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bonkwosher · 1 year

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Gus Fring Jealousy/Possessiveness Headcanons

A/N: Aka Gus dealing with assholes that flirt with you. I'm so absolutely down bad for Gus it's insane. Also, x male reader bc Gus is gayyyyyy.

Contains: Implied age gap relationship, possessiveness, creepy man (Not Gus), jerk, LYLE CONTENT

Pairing(s): Gustavo "Gus" Fring x Reader

I would say let's take it on a "how long have you been dating" basis but Gus is possessive from day one, maybe even before that. He doesn't often have the opportunity to feel jealous, he's much older than you so you two don't really go to parties or clubs. He keeps you in his proximity as often as possible & that wards most off.

He had even gone out & bought you a necklace with his name on it, if he's feeling particularly moody & you aren't wearing it he'll point that out. If you forget to put it on when getting dressed up for a dinner he'll come up behind you & slowly put it on you, looking into your eyes through the mirror that stood in front of you.

Speaking of fancy dinners, that was the first time Gus got jealous. It was your second date & he had invited you to an elegant restaurant. You looked out of place even while wearing a suit. Gus walked briskly up to you & offered you his hand, leading you back to his table. You were a blushing mess.

Everything was fine until a drink appeared at your table, your favorite drink. You noted that & thanked the waiter before they said, "The gentleman over there ordered this for you." Gus looked up to see a man practically drooling over you from the bar. His smile dropped, only returning when you held eye contact with him.

"That's so nice of them, hey, free drink!" You chuckled. 'You're gullible' Gus thought to himself. Thinking the man wanted nothing more than to be nice. He felt his fists clenching, now under the table to hide his anger. Yeah, maybe Gus needs a little longer to process his feelings for you but that doesn't mean someone can waltz in, buy you a drink, & whisk you away before he knows what he wants. On the inside he loves you, he'll deny it because memories of Max will come up, but his heart knows. He tells himself the root of his possessiveness is that he wants to get to know you without other influences.

"What would you like off the menu?" he asked, quickly trying to change the subject. Gus sat in silence as he read through the menu, you pointing out all the things that sounded good. Finally, you found something. The only problem, it was terribly expensive. Your voice went high, "Oh- um, I don't think I'm hungry."

Gus placed his menu on the table, "What do you mean?" You closed the menu & sat back, arms crossed. "I insist that you get something to eat, Y/N. You do know this is my treat right?"

"Are you sure?' You feel almost bad that this man is offering to pay so much for you to eat. "Absolutely. Plus, if some sleazy bar-goer can buy you your favorite drink I have to top that somehow." You pointed out the item on the menu quietly. "Oh! Very good choice," Gus chimed before returning to his own menu.

You guys had a long period of peace right up until you were about to finish your food. The man from the bar had come up to your table, probably a bit buzzed. "Hey there, handsome. I'm about to go but I wanted to get your number." You froze, beginning to stammer out a response. Gus set his utensils down on his plate & wiped his hands on his napkin as you continued to babble. He stood up & faced the man, yeah he was shorter & probably less built, but his cold stare was deadly.

"You should get home before you embarrass yourself any further," Gus spoke, looking directly into the man's eyes. The man felt a shiver but persisted, ignoring Gus, "I have to admit, from the bar you looked amazing but now that I am up close... you are breathtaking." Gus places a firm grip on the man's forearm, forcing your admirer to turn to him. "What is your problem man?" Made Gus' grip tighten, the man let out an "Ow!"

"What do you think you are getting at here, can't you see that he & I are here together? On top of that, he is clearly uninterested! Buying a drink for someone & giving them a rapey look from across the room, get some class! Hitting on a taken man? Clearly, you lack the spine to even close on a relationship so you have to attempt to destroy other's love. I gave you your chance to leave. Take. It. Now."

The man ripped his arm from Gus & put his hands up in surrender before running off. Gus sighed & fixed his coat before sitting back down, "So, are you hungry for dessert?"

Bonus bc I'm amazing /j:

As much as it worried Gus, especially after Hector & Lalo frequented his restaurant, you would visit him sometimes at work. Of course, he didn't voice his concerns because he wanted to wait as long as possible to tell you about his real work, if ever. To attempt to make you stop visiting, he would ignore you as much as he could, using the excuse, "I'm sorry Y/N, I have a lot of work to do."

You would chat with Lyle, getting free food & sitting at the booth with the best view. On breaks, Lyle would sit with you & talk about random things or whatever you wanted to talk about. Surprisingly enough, Lyle didn't worry Gus. You would absentmindedly play with your necklace that had his name on it & Lyle must've gotten the hint at that point.

It wasn't until Lyle's friends showed up to check out his work & the quote "food that's to die for." Lyle's two friends sat with you him once they got their food, a man named Jake took the spot next to you. He said something stupid that made you laugh really hard. At that moment, without anyone noticing, a camera stopped while facing your booth. Gus was watching.

The four of you spoke & you kept laughing. Laughing so much your cheeks & core hurt. Normally, Gus would be swooning, mentally remarking that you were the light of his life. Though knowing it wasn't him that was making you happy struck a cord. It didn't help that the man was your age, your age gap being something that made Gus feel guilty.

As you were telling a story to the boys, a cup was placed in front of you. Your favorite drink. Gus took note of it from your second date, trying to take something good out of that encounter. You looked up to see him with his customer service smile & thanked him. You could tell he was about to ask if the food was good.

"Hey asshole, can't you tell we're talking here? Get me a coke while you're out here giving everyone drinks," Jake took Gus' interjection as a rude interruption, arguably going too far. "Jake, he was just being nice. Why are you so-"

"It doesn't matter, Y/N. This guy is some minimum-wage loser that interrupted my conversation with you. He gets paid to make chicken & serve decent members of society like me!" You couldn't help but smirk to stop yourself from outright laughing in his face. Lyle buried his head in his hands, regretting associating with someone like this (Not like Lyle knew, he's best boy).

You looked back up to Gus who now had his cold, soulless stare. You made eye contact with Jake, "That is my boyfriend, the owner of this whole franchise. Decent member of society my ass." The shock on his face from your statement doubled when Gus grabbed him & dragged him out of the restaurant, throwing him outside.

"Do not show your face in a Los Pollos Hermanos ever again," he spoke before wiping his hands together. He turned to you & grabbed your arm, pulling you into his office. You gave him a big hug, but the fact that he didn't hug back scared you a little. You quietly apologized, "I didn't know he was like that. From the looks of it, Lyle didn't know either."

Gus pulled away & brought his hand to your necklace, staring at it silently while brushing his thumb over the lettering. "Gus, I hope you don't think I was into the guy. I love you, only you."

He looked up at you wordlessly before looking back at the necklace. His mind was churning, fighting back every urge to manipulate you into never talking to another man ever again. He promised himself he'd never hurt you but watching you naively satiate every man's need for your attention drove him mad. His intentions weren't to freak you out with silence, rather to protect from the words he could say.

He knew how to stop himself & you from talking. You rambled on about how you were sorry, "Gus, I promise I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet." Gus gripped the necklace tightly & pulled you forward into a kiss. You were shocked by how this turned around but can't say you were complaining, you thought just a second ago that Gus was going to break up with you.

It was far, far from that.

#gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring #gus fring x reader #giancarlo #giancarlo esposito #breaking bad #better call saul #male reader #brbabcs #brba fic #silly little gay drug lord

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deadly-poets · 9 months

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Baby, I'm Dangerous.

SUMMARY: Don (Y/N) is a well known cartel boss, her connections with Don Eladio became very well visible. She is a close family friend of the Salamanca family ever since she started to do business with Don Eladio, knowing Don Hector and various nieces. Especially the one that stands out the most, Lalo Salamanca, a bastard was his title from the woman. When Lalo comes back from Albuquerque with Nacho to see Don Eladio, he meets (Y/N) once again.

NOTE: This is a one shot! :) I was very much thinking of making this a fic but I'm not sure if others would enjoy it, but if you're interested, I would definitely make it a fic :)) or just one shot request <3. You may request a Don!Reader x Lalo one shots! Or even with other bcs characters :D. This is short because It's late at night and I'm tired 💪. Enjoy tho?

Word Count: 980

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Spanish Google Translate, Slightly OOC Lalo.

PAIRING: Lalo Salamanca X Don!Female!Reader.

✧˖°.(Y/N) FOUND HERSELF NEXT TO DON ELADIO, listening to him talk to Don Juan.

The woman did not seem interested, as they only started to talk about Gustavo Fring, a cartel affiliate of theirs.

What she heard had made a little mistake which made Lalo a little suspicious of the man.

With a big gulp of her drink in her hand, she felt her throat burn at the bittersweet taste of the alcoholic drink in her hand.

She had to drink something to keep herself from falling asleep from all the standing, hoping to god that the day would end faster than it would.

Silence merged between the two men when he heard a familiar voice come into the distance, Lalo Salamanca was greeting the people around him, flirting with every girl in a bikini he saw.

“¡Mira quien es!” (Look who it is!) Don Eladio exclaimed, watching as Lalo approached them.

(Y/N) wasn’t too happy to see Lalo, hell would you expect her to be.

Lalo had his usual shit-eating grin upon his lips, looking at Don Eladio.

“Don Eladio” was the words that escaped his lips, embracing Don Eladio in a hug like two siblings being reunited for a dinner party.

“Sabía que los americanos no podrían retenerte” (I knew the Americans couldn’t hold you) Eladio said as both males let out laughs, (Y/N) sighed, knowing she was going to need to get along with Lalo.

When the Salamanca noticed, he returned the charming smile of his.

“Don (Y/N)! Look at you, all dolled up for me?” Lalo teased, only making the female bite back her tongue from sending death threats to him.

Lalo lets out a chuckle, proud to get this reaction out of her, but he was hoping to get out of more than potential death threats.

Lalo had shaken Don Juan's hand, having a small talk about his arrival back home, thinking that he paid off the gringos to get him back here but Lalo had his ways.

He peeked at the stack of wrapped cash neatly placed on the table. He smacked one of them, feeling the plastic wrap.

“¿Qué es tado esto?”(What’s all this?) Lalo questioned, looking back at Elaido and Juan.

“Es lo que me trajo Bolsa de Fring”(it’s what Bolsa brought me from Fring) Eladio replied, Lalo raised his brows, nodding like he was impressed with what Fring had sent Eladio, Fring's men wrapping the money nicely like that, but Lalo knew his gift was going to be more impressive than Frings.

When the time came, they found themselves walking in front of Eladio’s house to see a brand new red car, it was impressive to see what Lalo had planned for the cartel boss like he was spoiling him with all his money.

(Y/N) watched Eladio trace his fingers across the smooth surface of the red car.

Her (E/C) eyes glazed at the car, It was a nice car indeed, she wouldn’t even imagine giving Eladio this kind of gift like the cartel boss might have deserved.

“Are you jealous?” Lalo queried, trying to examine her facial expressions but they were unreadable.

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?” (Y/N) sneered at his question.

“Jealous that I’m not spoiling you like Don Eladio” He smirked, letting those words sink out of his teeth into her mind, Jealousy was not what a feeling that (Y/N) felt at all, she wouldn’t have cared less of what Eladio received.

“Like I need your money, Eduardo” The woman hissed at him, Lalo felt tense hearing her call him ‘Eduardo’ but he seemed to like it.

After what felt like hours, Eladio found the trunk of the car which in this newer car model was on the front of the car.

Eladio called it the 'Frunk', letting out a laugh, he opened it to see a yellow box with a red sparkling now on it.

He lifted the top of the box to see a bunch of cash stacked nicely like he liked it.

(Y/N) hates to admit to these things but she was impressed with this amount of ideal setting for him.

Like Lalo and Gustavo we're having some competition, who was best at giving gifts to Don Eladio.

"You're the man!" Eladio exclaimed in Spanish, pointing at Lalo, only making the cartel man have a smile plastered on his lips at the words that came out of Eladio's mouth.

"Did you hear that? I'm the man" Lalo said to (Y/N), making her chuckle at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in on me, Eduardo" She said, crossing her arms, watching Eladio admire the car and the money in awe.

Lalo knew that she hated when he would rub his victory in her face, that Eladio now would favor him over her.

But he just couldn't help it, teasing the cartel boss was always his skill, and it was fun to piss her off like this.

(Y/N) was a hard woman to please, Lalo knew that from the start, from the very beginning, he fell hard.

He fell in love with a woman who would break his heart to a million pieces, and he LOVED it.

#Spotify #lalo salamanca #x reader #lalo salamanca x reader #better call saul #eduardo lalo salamanca #female reader #don eladio #oneshot #bcs #imagine #better call saul oneshot #guys im going insane #help im tired

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nrgs929 · 3 months

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Victor x Reader P³

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A month has passed since you were working with the Chicken Man and his men, and you have made Victor and Tyrus curious about your identity, as neither you nor Michael have revealed your identity. All they know is that your name is Louis...

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You had left the house to complete some tasks assigned to you by Gustavo Fring. On the other hand, Gus assigned Victor and Tyrus to go to your house to search for evidence,They stormed the house in search of evidence that would help them. They searched the basement and went upstairs, and they were met by a room with the words “J.R” With warning labels “⚠️” Placed in every inch of the door, Tyrus ran, with Victor behind him, opened the door, and they met face to face with a white tiger With light brown locks adorning his fur, he advanced cautiously, and then Tyrus and Victor, who had been unconscious, woke up and quickly, without thinking, began running,The tiger started chasing them to catch them, and he dropped Victor to the ground and pinned him with his claws, roaring loudly, while Tyrus started to run away. Then he realized that Victor was not with him at that moment. He felt an empty body,Meanwhile, Victor was struggling to break free from the clutches of the tiger that wanted to eat him. Then he heard a whistle that made the tiger stop attacking him and lowered his head back. Then he saw Tyrus next to Louis, then the lion advanced and began to run towards Louis,He pats his head and calms him down « Shhhh~ Slow down, it's me, calm down »"Mai is using a voice changer. She is currently using a man's voice instead of her own voice, and the device is connected to the mask", Meanwhile, Victor and Tyrus were leaning on the railing, watching the scene. Louis raised his head and motioned for them to get down « Sit on the couch, I have something to tell your boss », They sat on the sofa, looking at the male, who is 173 cm tall. They did not know that he was a female, sitting with a tiger next to him « Next time I see you here again, know that it will be the end of you and your boss », Then they got up from the couch and were walking out the door...

At Gustavo's

Victor and Tyrus told Gus about Louis' words and threats, « Ignore his words, and tomorrow I want you to go to his house and investigate him again, but this time go at night to avoid any other problem » Then they went and prepared to go again to his house, but this time it would be at night...

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I feel like I wrote a lot of lines in this part...🙂The next part is coming soon so be ready🫣

#victor x reader #tyrus kitt #lalo salamanca #eduardo salamanca #tuco salamanca #salamanca twins #don eladio #juan bolsa #brbabcs #ignacio varga #nacho varga #domingo molina #hector salamanca #gustavo fring #gus fring #chicken man #los pollos hermanos #better call saul #breaking bad

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bananapp1e · 1 year

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society if there was more gustavo fring x male/masc! reader fanfics

#bananapple post #please let my nonbinary villain loving ass be happy please

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alexiswritingstuff · 11 months

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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.”

#gustavo fring x male reader #Gustavo Fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gus fring x reader #Better Call Saul #better call saul x reader #better call saul gus fring #better call saul season 6

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alexiswritingstuff · 1 year

Text

A Man And His Guard. 1/2

Status: Completed.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x male reader.

Other appearances: Mike Ehrmantraut.

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.

Neither of you knew what to expect of each other, but how does one Mr. Fring react when you will not stop making... comments.

Warnings: flirting.

Always be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such in my writing. I do read over them, but they can just slip under my radar sometimes.

A/N: I think this is the first time I am actually writing a male reader fic so I hope I do it justice. I am a male myself but I rarely use gendered terms with the reader anyway.

Also I’m like terrible at flirting so if the readers lines aren’t great then... my bad ig.

This is a two part series, so begin waiting for the next edition to arrive!

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

It was around the time that Lalo Salamanca was presumed ‘not dead’ when you had gotten the job.

Their crew was sparse, most had been taken up at posts where they surveyed the other properties/places that Mr. Fring usually went to. So Mike reached out with an offer.

You knew him from work done in the past where you had acted as a guard for a person he wanted to meet, for a reason you had later learned, but that specific guy had a target on his back from a lot of local businesses.

For this job, like many others, you had no idea what you were getting into. And even if there was a proper brief, none of it would prepare you for what would actually come.

Gustavo Fring had been a name thrown around many times in your life. A very common thing when working in this particular field.

But, seeing him right there in the flesh, on practically a daily basis at this point, was a thing that there wasn’t any words to describe. Because usually no one lived to even talked about it, or, obviously, they weren’t allowed to.

It was some time in the late hours of the afternoon, the liveliness of restaurant slowly reducing as time went by.

There were barely any customers occupying the booths or the neighbouring tables, and the new people coming in usually just wanted something for the road if they couldn’t be bothered to wait in the drive through.

You were moving amidst the dinning area, the long dust pan and brush in hand as you collected up stuff that had fallen during peoples meals, and swept across the beige tiles that felt increasingly bright in the sun.

The surroundings were still a bit noisy. People were chatting away, cars passed at almost every minute, there was muffled clatter from the other employees as they moved around kitchen equipment as they cooked.

It wasn’t that bad.

In fact, the only thing that you didn’t really like about ‘working’ in Los Pollos Hermanos was the need to wear its uniform.

Being a guard in this side of the business usually enforced the wearing of dark coloured clothes. It was a way to keep up a feeling of mystery, provide the impression that you were a person not to be messed with.

But there you were, stood in an obnoxiously bright yellow shirt which was paired with that damn red visor and a matching apron, to top it all off.

This might as well have been a punishment than a job.

After however long, you completed your round of the dinning area and ducked into the hallway beside the drinks machine, finding the place where you had initially picked up the dust pan and brush to return them.

And you did, a deep breath filling your lungs once the equipment was leaned back up against the wall.

It had been a long time since you had worked around a plethora of people and their own individual personalities, so coming to this work place almost felt jarring in comparison. People were properly polite. Gave smiles that were actually genuine.

The clear of someone's throat emitted from somewhere to the left, and your head turned in that direction immediately, your feet soon following, “Mr. Fring.”

“Has the floor been cleaned?” The way he dressed for work was always so smart, though it kind of reminded you of SpongeBob, and it perfectly matched with a lot of things about him.

You gave him a simple nod, “Yes, it has.”

“There are still a few customers out there, so I’ll do the last round once they leave.” you then explained and turned yourself to face the doorway that lead to the main area, attempting to peer round it so that you could see into the dinning area again and the car park through the windows.

“Any signs?”

The words left you just blinking for a moment. You had thought by taking your leave from the conversation that it would bring on its end. But now you were looking back to the man who hadn’t moved a step.

Anyone else would’ve been confused at what he had meant by that question. but you knew instantly. And even if it was your job to check, it sort of made you feel bad that you had to.

“No one came.” you stated, plain and simple so that it wouldn’t display your pity, and Mr. Fring subtly took in a deep breath, his chin only slightly raising, “Good... Go clean the empty tables.”

Now was when he was about to walk away, probably to go back to his office to make calls as a way to further check if there was any new information, but when he watched your face crinkle up in what looked like distaste at the task he had just given you.

He seemed to become a little distracted.

“Do I at least get paid more?”

Sure, Mr. Fring had a lot of encounters with many different people, each with their own separate way of approaching things, different ways of speaking.

But no one had ever attempted to talk the way that you did. Especially when in direct contact.

It was a thing that could only make him stare, even glare, in an attempt to hide his surprise. But it wouldn’t shake you. In fact all you did was shrug, “Oh, well.” you breathed out, giving him one last glance before you moved to get the cleaning supplies.

“I guess if it’s for you then I’ll do it.”

You found yourself making your way through the many hallways of Los Pollos Hermanos. An amount that after a long day made the building feel like a maze, though the size wasn’t even comparable to one.

Soon, you had located the way to your bosses door, a deep breath sucking into your lungs before you raised your hand to knock against it. The sound was the only thing that filled the hallway.

“It’s Y/n. Y/n L/n, Sir.” you called quickly, realising that at this time he was always expecting to be in danger. A mysterious knock to his door wasn’t exactly going to help with that.

It took a good minute for there to be any kind of response, but after it sounded like an object had been set down, the muffled voice finally came through the gaps of the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand grabbed at the handle, the cool metal almost shocking the warmth of your skin, before you twisted it until the door was pushable. “Hey,” you had began, ready to step into the new room. But that was quickly halted when your eyes fell on its contents.

It was very dark compared to literally any other room in the building. The walls may have been a little darker already, but because of him relying on only the light from the sun and a lamp residing on his desk, it took you a moment to actually see anything.

You cleared your throat when your gaze landed on a waiting Mr. Fring, “Sorry to interrupt-- Lyle said that you wanted to see me earlier?” you explained and finally stepped into the room so that you could close the door behind you.

“I didn’t know I had made such an impact already.”

Mr. Frings eyebrows had twitched in a way that almost wasn’t visible. However, the rest of his face didn’t change, “When accepting the job, did Ehrmantraut explain what it would hold?”

Your shoes scraped the ground as you stopped yourself about a step away from his desk. Your back straightened as you took a moment to think, “He barely does when he has an offer.” you pointed out simply, though your tone changed when you next spoke. “Was I wrong?”

“Did he mention that you would be working for me... personally?”

In that moment, you had paused for about three seconds, even if it had felt like 10 minutes in your head, as a certain word rung through your ears over and over again.

“Personally, huh...” you repeated. It tasted sweet on your lips, your mind running very fast over any of the things that it could mean. “I guess I didn’t quite catch that part... But I like the sound of it.”

Through your now, slightly, dazed state, you had missed the way Mr. Fring had lowered his head just a tad. His lips were pressed together. His eyebrows begging to furrow though he wouldn’t let them, especially when you had spoke again.

“Am I supposed to go get you stuff? Run errands, drive you places-- That kind of thing?”

The man before you almost huffed a laugh. He dipped his head as he slowly pushed back his chair. “In the future, it is possible.” Mr. Fring was now stood up from his seat, his feet taking him round his desk in such a slow pace that it had your pulse raising. “But for now we are going to my home.”

He stopped in front of you, about two and a half steps away, with that strong gaze he always held. Though this time it most definitely felt different as your breath was close to hitching, “Now I really do like the sound of this.”

In about a second, Mr. Frings body had entirely stiffened.

It was unnoticeable to people who had just met him as he was usually quite a ridged person, the wind couldn’t even sway him. But to someone that knew him enough, it was clear as day.

The intimidation he had held on his face had faded as if it had just been wiped off with a cloth. It was almost like he had forgotten how to breathe.

Suddenly, before you could clock anything, Mr. Fring turned towards his desk like there should be someone waiting on the other side. It almost startled you. But soon, a hand of his reached across the surface of the table.

“Mr. Fring?” you had questioned, any and all excitement now being swarmed by confusion.

Just as you were about to move, try to catch the look on his face, his feet had began to twist until the rest of his body urged to follow. And now, he stood, facing you once again.

His eyes were aimed at what you could now see was some kind of sticky note folded in half, and then they flicked to yours.

His chin raised until it was in level with your own and by the next time you had blinked, the note was held out in front of you.

“Read it.” was all he said when you hadn’t taken it, and after just looking at him for a moment, you sucked in a quiet breath, retrieving the paper from between his fingers.

By the time you had began unfolding it, Mr. Fring had turned once again, making his way back to his deskchair when your eyes landed on the word in black ink.

“Lakeview?” The chair squeaked beneath him as he sat, but besides that he didn’t even bother to look up. He simply grabbed a pen and dragged a clipboard in front of his eyes.

“Am I allowed to ask, or is this going to be a game of hard to get?” The urge to smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth when the tip of his pen visibly stilled. Though, when Mr. Frings head slowly raised as if it was in slow motion, that feeling had stopped in a instant.

His eyes were almost harsh when they met with yours, as if they could pierce right through your own. They never moved and as time passed, he hadn’t even blinked. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

It was a warning. He knew it, you knew it.

So, guess his surprise when the only thing you had done in response was, once again, simply shrug your shoulders.

His whole body froze like it had done before, though this time he hadn’t broken the eye contact.

Every other person he had met, even ones that worked for him, crumbled under his gaze when someone had pressed his patience or authority. They would look away, forget how to speak, or quickly turn on their feet to do whatever he had asked.

But not you.

Your shoes were planted in the same place as before until you wanted them to move.

“You know, I do like a good game, Mr. Fring.” It was so silent in that room that it was like you could physically see your words pierce through the air. A pin could drop and the sound could be heard as if it was played through a thousand speakers. “I think having an opponent like you is going to be great fun.”

That was when you had officially turned on your heel. The smirk broke across your lips the moment you faced the door, and even more so when it had opened.

By the time you were back in the hallway, sifting the post-it back and forth between your fingers, the image of Mr. Frings expression was clear in your mind in a way that made it so hard to not laugh.

His lips were parted. Every muscle in his face looked as if it had been frozen in time, tense. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

He almost lost the grip he had on his pen.

You ended up back in the main area of the restaurant, your eyes being hit with a much dimmer colour this time as the sun began to hide.

All the tables had already been cleared earlier by you, and Mr. Fring when he couldn’t keep his mind occupied. The customers had gone home, hopefully pleased with their meals, which let an almost eerie silence hang in the air as the other employees had left too.

You moved through the rows of tables, searching for even the slightest speck of dirt or trail of crumbs that would set a certain man off if he saw. But there was nothing.

It had all been more than thoroughly cleaned.

So, you ended up by the table next to the entrance, a slight sigh huffing through your nose. Your body wound round the back of bench closest to the door, a hand reaching for the red blinds that covered the window.

Your fingers parted two of the slats, and you made yourself slightly lean over the bench so that you could get closer to the glass that lay beneath the blinds.

Upon first glance of the world outside, everything seen was slowly being engulfed by the black mass of night. One so deep that it had started to prevent the ability to see the horizon.

The only car in the parking lot was Mr. Frings, coloured in such a way that it would’ve been invisible in the evening light if it wasn’t for the reflections from the surrounding lamps.

There was no one in the car, no one outside of it, and no other vehicle stalking around, as the rest were just general cars that passed by on the main road, and that was now like every 10-15 minutes.

After making sure that there was complete satisfaction with the fact that there was not a singular person in the vicinity, you let the slats set back into the original places, stepping away from the window so you could make your way through the restaurant.

Again.

The sigh that left your mouth this time was of relief when you opened the door, to what would be a supply closet for anyone else. There they were, sat in the neatest pile you could be bothered to put them in. Your clothes.

Pretty much the only item of your own that you got to keep during the day was your shoes, so when that sweet sweet fabric was in your hands, it was utter peace. Paradise. Like reuniting with a long lost lover.

Upon imagining how a person would look standing in the middle of a closet and practically cradling a set of clothes, however, you straightened yourself up into the usual guard posture, any remnants of excitement fading from your face.

And then you swivelled on your foot, leaving the closet like you had never even been in there.

By the time you had gotten to the front of the restaurant all over again, the clothing happily held in your hand, it seemed that a certain Mr. Fring had beat you to it.

There was no way to tell if he had disliked having to stand there waiting as his head was directed towards the window you had been look through before, his hands clasped behind his back that made him properly appear like a business man.

Or just an old man.

If you could see his face however, you thought that you would’ve seen that usual, intentionally, blank expression. A theory that was then proven to be true when you had stopped by his side. You cleared your throat, “I take it we’re going to yours now?”

His spine straightened in about a second when your voice found his ears. He had gotten lost, his gaze consumed by the endless possibilities of what waited for him outside the restaurant.

But in the next second, by the next time he had breathed, his body twisted towards you like he had been standing like that the whole time. The previous vacant look that carried across his face was replaced by a smile, though his eyes had not changed.

And that was it. That was all you got.

Mr. Fring passed right by you without another word, his footsteps echoing around the unsettlingly empty room, before he made his way through the door with the exit sign shining above it.

When it had closed again, further encasing the restaurant in a strong silence, you had begun to blink, your brain at least attempting to process what had just happened.

However, the longer you stood there, the further away Mr. Fring became, and by now he was on the path between the rows of parking spaces. Getting closer and closer to his car.

You almost stumbled over your feet as you made your way over to the exit yourself.

The door opened in a flash, engulfing your skin in the night air, and you were about to continue walking... Until you heard the jingle in your pocket. “Shit.”

There was a meeting that you had with Mike about a day prior. He gave a run down of the usual stuff that went down in Los Pollos Hermanos and, at least, the basic duties that the boss would have you do.

You were given a set of keys, each for pretty much any place that Mr. Fring had access to himself. Now it seemed that he was testing your memory.

After glancing back at Mr. Fring, you let out a hushed grunt, pulling the keys out of your pocket from under your apron, and then turned back to the door, locking it in a speed that should’ve gained you an award.

You swivelled round after doing a test pull on the handle and basically began jogging to catch the man who was now very close to that blue vehicle.

But just as the distance was beginning to shorten, a few things began piecing together.

The sudden change, the smile that he used on other employees, something that he hadn’t used on you all day until it was time to leave the safety of the restaurant.

You understood that he would have to put on an act at some point, sure. Though apparently it hadn’t occurred to you what that would mean until now.

He was the boss, and you were just some random guy who had a job in his business.

That doesn’t exactly give the right to catch a ride with him, now did it?

“Uh, Mr. Fring?”

The man himself had just placed a hand on the roof of his vehicle. His eyes were once again aimed into the distance, and it took about five seconds to get himself back as he then turned to you, the same smile taking over his lips, “Yes, Y/n?”

“I believe that I’m supposed to be getting picked up on something called Lakeview. Would you happen to know where that is?”

It wasn’t a name for a person, as you knew for a fact that if the man in front of you had a target of any kind he would just straight up say it, and it wasn’t going to be a place because Mike would’ve at least said something.

It was a pickup point.

Mr. Frings chin slowly raised. And now, with the smile that took over his lips, his eyes seemed to crinkle with it, “Lakeview road?”

Your spine straightened, all the air coming into your lungs feeling like it was on hold, especially when you nodded your head as a commitment to your idea.

Mr. Fring simply turned his head upon the confirmation, and he pointed towards the road on the other side of the main one, which was directly across from the proper entrance of Los Pollos Hermanos.

You squinted your eyes after following the direction, trying to see the road that was partially illuminated by a streetlight as your shoulders attempted to ease from the previous tension.

And then you spotted it. A car parked beside the red fencing.

It was one that you didn’t recognise, but still.

You were right.

In order to keep the smug look off of your face, you lightly bowed your head when your attention went back to your boss. “Thank you, Sir.” you said and Mr. Fring simply copied your previous movement before finally opening his door.

“Have a good night.”

By the time his car had left the grounds of Los Pollos Hermanos, you had made it to the edge of the main road. You were stood on the concrete sidewalk, a streetlight towering over your head as you looked back and forth to gage where any oncoming traffic was.

You only had to do it once for each side, tonight apparently being a night where not many people were aiming to travel.

So on you went, now jogging across the two lanes until you got to the other side like that one chicken did. Your shoed feet were met with a mix of sand and stones this time as there was no sidewalk to even the ground.

And then there it was in front of you.

A blue RAV4.

The driver must have sensed the new presence as within the next second, the door on their side had opened, a scene that had your feet slowing by the time the figure was out of the car.

It was a woman. One you had seen in a picture when Mike showed members of the crew working for Mr. Fring. Mrs. Ryman? Her and her husband were the people ‘occupying’ the safe house.

“Mr. L/n?” she questioned, and as soon as you gave her a nod of confirmation, she immediately proceeded to walk to the back of the car before any sort of question could fall from your lips.

She grabbed the handle on the left side of the door and pulled on it until it was open about half way so that your eyes could cast onto whatever was inside. You almost tilted your head like a dog.

There, in the back of a damn car, laying on his side very uncomfortably, was none other than Mike Ehrmantraut himself.

It all made sense.

It was late at night. Mr. Fring had now left Los Pollos Hermanos, meaning that if anyone was watching him, they would have followed his car to see where he was going next.

None one was watching you.

The urge to laugh was fighting itself way up your throat, but you took a deep breath in through your nose and let yourself walk forward when Mrs. Ryman had turned to you expectantly.

“You didn’t have another one of those sandwiches today, did you?” A grunt followed your words as you practically shoved yourself into the trunk of this random car, and shifted until the left side of your body was fully pressing into Mike’s.

The door was only just able to close again.

The surroundings were plunged into darkness. A few beams of light managed to filtered through the gaps in the backseats and the trunk cover enough so that you could make out the face of the man before you as you dropped your pile of close on your lap.

“I see you worked it out.”

Your body felt like it sunk into the walls of the car though it had barely moved, your hands raising to rub at the skin of your face either in disbelief or tiredness, “I will admit that I thought you were talking about an actual lake at first.”

Mike huffed a laugh at that, the two of you slightly rocking together when the car started backing up. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to find one.”

“Me too.”

Despite the fact that you were currently sat, cramped, in the back of a car. There was a feeling of comfort that had been kept from you throughout the day. Especially now that Mike was with you.

He might’ve been a man that has killed multiple people, and is not afraid to do the same to more... but so are you.

When you are on the right side, his right side, he’s just another old guy that you would see walking down the street, or sitting in a restaurant.

Being in this business meant needing to keep connections with certain people hidden so that they wouldn’t end up getting hurt as a result of someone trying to prove a point.

He was the closest thing to family.

Mike let one of those deep breaths seep through his nose, and you swear it almost sounded like the huff of a dragon. His head leaned back into the wall behind him. “How’s Gus?”

Ah. The question you knew was bound to be asked soon.

You shuffled slightly even if it wouldn’t do much, more scared of accidently kicking Mike in the ribs than anything else now. “Obsessed with me.”

The look Mike gave you was one that you could feel even if you couldn’t properly see it, and you tried not to smile as you fiddled with label of the shirt you held. The man most definitely rolled his eyes. “No, no... He’s obsessed with everything else to be honest.”

A sigh passed from your lips into the air inside the car.

Your head shook, a mixture of emotions filtering through your body as your mind reminded itself of Mr. Frings previous behaviour. “He really wants him to just show up already, but... man, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s actually prepared for that.”

“Well. That’s why you’re there.”

You tried to fully sit upright, only getting about half way before you looked at Mike with narrowed eyes, “Yeah, about that-- You know, when you said that you needed my skills, I was thinking more along the lines of stakeouts or surveillance stuff, or like... having me fight someone at least.”

“I didn’t exactly prepare to become a janitor.”

The car was most definitely somewhere down the main road by now. Mike’s head remained where it was, not even bothering to tilt it in your direction when he next spoke as he simply closed his eyes instead. “Still part of the job.”

You stifled a scoff, just watching the man when he attempted to cross his arms over his chest. “Gives you more acting lessons too.” Mike then added and you supressed the urge to kick him, more like nudge him, with your foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You’re still paying me more.”

The sky above was pitch black by the time of arrival on Jefferson Street. The quiet outside, the warmth of the car, and the general darkness worked together in a way that was the opposite for most people.

The distance between Los Pollos Hermanos and Mr. Frings house was far enough that if there was a kid sitting in one of the backseats they would be in a deep sleep.

But as an adult, you were wide awake. Especially when you felt the car begin to slow after a turn.

You attempted to prop yourself up from your slouched position, your eyes trying to find an angle where you could see out the window, despite the fact that it was very much impossible to do from inside a trunk.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Mike assured, observing your many attempts at moving. You sunk back, mirroring his position when you hit into the wall of the car, “And how do you know that?”

As if on cue, the ride to the house seemed to have come to an end. The car stopped, again slightly jolting the two of you together. “We’re in the garage.” The monotonous edge to his voice was audible more than ever.

You could only blink for a moment as the muffled sound of someone getting out of the car echoed through what most definitely was a garage. “Jeez-- How many times have you had to do this?” you questioned, and it had Mike’s head shaking in a second, a grunt rumbling through his throat.

The door beside you finally opened, and though you had to squint due to the sudden light, you swung your legs to the side, eagerly pushing yourself out of the trunk.

“Oh, man.” you breathed out once on your own two feet, and moved to the side so that Mike could get himself up while you stretched your arms high above your head in a way that your spine needed very much. “Do we really have to do that every time?”

“It’s the safest way.” Mike insisted as he closed up the car and your head shook, “Seriously?” But he ignored you, starting to walk through the garage. “Follow me.”

Even after a ride like that it was immediately work time.

You wanted to complain until you couldn’t speak anymore, but nevertheless you complied and followed behind the man like a duckling does with its mother.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered around the room when Mike opened the door to what was originally a living room, “Hey, Mike.” a man had called, and Ehrmantraut started to spark up a conversation.

However, when your gaze landed on the desk that his friend was sat at, your brain seemed to tune it out.

There was about about seven different monitors on and working. Each screen displayed a shot from wherever the camera was placed. It varied from the entrance and exits of this house to what you assumed was Mr. Frings.

But even then they seemed to changed at the click of a button to an entirely different location.

Maybe he was prepared.

“L/n.”

Your eyes snapped to the door way to find Mike stood about halfway through it. He tilted his head to the side and you began walking all over again when you realised what he meant.

So, now, he lead you through the hallways of the house. You nodded at anyone you passed, seemingly understanding the tired look on their faces though this was your first proper day.

Eventually you found yourself in the basement of the house, and while Mike continued through the room, your feet slowed on the platform before the last two steps, your eyes yet again being consumed by the new atmosphere.

This was where the couple stayed after doing their daily appearance out of the house, as the rest was swarmed by a bunch of dudes.

They had most of the stuff they need. They had cupboards, a kitchen area along the furthest wall, a clothing wrack. There was a king sized bed, and a table to your right where they could sit and do whatever they wanted if they weren’t upstairs at this time.

And though your mind practically begged you to continue looking around. A certain question sprung through your thoughts.

“Listen, I appreciate the fact that there are a lot of things you can’t tell me about this job,” you began, a hand placing down on the little railing, “But am allowed to ask why you have just lead me into a basement?”

Ehrmantraut was now stood in front of the big shelf that sat at the corner of the right wall. It extended to the ceiling but the width was about 4 columns worth. Your eyebrows were quick to furrow when he reached for one of the shelves.

Even more so when quiet beeps sounded from what only could be a keypad.

“Mike?” you had questioned, a mild laziness to your voice as your brain consumed itself with finding the source of noise. And then your feet finally moved, allowing you off of the platform, onto the carpet.

But it seemed you had stopped as fast as you had started.

Your body almost jolted when a mechanical sound pierced through the air, and soon, Mike grabbed onto the middle divider with both hands, beginning to pull on it as hard as he could.

A rumbling rippled through the floor you stood on as the shelf scuffed against the carpet, and despite your disbelief, the mechanism disconnected from the first column of shelf.

It was opening like a natural door would. There was certain things on shelves that shook with the movement, though others appeared as if they had been glued down. Just there for decoration.

It wasn’t until the shelf door was turned as much as it could against it’s hinges that your eyes allowed you to focused on what lay beneath it. Your jaw almost dropped.

It was a tunnel.

There was a goddamn tunnel that connected this house to the next.

“No way.”

Mike didn’t have to tell you twice when he signalling for you to follow him this time, and upon going through the doorway, turning into the passage, it almost gave you chills.

But that was more due to the fact that the temperature was different than in the house.

The walls of the tunnel were a grey concrete. One rose higher than the other leading the ceiling to have to curve to meet with them both, and support beams, the same colour as the walls they were up against, were placed about two steps apart, the lights situated between them.

Not even a deep breath could ease the speed of your heart. In fact the closer the journey was to its end, the faster it went.

So, when the back of, what you were assuming was, the same mechanism as in the previous house was now right in front of Mike, your shoulders fought to lower.

There was a combination of knocks that the man did against the smooth door. A sound that echoed through your ears over and over again the way ripples moved in water.

Mike took about a step back with a sniff when muffled beeps came through the, practically invisible, cracks of the door, and your body instinctively straightened like a soldier in front of their commander.

The door had opened.

There was no reasoning for the way you felt right then and there.

You had met Mr. Fring earlier. You had seen him, you had spoken, exchanged even informal parts of conversation, and have stood beside each other on multiple occasions.

So why, as you stared back at the man who was now revealed in one of his usual suits, was it like your lungs had forgotten their very function.

Mr. Fring gave Mike a nod to which the man did the same, and before you knew it, with a clear of his throat, Ehrmantraut turned on his feet, beginning to make his way back through the tunnel.

Your lips parted as you watched him go, though no words could even try to roll off of your tongue. The scuff of his shoes were the only thing to echo through the air, so when that familiar voice broke through, it had your head turning back within seconds.

“L/n.”

His eyes were already on yours by the time you were back to your original stance.

Your eyebrows were raised, a mixture of eagerness and excitement rumbling through your chest and ears when he tilted his head to the side. A gesture that Mike had used earlier to get you to follow him. “Come in.”

Just you and Mr. Fring.

“I’ll show you around.”

#gustavo fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring x male reader #gus fring x reader #better call saul #better call saul x reader #mike ehrmantraut #male reader #bcs

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