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levithestripper · 9 months

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Wanna Bet?

summary:

“Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. ‘That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?’ You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. ‘I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.’”

or, Jesse wants to take a woodworking class, and you propose a bet.

warnings: gender-neutral reader

length: 2.1k || read on ao3

notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for god knows how long, i hope you enjoy it!

Sharing his rented condo with you is everything Jesse could ask for and more. Having moved in a handful of months ago, the two of you were settling in nicely, making a good home for yourselves. With you around, Jesse regained something he lost when he began cooking with Mr. White: a sense of normalcy. Never having been in a committed, long-term relationship before you came along, this newfound feeling of stability in his chaotic life was a godsend. Gaining a new safe place allowed Jesse to discover new things about himself. He finds himself doing things he never used to enjoy, like watching sitcoms and cheesy made-for-television movies.

But if Jesse was forced to pick one thing he likes most about living with you, he’d pick watching you do the things you love. He doesn’t know what it is about watching you put together a puzzle or draw in your sketchbook; it just fills him with insane amounts of joy. It lit a fire under him, inspiring Jesse to rekindle the old hobbies of his childhood, specifically woodworking. The thought of returning to woodworking excited him yet filled him with anxiety at the same time. After a week of keeping his worries to himself, Jesse asks for your advice over dinner one night.

“Yo, so I was thinking—”

You snort, interrupting him, “No wonder I smelled smoke earlier.”

Jesse makes a face at you, rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up. Anyways, as I was saying, I was thinking about taking up woodworking again.” He broke your gaze, looking down as he picked at the food on his plate. “What do you think?”

You hum with a mouthful of food, finishing your dinner. “I think that’s a great idea, love. You said you were good at it in high school, right?”

He nods, still picking at his food. “You think I’ll uh… you think I’ll still like it?”

“What? Of course, you’ll still like it! Why wouldn’t you?”

Jesse sighs, slowly finishing his dinner, stalling for time. He mumbles something unintelligible, regretting bringing it up.

Being practically fluent in Jesse-ese, you sensed something was up, not like it was hard to notice. You knew there was no use in trying to pry whatever was wrong out of him, so you didn’t waste time trying. Instead, you take a different approach. “Jess, I can’t blame you for being worried. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone; that’s hard for anyone to do.” You reach across the breakfast bar and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. “If anyone can do it, it’s you; I believe in you.”

“Thank you, baby.” Jesse offers you a small but sweet smile, which you happily mirror. “You’re sure ‘bout this?”

You kiss each of his knuckles, making him chuckle like always. “One hundred percent sure. When am I ever wrong?”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing you. “You really wanna go there, sweetheart?” Jesse’s confidence returns quickly, his anxiety curbed by your words.

You get up from your chair and walk to his side of the counter, sitting on his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. “Mmm, I don’t know, maybe I do. After all, I am always right.”

Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. “That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?”

You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. “I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.”

“And what do you want if you win?” he asks, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. His hands migrated from your hips to your back, sliding under your shirt.

The unexpected sensation of cold hands touching your skin made you shiver, only fueling the fire you had lit within Jesse. “When I win, you mean.”

“Yeah, whatever, babe, just tell me what you want if you win,” he replies, a smug look on his face.

“When I win, I want you to make me something with the skills you learned from the classes.” Your fingers twist the short hair on the back of his neck into points. The tingly feeling ran up the base of Jesse’s skull, pulling a shiver from him; revenge for touching you with freezing hands.

Jesse grumbles at you in a half-hearted attempt to appear apathetic, but you see right through it with practiced ease. “If I win, which I will, you have to do whatever I say for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Deal, but your demands must be within reason.”

“Deal.” Jesse tugs you down for a kiss, sealing the bet with a smug grin.

———

Once he found a co-op offering free beginner’s lessons, Jesse signed up for two months of classes. Every Friday night after dinner, Jesse kissed you goodbye before leaving for the co-op, never hinting that you were winning the bet. And he hated it, hated how you were right—like always. Jesse had forgotten how rewarding it is to create things. It took nearly all his self-control to keep himself from living at the woodworking studio. He revels in every moment he gets to spend there, questioning why he ever quit in the first place.

As weeks pass, your excitement grows as you wonder what Jesse could be working on. You’re hopeful he’ll bring a project home with him, but it never happens. Every Friday night, a routine forms between you, beginning with dinner in front of the television. As he’s getting ready to leave, Jesse kisses you on the forehead and says, “See you in a couple hours; love you.”

Every week, you ask how it went, and Jesse replies eagerly, happily talking about what he learned. But when you inquire about what he was working on, all you get is a variation of, “Nah, it’s nothing special. Don’t wanna bore you by talking about it. It’s coming along nicely, though.” Jesse’s uncharacteristic defensiveness plants a seed of worry within you. You hope that his reasoning for brushing off your inquiries was that he was nervous to show you his work, nothing else.

———

Moonlight filtered in through the living room curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. You sat at the breakfast bar, working on something unimportant, the TV playing in the background. The front door opened, quickly drawing your attention away from your laptop. You stand to greet Jesse at the door, but he beats you to it, rushing over to the counter to give you a kiss. Fumbling with the TV remote, you turn it off, far more interested in your boyfriend. “How was your last day? Finish everything you were working on?” you ask, sitting back down.

Jesse sat down across from you, nodding as he did. “Yeah. Place had a real great vibe to it, you know?” He gnaws on his bottom lip, eyes flitting between you and his lap. “Might sign up for a higher level class. Haven’t done this since high school; I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

A loving smile spreads across your features. “I’m proud of you, baby. Wish I could’ve seen the pieces you made.” You don’t miss the subtle blush that dusts itself over Jesse’s face, the sight making your heart flutter. There’s a pause between you two, and you’re quick to fill the heavy silence. “You know I’d never make fun of you or your work, regardless of how good or bad it is, right?” You take his hand to reassure him, worried he didn’t bring anything home for fear of criticism.

Giving your hand a squeeze, Jesse fixes his posture, leaning against the counter instead of slouching. “I’m sorry I’ve been so secretive about,” he motions with his free hand, “all this.” He scratches his head through the black and yellow beanie covering his hair. “I know you never would—” Jesse stammers, “—would be scared to show you anything.” You sigh with relief, Jesse’s words lifting a weight off your chest.

“Then why did you hide your enjoyment from me?” you ask, sadness laced throughout your words.

Your question pulls on Jesse’s heartstrings, only now realizing how his actions had affected you. He squeezes your hand again, kissing your knuckles apologetically. “Close your eyes, and I’ll explain?” he offers, pulling out the big guns: his patent pending puppy dog eyes.

You look him once over before complying, wondering what he has up his sleeve this time. Whatever Jesse was doing, he was quick about it as you were opening your eyes after what felt like mere seconds of having them closed. The first thing you see is your boyfriend nervously fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie and chewing on his bottom lip. The second thing you see is a small trinket box. It’s stained a deep, rich color and sanded to such perfection that you could almost see your reflection. You look at the box, then at Jesse, silently asking permission to touch it, which he gave. Gently opening the lid, you saw the inside was patterned with a different style of wood, something striped to contrast the solid color on the exterior. “Oh, Jesse,” you whisper with awe, “This is beautiful, a work of art.” Your fingers trace the edges as you take in his stunning craftsmanship. “Is this what you’ve been working on the whole time?”

Jesse nods, still playing with his hoodie’s drawstrings. “Took forever to get it just right. The inside is zebra wood; I had to wait a week for it to get restocked. Made one like this back in high school. Loved it more than anything; even my parents liked it. Everyone said I should gift it to my mom,” he pauses, needing a moment. “I almost did, too. But I traded it. Barely got twenty bucks of pot for it.” Jesse shook his head as if he were dismissing the bad memories from view. “But that’s not why I remade it.”

Engrossed in his story, you do your best to reign over your emotions, rubbing your eyes free of tears. “Why did you remake it then?”

Jesse motions for you to turn the box upside down, which you do. “Your answer is on the bottom.”

Looking at the underside of the box, you find words—along with the year—carved into the woodwork.

Thank you for believing in me ♡

—J

Once he’s sure you’ve read it, Jesse continues talking. “Remade it so I could finally have the chance to gift it to someone I love.” He meets your gaze for the first time since he revealed your present.

You got up from your chair without saying a word, rushing around the breakfast bar to pull your boyfriend into a near-bone-crushing hug. “What did I do to deserve someone as perfect as you?” you ask rhetorically, face buried in his neck. “I don’t even know where to begin; I love it so much.” Jesse wraps his arms around your midsection, hugging you impossibly tighter. He peppers soft kisses over your cheek and jawline, holding you close to his chest.

“I should be the one asking that, little bird. You have no clue how nervous I was, worried you wouldn’t like it or it wouldn’t turn out how I wanted it to,” Jesse sighed against your skin, and you could feel all that anxiety he spoke of leaving his body. “Not mad at me?”

You can’t help but giggle as you lift your head from his shoulder. “Not mad. Although, I’m not used to you being so lovey-dovey and mushy like this. Kinda like it, if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jesse rolls his eyes with a smirk. No matter how badly he tried to hide his amusement, you could tell he liked it, too. He moves a hand to your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. One kiss turned into two, three, four, all soft and full of stupid amounts of love. Jesse squeezes you tightly once more before releasing you. “Just wait; you’ll like what I make next even more.”

“Oh yeah? You sound pretty confident about that,” you smirk, tugging teasingly on the ends of his hoodie.

Jesse bit his lip, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah, you wanna put your money where your mouth is?” he snarks back, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck. He uses his newfound leverage to drag you back in for another kiss, only this one has the heat of a promise behind it the previous ones did not.

A promise of a long, sleepless night for both of you.

#jesse pinkman #jesse pinkman x reader #jesse x reader #jesse pinkman breaking bad #jesse breaking bad #jesse brba #breaking bad fandom #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fic #breaking bad x reader #breaking bad x you #brba x reader #brba x you #brba fandom #brba fanfiction #x reader #x you #gender neutral reader

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depressopax · 1 month

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Before it's too late

Nacho Varga x gn!reader

Fandom - Better call Saul

Yoo! I haven't posted in ages, been feeling down and mentally exhausted 😭 Also been writing on my very own novel for a school project AHHH Basically been writing, procrastinating, writing, etc etc... But so far so good!

Now then... ✨Angst time✨

Pairing: Nacho Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Warning(s): BCS SPOILERS! Based on s4e3 “Something Beautiful”. Major character injury. Mentions of death and violence. Blood. Guns and bullet wounds. Cuss words. Mentions of surgery. Reader is gender-neutral and has they/them pronouns Words: 1.6K Summary: Based on s4e3, in which Nacho gets shot by Victor and is left in the desert. After being saved by the Cousins, reader rushes to the vet office to see him. English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 || AO3 link || Masterlist || Request ||

The sun is burning in Albuquerque today, making the concrete and highways threateningly warm. It’s an early morning and will only get hotter. The streets are empty and people are either sleeping safely in their beds or avoiding the burning morning-light. It’s a perfect day to stay in the shadows or - for those who have the option - close to the fresh breeze from the AC.

Not everyone has that option.

But bleeding to death in the desert is a rare case, too.

This is how I die.

Nacho thinks. He’s lost track of time. The man is lying on his side, facing away from the sun and hoping it will protect him from a sunburn. It’s the last thing he needs right now.

The wounded shoulder is enough. His hands are bloody and so is the warm sand he is facing.

Dehydration and blood loss. - That was not the way he thought he’d go down.

If it weren’t for the sharp pain in his shoulder - that’s slowly spreading throughout every inch of his body - he’d feel angry and humiliated.

Gus and his men left him to bleed out in the middle of nowhere. The damn Chicken Man.

Arturo is dead.

Nacho? About to join Arturo in the afterlife.

His mind is bitter and he’s losing the battle of patience.

“Do it quick, before you pass out” - That was the words of Gus’ lap dog, Victor. He was quick. Directly after he was left bleeding, he dialed the number to them. The Cousins.

Where are they?

He’s lost count if it's been days, hours or minutes since he got shot. All he knows is that he is slowly going insane. The sun burns his neck and he lets out a grunt, opening and closing his dry mouth. There's a taste of iron on his tongue due to his dry, chapped lips.

Water. His vision gets blurry and with gloomy eyes he looks at the wet, red sand under him.

They’re not coming. Those fuckers aren’t on their way.

I’m dead.

The realization hits Nacho, fueling the pain he’s already feeling.

Dad.

Guilt washes over him. What will happen to his dad if he dies? That, and…

He whispers your name hoarsely.

You. His beautiful partner. The one who’s always been by his side, the only one that knows about and doesn’t judge him for his fucked up choices and his chaotic life. The person he’s been so distant and cold towards lately. Worst part is…

They have no idea how much I love them.

“I love you” - A sentence yet to be said. So many emotions are left unspoken, so many things left unsaid.

Without thinking or caring about the consequences, Nacho reaches for his phone. With shaky, bloody hands, he dials your number and listens to the waiting tone.

“Ignacio?” A soft voice filled with concern says. Nacho smiles.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yea… But don’t worry. What’s up, Nacho?”

The silence lingers. What the hell is he supposed to reply?

“I gotta tell you something.”

“Nacho… What is going on? Are you ok?”

“No… But listen, mi amor.”

“Ignacio…-”

“I love you.” Silence again. His voice cracks from the emotions “...I love you so fucking much.”

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“...Because I am.” His voice is barely a whisper anymore. “Take care of my father for me, will you?”

Your voice breaks on the other line.

“Where are you?”

No reply. You realize it’ll stay that way. He is too stubborn to let you help him. As if accepting defeat, you break apart.

“Don’t cry, mi vida…” He whispers.

“Please don’t die. Please.”

I promise. Nacho wants to reply. But the last thing he wants to do right now is give you false hope. So he stays quiet. His ears are ringing and he wonders how he still has blood left in his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Ignacio. I love you…”

He smiles in relief. That was all he needed to hear.

It’s all said and done and now he can at least die with some peace.

“And I love you.”

He hangs up.

When a character faces death in movies, they see their life flash before their eyes.

A cliche. Nacho thought up until now.

He envisions the few happy and peaceful moments he’s had in life. Most of them involve his dad Manuel, and you. The first date, first kiss, first time…

Maybe it’s the sun or maybe he’s actually walking into the light, when suddenly a shadow covers it. He grunts.

In the distance, he can hear two men talking to each other in Spanish. Someone lifts him from the ground.

Exhaustion catches up with Nacho and everything fades to black.

You almost kick open the door to the Veterinary Office.

How you even got the address is a miracle.

Maybe because you’ve called Nacho’s phone at least twenty times within the last hour, or maybe because they know Nacho has a partner? That seems unlikely. Nacho has made sure to keep the relationship secret from everyone, to protect you. Only people that know that he is your boyfriend are Manuel Varga and your family.

The last explanation… Maybe, somehow, Nacho’s Cartel colleagues are humane enough to let family and friends say farewell to their dying loved ones…

Apart from an elderly lady and her cat, the waiting room is empty at this time in the morning. The receptionist looks startled when she sees you. But then again you can’t judge her. With puffy and red eyes and the almost wild expression on your face it’s no wonder people are concerned. Without waiting for her to greet you, you rush to the office whilst the woman shouts after you.

Nothing can prepare you for what you see.

It’s your boyfriend - lying down half-naked on a metal table whilst the vet, Caldera, performs surgery. Two men in suits stand next to the tense vet, watching over his every move with caution. As the door shuts behind you, the three men turn to look at you. One of the twins raises their guns.

“What happened to him?!” A voice barely noticeable. The man lowers his gun as his brother mumbles something to him. The vet goes back to work and Nacho squirms on the table. They’re killing him.

You know that's not true and makes zero sense.

But what makes sense about this situation either way?

You don’t realise that you’re shouting allegations until someone grips you and drags you out of the room. Before you get kicked out of the office, a weak voice calls your name.

Nacho.

Minutes turn into hours, morning turns to day and then afternoon. You remain seated on the cold tile floor hugging your knees against your chest. The anxiety grows stronger and it feels like you’re about to drown in worry. When the door to the office finally opens, you can barely stand up.

It’s impossible to read the expression on his face. The scrubs he’s wearing are stained red. You can feel your stomach twist.

“He’s alive.”

Nacho wakes up from his feverish dreams. His mind is foggy and his eyes feel heavy. The sedatives are wearing off and his whole body aches, especially the place where the bullets penetrated his shoulder.

He is in a cold room with his bare back resting against an even colder metal table. He feels like shit. With a raspy voice, he repeats the only word he’s been able to say lately. Your name. When a warm hand intertwines fingers with him, he finally breathes out.

Your sobbing wakes him from his trance. He opens his brown eyes and looks at you through heavy eyelids and black eyelashes. He manages to give you a weak smile and in a raspy voice, he greets you.

“Hey, mi vida.”

“Hey, my love.” You reply and manage to smile through the tears. “You’re alive…”

With those words said, you burst into tears again. The cousins and Caldera look uncomfortable with the emotional outbursts and the scene between the two lovebirds.

“...Let’s give Varga and his partner some time to talk.” the vet says. He’s quick to leave and the twin men don't protest.

Once finally alone, Nacho brings a weak, trembling hand to your cheek. He feels the soft skin against his palm and feels a sense of relief. When you lean forward he doesn’t think twice before pulling you into a kiss, and then another one.

He’s alive.

“I love you. I should’ve told you earlier, I… I’m sorry.”

Your boyfriend tries sitting up and winces in pain.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He can no longer hold back the wave of emotions. The shock of watching Arturo die, the stress Hector and his nephews have caused him, for years. The worries for his own life, but mostly for his dad, and you. It all comes crashing down. And now… Gus is a threat.

Nacho knows his life just got more complicated and a lot more dangerous.

He’ll have to tell you everything.

But for now…

He cries. He lets you hold onto him.

Nacho squeezes you close to him, to make sure you can’t slip away.

Once he’s healed, he’ll go back to duty. He’ll protect you.

But for now… He lets you protect him.

When you whisper “I love you”, he feels at peace.

You’re his shelter and his home.

Did my mentally unstable a- cry when writing this because I love Nacho so damn much?? Yes. 2am emotional damage