You’ve been here for a few days so that the, uh, big guy could fix up your shoulder.”

“That’s all.”

From the feeling of his gaze aimed in your direction, you could tell that he was doing what you had done, except he was more so trying to analyse your movement no matter how miniscule. 

It made you nervous enough that your mind was trying to zone in on the sounds coming from the kitchen, fiddling with the fabric of the blanket. But that just meant that a silence had started to layer. 

“Can you speak?”

Your body stiffened within a matter of seconds. 

At this point there was no reason for you to remain quiet. It was unclear as to why it had even been done in the first place. Was it to conceal your voice? Hide your identity? 

Even then, they had already ready seen your face and might possibly have looked through your backpack. The things they’ve could’ve known about you were unknown.

Maybe it was that thing you were told as a kid that kept you holding your tongue. You know, the whole stranger danger thing? Do not interact with people that you don’t know unless absolutely necessary. 

People seemed to get stuck on specific moments in the past regardless of it directly links to a moment of stress, or trauma, if you remembered correctly what that article said. Maybe that was your thing?

Your contemplative eyes flickered over the ceiling above for another moment before they finally made the decision to move, and so did your head. Once again, it rolled to the side until your right cheek touched the pillow.

You met his eyes. His gaze anything but harsh no matter how long a silence remained.

This guys wasn’t strange. 

I mean, the concept of waking up in some massive building that you didn’t recognise with two other dudes that you had never met before was in fact a little, sure.

But there was no reason given beyond that as to why you should fear either of them. Be scared of them. 

After all the dude talking to you had in fact saved your life.

You sniffed, that same feeling of nervousness making a comeback the longer the eye contact was held. It had you needing to look away for a few seconds before your eyes went right back. You stiffly nodded your head. 

The man straightened his back against the metal, his spine probably tired of the frame digging into it. His gaze sort of narrowed for a moment. Maybe a few questions sprung into his mind? Maybe he was judging you, or needed to sneeze? Who knows.

“You just won’t.” He nodded his head once, the look in his eyes switching to something unreadable as he got the message despite the lack of words, “That’s... No. No, I get it.”

“Well, I’m Frank. Uh,” he began, dragging out the last sound for a little bit as he tried to locate something through the wall behind you, “Dude in the kitchens name is David. I usually call him Lieberman, that’s... It’s his last name-- He’s the big guy I was talking about. Dude who fixed up your arm.”

“I tried to help too, but, uh... Not exactly my field of expertise.” 

You were about to figure out some kind of gesture to make in response so that you wouldn’t leave him hanging again. And had even started to move your arm. 

But then that name cycled through your head once more. 

Frank... Castle. 

Frank Castle.

It seemed that the cogs had made their final turn once again. His face found their link to certain memories in your mind.

Holy shit. 

He was the guy on the news a while back. The dude had been deemed a vigilante as he had been running around and killing bad people-- Well, it was practically only you and a few other people that thought they were the bad guys.

Either way, after that trial thing, the man that was currently stood to the side of you had supposedly died. Killed in an explosion on some kind of boat, if you remembered correctly.

I mean, it could be that you were the one who died and this was just what came after. And honestly if you were still as delirious as you were before it might have been believable, but that pulsing burning in your shoulder said otherwise. 

So, it was true. He really was here in the flesh, and all in one piece. 

Frank Castle was alive. 

Your expression, and maybe how intensely you had been staring at him, must’ve given away your thought pattern as he sort of tilted his head when he noticed the shift in your eyes, “You know me?” This time your gaze remained unfleeting in the line of attention. 

Frank didn’t seem at all worried about the realisation of his identity. In fact the only change in his expression was done to display his curiosity to the new information. 

Sure, worst comes to worst, he has the upper hand at this moment and it would probably be the same at any other. He could do whatever he needs to do to make sure that you wouldn’t blab before you blinked even once. 

But from his worn out state, and the way he interacted with you, it was visible that he wasn’t going to do that. He must’ve been fighting for quite some time before he had stumbled upon you. 

Why the hell was he even there? Out in the open in a place like that?

Who were those other guys?

Regardless of the want to let your mind flow down that rabbit hole, you were fronted with your previous realisation as your eyes actually focused on Frank again.

You were right. Frank  Castle wasn’t the bad guy.

Without paying attention to it, there seemed to be this smile that began to curl at the corners of your mouth. You moved your head began to move back to its your previous position, your eyes wanting to find the discoloured ceiling to zone out on in a way that further made you forget about your pain--

Shoes suddenly scuffed against the hard ground in a way that stilled all over your movements. Your gaze flickered to whatever had joined you in the room as apparently you had missed the approaching footstep.

It was David, the height difference between the two guys now a lot clearer as he had stopped beside the man whose arms were yet to uncross. “Can you hold this for a second?” Until now. 

Frank sort of looked at the man for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again before he complied to the request. And the moment the plate had been taken into his hands, David moved as if on autopilot. “All right,”

He wound round the foot of your cot, taking back the same position he stood in when you woke up, “Gonna need to sit up so you can actually digest this shit.”

He felt a little bad when he saw the look on your face, though he remained still while you prepared yourself, starting to fidget with his hands. He didn’t want to touch you without permission, but it appeared that your eyes were already closed.

You slowly but surely moved the arm of your injured shoulder to sling across your torso, hoping the position would stop it from moving about too much. And then you braced yourself, awaiting whatever sensations were about to come. 

By the time a hand had been placed on your body, your teeth were already gritted. One was placed on your back, a way to properly bring guide you into the needed position, while the other gently cupped the back of your head so that everything would move in unison. 

“Deep breath.”

The pain was immediate. It was such a thing that purely seared up a side of your body. Engulfed everything in its path.

It was impossible to see from your closed eyes, but there was a reaction from the man stood to the side when a slight whine escaped your throat. He had stepped forward, looking as if he was about to reach out if he didn’t have something in one of his hands. 

It was thoughtless. A movement that he had undone the moment he had realised by pressing back against the wall. But it happened nonetheless. 

David was muttering stuff of assurance, many forms of sentences letting lose into the air. You couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t catch onto a singular word. 

All you could think about was the pain. How stupid it was that you made the decision to take that route. How you didn’t run back the way you came after that first shot. Or how you didn’t even end up trying run until it was too late. 

Your legs bent at the knees the more your torso raised, as if trying to protect it of something, which slightly kicked up your blanket and made the heels of your feet dig into the cot below. “There you go, there you go!”

It was like a ripping of a band aid. 

At first, it was the stage of holding onto the edge, trying to hype yourself to get it over and done with. And then it was off. It may give a twinge of pain that lingered more than wanted, but overall the act had been complete.

“Right on, that’s you done.”

And so had yours. 

The biggest breath of relief huffed out of your mouth in a way that had David wanting to lightly pat your back, but it could accidently hurt you. So, instead, he resorted to turning his attention Frank, hurriedly gesturing towards the thing he held.

The man in question seemed to shake his head as if trying stifle his amusement, though he took a step forward to hand over the plate either way.

And then, by the next time you had blinked, it was held out in your direction. You just looked at it for a moment. 

It was a sandwich. One that may have been made with the most simple ingredients, and was probably the exact replica of what you would picture in your head upon hearing the name, but for some reason your whole body yearned for it. 

The plate was in your hands within seconds.

David took a step back, a slight smile reappearing on his lips at the progress. He gestured to the plate you held in the same position and then towards your mouth, seeming like he couldn’t get himself to stand still, “Eat up.”

You were. 

Oh, a thousand percent, you were getting ready to chow down on something, since the last time solid food had been eaten was probably the day you had gotten shot. And even then, you had no clue as to when that was.

However, right as you were about to bring the plate onto your lap, grab onto the sandwich and consume it with the upmost excitement... You paused. Stopped right in your tracks. Eating by yourself felt a little weird.

You looked back at David. 

It took him a moment to realise that your eyes were on him again. But when he did, he sort of rocked on his feet. His eyebrows furrowed as he sent a look towards Frank, “What, um... Is it-- Is it bad, or something?”

There was a mixture of confusion and almost offence tugging at certain features and it had your head shaking immediately.

Within the next minute, it was almost like a game of charades as you attempted to relay the words in your mind. 

The plate remained in the hand it did before. You bent your left arm at the elbow, trying to avoid any movement that would attack the area surrounding your wound, and you gestured. 

The first time you pointed your index finger at him and then at the plate, but he merely blinked. So, you then did it in reverse, directing the line of attention to the plate and then him. 

Frank even seemed confused as he watched with narrowed eyes, apparently unable to deduced the situation himself which still left David with nothing. “Kid, I don’t... I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, are you-- are you allergic to something?” 

“Are you asking me what’s in it? If I made it, what--”

Biting back the biggest sigh of your life, and in the fastest way that you could in that moment, you restored to just holding out the whole plate towards him. Even repeated the previous gesture one final time to make your point. 

“Oh,” David dragged out the sound as he began to nod. Finally, he understood, “Yeah, man, I’m boutta make my own.”

He remained for only a moment more, watching as your plate slowly lowered to your lap so that it wouldn’t drop. And then he started walking again, moving back around the edge of the cot before making his way through the doorway.

Franks eyes were already on your own by the time your head turned in his direction, as if he expected it to happen. 

This time without accompanying the movement with gestures, you simply held out the plated food towards him. Franks head shook instantly, he even waved a hand, “It’s for you, kid. Need to get that strength back.” 

His eyes directed towards the kitchen almost immediately after. He was either counting on David possibly making him one or waiting for him to leave the kitchen so that he could do it himself.

Thing is though, he only gave you a reason as to why you should keep the sandwich held for yourself.

He didn’t say no. 

The plate was brought back to your legs, flat against your thighs, and then you began looking around. Your eyes scanned across any close surface for something that could be used as a cloth, something to wipe your hands with, but there was no luck. 

You resorted to just scrubbing your palms, and more importantly your finger tips, against the cleanest clothing you had under the blanket. And then you grabbed the sandwich. 

Despite what Frank thought was going to happen by the time his attention was once again redirected towards you, when the sandwich was held horizontally in your grasp, instead of bring it to your mouth and taking a bite. You began... pulling at it each side? 

It started to rip.

“What are you doing?” he questioned pretty much immediately, his face and voice both riddle with confusion. And maybe even a little disturbance. But that didn’t stop your movements at all. 

In fact the only time you had stopped was when the entire thing had been torn through the middle, completely halved. However, even after that, you reached for one of the parts. You took it from the plate, stuffing it into the hand of your unmoving arm.

And then you held out the plate all over again to the man with very furrowed eyebrows. 

He just looked at the poorly halved sandwich for a moment, a part of it being more of the contents that the bread, and then his eyes found yours. There was an unreadable expression within them.

When he still didn’t take it, and due to the fact that your arm was starting to get tired, you redid your act of holding it out towards him. 

And this time he couldn’t withhold a response. 

Frank scoffed, shaking his head in the same amusement from earlier while he stared at the plate calling his name, “You’re very persistent, aren’t ya.” 

Despite his point still standing, the consistent want for you to get the nutrients needed to fully recover, it was like he couldn’t say no to you. At least to your face. So. Frank took the plate.

The next few minutes were spent by the two of you choosing the perfect side of the sandwich and then going to town, chowing down on it like it was the first one either of you had ever had. 

And man, that David could sure make a meal, even if it was just slapping ingredients between slices of bread.

“Damn!”

Seemed like someone else agreed with you.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing all this time, huh, Lieberman? Cookin’” Franks words were incredibly muffled despite his constant chewing, but either way the sound still echoed. A laugh soon followed while something poured, “What else would I do, man? Wasn’t just gonna do nothing.”

“Well, you can add cooking to your... I don’t know, list of talents or something.” Every time that man spoke, his head lowered right back down so that he could see the plate, taking another massive bite that you were just waiting for him to start choke on.

“Why did you... Why did you say it like that?” David's voice was more monotonous than usual, either playing fake offence or he was too preoccupied with arranging the order of his sandwich ingredients. 

You took another bite, a piece of lettuce almost falling onto the blanket without you knowing. Frank turned towards the kitchen again, speaking midway through putting a part of the sandwich in his mouth, “Like what?” A plethora of crumbs fell onto the plate in a way that made your nose crinkle.

“Like... Are you lying to me? Lying isn’t very nice, Frank.” 

“Nah, come on, man, I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t say that If I didn’t mean it, you know that-- You could put these in a-- a--  a sandwich shop--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” David practically grumbled at this point, placing down what sounded like a butter knife on the counter before he sniffed, “That at least mean that our little friend likes it too?”

Frank turned to you, placing the little chunk of sandwich he had left onto his plate before he rubbed the fingers that touched it together. 

You swallowed down your bites, the act proving to be a little harder to from the lack of eating solid food, and noted the fact that he was awaiting some form of answer to relay to David. 

Your sandwich was finished by now. It wasn’t a contest but it was almost wild how fast it had been consumed. And now you sat there, wiping your hand against your trousers while attempting to get any food stuck between your teeth. 

And then you cleared your throat, your nose scrunching for a second when the action ended up shaking your chest a little too much, “Y/n.”

Frank had turned his towards the kitchen moments prior. He had parted his lips, even slightly leaned back against the wall to get a proper view of the man awaiting an answer through the empty frames. 

Now his head snapped in your direction, eyebrows raising more than you had even seen, “What was that?”

You may have made the ultimate decision to use your voice in the first place, however, having that gaze of his on you once again caused this overwhelming feeling to surge through your body. 

Your spine had straightened, this time managing to ignore the shock of pain that hit your system, while your eyes widened just a smidge.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

The echo of David's voice had caused you to turn to where he stood in the kitchen, still busied with making another one of his masterpieces. It was something done half out of anxiousness and just wanting to distract yourself.

And then it made you think.

Surrounding you was this big, more empty than full, abandoned building. The only other people there was Frank, a man who was supposed to be dead, and David... who you presumed was also most likely to be the same due to their team up. 

If they were going to kill you, or hurt you, they would have done so already. 

But even then, when you woke up this morning you hadn’t been restrained or anything. There was nothing keeping you there other than the fact that they wanted to treat your wounds. 

A deep breath filtered through your nose as your eyes slowly met with Franks again. 

His expression was practically the same as it was before you had looked away, giving you a patience no one ever had. The gaze he held was warm. Encouraging. 

Thus, you swallowed once again.

“My... name.” Your voice was hoarse from waking up not that long ago, but also from it’s lack of use. There was always this feeling in your throat as if something was stuck in it, and you coughed, the urge to squeeze your eyes shut presenting itself yet again when it shifted your shoulder.

But you composed yourself, sucking in another breath and rubbing your hands against your legs while David was still left with no answer, “It’s Y/n.”

Franks head had already been nodding before you had finished saying your set of words. He pursed his lips, finally swallowing down the bite he had previously taken.

Frank sniffed, turning his head towards the kitchen yet again. Though this time it seemed like he did so to conceal the change of his facial expression more than to get David's attention. “You hear that, Lieberman?”

Regardless of his attempts to hide his reaction, the smile was clear on his lips. Such a one that it had even reached the skin around his eyes as they started to crinkle.

He looked back at you. There was this emotion on his face that remained unchanging. It seemed like a fondness, but at the same time he almost looked... proud?

“Y/n likes it.”

[alexiswritingstuff]

(THIS IS A REPOST BECAUSE THE LAST VERSION GOT MESSED UP, SORRY FOR ANY CREATED EXCITEMENT!!)

~

Now, I know I’ve said this for many things, but I genuinely got carried away with this that when I had the idea for the plot... I kinda forgot that the anon had requested something cute with fluff, so... I hope the ending does it justice.

Either way, thank you for sending this in. I hope you like it!

Removal of the Mask.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x gn! reader.

Other appearances: Mike Ehrmantraut, though only mentioned.

Request: I had an idea for another Gus fic! I just want him to finally break , mask off and just actually let himself show emotion and be upset with the reader comforting him or something? I just need cute and fluffy stuff with him in my life. Poor dude just needs a shoulder to cry on

Content: angst with comfort and fluff.

Warnings: fighting, gunshot, injuries, descriptions of a hospital.

Be aware of spelling errors and mistakes! I do go read through my fics before posting them, but I always managed to miss some!

A/N: I don’t know if it’s just the way I perceive Gustavo, but I genuinely can’t think of him just... crying. You know, like, maybe with tears in his eyes, but the only way I was able to imagine it was like if something close to a major trauma happened. So, I guess that’s what influenced my idea for this.  

Also this fic may be really long, so buckle up, hydrated yourself and grab a snack.

More Gustavo fics.

Taglist-

@sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana​

The sun was high in the sky. Everything beneath felt the presence, including you as beads of sweat trailed down wherever it could on your body.

You were leant against the side of your car, though not very still in the unbearable heat. “Where the hell is this guy?”

The problem with doing these deals, exchanges, or something along those lines was that they had to be done in unknown places. Areas where there weren’t other people around who could possibly witness something they shouldn’t.

That usually meant abandoned properties, or having to travel miles into the vast desert.

And for this particular meet-up.

It was both.

You sniffed, a rising sense of irritation building as you twisted your wrist to lay eyes on the watch strapped to it. Five minutes late. No one in this business risked being five minutes late, especially if it could end up being more.

No one had been told that it was going to be you instead of Gustavo that they were going to be meeting with today either, so in theory, these people were laying back on him. Making him seem like a fool with the need to wait alone in the desert.

But it was you.

And you were not the slightest bit happy.

Just as your arm lowered, hand angrily smacking back to the car door behind you, there was a revving sound that hummed across the landscape. And upon looking up, your eyes found a moving cloud of dust just over one of the minor hills.

“Ballsy.”

You pushed yourself off of your car, adopting a straightened stance the way a bodyguard would.

Despite wanting to present yourself like Gustavo would- arms tight by the sides, chin raised, head basically unmoving unless needing to provide a form of intimidation- when the car had finally rolled into the lot, your arms were just crossed over your chest.

It may have made you like an angry toddler, but there was nothing more unnerving than the ultimate death stare you shot the driver as he exited the vehicle which had finally stilled.

“You’re not Gustavo.”

That was the first thing he said. 

After turning up late, and looking like he didn’t even bother to dress himself accordingly... That was it? He even had this narrowed gaze when he began to take a few steps in your direction.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was the traffic that made you late... Am I right?” You hadn’t moved an inch, just simply watched the man as he ultimately decided to settle on keeping a good distance.

His hands lowered to his hips while his eyes flickered to the horizon, his head mildly nodding as if he couldn’t figure out what to say. But it looked more like he didn’t care.

“Okay,” you began, finally letting your arms fall to your sides, “Let’s not waste anymore time then.”

“Do you have them?”

The mans attention snapped back to you after he rocked on his heels for a moment, his stance unchanging much like his gaze, “It was supposed to be Mr. Fring that I met with.” There was a slight southern drawl to his words, a sound that slowly became vicious the more he spoke, “Where is he?”

Your voice stayed the same despite the irritation that began to take back its place, “I believe we’re old enough to carry out an exchange ourselves, don’t you think?”

There was a good few seconds of strong eye contact. One that closely resembled the kind of stand off you would see in old western movies.

But eventually, his head lowered when you held no reaction to his persistence, even stilled it there when he spat out a glob of spit onto the sandy dirt below.

And then he turned, walking back to the car with a flurry of emotions that visibly affected the way his legs moved.

Your expression was stern as you watched him regardless of the fact that he couldn’t see it, a weird feeling now residing in your chest from the previous actions. I mean, it was like a want. An insistence of Gustavo’s whereabouts.

Gustavo was a businessman. He was the owner of something so large that he couldn’t possibly be everywhere at once, or be the one to do things all the time, so it was more common for other people, like you or Victor, even Mike, to be the ones at exchanges. Especially if the outcome wasn’t something that heavily impacted the business.

Hell, you were just trying to collect new versions of equipment that had been busted from too much usage, this whole interaction had been strange from the get-go.

He had been late, wanted to speak to no one other than Gustavo, despite the fact that the needed task was just handing over the machines, so that you could give him the money in return.

Even with the amount of thoughts that were running through your mind, in the next moment, it seemed that by the time your attention had refocused the realisation of a problem came a bit too late.

The man, who you still didn’t know the name of, had arrived at the side of his car. But instead of moving to the back, where you were assuming was the equipment covered by that tarp, he had stilled at the window of the passenger seat.

You couldn’t exactly pull a machine through a window now could you?

Just as you had retrieved your gun from your belt, and was so close to properly gripping it in your hand, a shot rang through the vast area.

It snagged the weapon, narrowly missing your fingers in the process, and you immediately retracted your hand, watching in mild shock as it fell to the sand below.

Damnit. He’s trained.

Unlike what the rest of your body wanted to do in that moment, your legs sprang into action like your life depended on it. Because it in fact did this time.

You swerved, dodged and weaved as bullets began to pang off of walls and the empty shells of cars that were just left, clouds of dust beginning to gather in the air the further you went.

Situations like this weren’t exactly unusual. Contact with other business went sideways more than anyone would really like to admit, hence the need to carry weapons at all times.

The only difference now was that you were the direct target.

You rounded the corner of the closest part of the abandoned building, heart pounding in your chest, your ears, and chorusing with the bullets that continued to fire despite not even being in view anymore.

Your feet skidded to a stop, your eyes frantically searching through the area for some kind of hiding spot or at least something that would give you time to make a plan.

But just as you made a decision, that would’ve at least lead you to your next option if it went sideways, a shot echoed through the surrounding walls.

A sound uncontrollably escaped your throat. Your body jolted, knees eager to bend as you staggered forwards, a sense of determination bubbling in your system more than it ever had.

However, before you could have even prepared, something collided with the middle of your back with full intent. 

It sent you tumbling forward. Your knees were the first to connect with the ground below until your hands followed, the sand beginning to roast the pads of your fingers.

But of course, due to the combination of your lack of ability to comprehend the situation, and an increasing pain somewhere in your side, you couldn’t keep yourself stabilised for long.

You fell on your stomach, the exhaustion from the heat finally creeping in the last moment that it needed to.

“Listen,” you croaked out after a cough, still trying to pull yourself towards your chosen hiding spot despite the inability to basically move, “You want-- You want Gustavo, right? Why not… You can’t get to him if you kill-- kill me.”

There was no point in bargaining. You knew that. You knew that this was pre-planned, and that it in fact was meant for Gus.

But they could easily settle on the next best thing if the intent was to impact him.

And you were right.

Each of your legs were grasped in either of his hands within the next second, and before you could grab the sand beneath you, even if your fingers would’ve immediately sunk through, he began pulling you towards him.

In the blink of an eye, your body got flipped over, your spine now slamming into the sand. An indescribable pain seared through your side, and despite the urge to arch your back as if it would get you away from the feeling, your eyes went wide. And you swung, arm aimed at the first body part that was close enough.

His gun fell to the side.

There was a yell of annoyance that bellowed from the man above, and when you tried to move a fist decided to meet with your face in a way that had your ears purely ringing.

It was almost like your brain was forgetting basic functions. You could barely remember how to move your eyes, or even breathe, for a terrifying few seconds.

You had previously thrashed in a way that made the man falter, almost losing his balance. It wasn’t until he was trying to push himself to stand that something managed to form in your head.

Your legs trapped his own despite their weakness and while the man battled with a pair of limbs, cursing in ways that you couldn’t imagine, your hand subtly moved to the side, gliding across the surface of the sand.

Until they met with metal.

The vision through your eyes was blurry from the previous attacks and now from the direction off the sun that beamed right on you. But somehow you still managed to find your aim.

The man twisted back round when he heard that familiar click and his eyes widened as much as they physically could, “No--”

The shot echoed more times that you could count, bouncing off of every possible surface, through the building and on the walls like a game of ping pong.

And then something slumped, falling to the side almost in slow motion until it collided with the ground.

You got him.

All at once the adrenaline rush slowed and the pain in your face, with a sort of burning sensation somewhere else in your upper body, intensified so much that you could barely move.

A shaky whine pushed through your lips as you began to pat around your torso, trying to find the large source of pain.

And then you got to your left side.

It seems that he got you first.

“Shit.” you seethed through gritted teeth and lowered your increasingly weak arm back down to let your hand gain access to a pocket. Your fingers dug through the fabric compartment, grabbed at a device before, unsteadily, pulling it out.

There was no way that you would be able to sit up so you did your best to lift the phone in front of your face, but even when it was flipped open, your vision shook with your heaving chest.

It felt like years had passed by the time you had managed to push a certain order of buttons in, and as soon as it began to ring, you let it drop, your arm smacking into the ground next to your side.

Finally, there was an answer.

The phone hadn’t landed that far away from your head, but it was enough so that when a voice crackled through the speaker, you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your heartbeat and the ragged breaths that rasped from your throat.

You coughed, “Hey, Mike. You, uh… You’re not busy, right?” Your voice was strained despite how hard you were trying to play off your injuries, but when you put pressure on the most important wound to limit the blood loss. It was a little hard to maintain.

“It’s not been a very nice tea party.”

~

The surrounding room would’ve been quiet if it wasn’t for the monotonous beeps from machines that sounded more hypnotic as time went on.

The lighting was dull, barely reflecting off of the walls, with no help from the world outside as by now it had apparently grown dark. Though, due to the ache that consumed almost every part of your head, it made you very grateful.

Your gaze was set on the window on the other side of the room, one used so that doctors could see their patients at any given time if they weren’t able to hear them first.

Gustavo had arrived, stood in the brighter hallway and talking to a doctor you were still getting use to interacting with yourself.

The expression on his face was a mixture of the one he held when interacting with the general public and this intensity that would be difficult for other people to notice upon first glance.

But not you.

After almost every sentence spoken by the doctor, the man had sent a glance your way. A look that could almost make you feel exactly how he did, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t fully readable.

And before there was even an attempt to try, you found yourself breaking the eye contact, sinking the back of your head further into your pillow as it seemed that your mind only now was capturing onto the fact that you were indeed awake.

From what you could hear from the muffled conversation going on outside, and what you had been previous told, the bullet had luckily missed major arteries or organs that would’ve cost everything if hit.

But even so, especially now that it had been removed, that didn’t mean it wasn’t still going to hurt like hell.

You had been issued pain medication at a time that couldn’t be remembered off the bat, but it seemed that it hadn’t met the 30 minute mark yet. Meaning that it wasn’t properly in your system.

By the time your eyes focused back through the window, Gustavo had a smile stiffly pressed onto his lips. The two of them were shaking hands, sharing words that you couldn’t quite catch, and then the doctor turned, resuming the work they were previously doing before he had arrived.

In that moment, the emotion held on Gustavo's face had disappeared by the next time your heavy eyelids had allowed themselves to blink. It was almost like he was in a trance for a good second, his eyes unfocused as they stared off down the hallway.

And then he snapped back.

This time when he faced the room, his attention never went to you. He simply opened the door, walked through and then closed it behind himself. A movement that engulfed the surrounding area in a quietness that even the machines couldn’t help.

He stood closer to the back wall than the edge of your bed. His body was still, stance almost like a soldier, as his gaze remained aimed at whatever was in front of him. You really wished you could read minds.

“Have the doctors updated you on your condition?”

Despite the small room, there was a lack of fullness to his voice. Like it was from somewhere in the distance even though he was right there.

“Yeah,” The grogginess from waking up not that long ago was still fresh in your system even with the activeness of your mind, so when you attempted to shuffle yourself to get a better view of Gustavo you had barely even moved. “Though I could’ve make an educated guess anyway.”

His response was a mere hum, still remaining in the same position as before. It was a thing that made your eyebrows twitch, unsure if he had even meant to make that sound in the first place.

“I would’ve had you put in a more private place, but... I was was told there wasn’t enough time.” That was when he moved for the first time since entering the room. His head lowered, eyes now cast down to his shoes like they were the most interesting thing in the room. “I know you don’t like hospitals.”

Your gaze moved upwards as you turned your head towards the ceiling, a huff of air passing through your lips, “Well, I already had the surgery... Just need to be patient now.”

“I wish there were better channels on these TVs though,” you then added, attempting to break the tension surrounding every corner in the room, but when you moved your head again, you found Gustavo starting to walk.

His steps were almost silent despite what his shoes were made of. He moved slow, precise even if his attention wasn’t on the floor anymore.

And soon Gustavo had arrived at the window that looked out onto the world below. You had no idea what floor you were on but it was most likely about halfway as the sound of cars could still be heard, though a bit muffled.

Somehow the more time he spent facing away from you, the more a nervousness began to ignite within your chest.

The way he was acting was something you had only seen when he was disappointed. Upset about how a situation had gone enough so that he needed time to compose himself before speaking.

So, even if most of your body couldn’t be bothered to move, you found a way to fidget.

You stared at the wall on the other side of your bed. A multitude of fresh thoughts and worries swarming your mind in a way that was almost suffocating, until they couldn’t be contained anymore.

You cleared your throat, finally finding your voice despite the utter dread of doing so. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of the heart monitor could literally be heard speeding up as your words fully settled through the air.

“Pardon?”

Your eyes may have still been aimed at the wall, but from the corner, you could see Gustavo twist away from the window. An action that didn’t at all help your nerves.

The next time you took a breath, you had almost gulped, “I realised what had been planned too late.”

“If that had happened anywhere else, I could’ve ruined the business... Lost progress.”

It was only when a new worry, the realisation of another action that had the possibility of many consequences, that you found the ability to actually look at Gustavo, “You got the machines, right?”

His brows were furrowed enough that the skin surrounding them was intensely crinkled, his eyes narrowed in a disbelief that you had never seen him display.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/n.” was all he managed for a moment, his voice going back to that lack of fullness that in turn had your eyebrows furrowing. “Did they tell you what happened? Everything?”

“You were injured during a job I set for you.” His eyes were wider now, the once clouded look within them forming into a sense of clarity though the disbelief still remained.

“And I could’ve ruined everything.” The emotions each of you felt were clashing, the brain working in the wonderous ways it always did as you both had very different viewpoints of the situation. The hard part was getting the other to understand why.

“There is a lot more important things than machines, Y/n.” Gustavo pointed out and took a few steps forward so that he was further from the window.

There was a sense of annoyance now travelling through your tired system, the irritation built up over the entire day officially starting to spark, “Which is exactly why I am trying to apologise.”

“For what? Not knowing that you were going be attacked?”

You shook your head, breaking the intense eye contact as your gaze went back to the ceiling.

Arguing was the last thing that you wanted to do right now. You were tired, weak, hungry, and now had an anger that was eager to erupt.

Two people at fault but both only thinking that one is.

After a few moments of being absorbed by those monotonous beeps again, a deep sigh could be heard. Even though you couldn’t see him anymore, it was clear that he had finally allowed his shoulders to lower. Deflate. “You got hurt.”

“Well, I think I know that, Gus.” you blurted out as your mouth seemed to be faster than your brain. Something that you immediately regretted. “Look...” You raised your head again, your hands subconsciously gliding to where your bandages grasped to your skin, “What happened... Happened.”

“It’s over... Okay-- It doesn’t matter anymore.”

It was a sentence meant to ease the situation. Words formed in a eagerness to get this whole thing over and done with, because you were quite frankly over it yourself, wanting nothing more than to fall into an incredibly deep sleep.

But all it did was make the lines of Gustavo’s face more prominent. The look across it formed into an expression that almost mimicked offense. “Doesn’t... Doesn’t matter-- Listen to yourself.”

“Why aren’t you taking this situation more seriously?”

“Well, did you get what you were after?” you questioned, trying to find at least some form of middle ground that you could then use to clear this whole thing up.

Gustavo scoffed, “I can’t believe you.” He turned himself around again, adopting the same stance from before as he stared through the window.

Your eyebrows were furrowed as much as they possibly could at this point, “Why? This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened, Gus-- Hell, it will happen again.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“It can’t.”

“What do you-- What do you mean it can’t, Gustavo?” you huffed out, the sound almost becoming gargled as you began to push yourself to sit up. But you were determined to ignore the pain pulsing in your side. A deep breath shook through your lips when you got upright.

You carefully began to shuffle yourself backwards, trying to lean more comfortably against the bed, and only made an attempt to speak when you had fully decided your positioning, “The more we progress, the more likely stuff like this is going to take place. You of all people should know that--”

“You almost died!”

It felt like time had stopped for a good minute.

The sound had rung longer than the sentence itself, but you couldn’t tell if it was just the way your mind attempted to process it, or if it was really that loud.

Gustavo had faced you once again, only this time there was this active rage that covered almost every visible inch of him in a way that heavily contrasted the usual stoicism.

It was barely seen, but it looked like his shoulders lowered and raised with every breath. Like he was heaving. Heaving with disbelief, anger... and fear?

“You almost... You.” he had attempted to repeat, but there was this lack of control. An inability to get himself together like he always managed to do any other day.

He took in a deep breath, one that shook more than yours had, and practically forced himself to stand straight, “That attack was meant for me.”

“Because I got... interrupted, I wasn’t there... and then you became the target.” He was trying to gather himself. Trying to make himself look how he usually did by straightening his spine, raising his chin and adopting an expression devoid of any emotion.

But despite trying to adjust the mask.

It was starting to crack.

“Gustavo.”

“I should have gone.” His voice was barely above a whisper now.

To the naked eye he was ridged, but there was this shakiness that could be seen the longer your eyes stayed on him, “I should be the one in that bed... not you.”

“You could’ve...”

One half of his nose slightly crinkled after a moment, in turn raising the left side of his top lip, and he visibly swallowed like the words he was going to speak had a horrid taste.

And then you spotted it.

It was difficult to properly see Gustavo’s eyes through the glasses as light sources reflected onto the lenses almost everywhere he looked, and at first you thought it was in fact just some reflected light.

But it would disappear when he blinked.

“Gustavo.” you spoke after a moment, practically forgetting what you sounded like at this point, and it seemed to snap the man out of his thoughts. “Close the blinds.”

At first he just furrowed his eyebrows. His dazed eyes finally moved from where they had zoned in to meet your own with a sudden confusion. And then they followed the finger pointed towards the window for the doctors.

The abrupt change in atmosphere had him just standing there for a moment, but then due to the crowdedness of his mind, it seemed that it just went on autopilot. He walked through the room, same pace and quietness as before, until he arrived at yet another window.

He cleared his throat, picked the left blind cord to take between two of his fingers and then pulled at it, taking one final look at the hallways outside before they were officially closed.

Now, the lighting of the room was increasingly lowered. You still had a slight source from the sky, but time had done what it did best. It barely brought anything to help maintain the light.

But that was the least of your concerns.

The moment those blinds had reached the ledge of the window, Gustavo's hands pressed onto either side of the surface, and he leant his weight into it in a way that seemed to take it off of his shoulders as they visibly slacked.

It was a movement that had you just staring for a good few seconds.

This was not the Gustavo that you knew. This man before you was not in control of his expressions, the way that he spoke, the way he stood. This was not a man who rose above and administered fear into anyone even if that wasn’t his intent.

This was just a man.

Just Gus.

You, very stiffly, began to try and shuffle yourself sideway across the bed. You didn’t care about the pain that pulsed through your torso, or how it felt like your arms were going to either bend or snap. You kept moving, and only stopped when it was clear to do so.

Pins and needles began to spread through your hand as you patted it down in the space you had created, turning your head more in his direction as you expected him to respond.

But he didn’t.

You stifled a sigh, “Come here, Gustavo.”

He needed a proper command. A verbal set of words that allowed him to comply to the urge you placed in his head. So, after trying to swallow the feelings that were appearing once again, he turned around.

Though this time when he fully faced you, instead of pausing like he needed to convince himself to actually walk, he moved the second his eyes lay on you.

His pace was slow like before, each step getting heavier than the previous one.

He understood.

He understood why you had been acting the way you did, wanted nothing more than to change the subject, and now why you had asked him to close the blinds.

It was to stop the outside from seeing in. Not let any other person bear witness to a moment just for the two of you.

Gustavo lowered himself to sit on the bed, his eyes not daring to leave your own in a way that properly allowed you to see behind the lenses of those glasses.

There was a line of water just peaking over the lower lid. His blinks may have subsided most of it, but it would always come back with the same amount. Sometimes even more.

“I shouldn’t have let you do the job alone.” Gustavo insisted, but it had you shake your head within seconds. “Hey,”

You took one of his hands between yours, trying to shift just a tad bit closer to him even if it hurt, “Gustavo, you need to understand that even if there was another person there, the same thing would’ve happened-- Another person would’ve been hurt instead of just me.”

“Someone would still get shot.”

That was when the eye contact had been broken.

He knew you were right. He knew that even if he had found out what had happened sooner, he wouldn’t have gotten there fast enough to do anything about it.

But there was a vast difference between understanding something and accepting it.

The expression on his face was so unusual to see, more so because it genuinely conveyed his feelings. You could see it in his eyes, the way his lips were starting to press together. Utter guilt despite the continuous insistence that it wasn’t his fault.

The action of removing your hands from his had him out of his thoughts again, though it wasn’t until he blinked that he felt where they had gone.

Each of your palms were placed on either side of his face, the centre firm against his set jaw.

The thumbs of your hands resided above the rest of your fingers, lightly gliding across the textured skin of Gustavo’s cheeks in a way that had him instinctively closing his eyes.

The weight of his head in your hold grew and it looked as if the tension in his muscled finally let him relax, even if it was just for a moment. You wanted him to stay like that forever.

“I’m glad you weren’t there, Gustavo.”

And just like that, the sentence had practically undone the moment of peace. But even when he went to lean back, he made sure that it was a distance that would keep your hands on his face.

The edges of his eyebrows were crinkled again, a mixture of concern and confusion purely visible, “How?”

The way he asked had a smile begging to curl at your lips. Though, due to the muscles of your face being too tired at this point and the fact that this definitely wasn’t the time to do so, you ignored it. “If it was you that got attacked instead of me, they wouldn’t have stopped until there was nothing left.”

Your grasp on his face became a tad more firm. Your eyes began to travel, thinking about the fact that you had never seen him so close for this amount of time before. “A shot in the side means nothing to me.”

“Y/n, how can you possibly say that?” The concern spread further than it had done before, now beginning to form into that same disbelief like it had earlier.

You slightly lowered your chin after a minute, making sure that your eyeline was directly connected to his. And then you just shrugged, a wave of emotions flooding your system at a sudden sense of safety that you had yearned to feel all day, “Because,”

“I would rather die, knowing that you were somewhere safe... alive. Than breathe in a world where you aren’t doing the same.”

It felt like it was going to be another one of those moments. The two of you just going to stare into each others eyes, equally lost. No words available that could even scratch the surface of what either of you felt.

Though it seemed that Gustavo’s ability to maintain a calm exterior faltered. He began to crumble.

His his eyebrows pinched together suddenly, his bottom lip slowly pushing upwards until it shook, and then he lowered his head out of your grasp, a wavering breath huffing out of his mouth.

He tried to speak. Tried to express something that ultimately would be left unknown as he just gave up. Understanding that it wouldn’t be able to come out the way that he wanted it to.

So, he just... sort of slumped. His head dipped a little more, his hand reaching up to grab the glasses that were close to falling.

He was overtaken. Emotions active more than he had let it in so long. Gustavo tried to wipe them away, tried to rid his eyes of the water that practically felt like a river pushing to flood.

But the dam had already been broken.

He just sat there, hands now pressed to face in an attempt to block the tears from going anywhere, even if they had already began to trail between his fingers.

You took the glasses that were almost crumpled in his grasp before folding the legs, and then slowly placed them on the bedside table while trying to ignore the pain that pulsed in your side from the stretch.

You subtly gritted your teeth, willing to forget about any feeling that was trying to present itself as you wanted to focus on Gustavo. You needed to.

So, you reached out, waiting for your hand to cup the back of his head before slowly beginning to guide it forward in a way that ultimately made the rest of his body follow.

And soon, he was laid across your chest, careful to avoid your injury.

The side of his head had managed to make his ear press right over where your heart was. Something that seemed to trigger Gustavo the moment he registered both the feeling and the sound.

Because, for the first time since he had entered the room or laid eyes on you through the window that had now been closed. He had actual confirmation that wasn’t just words from a doctor.

You were not some sick hallucination that was playing his mind, or a lie that he was trying to convince himself of in an attempt to avoid a painful truth and make him feel better. No. You were real.

You were alive.

The next breath that Gustavo took was cut quite abruptly like another had just pushed itself out. It was a sound that caught you off guard, one that you didn’t initially know how to respond to as you thought you were just hearing things.

But then it happened again... and then again. A sound that almost made it seem like he had forgotten how to breathe.

And then you heard what it was trying to cover, something else breaking through the harsh huffs of air.

He was crying.

Properly crying.

Gustavo removed one of the hands from his face and reached it under your arm so that he could grab the back of your shoulder, his fingers grasping onto the fabric the moment they made contact.

It had your arms wrapping around his body within seconds, especially when it had begun to rack with almost guttural like sounds.

His head was fully pressed into your chest now, each of his hands holding onto an arm or a shoulder tightly with such desperation as if you were going to disappear if he let go.

So, you didn’t dare move. You just held him there, unable to escape another pain as you had to simply lay in that bed, holding something that was releasing such raw cries.

Gustavo couldn’t even recognise the sounds himself. The way his body responded, the tears falling freely from his eyes, the harshness that the sobs were rushing out of his lungs. It was unfamiliar. A foreign feeling that swirled through everything else.

Truthfully, he could remember the last time he cried in such a way. He could remember when his feelings were shoved out of him regardless of his wants.

But he couldn’t think of any time when he had allowed himself to do it on his own.

Until now.

~~~

The next few days were filled with pretty much the same routine.

Your injuries would get checked, treated again if the doctors saw fit, and you had to do everything in your power to keep yourself entertained as the channels still weren’t giving you much.

And then, when it would get dark, Gustavo appeared.

He would bring this homemade soup almost every night that had your stomach growling before he had even arrived. It was also a decent sized cup, meaning that if you didn’t finish it, the hospital could store it and reheat it for lunch the next day.

Maybe after a while, others would think that having soup for more than a week would get old at some point... But no. In fact there was different ingredients used in every batch. The change could be miniscule but it was still effective.

The rest of the routine got old fast though. The days started merging, and it soon made you become unsure of when the next started or ended, as it seemed like you had forgotten how to sleep at normal times due to your exhausted system.

But then the time finally came.

The discharge from hospital.

Obviously there was still a whole lot of resting, healing and overall taking everything slow coming your way, which was a hundred percent going to prove to be a challenge. However, with the way that Gustavo appeared right by your side, even if it was just a facial expression that proved you were having difficulty, it gave you enough assurance. Comfort.

There was no word to accurately express your feelings the moment the car had pulled to a stop in the driveway. Your driveway.

What you saw out the window wasn’t a picture you had tried to think up multiple times in your head. It was just right in front of you. A house that seemed larger than you had remembered.

It almost startled you when the car door suddenly got pulled open, but after a blink you registered his figure, spotted the hands that were out and ready to aid you.

The process of shimmying your way off of the car seat was a bit of a hassle, however, your legs eventually hung out of the car, feet finally meeting with solid ground once again.

Soon, you had actually arrived inside the house. 

Gustavo was to your right, stood carefully, in a way that would completely cross out any possibility of further injuring the other side of your body, as he guided you through those familiar halls which almost gave you a feeling of nostalgia. Even if it wasn’t that long ago that you walked within them.

A new wave of tiredness hit you after about a step into the living room you had yearned to see. 

Everything looked the same, furniture and even the objects of décor still placed so intricately as if the room hadn’t been lived in or touched.

It smelled the same too.

“Were you cooking this morning?” you questioned, voice a bit more groggy than before, as a sort of smoky scent presented itself to your nostrils. Gustavo hummed, carefully pulling at your shoulder to direct you around the rectangular coffee table.

“You know I can walk by myself, right?” you pointed out, trying to turn your head to get a look at his face but he had moved behind you when the two of you got between the edge of the table and an armchair at the same time.

“Of course.” was all Gustavo said, still holding onto you regardless. And finally, you had reached the couch of your dreams.

Even though you had been laying around all day every day for weeks on end, the relief that filled your system over not having to walk anymore almost had your knees buckling.

“Okay,” Gustavo spoke just above a whisper, lightly turning you so that you faced the TV, “Slowly.”

A deep breath sifted in and out of your lungs. Your grip on his arm tightened and after looking in his eyes for a good few seconds, you began to lower yourself in the speed he insisted on. “There you go.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

Your nose was scrunched, along with your eyes, the further you bent as the movement slightly began to fold more and more of your body. You lost count of how many times you tried to stifle a hiss from the sharp pains that kept coming.

But even when officially sat down on the soft couch, the discomfort unfortunately remained.

You slowly leaned backwards, allowing your injured side to stretch out in a way that was fully comfortable, until your back pressed into the pillows. There was a sigh of relief that huffed out of your mouth all at once and it had the tiniest smile curling at Gustavo’s lips.

“Better?” he questioned and despite your urge to close your eyes, you just looked at him. “Better. Thank you,” you confirmed, reaching out to grab one of his hands.

But before your own could meet his, it had suddenly lowered with the rest of his body. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him get onto his knees, even pushing the coffee table away so that he had more space.

And then his hands landed on your shoes, “Oh, Gustavo, you don’t--”

“Relax.”

He lifted one foot at a time, placing the bottom of your shoe on his thigh so that he could properly attack the laces. And soon, both pairs were off of your feet, now held in a singular hand.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Your voice was more hushed this time, timid, as you looked down at the man who now was just looking right back at you. And then he smiled. Such a simple, but full, smile that fit his face perfectly.

Gustavo then pressed his free hand onto the floor, moved himself back a little, and then let out a slight grunt as pushed himself up to his feet.

When he had done so you had thought he was just go, leave to bring the shoes to the area you usually kept them, so you had started to shuffle your self further into the couch.

But the next thing you knew, one of your hands was brough in a gentle grasp. The step that Gustavo had taken was to get closer to the couch, and you.

He sort of hunched forward after a moment, bringing your intertwined hands his way. And then, when it was at a perfect distance, he turned them until the back of your palm faced him.

He brought his lips to your warm skin, the soft but mildly jagged skin pressing down for a good few seconds as the breath through his nostrils slightly tickled you. And then he lifted his head a little.

Gustavo met your eyes with such a wide smile that it had almost bared his teeth.

“I did.”

And after a quick squeeze to your hand, that was that. He let go.

Gustavo adjusted the grip he had on the shoes in his other hand and simply turned, retracing his steps around the coffee table before disappearing into the hallway.

Your hand was still hung in the air. Stuck same position it had been when with Gustavo’s... and then you left it fall to your chest, landing right on top of your heart that was beating so fast that you could immediately feel it.

The smile on your face was one that felt impossibly to get off.

There was a long journey still to go, and a lot of pain to follow, but there was almost no worry when you thought about it. Because, like you had convinced to convince Gustavo of earlier, you made it.

You made it back home.

[alexiswritingstuff]

I need to write so many fics but I keep getting ideas for other characters that I like and wijebebrjrknrbr

Why is obtaining new ideas so easy but the act of actually writing it out so hard.

[alexiswritingstuff]

A Man And His Personal Guard. 2/2

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x Male reader.

Summary: After finally arriving at the house, both you and Gustavo continue to try and get used to each other as the night progresses. And all is well until you make another one of your comments, this time causing Mr. Fring to try block you out, thinking that you couldn’t possibly mean anything that you say.

Until he gets hurt.

Warnings! mentions of an injury and blood.

Also be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such.

A/N: omg I really such a writing summaries. Anyway, I finally got the time to finalises the part, and here it is! My first time writing a Male reader. 

I hope I made good references to the readers gender enough in this, and actually if anyone has any tips on how to do it better please let me know. I don’t know why it seems so difficult to me.

Enjoy reading! 

More Gustavo fics.

@marksassybanana​

previous part.

There has been many times in your life where it was threatened.

You had been through gun fights and fist fights, you have followed, sneaked up on, a multitude of dangerous people, and watched horrendous things play out in front of your eyes.

But somehow as you walked through the dimly lit rooms of none other than Gustavo Frings own home, with him about two steps in front of you at all times, it was the most tense you had ever felt.

Every movement your body made felt ridged as if you had to force yourself to do it. Your head spun in a way that closely resembled an owl to take in the new surroundings, though you were quick to face Mr. Fring when he stopped walking. 

It was then that you fully managed to process what you were seeing. 

“Whoa.”

You were stood in one of the doorways, practically gapping at the living room where everything looked like it had been neatly placed and organised. 

The look of the house from the outside was unknown to you, but with a singular glance at amount of space, and the interior, it was easy to tell that the owner was definitely not having financial problems.

Then again, it is owned by Gustavo Fring. What else did you expect?

There was some classical piece quietly humming through the room. Where it was coming from you couldn’t tell, but the attempt to find it fell short of when a voice broke through the song, “This is where, I believe, you will be spending most of your time.”

Your free hand found sanctuary underneath the material of the apron still worn, the warmness of your skin continuing to emanate within the pocket of your trousers. Your head nodded in acknowledgement. “I don’t think I will be complaining.”

“This place is... really nice.”

Mr. Fring mimicked your gesture, “Thank you,” A short smile then pressed at his lips as though it was filled with a sense of pride, “I picked out everything myself.” And it was.

The previous feeling that could even be described as fear was fading. Making way for something new that had you eager to continue the conversation, and this time not just because you needed to break the silence.

“Well, you have a good eye.” you expressed while your gaze continued it’s journey throughout the room. “And apparently a good taste too.”

To your right, there were about two rows of kitchen islands. The closest one was mostly empty, only a few items of decor placed along the surface, while the other looked more like it was owned by a chef. 

And behind that, between fuller counters, was the oven. A few pots already sat on the stove waiting to be heated.

The whole journey of being told that you would be going to this house, and then actually doing it, had your mind in such a frenzy that the thought of what the house itself would be like hadn’t even crossed your brain.

“Huh,” you blurted out after a moment, eyes still scanning over the different cooking equipment placed delicately within the cupboards and on the counter tops. “Who knew the owner of a restaurant would be a cook himself.”

It took a moment for there to be any response or reaction as the music began to seep back through your ears. And then you heard a laugh. 

Well, it was more of a huff of air, but it had your eyebrows raising nonetheless.

Mr. Frings eyes were already on yours by the time you looked in his direction. That smile from earlier was subtly curled on his lips, his gaze narrow, though not in suspicion.

“You already knew.”

Maybe it was the drastic difference of seriousness you had compared to him, or the opposite personalities clashing, that had Gustavo uncertain of your skill set. I mean, practically since you first started he had been testing your senses. Even if he got given a full reference of your abilities.

However, now, it seemed like he was finally starting to believe them. “How?”

There was almost a feeling of amusement residing in your chest upon looking at his expression. Mild wonder over a deduction he could’ve easily concluded himself.

You lightly shrugged your shoulders despite how smart you wanted to look in that moment and let your eyes flow back to set up, adjusting your grip on the clothes you still so desperately wanted to change into, “Well, I doubt a person would own a kitchen like that if they could only make a bowl of cereal.”

The comment had Mr. Fring doing the same huffed laugh as before and it had a grin begging to take over your face. Your posture even straightened, a sense of pride of your own flooding your system though you soon shook your head. “Actually, uh… It was earlier. Back at the restaurant.”

You could feel his sharp eyes on you once again. His stance was more relaxed, his hands now held in front of his body instead of behind. “The only times you left your office was to check around the building… and also to correct the people in charge of cooking the food.”

“The way you told them, the solutions you gave, anything, showed some form of culinary experience that wasn’t just from getting the brief for a job or lessons from school.” You met his gaze, an urge to take in a deep breath filling your lungs within an instant. “It’s from a lot of practice.”

The expression on Gustavo’s face remained regardless of how long you had spoken for. He really had taken you for granted.

“Very good.” he insisted through a much lighter voice and it had you just blinking for a moment. 

This entire day he had this look across his features. It was one that would dissipate whenever talking to customers, like it usually did, but the second they were gone, it resided. And the way he acted afterwards further emphasised it.

But now here he was, his gaze light and his lips curling. It had yourself mimic the same expression as you lightly bowed your head at his compliment. “You know, your face looks better like that. More handsome.”

As if someone just flicked some form of switch, and by the time you had blinked, that stoic expression he was known for in the business took over his features. It was almost startling, especially the way the muscles beneath his brows tensed. “Why do you have to say things like that?”

You blinked at him for a moment, struggling to adjust to the change of tone. “Like what?” Your eyebrows even furrowed, though you knew exactly what he meant.

“Like… that. Nonsense.”

“You think I’m lying?”

Gustavo’s body was now faced towards yours, the lines decorating his skin setting deeper. “What I think is that you need to understand the words that come out of your mouth.”

“But I do?” you pointed out, your arms crossing over your chest in a way that had the man in front of you almost scoffing.

“Sir,” Your head tilted lightly, eyebrows still furrowed in both disbelief and confusion, “Everything that I do has to have been done with a purpose, I mean-- I have to be thoughtful, in more way than one, about the way I do things so that no one and nothing gets comprised.”

“Why would the way I speak be any different?”

The music that had been long forgotten reached your ears once again as a silence layered between the walls. The two of you were stood facing each other, eyes glued on the opposite face as if trying to decipher a code.

And then Mr. Fring shook his head, breaking the eye contact by turning to the side as he began to move towards the kitchen previously being talked about. You couldn’t understand what was going on despite the fact that you could do so easily at any other moment. It was almost frustrating. 

If you were making him uncomfortable he would have shut you up ages ago, the same with if it made him angry, or upset.

So what the hell was it?

“Mr. Fring--”

“The bathroom is down the hall.”

Your foot stilled before it had properly lifted off of the ground. “What?”

“The bathroom.” He repeated, stopping himself in front of the fridge that was quite tall in comparison to his height. “You’ve been carrying around that set of clothes since you left restaurant, so, Mr. L/n…”

He gripped the handle, turning his head in you direction to meet your stunned gaze with a certain blankness to his expression. “If you would like to get changed, it is back down the hall we came through previously.”

“Just take a left instead of a right this time.”

And that was it. His attention went right back to the fridge as he now opened it, disappearing behind the silver door.

The pile of clothes was held between both of your hands. You were stood there like an innocent little animal, frozen in place, and only blinking like every five seconds as if something would happen if you made the wrong move.

“All right,” you began after a moment, clearing your throat before forcing yourself to start moving towards the hallway you first walked through, “Thank you, Sir.”

~

It was unclear how long you had been in the bathroom by the time you had actually began to rid yourself of the LPH uniform.

You had paced, practically recreated those angsty scenes in movies where they just stare at themselves in a mirror, all the while trying to adjust to the bright light above that bounced off of every surface.

These moments never usually bothered you, but that was because they never happened. Whenever someone made it clear that they weren’t keen on the way you acted, you backed off immediately and switched the approach had towards that person.

You had no idea what was going on with Mr. Fring and the worst thing was that you couldn’t just ask.

Asking him could elevate the situation, make it worse. That could then lead to losing a job and being on the bad side of Gustavo Fring. Something no one wants.

By now a headache was slowly forming from the furrow in your brow. Your fingers grasped the material of the trousers and, a little dramatically, yanked up the pant leg until it consumed your skin.

What the hell were you going to do?

It was replaying in your head. The way his face changed, how fast it switched, and his tone.

No. It wasn’t discomfort. Or anger. Like his question earlier, it was disbelief. 

But whether it was disbelief over the words being directed at him, or your audacity to say such things in the first place, was still amidst the unknown.

The tips of your fingers slightly stung due to your previous harshness, but nevertheless your trousers were on and zipped up.

A sigh passed through your lips as you grabbed the next item clothing. A plain black hoodie. You made sure that it was upside down, turning it the proper way so that you would get opening instead of a face full of fabric.

You lifted it over your head, the exhaustion from the previous day clear in the way that your muscles moved and tensed--

There was a muffled clatter from somewhere in the house.

However, that noise alone wasn’t the thing that set off your internal alert system. It was what came afterwards. A hiss.

“Mr. Fring?”

The hoodie was only half on your body in a way that meant your face was being engulfed by fabric. You couldn’t see. And trying to locate something during a moment of stress wasn’t exactly easy to do regardless of how much you trained.

So, within the next few seconds you found yourself stumbling through the bathroom, one hand held out to make sure that you wouldn’t end up with a comically large bump somewhere, while the other desperately clawed at your hoodie to bring it lower.

“Mr. Fring?” Your bare torso was layered with a coolness and when you managed to get into the hallway, and without really thinking about it, you began to jog, managing push your head far enough that it was brought to the face hole of the hoodie. 

“Sir? Is everything all right?”

By the time you ended up in the doorway to the living room your head was finally through the neck hole. Your eyes flickered around in a panic, your hands pulling the fabric down until your torso was completely covered.

There, stood in front of the farthest kitchen aisle, was Mr. Fring. He had taken a step back from what you could now see was a chopping board. 

Your eyebrows furrowed the moment you saw that his hand was clutched on the opposite wrist, though he was merely blinking at you.

You immediately beckoned forward, the situation piecing together, and it wasn’t until you were stood beside your boss that you could see what had properly happened. “Oh, shit.”

There was a diagonal slash across the pad of one of his fingers. The dark red substance wasn’t exactly oozing out, but it was creating a trail that wrapped around the digit before dropping on the floor below despite Mr. Fring trying to catch it.

“It’s not severe, Y/n, no… need to worry.” he had tried to insist, clearly unsure of how it happened himself, but you found yourself scanning through the kitchen anyway for some paper towels. At least something.

“Ah.” You moved behind Mr. Fring, carefully avoiding the knife as the only thing on your feet were socks. 

After pulling at the kitchen roll, about three pieces disconnected from the rest and you reprised your previous position, folding the paper towels until it had enough layers.

You gently held onto his wrist, trying ignore the way he pulled his none injured hand away when there was mildly contact, and placed the centre of the kitchen roll on the wound. Mr. Fring sucked in a breath.

“Okay, just hold that there for me.” you told him and he complied after a moment, taking over the role of holding the paper that was slowly turning red while you took a step back to remove the knife from the floor so that no one would end up stepping on it.

“I imagine this has happened before?” You placed the knife beside the chopping board, your eyes scanning over a half cut vegetable that sat on top, a singular blood droplet absorbing into it.

“I don’t tend to make mistakes like this.”

The first thing you noticed when your eyes went back to Mr. Fring was the expression on his face. His brows were creased, the lines on either side of his mouth deeper than they ever have been. He was staring down at the injury with resentment.

“I don’t think anyone does.”

You took the wounded hand in yours again which in turn caused Gustavo to immediately turn his head your direction.

Peeling back the soaked towel was mildly jarring to watch, and do, but you moved the hand so that it was in a direct beam of light. An attempt to gage how severe the injury was.

When the blood began to pool around the skin again, you returned the paper towel, smoothing it over as lightly as you could before bringing his other hand back to continue the pressure.

“Alright, well, good news.” you began as you leaned back, checking your own hands to see if the blood got onto your skin, “Based off of where you cut it, you will not be needing to see a doctor.”

“At least you weren’t cutting the meat yet.” you added on in an attempt to lighten the mood. But Gustavo only hummed in response. He was just looking at you as if analysing every aspect of your face.

You cleared your throat, averting your gaze from his as you subconsciously rubbed the tips of your fingers together. “You, uh-- You should move to the other sink.” Your back faced him when you walked round the edge of the kitchen aisle. 

“And why is that?” Mr. Fring questioned, finally finding his voice that held a thicker accent due to his confusion.

“Less... chance of blood stains, stops the possibility of contamination… nicer soap.” you listed off, not even bothering to turn back round as heat rose within your body.

“Just… keep pressure on your finger, I’m going to get some supplies.” You waved a hand in his direction, getting closer to the hallway while hearing Mr. Fring move to the other sink like you asked. “If it is plasters you are looking for, they will be in the cabinet above the--”

“I know.”

~

The next time you appeared in the living room a small box was held in your hands. The plasters within were definitely a lot bigger than the wound itself, so when you got closer to the kitchen your eyes immediately looked for a pair of scissors.

“I believe the bleeding has stopped now.” Mr. Fring informed as you rounded the first kitchen aisle, and that in response halted your previous mission.

The feeling of wanting to get something under control, wanting nothing more than a situation to be over and done with, made it easy to start rushing to the finish line. 

But like a lot of other things, there were specific steps to take. And ones you couldn’t miss especially if someone was injured.

A deep breath filtered in and out of your lungs as you swivelled in Mr. Frings direction and took back your place by his side after placing down the box on the counter.

You reached for the blue tap, the metal freezing beneath your finger tips, and twisted until water spilled into the sink bowl below. You barely escaped having a drenched sleeve when you pulled back.

“This might hurt.” Without really thinking, you found yourself placing a hand on the warm wrist of Gustavo’s. You could feel the way the limb tensed and the hesitance that took a moment to defeat when you began directing it towards the stream of water.

“I know… how to use a tap, Y/n.” Mr. Fring pointed out, his arm slightly jolting when the running tap met the injury, but he didn’t pull away.

“Wash it out.” was all you said, because for one you needed to move, and two it seemed that Mr. Fring was a guy that liked having control of situations. Which was probably why the Lalo thing is digging into his mind.

I mean, you were the kind of guy to feel at ease when in control of things so it was easy to understand where he was coming from... But that was usually because if you weren’t in control of your situations a lot of stuff was about to go wrong.

You swiped a pair of scissors from where they usually sat in the kitchen and set them down, switching to holding the box back in your hands. You flicked open the smallest flap and pulled out one of the sterile adhesives that, now being in front of your eyes, confirmed your suspicion.

After placing the box back down the scissors were in your grasp once again, and you readied them once the adhesive was in the correct positioning between your fingers.

“What are you doing?” You heard to your left, the water thumping louder into the sink when he targeted another part of the wound, and after the slightest glance in his direction, you began cutting. “Dry your finger.”

Soon enough, the tap had been turned off. And after a little more of what felt like arts and crafts, you now had a strip of the sterile adhesive. 

There may had been a little more of the pad than the sticky part, but there was enough to make it do its job.

The music flooded back to their ears when Gustavo was now the one to move back to your side, lightly dabbing the towel around his wound that had in fact stopped bleeding.

You could hear your heart thumping in your ears, almost in time with the song, as you began to peel back the paper covering on the plaster.

With as gentle of a touch as you could, you placed one of your hands beneath his injured one and brought it closer, steadying it. You began to ease the adhesive lightly and accurately onto the surrounding skin of the finger.

Your attention being fully on the application of the plaster made yourself blind to the fact that Gustavo wasn’t exactly worried about his wound anymore. Or even thinking about it at this point.

In fact, his eyes weren’t even directed to his finger at all. He was looking at you. At what he could see of the side of your face.

The way your eyebrows were furrowed, this time not in confusion or disbelief, but in genuine concern. 

Or the way your eyes were narrowed so that you could get everything done precisely without incident. And the way your tongue slightly poked through the corner of your mouth in attempt to aim your full brain power onto applying the small plaster.

So much care for in injury that wasn’t costing a life. Or even really hurt that much if Gustavo was honest with himself.

“There.” you breathed out in a way that snapped the guy back into reality and he straightened himself up when you smoothed over the plaster one last time, finally completing the process that definitely took longer than it would with anyone else.

You took a slight step back, failing to hide the pleased feeling from showing on your face as you admired your hard work. “Good as new.”

And then your eyes landed on Gustavo, the look still present. “You did a good job, Mr. Fring.”

“I wish I had a lollipop or something to reward you.” you added on, even fakely looking around and patting your pockets as if trying to locate an item to give him.

And though Gustavo could feel a laugh wanting to rumble through his throat, or the urge to do some form of gesture in amusement. He was still. Expression almost blank while he finally lowered his hand to his side.

“Uh… Sir?”

You had stopped everything that you were doing to help him.

You had slid into the living room on your socks dishevelled and scrambling to get the last piece of clothing properly on your body, and then immediately attended to his little injury like it was the only thing you cared about. Like he was the only thing you cared about.

Gustavo Fring had encountered many men in his life, each with either very similar personalities or very different ones. Most would not even dare to show compassion in the face of others, especially if those people were other dudes. 

But here you were, doing jobs the nicest way that you could in a business like this. Helping out people enough that Mike had been adamant about you being chosen for the job. 

Because he knew that you would care. 

Care for Gustavo in a way that no other man had... Well, not since--

Gustavo’s chin raised after a moment, life flooding back to his eyes that were still set on your own, though it had your eyebrows furrowing once again if they weren’t before. “Mr. Fring?”

“Please.” he said without a second to waste and despite both your disbelief and his own, Gustavo reached for one of your hands, and ended up holding it between both of his, careful to avoid letting his injured finger touch anything.

Your puzzled expression remained as you slowly looked from the joined hands back up to those brown eyes. And despite the many things across your face that asked Gustavo for answer. He just smiled. 

A real, genuine smile.

“Call me Gus.”