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!
I'm not even sure if anyway will see this at this point so i'm going to keep this short and simple, but as genuine as I can make it. Starting with the very much needed apology to the people on here.
I lost the ability to use the device i liked writing on the most a while back and that apparently ended up fusing to my writers block at the time. I really don't why but it just sort of made me give up and i stopped writing all together.
I know you guys aren't like dependent on the work I put out and such, however quite a few people were already waiting on requests at that time, and some of you have sent more in while i've been away cause i forgot to remove the open requests thing from my bio. Completely on me btw do not worry!!!!
I will 1000% be writing again and more importantly get through the things people have sent in. Even the older ones. Though, I honestly might go back over some of my posts first and re-edit them as a way to get me back into the swing of things. If that makes sense.
Either way, I truly mean it with my whole heart when I say that I'm so unbelievably sorry to those I left just waiting. Especially for that amount of time my gosh, it was not intentional at all.
I hope at least that you guys are well and that this next year will treat you even better than the last. Very very sorry folks. - Alex :(
Request: Logan with a m!reader who has insomnia/just can’t sleep?? I can’t sleep, but I’m never sure if it’s insomnia because other times I sleep just fine. maybe it’s anxiety, idk - but sometimes I think all those problems would go away if I just had a big fluffy man to cuddle on, y’know??
Warnings: none.
A/n: this might be the shortest fic I have ever written. This request is so unbelievably real. As always, be aware that my characterisation of Logan may be a little off as I'm still getting used to writing for him, and that there may be spelling mistakes and such as I can tend to miss them.
To the person that sent this in I hope this is what you were asking for, and that you enjoy it!
The same goes for everyone else!!
Logan masterlist.
The awareness of time had been lost. It had been hours at this point. The only certain thing was that the night had taken over the sky.
Your room was cascaded in the usual darkness, except for a few streams of the outside light that escaped through a parting of the curtains. Apparently they hadn't been closed right.
To put it simply, you were wide awake in a bed that practically served no purpose.
Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling. There was no particular reason. I mean, there wasn't anything to look at anyway, it was just plain white. A shade that was really starting to get boring.
But alas, every attempt at peeling your gaze from it or even just shutting your eyes had failed. Similar to the effort to sleep.
Multiple times the rustling of the bed sheets would crackle through the air as your limbs shifted across the mattress, though the only thing really achieved was discovering a new position.
Eventually, your back was the last option left. So, there you were, stuck facing upward while your hands sat on top of each other on your chest. You could feel it rise and fall. Even the faintest beats of your heart.
And it still didn't work.
An exhale parted your lips after sucking in through your nose. There was one more try for comfort, your shoulders sort of rubbing into the bed as if they were the source of the problem.
“Can't sleep?”
You blinked initially, the sound almost delayed in your ears as your senses weren’t as active as they were before.
Soon, your head loosely lolled to the side, at most an attempt to send a simple glance at the man. Though, it remained when you had met with his dark eye.
Only one was on display; the other engulfed by the pillow. He lay opposite you, in more ways than one. He was on his stomach as he peered at you, eyelids visibly heavy; each blink lasted longer than the next.
“Did I wake you?” you whispered.
Logan sort of huffed at that, warm air shooting from his nose. “Well, someone kicked me in the leg.”
The side of your face fully pressed into your pillow, chin lowering, so that you could face him enough. “I did?” You were cringing, concerned gaze fixating on Logan while he slowly but surely started to twist his body round with an equal amount of groans.
There was almost a sigh of relief when he had landed on his back, his body bouncing just a tad from the sudden movement. “Don’t worry about it.” he offered with some gruffness, his lack of energy seeming to affect his use of tone.
It had you just looking at him for a moment. Watching the last few times he blinked before his eyes decided to stay closed. You hummed for a response, a sound so light it had barely even made its way through your throat.
And then you were back to facing that dreaded ceiling. It almost annoyed you by how smooth it looked. Didn’t even look like it had been painted, even if it had; there were no streaks or imperfections. Just purely white.
“What’s wrong?”
This time, you didn’t budge. “Nothing.” you practically whispered. “You sure?” Logan was quick to ask, seeming to shuffle around a little bit as the bed creaked, “I personally don’t find a ceiling all that interesting.”
The tensity in your muscles eased, especially in your face, when you allowed your head to turn. Yet again.
He was looking at you through almost half lidded eyes. Though, his eyebrows were raised, inviting your answers. You sighed, trying to think of the right words to use before your lips inevitably parted.
“My brain’s too loud.”
It was the only way you could describe it. I mean, the room engulfing the two of you was silent. Completely silent. There were no sounds of birds from outside, or wind. Not even a car driving passed on the road.
If a pin had been dropped in any corner of the room, maybe even right down the hallway, you would have heard it. Thus, it was all from your head.
Logan seemed to sit up a little at that. The movement wasn’t so much in his body than it was his head as it raised slightly from the pillow beneath. “D’you wanna talk about it?”
You could’ve pictured the expression on his face if you hadn’t already been looking at it; the furrowing of his eyebrows, the squint of his eyes, the light frown that dragged the corners of his lips. Now, he was awake.
You shook your head, as much as you could in your position. “It’s just annoying.” you confessed, grabbing onto Logan’s hand when he reached over.
Initially it was aimed towards your face, but you held it instead. You needed something in your hand; to feel it. “I’m so tired, but when I try to sleep nothing happens, you know?”
“It’s the one thing I should be able to do– like everyone else, and I just… I can’t. I can’t get myself to stop thinking.”
Logan’s other hand came up from somewhere under the sheet, dragging along the bedding until it could finally make contact with your face. An exhale instinctively huffed through your nose at the touch, and the feeling of his warm fingers. He caressed along your cheekbone. “Come here.”
You stared back at him for a moment, his features barely visible in the few streams of light until it got to his shining eyes.
Logan let go of you for a moment, grabbing at the dog tags around his neck before pulling it to the side. And then he held his arms out, proving that he meant it.
You complied.
Your head ended up landing on his chest, mostly because he guided it there himself, and it was almost instantly that your body melted onto his.
You could feel his arms encasing you, finding their wanted positions just like yours were, though eventually his hands had settled around your shoulders.
His heartbeat was right in your ear; the slow rhythm of it, the thuds themselves. Truthfully, even if none of this helped you to sleep, you still wouldn’t mind listening to it until the sun came up.
“There’s nothing to worry about now,” Logan insisted with a breath that raised you with his chest. He pressed a kiss to your head before leaning his chin against it, “It can wait until morning.”
“I can’t just shut my mind off, Logan–”
“It can wait.” he maintained, tightening his hold on you as he shifted slightly on the bed.
It had you wanting to roll your eyes. To shake your head, maybe even roll off of him completely, but there was something about it that made it impossible to do so.
You were surrounded by his warmth. His arms. Him. He had given his body to lean on, and offered the sound of his heart right to you; a sound you don’t get to hear very often. There was no chance that you were moving.
By the next exhale, your head had sunk further into the bare skin of his chest. The two of you practically melded together.
Your fingers lightly traced along the back of his arm, following the edge of his muscles as the sound of his breaths filled your ears. “Thank you.” you whispered after a moment, finally letting your eyes fall closed.
Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.
◉ My hero. (Gender Neutral reader)
Summary: Logan finds out that you got into an accident on your way home and rushes to find the hospital you had been taken to.
◉ The habit. (Male Reader)
Request: was wondering if you'd write a little something with wolverine and a male reader who has a really huge nail biting problem (me fr). possibly also the reader is always hiding his hands from logan due to insecurity.
◉ A partner in the dark. (Male reader)
Request: Logan with a m!reader who has insomnia/just can’t sleep?? I can’t sleep, but I’m never sure if it’s insomnia because other times I sleep just fine. maybe it’s anxiety, idk - but sometimes I think all those problems would go away if I just had a big fluffy man to cuddle on, y’know??
Request: was wondering if you'd write a little something with wolverine and a male reader who has a really huge nail biting problem (me fr). possibly also the reader is always hiding his hands from logan due to insecurity.
Warnings: mentions of dermatillomania, nail biting, descriptions of blood and scabs.
A/n: I myself do not bite my nails, so the portrayal of it in this may be completely off, and if done horribly please let me know.
I do go through my writing for spelling mistakes but I may miss some, so please keep that in mind. As well as the fact that I am still new-ish at writing for Logan, so he may be out of character.
Enjoy!!
Logan masterlist.
It was supposed to be just another generic day at the school.
A day that would start and end like any other; filled with the same old schedule.
Every week had been identical, the way it usually was in a term, though a new one was approaching.
As of now, it had been about a good twenty minutes since the meeting had first started. Xavier had called all the teachers to his office with his mind trick, that always seemed to make you jump out of your skin.
Initially, it was the usual chatter, a chance for all of you to catch up during the busy day. Until the news was finally dropped.
The schedules were changing.
In Xavier's words, some of the classes were going to be swapped around due to an apparent decrease in students' productivity in the original arrangements… or something along those lines.
It made sense. It was something that you had even noticed in your own classes, though you had just thought that it was because summer was pretty much on the horizon. You thought you had more time left to prepare, maybe even a week or so.
But the new schedule was set to be tested and finalised after this weekend rolled by.
It was unclear when the zoning out had originally begun. At this point, you had completely tuned out of the conversation, the surrounding voices grown into this distant sound. Almost as if they were from miles away.
Your body was stiff. Close to being completely rigid if it wasn't for the ripple effect created by your leg that was bouncing like mad.
You could still feel them, the way your fingers were twitching beneath the thighs you had trapped them under. It was to conceal them, hold them in place so they couldn't go to their wanted destination, but that just made them pick at each other instead.
All of your general awareness had gone out the window. You couldn’t remember what time it was, when this meeting had even started, or how long you had been sitting there.
Though, it wasn't like you were trying to. Each time a different thought appeared anyway, it would get lost just as it created a new fiery panic within your chest.
Your mutation had nothing to do with minds, but it felt like you could see right into your own. And it wasn’t pretty.
“Y/n.”
You blinked, finally relieving your dried out eyes.
It took a moment, but the voices around you were starting to become coherent again. You could identify who they had come from, and that particular one, however, hadn’t come from someone's mouth.
By the time your gaze had properly refocused, your head had turned just a little to the right. Your eyes met instantly. That look was on his face, prominent though probably invisible to any other person.
Xavier.
You had told him not to use that trick on you alone. It sort of gave you the creeps most of the time, especially because he could simply see inside your head whenever he wanted, even if he insisted that it was only used when necessary.
A breath sucked slowly into your lungs as your spine started to straighten, soon adopting the kind of posture that everyone else in the room seemed to have. One filled with a sense of ease.
You held that gaze of his for a few more seconds, managing to press a sort of short smile onto your lips. And then you bailed, trying to find something else to focus on that wasn’t just another wall.
Eventually, and thankfully, the meeting came to a close. Everyone had started getting up one by one, having received their own refurbished schedules for the upcoming week of change.
Charles indeed tried to get your attention at one point. He did a subtle gesture, trying to get you to come over, but you had shaken your head.
Even miming some nonsense about having stuff to take care of, regardless of the fact that you knew he could see right through it.
You made sure to be one of the first people out the door, joining in when the light small talk had erupted until everyone went their separate ways.
Truthfully, you had nowhere to be. There were only a few more classes left for today, and yours had been done and dusted, which meant that your time was now free.
And usually, in moments like these, you would end up going to your batcave. Maybe even slouch in the day room for a bit while some of the kids did homework or watched one of their shows on TV.
But now, you were just sort of… wandering.
There was no set destination, or a general direction, regardless of how many hallways you had turned into at this point. None of it really mattered anyway. Your attention wasn’t exactly focused on your surroundings.
In fact, your eyes had been glued to that stupid paper this entire time, reading the same lines over and over again. Especially the different set of times that sat right next to your name.
And if that wasn’t enough, there was added information that the original room for your class was going to be renovated. Which meant that you were going to have to use a completely different one.
It may only be for one lesson, as that kind of thing wouldn't take long considering certain people’s skills and mutations. But the thought of it still had this huff of air pushing through your lips.
Your eyebrows were furrowed, gaze becoming even more distasteful, as the grip held on the paper was slowly making it start to crumple.
Only one day.
“Y’all set?”
The sudden sound had your feet halting within seconds, allowing a release from the pages that once held you captive. Your head turned, trying to locate the source, though there was another movement within that.
It was one that would’ve gone completely unnoticed if it wasn’t for the speed in which your arm had slammed into your side, or how fast your lips had pressed together seconds after.
You had been biting your nail.
“Shit, Logan,” you breathed out, attempting to subtly move that hand behind your back as he took a step forward. “I didn’t even see you there.”
The man himself had been standing in a doorway to your right, leant against the frame with his arms crossed. Like he had been expecting you.
He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Honestly, I didn’t think you would.” Logan joked, wearing that smug smile of his.
Though, when he actually took a look at you, that amusement slowly dwindled.
See, your eyes were held in this kind of wide way. It was an attempt to make it seem like you were focused, that you were paying attention, that everything was just normal… which didn’t appear to have worked considering Logan’s eyebrows were now furrowed.
“Yeah, sorry, I was… reading.” you tried to explain, raising the paper up for him to see. But he never looked at it. His gaze was fixated on yours, almost becoming narrowed as time went on.
He hummed a response about five seconds later, a weak attempt at acknowledging the explanation he definitely wasn’t buying.
And thus, this layer of silence was created. At least between the two of you. There was still some distant chatter from each end of the hall, joined by muffled footsteps as kids were beginning to go to their next classes.
But no words had fallen from either pair of lips.
The look on Logan’s face was almost expectant, like you were supposed to give him a further explanation. Or maybe it was a signal to start talking in the first place. I mean, you usually did after a meeting, as the sudden seriousness they held always created a sense of whiplash.
“So–”
“Are you–”
The two of you paused, blinking at each other for a few seconds until Logan’s mouth opened again. But you beat him to it, “Sorry, look– I’d… I’d like to stay and chat, but, I, uh– I’ve got some stuff to do, you know? I’ve got to prepare for my next class, and… stuff.”
“Oh.” Logan cleared his throat, pursing his lips as he gave a short stiff nod, “Alright,” he accepted through a breath, but that narrowed gaze of his was still very much there.
“Alright.” you repeated, giving a sharp smile and a nod of your own, before turning to continue your previous movements down the hall.
~~~
The world outside had grown dark by now, the moon beginning to take its rightful place in the sky just as you had done with your bed.
Faint music danced quietly throughout the room. The words of which were familiar, as was the tune being carried through the speaker, but it almost sounded like a completely different language.
You sat with your back leant against the coolness of the wooden headboard, knees raised up yet not close enough that they could hug at your chest.
In hand was a book surrounding your subject. An attempt to ease your mind; allow yourself to get lost in the different passages, while preparing for your next classes at the same time. Though, now, the pages were aimed at the ceiling.
Your eyes were no longer cast upon them.
Again. It had taken you out of nowhere. It had crept; slowly sliding itself into your ability to focus until you couldn’t even follow a singular line. And by that point, it was too late.
Originally, it was the lack of light that had caught your attention. There was only one source that could illuminate the area, a lamp on your bedside table, which meant that this darkness had seeped into the corners of the room.
It almost resembled an abyss. It was pitch black, almost deep looking as if a portal had opened up, awaiting your presence. And instead of leading you to some cool dimension, all it did was offer a one way ticket back into your mind.
The main source of botherment was the difference in classroom. It was such a minor thing, a change that only really meant that it would take longer to get to certain places, and affect the routes you usually took. An inconvenience at best.
Just a small adjustment that every other person in that room had simply nodded to; accepted.
But now, confined by the walls of this lonely room, you were stuck. It felt larger somehow. As if your whole routine had been ruined from a simple set of words, and a damn piece of paper.
You hadn’t realised the edge of your nail was between your teeth until a pattern of knocks echoed from somewhere. “Y/n?” More so because it made your body jolt, jabbing a tooth right under it. Air sucked sharply into your lungs.
“Who is it?” you called after clearing your throat, attempting to stifle a wince as you looked down at your hand. There was nothing there apart from the indent, but who knows how long that was going to last.
“It’s Logan.”
When the door inevitably opened, you were faced with the same issue again; a set of perceptive eyes. It would’ve been too obvious if you hid it behind your back for a second time. Thus, your thumb was tucked under the rest of the fingers, careful to avoid the tip.
You adjusted the grip on the book, making sure that the pages were back in a believable direction, right as a head popped round the corner. His eyes scanned over the contents of the room until they landed on you. “Hey.”
Logan took about a step forward so that the rest of his body was in line with the doorframe, and then he leant against it, maintaining his hold on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”
His voice made your eyebrows twitch a little, mostly the sound of it. It was quieter than usual. An uncertain meaning, considering the fact that he could’ve just done it because he wanted to. But you swore it sounded almost…cautious.
“Sure.”
Logan moved instantly, closing the door behind him. You pulled at different parts of the duvet that had been bunched up from your presence, and let one of your legs ease down to the mattress just as he had appeared beside it.
He lowered himself down, a grunt rumbling in his throat until it eased into a sigh once he had officially sat. He really was an old man. You watched as he got himself comfortable, subtly moving the book to cover your hand.
“So,” Logan started after clearing his throat, turning a little so that most of his body was aimed in your direction, “... How’s it going?”
There was something off about him. He was almost awkward. His posture fell sort of rigid, and a certain look held onto his features. But it was mostly within his eyes. Again, a sense of expectancy. Though, this time, overshadowed by what looked like concern.
“... Good?” you answered slowly, unsure of what the true response should be, and tipped the book so that the cover was shown to Logan. Even if it was upside down, “I’m just reading.”
“Still?” Logan questioned, gaze narrowing, to which you initially only nodded at until you got his meaning. You huffed a slight laugh, “It’s an actual book this time. Just some new material for my class.” you explained, returning the hardback to its original position.
“Good.” This time he had actually looked at it. “That’s great.” he said, nodding his head a few times to convey sincerity to the point that it just looked forced. It had you humming in response, not entirely satisfied by his performance.
Is this how he felt earlier?
“What is it?”
Logan’s eyebrows sort of raised at that. Your voice was direct, deeper. The tone of which was almost knowing, as if he had been sussed out the second he stepped into the room. It was close to being relieving, if it wasn’t for what was going to follow.
He took a moment, a quiet breath sucking into his lungs as the words formed in his mind. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
It sounded like a confession from how it exhaled out of him, phrased unlike a question. You swallowed, “About what?”
“Well, for starters, I haven’t exactly seen you in a while,” he pointed out, even gesturing a little with his hand as if it was the most obvious thing. “I didn’t think you were one to skip out on dinner.”
Whatever defence that readied itself at the tip of your tongue had been halted. Your lips remained parted for a good few seconds, your mouth starting to feel dry. “... What? No… no, I didn’t.” You spoke slowly, the confusion lacing every word. Logan nodded his head. “Uh, yeah… Yeah, you did.”
You took a glance at the window, looking at the world outside as if it could prove him wrong, but it was already dark out there. That was recent… wasn’t it?
By the next time Logan had blinked, your wrist was almost right in front of your face. You were scowling down at the watch clipped onto it, the expression only deepening when your eyes had focused on the placement of the hands.
10:36
“What?” you practically whispered at this point, bringing it even closer like your vision was the problem. There was just no way.
Were the clocks set back? Did you put it at the wrong time? Oh my god, could you time travel?
Your eyes snapped back to Logan, an endless river of questions about to spill their way out from your lips. And then a hand grasped onto your wrist. Your mouth didn’t even get a chance to open.
In about a second, your arm had been pulled towards him. He had even shuffled closer, making sure that the rest of your body wasn’t yanked with the movement. “Logan, what are you…” Every muscle tensed. But your expression had completely dropped.
He was looking at your nails.
See, when you had checked your watch, your fingers had curled instinctively into a fist. It put them right on display.
He almost didn’t see it at first. They were shadowed, blocked from the light in a way that made him think it was just the colour of your skin. And then he noticed a darker spec, a tiny little spot from his distance.
Then there was another, and another, until he realised that there were multiple on each finger.
The initial grab was to bring the hand into light, to check it out and maybe even wipe whatever that stuff was. I mean, you hadn’t noticed it yourself. Yet now, he was staring.
They were scabs. Most of them anyway.
“What the hell?”
It took a few tries, and a good few twists, before you managed to pull your arm free. It smacked right onto your chest, your wide eyes stuck on the man in front of you.
All of the nails were short to the point that the white parts were almost completely gone. The edges were mostly jagged, uneven, and enough so at particular points that the bed beneath was almost on display. It was bright red. Recently damaged.
The skin surrounding them seemed more like they had been picked at, considering the difference in scabbing. But the main source of Logan’s concern was the thumb. Fresh blood had collected under what was left of the nail, and was continuing to do so. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” you insisted a little too quickly, still trying to find a way to hide the hand even if it was meaningless. “You’re bleeding.” Logan stated blatantly, and you shook your head, committing to the act of feigning innocence, “I said, it’s nothing, Logan.”
All it did was make the cogs turn in his head.
At first, he had assumed the reluctance was due to shame: you didn’t want it to be seen, or were embarrassed by how you got them. How it looked. And though, that may play a part, that wasn’t the answer.
Logan’s eyes remained on the hidden hand, his mouth parted and faltering, until his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you…” He looked to you, “Did you do that?”
You knew this was going to happen. Someone was going to find out, one way or another, and have that look of pity as if they couldn’t understand why a person would do something like that. You couldn’t stand that look.
“Will you just drop it already?” You were tired, the day of stress finally catching up to you. “As I said, it’s nothing… okay? It.. It’s just a little habit that I picked up– Nothing drastic.” you insisted.
“I think that’s more than a little habit, bub.” Logan started, his expression unchanging, though his voice was a lot lighter. “They didn’t look like that this morning.”
“And how would you know?” you inevitably snapped, the rampant nerves running back through your system as you finally met his gaze. He looked unfazed.
“It was something in the meeting, wasn’t it?”
You shook your head with a sigh of exasperation. There was no way of getting out of this one. Logan was just so… persistent. Maybe a little too much. Exactly why he wasn’t supposed to know.
“Come on, bub.”
This time his voice had shifted, sounding almost like a plea. Desperate. He wanted to move closer. Wanted to make it so that you could only look at him, but one wrong move would have had you out that door within seconds. He would lose his chance. “Just talk to me.”
The next time you managed a look at the man, his eyebrows had eased. His eyes were calmer, though still stuck with that fleck of concern. He was trying.
You took in a deep breath, letting your back sink further into the headboard. And then you exhaled. “I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it.” you began before pausing, actively trying to find the words in your head until your lips had parted again, “Nothing really happened, but after we got the new schedules, I just… I just freaked myself out.”
Logan’s head slightly tilted to the side, “Why?”
You could only shrug, “Because… it was out of nowhere, because it means that I have to do things differently, because things keep changing, because– because… I can’t control any of it.”
He took in a breath of his own, nodding his head a few times as he clenched his jaw. “Okay,” he acknowledged, his eyes then trailing down to your hand. Again, “but why… that.”
“I don’t know.” you practically huffed out. “Half the time, I do it before I even realise.”
“So…” Logan started, dragging the sound out as he thought for a moment, “most of the time, it’s on purpose? To feel like you’re in control?” An attempt at piecing the puzzle together.
You shook your head, “No, a habit like this isn’t controlled– it’s about… regulation, or something. A lot of people can just do it because they’re bored and have nothing else to do.”
“And what about you?”
“There’s not a specific reason.” you confessed, your gaze falling to your hand as you moved it onto your lap, staring at the very nails themselves. “If it was that simple, there would also be a simple solution.”
Without giving it much thought, Logan suddenly huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that would be not biting them in the first place.” He paused seconds after, his mouth snapping shut as he sort of tensed. The relief was immediate when you had only rolled your eyes, “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
By now your thumb had stopped bleeding, the remnants beginning to dry into your skin.
Logan took the looking at your finger as an attempt to fight the urge. So, he cleared his throat, “We can find something.” he suddenly insisted, snatching your attention. Though, more from intrigue the sincerity in his voice had created.
“Why don’t you… try picking at me?”
And then it was gone.
You blinked once, and then twice, and then one more time. Your head tilted, “... Like a monkey?” Logan’s head did the same, “No, not like a— I mean, when it happens, when you want to do it, try doing it to me instead… just maybe not the biting part.”
You scoffed, “I don’t want to hurt you, Logan.” you pointed out, certainty filling your voice as if it was the most obvious thing ever. But he just sort of looked at you for a moment, his bottom lip tucking under his upper teeth until he spoke again.
“Then why are you so quick to hurt yourself?”
His gaze may have been narrowed in a way that would have almost been seen as scrutiny to any other person. But there was this gentleness to it; a look of genuine curiosity.
You sucked in a deep breath at that, your nerves thankfully easing this time. When your eyes left his, it wasn’t to evade them. You thought for a moment, tilting your head back as if it would shuffle the responses inside of it.
“I’m used to it.” you admitted eventually, your voice notably quieter than before.
This was the first time those words had been said out loud. All of this had been a first. Truthfully, you hadn't ever really acknowledged the habit yourself, apart from when it got too bad to avoid.
Logan's expression had mostly stayed the same, except now his eyebrows were on the brink of furrowing yet again. He understood that feeling. I mean, that's practically what he did all the time. He willingly felt and allowed pain almost every week.
The difference was, however, that he could heal right after.
“Tell you what,” he started up, his voice slightly straining halfway through as he pulled himself further along the edge of bed. He stopped just to the side of you, meeting your eyes as he reached for your hand.
And once he gaged that the movement was allowed, he continued. His fingers lightly grasped onto your own just below the knuckles, making sure that his pointer finger and thumb were the only ones adding any pressure as to avoid the injuries.
It was so gentle, the most he had ever been with you.
Logan began pulling it towards him. “I’m going to find a pack of plasters,” He lowered his head, meeting the other movement, and pressed his lips onto the back of your hand. His stubble poked at your skin, especially when he backed off after, “and you’re going to stay here like a good boy.”
“Logan–” you attempted to butt in, but the man just shook his head, guiding your hand to settle in your lap. He then pushed himself off of the mattress with yet another groan that brought that inner old man out again.
“Look, you’re right… we may not find a simple solution.” Logan turned to you, a sigh huffing through his nose. “But there’s gotta be at least something that helps.”
The expression he held was the lightest you had seen it in a while. His eyebrows were loosely raised, the lines on his face were less prominent, and there was even a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We should just try… okay?”
It was the kind of look that easily rubbed off on any recipient, and especially you in this case as you had to bite at your own lip to stop it from curling upward.
Your shoulder deflated. “Okay.” you reluctantly agreed, and Logan grinned within seconds. “Atta boy,” he settled breathily, reaching out all over again, though this time it was to lightly swipe at your cheek affectionately.
And then he started stepping backwards, maintaining the shared gaze so that he could send a final wink.
Summary: Logan finds out that you got into an accident on your way home and rushes to find the hospital you had been taken to.
Warnings: alcohol, mentions and descriptions of car accidents, bruises and other injuries.
A/n: Okay, this was requested as a drabble, but I have recently discovered that I don't have the capacity to write short things so, I just made this into a full fic kinda thing... if that's alright. But regardless, I hope this at least covers what you wanted, and more importantly that you like this!!
Thank you for sending this in!!
I'm also only getting started with writing for Logan, so please keep in mind that I might've not nailed his characteristics and such yet.
Enjoy!
Logan masterlist.
This night had been one of the busiest this week. At least for Logan.
His instincts had brought him back to his favoured place. A bar. However, despite what you may be thinking, and what he had actually thought himself, it wasn’t just for a drink. He had just finished up with a few cage fights.
Originally, it was only supposed to be one, you know? A singular round to make some money, and blow off a little steam, it was a win win situation.
Though, each time, after his opponent had inevitably been defeated, another person would enter the ring before he even had the chance to leave. It was repetitive, almost a little amusing due to the way they just kept offering themself up. Regardless of seeing the outcome of the previous fight.
But he wasn’t exactly going to say no to some extra cash.
Now, Logan had found himself sitting at the actual bar, his usual rewards set in front of him, as well as stuffed at the bottom of his pockets. He held his cigar in his right hand, having been lit not that long ago, while the new puff of savoured smoke filtered out from between his lips.
He did actually have a drink too. There was no way that Logan would walk into a bar without having at least one. And there it sat on one of the provided coasters. It was a whiskey, mostly empty, that had cooled the palm of his hand from how long he had held it.
At this point in the night, it was quiet. Most of the regulars, and general customers, had gone one by one, hunkering down for the night or just taking their gathering somewhere else. It left only a few people dotted throughout the array of tables behind him, yet there was still a constant chatter that layered the room.
And a lot of which he could hear unfortunately well.
The sources were always the same in places like these. You had that group of boisterous men bragging about their latest hunt or a fight they had gotten into, and supposedly won. And those people who were meeting up for the first time, at least in a while, that had themselves stuck in this unending loop of useless small talk.
Logan sighed, bringing that faithful lowball glass of liquid gold back up to his lips so the remnants could be finally drained.
“Another?”
He peered over the rim, gaze locking onto the bartender that had creeped up at some point. Logan nodded. They always seemed to appear at the right times.
“One more.” He set down the glass in front of him, savouring the taste layering his mouth even if he wasn’t going to go long without another sip.
The bartender was off within seconds, moving to the array of different bottles to find the same one as before.
Eventually, Logan’s eyes ended up travelling to the TV as he waited, hung in the corner to his left. It was just set on the local news, as it wasn't the season for sports anymore. He could barely even hear the reporter due the bustling sounds around him, so he only focused on the background.
At first, it seemed to be about the weather, a warning for the locals of the storm about to pass, then they were talking about a raise in prices, or something. Not that surprising. And then there was this picture of a car. It looked like it had been totalled, the front of it almost completely unrecognisable as a vehicle in the first place–
Logan’s phone suddenly rang through the chorus of the surrounding voices, snapping him out of a daze as he started patting at his jacket until he remembered where the thing had been put.
This time he practically grunted as he leaned to the side a bit, placing the cigar between his teeth so that his other hand was now free. He slotted it into the suspected leather pocket, digging around for a few seconds before his fingers had finally located the buzzing device.
He pulled it out, flicked the front of it open, and cast his eyes upon the screen. He blinked. An unknown number.
Initially, Logan was about to snap it closed. He couldn’t be bothered with dealing with something like that right now, especially when he was trying to relax for the night. I mean, he barely used the thing anyway.
But then he started to recognise the digits.
He had seen it somewhere before, most likely around town. He distinctly remembered it being at the bottom of some poster they had spread on a few of the local buildings and shops. He just couldn’t remind himself of its purpose.
So, intrigued, Logan yanked the cigar from his mouth, pressing that needed button before the phone was brought to his ear, “Hello?”
“Hi, there, sorry to call you at this time, but are you… a Mr. Howlett?”
He paused, eyes following the bartender who had reappeared with his refill. Logan cleared his throat, leaning further onto the counter as his eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah– Who is this? How did you get my number?”
“Your name was listed as an emergency contact for Y/n L/n, is that not correct?” the woman questioned, her voice sounding almost automated as she looked over the paperwork. “Whoa, whoa, emergency contact– what is this about?” Logan demanded, on the verge of choking on his spit. “Sir–”
“Look, lady, is this some kind of stupid joke, or something, because I am not…” The sentence he readied had lost its way. The words faded from his mouth one by one which had his voice closely following.
The posters. They all held something in common, a specific icon that could only really be correlated with one thing.
A hospital.
“Is this… is this about that accident?” Logan’s voice was still barely there, like that was the last thing he wanted to say, but he had to know. He needed to, “Sir, if you could please let me speak–”
“What building are you? I need the location. Now.” He started pushing himself off of the wooden stool, his cigar being discarded somewhere in the process. And for once, he couldn’t care less. “Sir, I can not provide that information if you keep interrupting me.” the woman spoke, her tone both a little condescending and understanding of the sudden panic.
But Logan had already taken the phone away from his ear. He was fumbling through his pocket again, trying to scrounge up a few bucks from his winnings, before throwing it on the bar top without even looking at the amount.
And then he turned on his heel, heading straight for the door.
“Sir?”
~~~
You were sitting upright in the bed your body had unconsciously claimed. It was how you were set up, cursed to simply sit in the pain even if it was the most relieving position.
Your lazy eyes were on the conveniently placed TV, desperately watching whatever the channels had to provide to dull out the sound of various beeps emitting from machines, that you probably couldn’t even name if you tried.
But it wasn’t working.
So, still remaining in the same limp position, you attempted to find the remote. It had been dropped somewhere on the mattress to your side, which was where the random patting began. Until, your hand smacked onto the back of it.
After taking in a deep breath, you raised the remote so that it pointed right at the screen, pressing the button right at the top. The screen went black within seconds.
You let the device fall out of your grasp, and let your body sink a little further into the pillows that kept you sat right, but not without causing a grunt to escape your throat when it had inevitably pinched your side in the process.
The obtained injuries weren’t exactly severe. In all honesty, you had actually been quite lucky in the end. Though that didn’t mean you got off easy.
I mean, there was still a strain when doing the simplest of movements on your left side. And the doctor had told you a list of things you had to do, even after you got released, like: don’t exert yourself too much, make sure to get lots of rest, keep the weight off of your left leg but also stretch it as much as possible in order to maintain the muscle mass.
But it wasn't the worst… right?
You were staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the tension building between your shoulders and neck. It was so bland and boringly white. This was what was going to be accompanying you for the rest of your stay. Every day and every morning.
It didn’t help that you already hated hospitals, not just for the dull colour choices. It was the vibe itself. Might also be due to the fact that since you had first woken up, you had been poked and prodded by people who had only introduced themselves right then and there.
Even if they were just trying to help, it felt like you were stuck there against your will. Which wasn’t exactly wrong.
But before you could continue that though further, however, out of nowhere, the door suddenly swung right open.
It was fast, done with such force that it hit into the wall behind and bounced right back. It almost had you jumping out of your skin, but the most you did was groan in pain.
“Oh, shit.”
“Thanks.” you muttered, screwing your eyes shut before glaring in the direction of the intruder… only to ease up about a second later. “Logan.”
His movements were sort of rushed at first, dropping something that sounded heavy on the floor below. But he then stopped for a moment, both his head and his eyes wildly searching around for something until he went towards the chair in the corner.
He picked it up, placed it to the right side of your bed, and took a seat before scooting it even closer. It had his knees practically banging right into the bed frame, “What the hell happened? I thought you weren't driving home?” He grabbed your hand, hesitant to move it anywhere just in case it would hurt.
“I wasn’t, I got a cab. I got impatient, which… serves me right— but it doesn’t matter, I’m fine. It was just a little accident,” you tried to ensure, even squeezing the back of his hand, but his eyebrows only furrowed further.
“A little accident? You sure?” Logan repeated, leaning his body forward a bit so his gaze could reach the other side of your face. And then he practically grimaced, “That doesn’t seem little to me, bub.”
In your defence, you hadn’t exactly had the chance to see yourself in a mirror all day. You had no idea what you looked like, nor the extent of it. But the feeling of it could allow an educated guess. It was most likely bruised.
Heck, that entire side of your body was probably bruised.
“What happened?” he questioned, the mixture of his tone and his expression making you stifle a sigh. “Can you stop looking at me like I almost died? Please? It was just some jerk, okay?”
“They ran a red light while we were crossing and hit the car-- I just happened to be on that side, that’s it.” Logan stared right at you, the corner of his mouth sort of twitching as he exhaled rather sharply.
You shook his hand a little, “Look, it doesn't matter, okay? I'm fine.” you insisted, trying to find something to lighten the mood. “Fine?” he repeated, gaze narrowing, “Y/n, you were just hit by a goddamn car-- And how was I supposed to know that, huh? I had to get a call from this damn hospital.”
“Do you… Do you know how terrifying it sounded when they called, asking if I was the correct emergency contact?” He shook his head for a moment, the anger bubbling within him starting to dwindle into something else, “There was…”
“There was another wreck somewhere, I saw it on the news, and it was– it was bad.” Logan started up again, his voice almost hesitant as he spoke, “Very bad, I mean, the front of the car was just smashed, so, I thought it was... I-- I thought that you…”
He cleared his throat, the grip on your hand loosening as he pressed his lips together.
“Oh, Logan,” you breathed out, but didn’t know what else to do. You just sort of looked at him for a moment. His expression was just stuck between this guilt and anger. Something that was all too common when it came to him.
You squeezed his hand again, this time more firm, and you could see his attempt to smile. But it just wouldn’t hold. “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”
“Hey.”
“You know, I-- I would've picked you up, I would’ve been there, but the cell service and the traffic, it just-- That's why I couldn't even get here faster, and–”
“Hey, look at me.” you called louder, more stern. Logan’s mouth sort of wavered a little, unsure of what to do with itself, until it snapped shut. “None of that matters.” You held his gaze, your eyes sincere yet serious at the same time.
“I’m just glad that you’re here now.”
It seemed to take a bit for the words to really settle in Logan’s head. You could practically see the way the cogs turned.
Truthfully, no matter what you said, that expression would probably still remain on his face in one way or another. He would still think the same things. But he still managed a sigh, relaxing his shoulders in the process.
“I, uh, brought a few things up.” he informed slowly, starting to lean over the armrest in a way that still kept your hand in his. He was reaching for something, “I'm not sure if I made the right choices, but there's, uh... some clothes.”
“Just a few things I had in the car-- You don't have to wear them.” Logan added on, the sound of something bag-like dragging along the floor until he could sit up straight. “There’s also some snacks.” He paused, meeting your eyes once again, “I don't know if you're allowed them or not, but, I just-- I just sort of grabbed them.”
“You didn’t… have to do all that.” You felt almost guilty. He did all that, just for you to make him angry pretty much the second he got here. It didn’t seem fair. Logan merely shrugged. “Too late.”
This was the first time his face had lightened up, at least a little bit.
The tension wasn’t pulling at his brows, nor the skin around his mouth. It was sort of freeing. He fixated on a point of your face for a moment, and then it lowered. It trailed down your cheek before landing on the mattress.
He shifted in his chair, looking at you once again. “Can I?” Logan asked, gesturing towards the bed. “Of course,” you insisted pretty much instantaneously. But you saw that glint in his eyes. The concern. Caution.
“It’s only my left side that’s injured, come up.” you ensured with a nod. And after about a beat, Logan eventually complied, letting go of your hand so he could push himself up from the chair. Still with notable hesitance.
He ended up on the edge of the mattress, his thigh just a few inches away from leaning against yours just in case. You could feel the bed sinking under his weight. It was almost comforting. Reminding you of home. The countless nights where Logan would get home late and just sit beside you for a bit, thinking you were fast asleep.
“Let me take a look at you." he practically whispered. The words weren't a command, nor a question. There wasn’t even a real purpose as he reached forward anyway.
The side of his finger landed just beneath your chin. He tilted your head to the side ever so slightly, so that it wouldn't put a strain on anything. And you just let him.
Now, his eyes could properly cast upon the bruises once again, looking over what was probably a bunch of odd discoloration, a few bumps, and maybe even a few scratches.
Your left arm was exposed too, due to having a t-shirt on. And that one must’ve been the worst according to the face Logan suddenly made, even if he tried to conceal it. I mean, it did take most of the blow, as well as your leg.
But he didn’t want to think about what the rest looked like.
“I wish I could heal it.” Logan’s voice was sudden. It was low, and barely even there as if it had forced its way through his lips. He looked back at you, that concern washing through his features as his finger grazed over the skin under your chin.
You shook your head lightly, letting a smile curl onto your lips. “That would be a little overpowered, don't you think?” you pointed out, even feigning a little concern of your own as you placed your hand on his cheek, “If you could heal yourself, and others?”
It was almost instinctive the way Logan leaned into it within about a second. He lightly grasped your arm, turning his head against your palm just so he could press a kiss onto your wrist. “Would be worth it, so you didn't have to stay in a place like this.”
You huffed a laugh, drinking in that look in his eyes before your hand moved from his cheek to settle at the back of his head. You pushed it forward lightly, guiding the man until he got the message and continued the movement himself.
Soon he had landed on your chest, your arm wrapping around him in the process. There was this sigh that flowed out of Logan’s mouth when your fingers started moving through his hair. It had the rest of his body practically deflating against your side.
“Thank you for coming.” you whispered at this point, looking down at the man as he grasped onto the arm that held him, issuing it a firm but gentle squeeze. “I always will, bub.” Warm air surrounded the skin when he exhaled again, longer this time. “Always will.”
Your head tilted back after a moment, officially resting against the pillow that was there for that very purpose. It still hurt a little. There was a slight pain that mostly panged between the bottom of your neck and your shoulder. But it was worth it. All of it.
Your eyes remained closed, your fingers sifting through Logan’s hair in slow patterns. You took in a deep breath. “My hero.”
The man on top of you snorted. Breathing out a muffled response that you couldn’t even hear as it had been muffled, concealed by the act of burying his face into your shirt.
Finally, for the first time in hours, you could actually relax.
Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.
Genre: hurt/comfort.
Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.
This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.
A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!
Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!
I hope you enjoy!!
Logan masterlist.
It had been a long few days.
It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.
Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.
But you wanted to learn. Or... did.
The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.
See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.
It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.
Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.
Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.
But you couldn't exactly blame him.
This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.
He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.
It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.
The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.
It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed.
You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer.
It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.
The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.
It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.
Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.
Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.
The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.
Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.
He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.
His eyes were closed.
At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.
Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.
Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.
Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.
Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.
You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.
You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--
And then bam.
Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.
In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.
“Whoa-- hey!”
He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.
They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.
It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.
“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in.
He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.
But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.
Until his gaze lowered.
Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.
So, why did something sound like it was dripping?
“Y/n.”
By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”
You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.
“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.
There was your answer. “Oh.”
Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?
“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”
“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”
His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.
“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”
Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”
He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.
“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”
You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.
But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.
~~~
The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.
It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.
You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.
But that was the last thing on your mind.
You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.
Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.
You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.
Until today.
A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.
The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.
It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.
In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.
Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.
Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.
So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.
Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.
More so who.
Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.
Logan.
He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.
There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--
“I didn't mean to hurt you.”
Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.
Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”
You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”
It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.
“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”
“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”
“Y/n, I'm sorry.”
“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”
You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.
It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.
But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.
“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.”
The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”
“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.
“And, I'm still here, Logan.”
You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.
A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”
“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”
You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.
“See?”
Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.
They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.
“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”
“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.
Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.
“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.”
Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.
You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles.
It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.
I guess it just slipped your mind.
“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.
“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”
That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”
“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.
He was supposed to be relieved.
“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”
The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.
The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.
You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.
It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss.
Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?
Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired.
Just a different kind.
You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.
Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.
By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.
You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”
There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,”
“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”
Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.”
He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”
This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.”
The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it.
But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.”
In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”
“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”
Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.
“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.
Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.
He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.
“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.
“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.
You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.
You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”
There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.
Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.
By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.
Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further.
His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.
Hey guys, I know it's been a long time, but I was wondering if anyone out there had any requests for Wolverine x reader fics??
I want to get back into writing so bad, and my interest in x-men media, specifically anything logan related, has exploded out of nowhere, so I feel like that's a good starting point.
I only write gender neutral and male readers, and can do pretty much anything as long as it's sfw. :)
your fic is so o so so so so good it literally makes me reel. i have to take breaks just to remember to breathe. you write so beautifully, and fill me with such emotions… wonderful and creative, fleshed out scenarios, managing to catch the characters so well…. you have my unending respect! thank you for sharing your art
I don't even know where to start, man, you have awoken me from my slumber. 😭😭 I can't thank you enough for your kind words, it means so much to me.
I haven't written in a while due to a lack of both time and inspiration, so still being able to get this kind of response is unbelievable. Especially something worded like this.
I'm so happy that I was able to give you an experience like that, and I hope I still can in the future.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
That 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 there was the muffled sound.
“Come in.”
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 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 this dark lighting, a ball of nerves gathered at the bottom of your stomach.
Your posture straightened, an attempt 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 into the room. 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 trucks 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 on its own. 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, 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 squeaking of its wheels 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 that very 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 too 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 him upset.
However, this was a reaction you didn't properly know how to respond to. And that meant that it could escalate within a simple 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 what was coming out of his mouth.
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 its 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 remaining 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.
He 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 another business found out how easy it was to take stock from Gustavo Fring.
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 we 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, and the only thing that comes out of it 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 only because two people had an understanding of a situation, just 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. Something that had then been followed by a set of words that you were merely 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 noticed 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, no. 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, 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.
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. And 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 a 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 its 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, 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 both through it and the ground beneath.
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 had 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, coming back to deliver some other form of bad news.
You had not prepared 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 insisted simply, 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 immediately after.
That feeling came back again. Being at the centre of a stage with all the lights shining right on you. Only this time there was no tension, nor 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 would 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 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 this way?
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 the first place, Sir.”
Your eyes weren't on his anymore. Your gaze was sort of mindlessly flickering about as it succumbed to the many thoughts swirling 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 the feeling 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. 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 the one driving that 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 reasons 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 useful, 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 its heat if to be accompanied by a tea bag, or keep a coffee hot. You could even put a hot chocolate in there if wanted.
And the other, the one Gustavo had took in 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. “No one wants to make any moves.”
There was something going on here. Something Gustavo was doing since 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 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 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.
