#jesse pinkman drabbles

[ichorai]

sunlight ; jesse pinkman.

track thirteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jesse pinkman x gn!reader

synopsis ; yellow was not a color he often saw in alaska. that was, until you came into his life.

words ; 4.2k

themes ; fluff, angst, slice of life, writer au

warnings / includes ; breaking bad & el camino spoilers, mentions of death/walter/drugs/the nazi group that imprisoned him, jesse is just Traumatized, reader is a sweetheart, jesse befriends a Cat <3

main masterlist.

The color yellow often resurfaced bad memories of his past. Yellow were the hazmat suits he wore with Walt when they cooked meth. Yellow were Jane’s bed sheets when she overdosed right next to him. Yellow were the broiling sands of New Mexico—a place he once called home.

Now that he was in Alaska, yellow was a color he scarcely ever saw. And for that he was glad. Mostly, it was white. With snow—with clouds. Maybe a dash of brown and grey here and there, alongside the occasional green once in a while. 

It was quiet. Peaceful.

After everything, a bit of peace was all that Jesse needed.

That is, until you came along.

The first time he met you, you were decked out in an array of soft canary-hued clothes, certainly a sight that he wasn’t expecting at all. You were smiling brightly, so wide that it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. There was a basket in your hands, which held nothing other than around a dozen ripe lemons. 

“Urm, hello?” Jesse hesitantly greeted, opening the door wider. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I live around five minutes away, and there’s barely anybody that lives near me other than grouchy old Bob, so when I found out someone had moved into this shabby little cabin, I just couldn’t help but stop by! Here, I got you a little house-warming gift. I hope you like lemons!” You held the basket out to him, still beaming ever so kindly.

Awkward, Jesse took the lemons from you, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, thanks. I’m Jared. Jared Driscoll.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Jared. Hope it’s not weird for me to say that it’s great to see a young face around,” you told him, rocking back on your heels. “Most people living around here are over sixty.”

Memories of Walter, Saul, and Mike flashed in the back of his mind, and he could nearly feel the physical pressure weighing down on his chest. He squared his jaw and pushed the thoughts away.

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, nodding. “Thanks again, for, uhm, these.”

He was just about to shut the door again, mentally smacking himself for being so tongue-tied, before you gently asked, “If you’re not doing anything tonight, I’d love to have you over for dinner. No pressure, though, I’d totally understand if you’d want to settle in first.”

No, was right on the tip of his tongue. No thanks, I’m a little busy with unpacking my stuff. I mean, I don’t have any stuff, but you don’t need to know that.

But the words caught in his throat. You looked so hopeful, your hands clasped behind you and your eyes wide with excitement. You were still smiling—how were you still smiling? His eyes darted down to your yellow cardigan rustling with the frigid Alaskan wind. 

“Uhm, alright,” he replied, shooting you a tight smile that came off more like an uncomfortable grimace than anything, but at least he was trying. 

Somehow, you seemed to brighten even more at his response. 

“Cool, is seven okay with you? I still need to clean up a bit before dinner.”

Jesse nodded wordlessly, a strange, giddy warmth pooling into his abdomen—a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It was excitement. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely been excited for something.

“Alright, to get to my place, you just walk up the main road for a while, until you see a fork in the road—take a right, and walk for a bit, then you’ll see my house. In case you wanna make sure it’s my place, the mailbox has a pink handprint on it, but I doubt you’ll get confused—it’s not a very crowded neighborhood, huh?” 

Jesse thanked you again as you left, smiling at you—genuinely, this time. 

Two packs of crushed crackers were gripped within one of his hands. It was all he had in his pantry, and he didn’t know what the etiquette was like around here, so he brought them just to be safe.

There was a lot of yellow to your house. He caught sight of the lemon tree in the corner of your living room, situated right against a window for optimum sunlight. You had a pale yellow carpet beneath the dining table, and sheer curtains hanging over the window of the same shade. You even had a little white cat, who had wound around Jesse’s legs with a mewl, staring up at him with large amber eyes. 

You apologized profusely, bending down to pick her up. “Sorry, she’s not usually this friendly around strangers. This is Yuki—means snow in Japanese.”

A smile itched at the corner of his lips. “No worries. I’m cool with cats. I, uh, I like her name.”

Seemingly relieved, you put Yuki back down, and ushered him to the table. In the center was a clear vase, holding a variety of ochre and purple wildflowers. 

“Hope you’re alright with spaghetti—I’m not that great of a cook, but I make a mean spaghetti,” you said, grinning as you disappeared into the kitchen to brandish a large bowl of pasta. His stomach growled at the smell of marinara sauce—he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent bowl of warm, homemade food.

“No, yeah, that’s great,” he reassured. Silence stretched between the two of you as you began to ladle heapfuls of the noodles onto his plate, making sure to add a generous helping of meatballs with it. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you, so… thanks.”

You grinned at him kindly, before sitting right across from him. “It’s no problem, I promise. To be honest, it gets really lonely here sometimes. I’m glad you moved in.”

Jesse could only give you a small smile in return, before digging into his food. It was better than anything he’d had in months, though it wasn’t much of a competition. The past few weeks had been nothing but stale sandwiches and tough jerky that wore out his jaw.

“This is really good,” he said around a mouthful of pasta, forgetting his tableside manners for a moment. You didn’t seem to mind, only beaming all the brighter.

“I’m glad! Wish I could grow my own fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with but—it’s almost always freezing cold here,” you chuckled lightly. You twirled some pasta over your fork. “Which is why I grow lemon trees—they can withstand the cold pretty well.”

“How long have you been living here?” asked Jesse, finding himself genuinely curious about you.

You hummed in thought. “Four years ago, I think. I just needed some peace and quiet—and where better than Alaska, you know? I’m a writer, see, and I used to think that I had to live in a bustling city to make connections and meet more people in the industry to be successful but… I don’t know, I think a part of me always felt trapped in a corner. I feel free here.”

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, distant. “I get that. So, uh, you’re a writer, huh? What do you write?”

“Short stories, mostly. Sometimes I dabble in longer novels, and sometimes I’ll dip my toe into nonfiction. Depends on what my publishers want from me and also what I personally want to write,” you said, before taking a sip of water. Blanching, you quickly added, “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re my guest and I haven’t even asked a single thing about you. What about you? What’re you doing up in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, Jared?”

The new name felt so foreign—so strange coming from you. He wondered how it’d sound if you said his real name. Jesse.

At your question, a myriad of memories flashed into the front of his thoughts once more. Mike, Walt, Jane, Badger, Skinny Pete, the meth, the drugs, his parents…

He pursed his lips. 

Sensing he was a bit uncomfortable, he was surprised when you only nodded in gentle understanding, quietly saying, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. We all have our reasons.”

The reassuring smile that quirked the corner of your lips upward made his heart just a little heavier. You were just so… nice. It was a bit baffling. An extremely stark comparison to his time kept prisoner by the group of Nazis. 

“You got space for dessert?” you queried, tilting your head in the most adorable of ways, snapping him out of his reverie just when the atmosphere began returning back to its original light-hearted state. “I made lemon pie!”

It took him a little under a month to fully settle in. His house was still sparse and relatively empty, but he’d bought a nice new couch to lay back on and a frumpy little lamp he had gotten for free at an antique store. The old lady that worked there had pinched his cheeks and given it to him for free, despite the crumpled bills he was just about to hand over.

She told him that she reminded her of her grandson, and insisted on giving it to him for no charge. Acquiescing, Jesse took it home with him. Who was he to turn down something free, anyway?

He’d gotten himself a job as a carpenter, building together new little cabins not far from where he lived for adventuring tourists or more old couples that would inevitably migrate here in search of some peace and quiet. Most of his free time was spent dillying in his house, reading random books he’d borrow from the musty little library in the small town (he was pleasantly surprised to find a collection of your works on one shelf)—or he’d find himself at your house, playing Scrabble with you, or listening to you ramble about your day, or babysitting your cat when you had to go off to meet with your publisher. 

It was safe to say that he’d grown rather fond of you.

And that scared him. Rightfully so—the last two times he’d genuinely cared about someone… he’d lost both of them.

But that was in the past now. Jesse was trying to move forward. With you by his side, hopefully.

One of the benefits of being a carpenter was that he had a nearly infinite supply of spare wood on his hands. He’d been meaning to make you a little thank you gift for how nice you’d been to him his first few weeks in Alaska. He certainly hadn’t been expecting any sort of hospitality whatsoever before he’d arrived. 

And so Jesse built you a little birdhouse. It was relatively small and admittedly not his most skillful craft, but he thought it wasn’t too shabby. He’d even stopped by a hardware store to grab some paint, and added a thin coat of light yellow to the outside of the birdhouse. The roof was colored a sweet shade of pink—he’d meant to color it red, but the crimson had accidentally mixed into the white on his brush, and he decided that the pink would look better, anyways. 

The day after, he was on your doorstep, ringing the bell with an excited flutter to his stomach, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

You swung the door open, smiling upon seeing him. He interestingly noted that you were wearing large yellow overalls, hair tied away from your face. You looked so darned cute—it made him clam up for a second and forget what he’d come here for. 

“Hey!” you greeted, stepping to the side so he could amble in. “It’s nice to see you, I was literally just about to call you to ask if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, or something—ooh, whatcha got there?” Your eyes widened as you looked at the little wooden house cradled in his palms. 

“It’s for you,” said Jesse, holding it out. “It’s a, uhm, a birdhouse.” 

Your expression melted into one of pure affection, and you grinned impossibly wider, before surging forward and throwing your arms around him in a quick hug. Before he could even begin to think about reciprocating the embrace, you were already pulling away, holding the birdhouse up to eye-level to observe it closer. “Oh, my God, Jared, this is gorgeous—I can’t thank you enough. Did you make it yourself?”

Chuckling nervously, Jesse nodded an affirmative, scratching the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “It was nothing, really. Just had some scrap wood.”

“I love it,” you told him. The words made warmth coil about the bones of his ribs, spreading down to the tips of his fingers and crawling up the skin of his neck. “Nobody’s ever made me something like that before! You’re really too sweet, Jared. I’ll hang it outside in a bit.”

Carefully, you placed the little house on your table. A quiet meow roped both of your attentions lower, where Yuki was winding between both of your legs, tail curled around Jesse’s shins. He bent down to gently scratch beneath her chin, earning him a contented purr. 

The three of you made your way to the couches, and you ushered Jesse to sit down, after you rushed to go pour him a steaming cup of coffee. 

“It’s freezing out,” you told him, curling up beside the man and handing him the mug, before taking a sip from your own. Yuki made herself comfortable between the two of you, tucking her nose behind her tail and shutting her eyes for a nap. “Hopefully you can stay and defrost for a bit before heading back out?”

He hummed, appreciative of the idea. Being with you was… comforting, to say the least. It was peaceful, and quiet, and made his heart ache like nothing else. Dare he say—domestic. It reminded him of his short-cut time with Jane. 

At the thought of her, thorns pierced through his lungs and he forced his gaze away from you. He caught sight of a small pile of papers on your coffee table, and he leaned forward to pick one up. You fiddled with the mug in your hands, nervous.

“Oh, wow, is this what you’ve been writing?” His eyes swept along the first few lines, finding himself utterly impressed. “Yo, this is, like, really damn good.”

“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, a hopeful look to your expression. “I’ve been in a weird word-vomit mood lately—ever since I met you, I just haven’t been able to stop.”

Jesse risked a glance to you, muffling a smile. “I may not know much about writing but this is… next level, dude. It’s like I can see it all in my head. Like a movie but with… words?” 

“Gosh, Jared, you really know how to compliment someone,” you lightly scoffed, hiding your beam behind your mug. “You can keep that copy if you want. Here—” Shifting to brandish a pen from your pocket, you signed his name right under your printed one. 

Jesse peered over to look, the smile cracking through his exterior.

For Jared Driscoll.

“You know what’s funny,” you murmured, eyes glued to his fake name on the paper. “You’ve never really pegged me as a Jared Driscoll.”

For a long moment, Jesse could’ve sworn his heart stopped in his chest. “Oh, yeah? Why, uh… why’s that?”

You shot him a glance, before smiling sweetly, handing him the papers back for him to keep. “I don’t really know—it just doesn’t suit you, I guess. Jared Driscoll sounds so—rough’n’tough, you know? You don’t strike me as the rough’n’tough kind of guy. You’re too sweet for that.” You shrugged, sinking further into the couch and running the tips of your fingers along Yuki’s back. 

Jesse stared at you for a moment longer. Your words brought a certain kind of comfort to him that he never knew he needed. The affirmation that he was still a good person in your eyes—it meant more to him than he thought it would.

“Thanks,” he said, hesitant, though he gently quirked the corner of his lips into a mild grin. He sipped his warm coffee before adding on, “I think you’re sweet, too.”

“You never told me when your birthday was,” you told him, an accusing lilt to your words. Jesse’s brows rose. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, having just woken up no less than three minutes ago to the door ringing. 

Wordlessly, he swung his door open wider so you had space to shuffle in, still glaring at him.

“It’s been a year since you moved in,” you carried on. There was a slight pouty pucker to your lips, face creased into a frown. Jesse thought you were too damned cute to take your annoyance too seriously. “And we haven’t celebrated your birthday once!” 

“Bah, it’s not a big deal,” he finally said, yawning behind a fist and waving your words away.

Your little frown deepened. “Well, I’m sorry I missed it,” you softly said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I got you something anyway.”

From out of seemingly nowhere, you brandished a large brown paper bag, dangling it in front of him on the tips of your fingers. When he narrowed his blue eyes and suspiciously darted his gaze between you and the bag, you huffed out a small laugh, jerking your chin towards the gift. “Go on—open it!”

The bag crinkled loudly beneath his grip as he took it from you. With one last questioning look to you, he turned it over, and out fell a large yellow hoodie, cloud-soft in his palms. It looked like it was the exact right size for him, and he sent you an incredulous glance. 

“This is sick, Y/N, thanks,” he said, a genuine beam itching at his mouth. “Perfect size—and it’s yellow, too!”

For a moment, you looked a bit unsure. “If you don’t like the color, I can always switch it out—it’s just, you’re always wearing neutrals, I thought it’d be nice to give you something colored.”

Jesse looked to the hoodie, then back at you. 

Sure, yellow brought back bad memories. Far too many, and not nearly distant enough in his past. 

But yellow was your color—and he rather liked how it looked on you.

“Nah,” he said, patting your shoulder once, then twice, “I like it, really. I like it a lot.”

Two years in Alaska meant nearly two years with you.

You’d become the one constant in his life—one that he wouldn’t mind being around for the rest of it, as well. 

The two of you were sitting side by side on a frosty hill, watching the sun set. A breathtaking mirage of clementines and peaches bled through the sky just when the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon. A faint, cold wind tousled your hair, rustling the blades of grass around you. It was meant to be a celebratory picnic of sorts, but the two of you decided it was too cold to eat out, and opted to just sit and relax for a bit before heading back inside and having dinner. Wordlessly, you handed him a pack of chips from the little basket you’d brought for the failed picnic, and he wrestled it open, popping one into his mouth. Simultaneously, you bit down on a crisp apple, wiping the spurting juices away with the back of your hand. 

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” said Jesse, mindlessly tracing shapes into the cold grass. “Time flies, huh?”

You hummed in agreement. “It does.”

Jesse turned to look at you, watching the side of your face relax along with the disappearance of the sun. The last few moments of golden sunlight bathed you in a gentle glow and drew the most beautiful of shadows across your features. You brushed some stray hairs out of your face, the sleeve of your oversized flaxen sweater swallowing your arm. He really couldn’t deny himself anymore—he was completely and utterly in love with you.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. He wanted to tell you the truth. Obviously not all of it—not all at once—but he wanted you to know. Jesse trusted you more than anyone else in his entire life. Maybe that made him an idiot, but… he was willing to risk the chance with you.

Curious, you tilted your head questioningly, laying your hands and face against your raised knees. The very edge of your shoulder brushed against his arm. You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“You were right,” he finally said. 

“Right about what?” You were starting to look mildly concerned. 

Jesse inhaled deeply. “Jared Driscoll doesn’t suit me at all because… it’s not my real name.”

Surprise flooded your expression, but not too much of it—as if you’d always had an inkling all along.

“So what’s your real name?” you asked, all gentle, slightly afraid. Afraid that you’d lose him after so long—after getting attached.

“Jesse Pinkman,” he responded, tearing his gaze away from you, not sure if he wanted to see your reaction. “My middle name is Bruce.”

To his complete surprise, you let out a sudden laugh, before clamping your hands to your mouth. He snapped his head back to look at you, a contagious, incredulous grin touching the corner of his lips. 

“Bruce like Batman?” you asked, slightly muffled behind your palms. He nodded, and you let out another chortling laugh. Relief wove through the very fibers of his muscles at your relaxed disposition. You smiled at him, all soft and glowing. It made Jesse’s stomach knot together uncomfortably. “I think it suits you. Much more than Jared Driscoll.”

You tested his name out, enunciating different syllables in various ways, your grin growing nearly double its size. 

“Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jesse snorted, grabbing the apple in your hand and gently pushing it back into your mouth. With a halfhearted glare, you bit down into it anyway.

Around a mouthful of apple, you told him, “You have a pretty name.” You swallowed down the apple and quietly asked him, “Why are you using a fake one?”

Jesse hesitated, directing his gaze to the ground. His smile melted away. “Maybe that’s a story for another time.”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you smiled at him, still so very genuine it made his heart ache.

“Since we’re sharing secrets… well, mine isn’t exactly a secret, but I didn’t move to Alaska for the peace and quiet. I mean, I did, but that wasn’t really the reason why I left the city.” You cleared your throat, eyes getting slightly misty. “I lost my best friend in a car crash while she was on call with me seven years ago. A part of me will always think that it’s my fault that she died. So I moved to Alaska to get away from everything. From the city, and all those cars… and all the people. It was really hard being here at first. It was cold, and lonely, and sometimes just plain old boring. But honestly?” You tentatively reached over to place your palm over his. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

The sun was long gone by now, and Jesse found himself missing how you looked in its soft yellow glow. 

“Best decision both of us made,” he murmured, nodding. Jesse quite liked the feeling of your hand on top of his. “I came to Alaska because I, uh… I lost everyone. Everything.”

You smiled—all soft and devastating. He could feel a part of his heart crumbling into a heap of sand within his chest. Nimbly, he turned his palm over to intertwine your fingers with his cold ones.

“Well, you haven’t lost me, Jesse,” you told him, so quiet that it was nearly lost to the breeze.

Jesse wanted to cry at those words. He blinked away the stinging feeling at the top of his nose, and could only muster a grateful, teary nod. 

“I, uhm, I’ve only been in love twice before in my life,” he whispered to you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And both times, they died while I was right there—helpless. I’ve healed and I’m moving on, but, uh… I’m terrified of losing you the way I lost them, Y/N.”

Shifting, you turned so you could fully face him, now clasping both hands onto his right one. Firmly, you repeated yourself, “You haven’t lost me, Jesse. You won’t. Whatever hurt you back in New Mexico is long gone now. The past is far behind you. You have a fresh start. And I’ll be there with you—every step of the way.” 

The color yellow often resurfaced bad memories of his past. Yellow were the hazmat suits he wore with Walt when they cooked meth. Yellow were Jane’s bed sheets when she overdosed right next to him. Yellow were the broiling sands of New Mexico—a place he once called home.

There wasn’t much yellow in Alaska, and for that he’d been grateful. 

But maybe… maybe yellow wasn’t so bad. 

After all, yellow was your color—and it looked beautiful on you.

[depressopax]

The first - Part 1

Fandom - Breaking Bad/Better call Saul

Pairing: Multiple characters x gender-neutral reader (Nacho, Jesse, Kim, Jimmy, Mike, Howard) Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, one-shots Warning(s): Mentions of sexual tension, weed and alcohol. Cuss words Words: 1.5k Summary: The first kiss with the BrBa/BCS characters 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 first kiss

Nacho

You and Nacho had been friends for quite a while during this time. One day, you were chilling in his house and talking and it kinda just happened. Having a complicated life, Nacho was scared to drag you - one of the people he cares about mostly - into it. But the sexual tension between the two of you reached a tipping point when you got into the topic of relationships.

“If things were easier, maybe I’d actually have time to find love” Nacho sighed.

“You deserve to be happy, Nacho.”

“I am. With you.” He realized how it sounded and shook his head. “...Nevermind.” 

But you’d heard enough to know you were not crazy. He liked you, too. Without another word, you pressed your lips against his. At first, he responded but soon pulled back.

“We shouldn’t.”

“I know.” 

Silence fell, and after a moment, you stood up, walking to the door before you felt Nacho grab your arm. Before given the chance to react - he spinned you around and pulled you into a kiss. With his palm cupping your face, he kissed you in a way no one had done before. It was passionate and needy. Afterwards, he held onto you, breathing hot air at you whilst your foreheads pressed against each other.

“Stay.”

You nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere”

Jesse

Jesse invited you to one of his parties and since you liked him, you decided to go. Little did you know, he felt the same… Opening the door to the house, you were hit by loud music, loud voices and the smell of alcohol, sweat and weed. At least 20 people in the living room vibing to the music whilst getting drunk and high. You felt a bit disoriented entering the place, directly scanning the place for Jesse. You found him sitting in the living room together with the friends Skinny Pete and Badger. When seeing you he smiled and greeted you.

“Yo! I’m glad you made it here.” After hugging you he dragged you along to the kitchen. “Something to drink?” 

“Yes please!” After handing you a beer, the two of you sat down next to Jesse’s friends and talked. They kept glancing at the two of you and grinning, like they knew something you didn’t. 

“Man… You’re so down bad for them, Jesse.” Badger mumbled whilst smoking his joint. Jesse looked like he wanted to murder his best friend on the spot, whilst Pete just laughed. So that’s what they were grinning about…

“Is that right, Jesse?”

“I…” He stuttered an explanation, but none was needed. 

“Maybe I like you too?” 

“If you’re playing with me right now…”

“Jesse.” You said firmly. “I mean it.”

After that, Jesse basically grabbed your hand and walked out of the house, with his friends whistling and laughing at the scene.

“Sorry ‘bout them. They’re such damn jerks.” Jesse muttered and looked at the night sky, his face turned away from you to hide the blush. 

“You like me.”

“And you like me, too?”

“Yea.” 

“Perfect.”

Without realizing it, the two of you had moved closer to each other. When he leaned down, you didn’t hesitate. It was like you could taste the smoke on his soft lips as you kissed. It was intoxicating. Afterwards, you both looked at the sky.

“We should have done that a long time ago.”

“Yea”

Kim 

Kim was overworking herself - as usual. And being her worried friend, you couldn’t stand the sight of it. During her lunch break, you went to her office at HHM only to find her buried in paperwork. 

“Kim, for fuck sake…”

She barely noticed your presence so you had to walk up to her and tap her shoulder.

“Hey…” she said absent-mindedly. 

“Kim…”

“I’ll be done soon, don’t worry”

“You’ve said that for days, Kim.” 

“Yea? Well why don’t you-” realizing she was about to snap at you, she went quiet really fast and looked at you in shame “I’m sorry.”

After some convincing, she finally agreed to leave the office and let you buy her a coffee. Seeing her holding the warm paper cup containing cappuccino melted your heart. She looked so calm, for once.

“I’m worried for you.”

“That’s sweet of you… But really, I’m fine.”

You were not satisfied with the reply, and she noticed that - since you had stopped walking. 

“Hey… What’s the matter?” she said softly and threw the empty cup in a near bin before standing before you.

“I care about you, Kim. I don’t want you burned out…” 

She stroked your cheek, and you could no longer hold back the feelings you harbored. When you kissed her, she didn’t pull back. Rather, she pulled you closer to her. 

“Will you stop nagging if I take the afternoon off?” You could only nod in reply, still in shock after the kiss. 

Jimmy

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm? What?” you looked at Jimmy, who drove the car. “Yea, of course. You told me about some clients.” 

“...If I bore you out that badly, just tell me, sugar.” he muttered before parking the car.

“You don’t bore me, Jimmy.” 

“Sure seems like it.” 

He left the car and you had to run after him. 

“Look, I’m sorry… It’s just, I’m worried, I guess.”

“Worried? Why?”

“You should hear yourself sometimes, Jimmy.” You hissed. “You’re dealing with some dangerous people. And you always put yourself in shit situations!”

“I got this! Ok?!”

“Yea, sure you do. Sure.” 

He rolled his eyes and continued walking. 

“Why do you even care?” he grumbled. You had to bite your tongue to not say anything stupid. Because what could you even say? “...And you’re back to ignoring me. Thank you, sweetie.” 

“Because I just care, ok?” Tears burned in your eyes, and now he noticed.

“Hey… Sweetheart-” he sighed, seeming uncomfortable with your emotions. “I’m sorry, ok?” 

He squeezed your shoulder. 

After a minute of awkward silence, he tried lightening the mood with saying:

“You got a lil crush on good ol’ Jimmy, eh?” Your reaction told him everything. “You do??” he chuckled. 

“...Idiot.”

“Your idiot.” he murmured before stepping closer - he tilted your head up and forced you to look at him. 

“I knew you got the hots for me, sugar. Don’t worry. I feel the same.” 

And then he kissed you. At first, you wanted to pull away. You were still angry at him - after all. 

But it’s hard to be mad at someone that kisses you like that. 

And the way he smiled against your lips - Oh god…

Mike

You had just found out about Mike’s work, and just what he does for his boss Gus Fring. And you were not happy. Saying “you needed to think”, you rushed out from his place. 

“Can you at least let me explain?” Mike hissed, following you - one step behind. 

“Mike…” 

“Please.” Something in his voice had changed. It went from the usually calm but firm tone - to a pleading one. It caught you off guard and you turned around to look at him. He seemed stressed.

“What?” you muttered.

“Please, let me explain.” 

And seeing how desperate he seemed, you couldn’t say no. So you listened to him, letting him tell you about his career and why he did it.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Why would I?” he scoffed, but quickly realised how harsh it sounded. Before you had a chance to leave again, he grabbed your hand.

“Because I care about you. I’m not pulling you into my bullshit.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his next words…

“I can’t lose you. Please.”  

And then… 

He kissed you. Just like that. And how could you pull away, when you’d been dreaming of this moment for so long?

The kiss said more than thousands of words. 

Everything made sense now.

Howard

You had known Howard for quite a while and he invited you out for lunch during one of his breaks. 

“Over here!” you saw him sitting by a two-person table at the restaurant, waving at you with a big smile. You joined him.

“Jeez, Howard! This place looks… Expensive!”

“Only the best lunch restaurant in town!” He said cheerfully, but you could sense some sort of… Nervousness? In his voice.  “Tell me about your day!”

“Well uhm… It was-” He looked at you intensely. It was both cute but a bit weird. “...Are you ok?”

“Of course!” 

After lunch - which he insisted on paying - you tagged along when he walked back to HHM and his office. Before saying goodbye, he stopped you.

“Wait! I actually need to talk to you.” 

“Alright… Shoot.” 

“I…” he gathered his thoughts and cleared his throat before continuing - or at least trying to. “I kinda… Y’know…” 

You couldn’t help but smile. The blush said everything.

“Howard…” you cooed, and then leaned in and kissed him. He was startled, but then kissed you back and sighed in relief at you initiating this. 

“Was that what you were trying to say?”

“Y-yea…” 

“Well… I definitely feel the same.”

AHSHSHS this is prob one of my cheesiest one-shots yet- HOPE Y'ALL LIKED IT EITHER WAYS <3 Next part will be "First date". If you like this concept like, comment or reblog! Would mean a lot. :) MWAHHH

[sardonic-the-writer]

can you do anything with jesse being happy please? i'm in pain and i want him to be happy. maybe winter hcs or domestic hcs like doing chores or shopping with him?

• Jesse really hoped no one had a camera lying around right now

• It had taken a whole two hours of you pleading and bribing him to end up where the both of you are now

• Sitting on the floor of his little flat, bows and braids sticking out from Jesse's hair, the both of you withholding very different emotions about the situation you had found yourselves in

• Every now and then when you would go to braid another peice of hair while Jesse flipped through t.v channels, you would accidently pull too hard. Resulting in a loud "yo! bitch!!"

• A grumpy frown stayed on his face the entire time but you knew better than to let him make you think he wasn't enjoying it. You'd come to learn throughout your years as close friends that he enjoyed people playing with his hair. If Jesse considered you close enough to even let you do that of course

• But just because he was enjoying it didn't mean that he wouldn't be difficult. Per usual

A grunt slipped from your lips as Jesse elbowed you in the ribs for the third time that hour. A nice bruise was probably already forming, something you'd complain about later.

In return you had settled for smacking him on the top of the head, snorting at the way he whined at the harsh contact.

"Sit still asshole. If Badger could do it you can too." You huffed. Your hands looped another peice of hair around another, grabbing a rubber band from the pile of colorful ones behind you to tie the thing off.

"He let you braid his hair?" Jesse asked curiously as you snapped the thing in place.

"Yeah. And let me do it without calling me a bitch." You stuck your tounge out at Jesse as he turned to look at you, resulting in a playful punch to the arm. You would have faked being wounded if your fingers were busy mussing up Jesse's hair evily.

"And don't act like you're not having fun anyways. A day off from work and that fucking bastard Walter White so you can watch t.v and eat junk food? A few messy knots is hardly an unfair price to pay." The words flowed from you in a matter of fact manor. Jesse simply rolled his eyes with a barely concealed smile. He knew you were right after all. He just found it fun to poke fun at you.

"Alright alright yo, stop guilt tripping me. But promise you'll let me do your hair after this. Otherwise I'm taking this all out right now. Bitch." His hands fiddled with the graphic tee he was wearing while you contemplatd the offer. Picking at the image that had been ironed onto the front. It was just a few flecks of white and red now, but had used to read Suck My Dick in a glittery font. Christmas gift courtesy of you.

"Fine. But if you rip out any of my hair I'm going to kick you in the balls."

"Deal yo."

[niki-phoria]

pairing: jesse pinkman x male!reader genre: fluff word count: 418

a/n: i've been rewatching breaking bad again and i need more jesse x male reader fluff so enjoy

“no!” 

“yes!” you cheer, throwing the controller to the side to celebrate your victory. jesse dramatically sighs next to you, sliding to lay sideways on your couch. he covers his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers and smiling at you. you’re oblivious to it, still high on the excitement of winning. you kneel down next to him, pulling him to sit up. you move to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “i win.” 

“you did,” jesse smiles, hands gently holding your hips. you pull back when he leans up, smiling at his small whine. 

“what’s my prize?” 

“will a kiss suffice, my prince?” jesse playfully raises an eyebrow. you bite back a smile, pretending to debate it for a minute. 

“hm, a prince deserves more than a just one kiss, don’t you agree?” jesse’s hands move underneath your shirt, gently rubbing against your bare skin. you hope he doesn’t notice how the feeling makes you shiver. 

“how about… i give you a kiss, and i make us breakfast?” 

“you do make great eggs,” you sigh, moving your hand to cup jesse’s cheek. “i guess i can accept.”

jesse smiles, finally pulling you down into a sweet kiss. you lean down to kiss him again before he shifts to push you down onto the couch. he pulls back with a sweet smile before his hands gently tickle your sides, making your flinch and laugh, pushing his hands away. “good. now, let me go make my great eggs.” 

you’re quick to follow after him, leaning the counter as you watch him prepare breakfast. it feels so intimate to watch him do something so mundane, consciously cracking enough eggs for two portions and separating the two so your omelet doesn’t have green bell peppers. 

jesse stands over the stove, carefully flipping the eggs so they don’t burn. you can’t help yourself, quietly making your way over to wrap your arms around his waist, leaning against his back. he jumps a little before chuckling, turning the burner down and turning around to face you. he gently pushes you back against the counter before pulling you into another kiss. he presses his forehead against yours when he pulls away, looking down at you with a lovestruck smile. 

“what?” you laugh. 

“i’m so in love with you,” he smiles. 

you fake groan, hiding your face into his chest. “don’t get all sappy on me.” 

jesse laughs, wrapping his arms around you. “you love sappy.” 

“only from you,” you hum. 

[castieltrash1]

jesse. giving head. early morning sleepy. somno? >:3

jesse pinkman x gn!reader; smut, mentions of oral (m receiving), somno, established consent, slight mentions of jesse's prev drug use

As slow tendrils of pleasure crawl up his spine, Jesse nuzzles deeper into your pillow, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. His whole body tingles, nerve endings alight, and if he were home alone on his springy mattress, he’d know it was some effect from whatever he smoked the night before. But he’s in your bed, completely sober, and yet there’s something building in his gut, growing stronger with each passing second.

Suddenly, the haze of sleep washes away in one fell swoop, and a raspy groan leaves his mouth before he can stop it, the instinctive action one step ahead of his mind processing what’s happening. It isn’t until his lashes flutter open and his eyes focus on you, curled up at the end of the bed with your cheek pressed to the softness of his inner thigh, that his thoughts click into place. He’s almost fully hard and your lips are ghosting the outline of his clothed cock, close enough so he can feel the little exhale you let out when you see he’s awake.

“W-what…” His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat before continuing. “Are you… Were you about to suck me off?” Jesse finally asks, unable to stop his lips from curling into a lazy smile. The roles had been reversed more times than he could count and he’d almost mastered making you cum before you were even awake, tongue working you to the edge so effortlessly after months of practice.

“Mhm,” you reply, pushing forward to kiss him through his boxers. “Wanted to try.” You whisper the admission so quietly he almost misses it, and he reaches down to pat the top of your head with his bony fingers. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” you tell him, and his hand falls to trace the shell of your ear as you shift between his thighs, eyes blown wide with lust.

“‘S alright,” Jesse reassures, biting his lip as you begin pulling his cock free, feeling it pulse hot and heavy against your palm. “I wanna watch.”

| breaking (down) bad weekend

(if anyone knows whose gif this is pls lmk so i can credit them!!)

[toprayarc]

COMPLETE METAMORPHOSIS: A DRABBLE, SET IN THE VERY BEGINNINGS OF MARI'S THIRD ARC AND DEPICTING THE DIFFICULT ADJUSTMENTS TO A STABLE ENVIRONMENT. CANON CRAFTED IN AFFILIATION WITH @TOCOOK. CONTENT WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS— PTSD, FLASHBACKS, ABUSE MENTIONS, AND VAGUE USFW CONTENT IN ONE SECTION.

... prologue: newly emerged butterflies cannot fly.

when you were little enough to still not see over the kitchen counter, you'd once wondered if life would always be like this.

confined. enclosed. your brother, cooking breakfast on a step-stool, and looking over his shoulder. your mother, still asleep between the crumples of an aged couch. silent. stale. trembling with the same energy you'd imagined a volcano would have— clawing at the opportunity to erupt.

in the very same day, tucked beneath dotted-red sheets, you'd blinked down at a butterfly popping itself out of a cardboard book and traced your finger over its spine.

some things, you think, are meant to evolve.

... chapter one: everything you've ever wanted.

the first week you and jesse move into your new house, you spend a night staring at the ceiling.

the moonlight pours in over both of your bodies, scattered along the arm that jesse curls around your waist. he's warm, with the same familiarity that keeps you steady, and as you tuck your face into his shoulder, closed lids pressing against his skin, you can't help but think that this is it.

this, in these quiet interims, with nothing but a wind chime in the near distance, is everything you could've dreamed of.

after the sun rises and jesse's left for work, you stand in the yard for 20 minutes.

you envision setting it all aflame.

... chapter two: to-do lists.

in cursive scrawl, you ink out the words 'to-do' at the top of a page. you force the sentence i don't know what to write out of your lips.

it tastes sour, like some under-ripe lemon seeping into an already open wound, and you bite down on your cheek, hard, as if to tourniquet the spillage of embarrassment away. if you were any more honest of a person, you might admit that this is new for you, that you'd never thought this far ahead, and that the last time you'd dreamed about any vague attempt at domesticity, it was lined in blood.

but you're not all that honest, and a little bit cowardly, so you leave it at that.

and because jesse is braver, smarter, and just that much more kind than you are, your list makes it to a clean twenty-five bullet-points.

no weapons included.

... chapter three: cause and effect.

the fragments of a plate scatter across the kitchen floor, and you think you can feel your heart stop. your body tenses, your movements freeze, and you wait for hands to come flying.

even after jesse's swept up the remnants, with no evidence left in sight, you still find yourself waiting.

the next day, when jesse brushes a strand of hair from your face so gently you think you might have imagined it, you think you may be waiting for the rest of your life.

... chapter four: callbacks.

jesse is flipping over a bear-shaped pancake, mouthing the words to a sublime song you've heard well over a thousand times, when you catch yourself smiling.

yellow filters in from the curtains, painting gradients over the shadows of his face. it splays itself clear against his cheekbones, interwoven around the iris' of his eyes, and his stare flickers to you with an ear-to-ear grin that's just as wide as yours. after a moment, you flip your pencil between your fingers, tear your gaze away, and comb over to a fresh page in your journal.

by the time your mouth is syrup-soaked and still smiling, you slide a sketch to the other side of the table, and ask him a question— years late, and as warm as ever.

still think i got those da-vinci skills?

... chapter five: expiration dates.

jesse's face is pressed against your collarbone, mouthing at your neck, and shaping the words i love you around his tongue.

the mattress molds to the back of your spine, envelops the curve of your hips, and springs you back up into the rapid rhythm that you two share.

but as an exhale stutters against your skin, compliments pouring out between his breath, you think you might cry.

part of you fears that you will.

later, while jesse buries himself an inch further under the covers, you kiss along the outline of his shoulder. you trace constellations along the terrain of his arm.

i love you too, is what you do say. but how long will any of this last, is what you don't.

... epilogue: a fully emerged butterfly.

you're unpacking the last of the boxes huddled in the corner of your bedroom when you come across a worn down, cardboard cut-out book.

the butterfly springs from its place, faded from all the years it'd been kept around, and your fingers press against the breadth of its wings. you trace the worry-lines embedded into the pages.

three hours later, when jesse arrives back home from work, you've hidden yourself to the depths of the closet. as he sits beside you, the book still pressed into your palms, you can't help but cry.

later, you ask jesse if he thinks caterpillars understand the concept of change.

when he responds, you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. and in the end, you think, maybe it doesn't really matter.

[angelicpoison12]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⁺₊❅.

tags

ღ - - > fluff

☆ - - > smut

☁︎︎ - - > comfort

✧₊⁺: - - > angst

Hazbin Hotel

• Angel Dust

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- first date ღ

- finding out about Valentino ✧₊⁺:☁︎︎

- reliving the best of earth ღ☁︎︎

- freeing Angel ✧₊⁺:ღ

- mean minds ☁︎︎

- a spider’s love ☆

- addicted to this feeling ☆

- fingers of cotton ღ☁︎︎

- crushing on the spider! ღ

- shopping date (blind!reader) ღ

- fluffy cuddles (selectively mute!reader) ღ

- first time (FTM!reader) ☆

- anal play ☆

-listening to music together ღ

headcanons 𝜗𝜚

- soft smut headcanons (FTM!reader) ☆

-Deadpool!reader headcanons ☆ ღ

• Alastor

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

-first kiss ღ

-walking w/ the eggs ღ

-Alastor finds you crying ☁︎︎

-insatiable ☆

• Husk

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- broken bottles = broken hearts ღ

• Lucifer

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- daddy issues ☆

-genderbend!Lucifer ღ

-genderbend!Lucifer (2) ☆

headcanons 𝜗𝜚

-being Lucifer's lover ღ

• Adam

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- Adam’s breeding kink ☆

- fucking the rockstar ☆

- affectionate scum ☆

- sweet little thing ☆

-raindrops n gutairs ☆

-sugary sweet ☁︎︎ღ

-when you sleep, he eats ☆

-silky smoke ☆

- how big is Adam?

- FTM!Adam ☆

- omegaverse ☆

-food play ☆

headcanons 𝜗𝜚

- being Adam’s lover ღ

• Sir Pentious

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- Sir Pentious in a rut ☆

Helluva Boss

• Crimson

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

headcanons 𝜗𝜚

• being Crimson’s sugar baby ღ☆

Marvel

Deadpool/Wade Wilson

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

-he comes with knifes ☆

• Wolverine/Logan Howlett

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

-you’re too sweet for me ☆

Breaking Bad

• Jesse Pinkman

drabbles ᡣ𐭩

- edging w/ Jesse ☆

Challenges

Kinktober 2024 ☆

[slamminslamminmcgill]

⚖️Masterlist⚖️

Fics are in red

Drabbles are in blue

HCs are in green

Shitposts/Miscellaneous are in pink

Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca

Saul Goodman/Jimmy McGill/Gene Takovic

Outed

Terms of Employment

Breeding Kink

Remote Control Vibrator

Gene Takovic

FTM Chaser

Hair Pulling

Gender Neutral Reader Assistant

Closing Time

Kitten Petplay

Take the Edge Off

Positive Reinforcement

Jimmy McGill x FTM!Reader

Dom!Reader x Sub!Jimmy

Piss Kink

Slip of the Tongue

Watersports Sub Jimmy

Buttslut Jimmy McGill

Lunch Break

NSFW Alphabet

Saul + Lalo teaching Reader to suck dick

More Piss Kink

Did I stutter?

VCH Piercing

Mike watching Reader/Jimmy in the parking garage

Chaser Jimmy being gross

Chicanerous

First Time for Everything

Rimmy McGill

Gustavo “Gus” Fring

Meeting GenderNeutral!Reader (SFW)

Brat Taming

Tug of War (Lalo x Reader x Gus)

Obedience Training

Box Cutter

Dubcon/Intox/Degradation

Jesse Pinkman

Psychedelic

Orgasm Denial/Wetting

Misery Loves Company

Are We There Yet? (Jesse x Reader x Mike)

Tuco Salamanca

General HCs

Tuco x Younger Feminine Boyfriend

Brandon "Badger" Mayhew

FTM!Reader

Splash Zone

Howard Hamlin

Take Control

Lalo x Reader x Howard

Breeding Kink

Kim Wexler

Mommy Kink

Nacho Varga

Bear Witness (Lalo x Reader x Nacho) 2

General HCs

Nacho's Childhood (SFW)

Mike Ehrmantraut

Rise and Shine

Are We There Yet? (Jesse x Reader x Mike)

Mike watching Reader/Jimmy in the parking garage

Sit Still

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Front

Upstairs Neighbor

Joel Miller x FTM!Reader

Breeding/Anal

Butt Stuff

Burning Rage

Breeding Kink

Talking you through anal

Old Man Dick

[flameunquenched]

1, 19 and 30 for the fic writer ask game. :-)

the last sentence you wrote

"One slip will alert the things that lurk in the water. They cannot afford to lose their footing." from the weird little horse thing that popped into my head last night and would not leave me alone until i wrote at least a little of it.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

okay so i have two for this one. the first one is drug addiction, specifically meth and heroin usage, from when i was writing/roleplaying in the breaking bad fandom. i was primarily writing/roleplaying jesse pinkman so i did a ton of hard researched into the affects on the body from drug additions. the other was horse armor for a long-form novel i have been slowly chipping away at. horse armor is so interesting.

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

do ficlets count? the angbang drabble i wrote a few weeks ago in all of 5 minutes while at work.

thank you!!

[breakingblorbos]

Pinned Post/Blog Info!

Hiya!! Welcome to my BrBa & BCS focused blog! 👋🏼😊 The primary purpose of this pinned post is to give some info about me, my blog, and what you can expect to find on it. Everything below the cut is not required reading to follow or interact; merely just additional info if you are interested, or if you want to make requests. The only thing I require you to read is the following disclaimer:

This is an 18+ blog ran by an adult. You will find NSFT art/fic, dark and potentially upsetting themes, as is common for the BrBa/BCS universe. And I make very thirsty comments & posts about my blorbos, so just keep that in mind. However!! I am not going to restrict anyone from following/interacting with my blog. Use your own discretion and awareness. That's your responsibility, not mine. Anything that needs a content warning will be tagged appropriately, of course.

🌌About Me!🪐

Basic info - You can call me either Orion or Riley! I'm 25, neurodivergent, trans masc & nonbinary, and bisexual. Pronouns are he/him and they/them. I do also live in New Mexico (born and raised babyy!), which makes the shows that much more special to me!! I'm very friendly and open, but also very shy, so I tend to not reach out to folks even when I want to talk to them (which, honestly, is most of y'all. Oops.) If you ever do feel compelled to chat with me, please don't hesitate! I'm super excited to talk about BrBa/BCS with literally anybody!

I'm a writer, but I struggle hard with getting anything actually published on here or AO3. I try to write but it's not nearly consistent enough to ever expect anything from me. I'm working towards getting better at this! My main hurdle to overcome is my perfectionism and my fear of rejection (RSD).

I have a lot of interests, being autistic, so the only important one to list here is obviously Breaking Bad & Better Call Saul. You can certainly ask about my other interests, and I'll be happy to tell you more! I like to keep my special interests all separate on their own dedicated blogs, so that was the main motivation behind creating this one. Which leads me to the next section:

☣️About This Blog!⚗️

Most of the content is gonna be reblogs from others: fanart, fics, writings, memes, shitposts, etc. I myself am not an artist and cannot contribute with art even though I wish I could, but I may sometimes write little drabbles, oneshots, and universe willing, fic chapters for my ships/blorbos (more info on that below ↓). If you want to see something in particular, you're more than welcome to submit a request! I think I have a lot more motivation to write when I get specifically asked to write something, perhaps?

My main blorbos: (red shows the character currently occupying my braincell the most rn)

🥊Tuco Salamanca

🐍Nacho Varga (and by extension, Vaas Montenegro. I simply love MM.)

💀Marco & Leonel Salamanca

❤️‍🩹Jesse Pinkman

🎭Saul Goodman/Jimmy McGill

Of course, I adore all the characters (except Walt ofc) and they're all very special to me!! But these seven men listed above have an absolute chokehold on my brain at any given time lmao, so they will be featured prominently in this blog.

My fave ships:

Default ship is character x reader

Vaacho (Vaas x Nacho)

Lacho (Nacho x Lalo)

Beef Sandwich (Nacho x Twins) I fucking love this ship name holy shit

Tucho (Tuco x Nacho)

McWexler (Kim x Jimmy)

Jesse x Jane

Jesse x Andrea

Jesse x happiness (this is a joke, but also not. Man deserves it.)

📨Requests!📝

My asks are always open for questions, requests, or really anything! I love sending/receiving asks and interacting with this fandom! If you're interested in requesting a writing from me, first read this list of what I will and won't write before you submit your request:

Yes, no problem!

Vast majority of ships

Smut/Explicit/PWP

Headcanons

AUs

Oneshots

Drabble

Reader Inserts

Gender Swaps

Fluff

Hurt/Comfort

Angst

Violence/Gore

Dubcon

Toxic Relationship

Most Kinks & Fetishes

Please ask first!

Fandom Crossovers (mostly just to ensure I know the fandom)

Consensual Noncon (depends on character)

No, I will not!

In/ce/st Ships (i.e. twincest, cousins)

Explicit content involving underage characters

Ageplay (calling a character daddy doesn't count lol)

Extreme Kinks, such as s/ca/t, v/or/e, n/ecr/o, etc.

Keep in mind that I reserve the right to deny your request for any reason, including no reason at all! 9 times out of 10 this won't be necessary, but if you're rude or demanding non-jokingly, I won't write for you! Just be chill and it'll be Saul Goodman! :)

Also I don't have a Masterlist to link here, because I've never posted anything ever! It's all just vibing in my Google Docs while I polish and tweak until the end of time! Fun! :D /s

So, yeah, I suppose that's the long and the short of it. I didn't expect for this to be so long, but I have a tendency to just keep adding details to things! Good for writing; not great for writing a blog intro. I'll edit as needed over time, though. Thanks for reading if you got this far! Seriously, props to you. Here's a cookie mwah 🤲🏼🍪

[sleepershell]

Navigation

marauders

obx

john murphy

steve harrington

coriolanus snow

other characters

fave fics

Hi I’m Jas

poet / cunty sagittarius / bi horror / thrifter

Inbox is open to recs

oneshots (x f! or gn! reader), drabbles, moodboards, hcs

regulus black, evan rosier, barty crouch jr, coriolanus snow, fox mulder, dana scully, john murphy, jasper jordan, steve harrington, eddie munson, robin buckley, nancy wheeler, obx’s barry, rafe cameron, prince zuko, jesse pinkman, glenn rhee

[sardonic-the-writer]

maybe something Angsty turn hurt/comfort with Jesse? can be platonic or romantic and you can add whatever sort of spin you want to it but with a gender neutral reader?

sorry. no comfort. i felt like being evil today!

• Jesse didn't know what to do with himself

• Crying was pointless. It wouldn't take back the awful things he said to you. Apologizing wouldn't fix things either. He knew better than to try and fix things with a quick bit of remorse

• It wasn't your fault he was in this situation. If anything, you had been suspicious of Walter White from day one, trying to meet Jesse in the middle while still allowing him to make money with what he was doing

• You were really the only constant good thing in his life. Besides Jane for a brief moment in time, and now even she was gone

• So why did he scream at you to get out. Out of his sight, out of his house—out of his life?

Ash burned his hand, the residue from his cigarette littering itself carelessly across the leather couch Jesse was splayed out limply on.

His blue eyes saw right through the ceiling fan over head. Staring into nothing. The only sign he was even conscious was the slight rise and fall in his chest. And even that was labored.

Jesse hadn't slept at all. Or consumed anything beyond smoke from his cigarette butt for the past twelve hours. It was all he could do to sit there and not replay the words he had thrown at you in his head. Words full of poison, splashing into your face with the ferocity of acid.

Badger and Skinny Pete had come by at one point. Not that he really cared to remember. Both of them letting themselves in the unlocked house door—something they had commented on. ("What about intruders yo!" Jesse didnt seem to care.) And even they picked up on his mood pretty quick; something that didn't happen a lot with the pair. They both sensed an offer of drugs wouldn't cheer him up either, so they set down some take out they'd saved for him and left. Something Jesse was somewhat greatful for.

His phone was halfway across the room, smashed to peices. He had thrown it into the wall after you left, a pained scream accompanying it as the weight of what he said sunk in. If it wasn't for the noticeable tear streaks under his eyes Jesse wouldn't have even registered his tears.

He rolled over, staring at the peeling leather patches on his couch. Thinking about how fucked his life was. Thinking about how if he hadnt said those words, that you would be here right now. Probably beating his ass in Mario cart and gluing googly eyes to random objects in his house for him to find later. Making two bowls of cereal and getting up to make more when Badger and Pete arrived. Laughing at Jesse's made up words he'd spin up out of the blue and cheating durring video games through jabs in the ribs.

He was glad Skinny Pete and Badger hadn't stayed. That way they didn't have to see him choke out a painful sob.

"Fuck."

[niki-phoria]

jesse pinkman x short!male!reader? protective jesse perhaps?? maybe walt is being a dick??

pairing: jesse pinkman x short!male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff word count: 770

a/n: saw this idea and RAN with it lmao thank you so much for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

warnings: probably not canon compliant, cussing, maybe gets a little suggestive ??, walt is a dick, set at jesse's townhouse when he was renting from jane's dad, can't remember when walt lied about the pseudo going bad but just go with it, mdc stands for metropolitan detention center, google told me that's the jail in universe

requests open !! read my rules first

the sound of incessant knocking wakes you too early on a saturday morning. jesse groans next to you, rolling to lay on his back. you sit up next to him, gently nudging his side. “are you gonna get that?” 

“later,” he groans. you stifle a laugh, pulling yourself out of bed. jesse whines as you pull one of his shirts on, making your way to the front door. 

it almost shakes with the force of the pounding. “jesse!” a man shouts from the other side. you swing the door open, leaning against it. a middle-aged man stands on your porch, hand still raised to knock. he’s wearing a gray jacket and glasses. you shift uncomfortably under his harsh glare. his eyebrows furrow, face contorting into a scowl. “where’s jesse?” 

“he’s asleep,” you press the side of the door even closer to your side, using your body to block the view from inside your home. “what do you want?” 

“i need to see him.” you step back when the man raises his hand to press on the door. you push back, keeping him outside. 

“you couldn’t have called?” 

the man glares down at you. “no.” 

you roll your eyes, glancing behind you. jesse stretches a little, rushing to your side when he notices the man.

“babe,” he leans down so his lips barely ghost against the side of your neck. “i’ll handle this. why don’t you start breakfast?” 

you raise an eyebrow at him but the look he gives is enough to tell you to back off for the time being. “sure.” you step aside, away from the door. 

“i won’t be long.” you nod as jesse steps outside, closing the door behind him. 

“who is he?” the man yells. their voices are clear despite the door separating you from him. “does he know about you? about us? what have you told him?” 

“nothing, alright, he’s cool. don’t worry about him.” 

you grab a bowl from the cabinets, setting it on the counter next to the carton of eggs. their voices only continue to grow louder. “don’t worry about him? are you hearing yourself? jesse-” 

“listen, what is this about? you show up at my house and start pounding on my door and you don’t even tell me what you want?” 

the man sighs. “we need to cook more. a lot more. our pseudo is going bad.” 

this time it’s jesse who sighs, though he sounds more exasperated than anything. “seriously?” after a moment of silence, he sighs again. “fine. tomorrow.” 

“we need to do it today.” 

“i’m busy. i’ve got plans.” 

the man scoffs. “smoking pot and sleeping all day are not plans. who even is that guy? what’s he doing here?” 

“he’s none of your business.” jesse hisses. “we’ll cook tomorrow. now leave.” 

he doesn’t give the man a chance to respond before he comes back inside, closing the door behind him. you stand in front of the stove, flipping an omelet in a pan. jesse relaxes a little, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. his hand is warm as it presses against your side. he pulls you against his back, head resting on top of yours. 

“eggs?” he murmurs. you hum, twisting to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“we need to buy groceries.” 

“later,” he whispers, turning you around in his arms. he reaches over to turn the burner down, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. his hand presses against your thigh, coaxing you to jump up onto the counter. you wrap your arms around his neck, now level with him. 

jesse smiles when you pull away, leaning down to press another peck against your lips. “so,” you whisper. “which drugs do you sell?” 

you can feel him freeze against you, wide eyes staring into your own. after a beat of silence, he speaks. “how did you know?” 

“you two weren’t exactly quiet,” you trace your fingers along his jawline, thumb stroking against the skin of his cheek. 

“meth,” jesse sighs. “i make crystal meth.” 

“wow.” 

“are you gonna turn me in?” 

you hum in faux contemplation, pulling him down so his forehead rests against yours. “no.” his hand moves up from your thigh to your waist, hand slipping underneath your shirt. “you’re lucky you’re so cute. otherwise, you’d be halfway to mdc right now.” 

jesse laughs. “i’m glad.” 

you chuckle, pulling him down into another quick kiss. “promise me,” you hold your hand out, sticking your pinky up. he glances down at your hand, raising an eyebrow. “no stupid shit.” 

“no stupid shit.” he chuckles, intertwining your fingers together. “i promise.”

[jessepinkmansdirtybong]

hey i’m ritchie !!

this blog is mainly about jesse pinkman, but i write and post about general breaking bad stuff too.

feel free to send it requests for fics/oneshots/drabbles etc!!! i love talking to other jesse enjoyers

[toprayarc]

BAD COPS, GOOD CRIMINALS, AND SOMETHING IN-BETWEEN: A BACKGROUND DRABBLE, DEPICTING THE EVENTS PREVIOUS TO MARI'S DESCENT TO BEING ON THE RUN. CANON CREATED IN AFFILIATION WITH @TOCOOK, @METHEMPIRE, AND @GUSTAVOS. CONTENT WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS— ABUSE MENTIONS, C-PTSD SYMPTOMS, ADDICTION / DRUG USE, ABUSE OF POWER, MURDER / DEATH, VIOLENCE, MANIPULATION.

in 2001, philadelphia police department send their best and brightest (otherwise known as the individuals with more bendable moral codes) to the door of state judge kenji dai’s home. with a notepad in hand, and a crooked jaw set straight, mike ehrmantraut presses a little further into a domestic dispute call than what self preservation tells him to. work with me, kid, he murmurs beneath a tired tone and a sidestepped gaze from the nearby father. give me something to go off of, he pushes, but sixteen year old mari dai is watching her hands unfold and refold in her lap, shrugging her shoulders inward, and telling him there isn’t anything to give. there’s nothing to talk about, she mutters, and traces the side of her sock onto the hardwood flooring. thanks for checking in, is what her father says as they leave, wrapping his grasp around the edge of the front door, but mike’s stare never strays off the beaten path in the slightest, watching carefully as the white-clad teenager in question peeks her way out from the closed curtains — and then abruptly disappears.

several days later, in the closed-blinded office of philadelphia’s police department, mike ehrmantraut is biting out the words something is going on in that house. a sigh circulates in return, giving empty advice that neither officer of the law believes to amount to anything: you wanna make an accusation, mike —  you go right ahead. can’t stop you. but you and i both know how this goes. the silence sits between the two, and a bitter-breathed exhale works in tandem with an exit, leading his patrol car right down the street mike had driven down only a few days previous. the crackle of gravel aligns with his window rolling downward, pace slowing to creep in an approach to the driveway that now has carved itself empty: with the exception of one. a frown digs into the side of his cheek, watching as a distant form collects little shards of what he can only assume to be the remains of a bottle, tucking them into a crinkled plastic bag, and looking over her shoulder every few seconds. any slow pace has lulled to a stop, brakes creaking and meeting the gaze of a blank-faced sixteen year old. what do you want, she spits from across the yard, all heat and no quiet hesitation, and it’s almost enough to make him chuckle. instead, he raises his eyebrows just the slightest, and tells her he’s just doing his rounds. i’m checking in, is what he means, and they both know it. she stares at him for a moment longer, picks up a final shard of glass to fold inside of her palm briefly, and tells him there’s probably something more important going on elsewhere. he pauses, the faint rustle of windchimes ringing in the distance, and says simply: no, i don’t think there is.

only a year later does word circulate about matt ehrmantraut’s death, with mari’s close ear to the ground hearing murmurs and whispers on how stand-up cop mike ehrmantraut is drowning in grief. at dinnertime, her finger traces along the warped edge of her desk, sheltered into her room, and pries out a fake i.d from the box hidden in the very back of her closet. silent steps carry her out of her front door, catching the nearest bus and working her way into a bar that surrounds her in the hustle and bustle of a world she only finds a brief reprieve in. the taste of a watered down whiskey hits the back of her throat, spinning the glass in her palm as she watches the in’s and out’s of a dive bar that find it just not worth their time to argue with her by now. she’s got an answer for everything, they’re not paid enough to care, and her fake i.d is passable enough to get her in the door. what more do they need? ignorance in the face of the law isn’t breaking the law — it’s just ignorance. plausible deniability, and no one in this town gives enough of a shit to figure out anything otherwise.

living vicariously through the chatter in bars has been enough to know a little more about the cop who wouldn’t stop making his rounds in mari’s neighborhood, and once the non-concealable scar came with no return from her and only a glimpse of her gaze through the drawn-curtained window, any brief conversations held dwindled down to nothing. her choices are limited, his options were none, and trying to find an out through a law that abides by nothing but dollar signs and false hierarchies isn’t a dream that mari has ever invested into. but sometimes, she likes to hear about him. sometimes, she likes to think of the things she could say. it’s only on the chances of picking just the right dive bar at just the right time that makes those hushed whispers into something more of a reality — a gruff voice familiarizing itself at the end of the bar. her back molar outlines the inside of her cheek, still fresh with a nervous-found wound, before impulse overrides any logic.

people say drinking alone is dangerous, is what she tosses out into the air as she hops onto a nearby barstool. mike’s voice rumbles, not quite as humorous as it is dry, letting her know that he’s heard something similar about teen drinking. a smirk twitches at the corner of her lip, an empty glass nudged his way, with her stare fixating on a nearby bartender briefly. a fluid defense of it not looking like she’s got anything left to drink contrasts with a slow introduction to truth, hindered only by a pause before mari’s voice drops to a low murmur. she says thanks — any reasonings going unsaid, with quiet implications and silent understandings knitting themselves underneath. another pause stretches outward, with her finger tracing over the edge of the bar and a swallow of mike’s drink working itself between his lips. the clock ticks onward, a repetitive touch circling itself over a worn surface, before she tacks on one additional word after: sorry. it breathes itself hesitant, as if not quite sure what to apologize for, and the gentle clink of mike’s glass returns to the space in front of him.

something close to a bittered wane wedges itself into his voice, boomeranging the sentiment right back to her. me too. the statement is simple, as plain as hers is, and neither need more of a heart-to-heart to pinpoint just where it hurts. mari’s gaze watches as the remainder of his drink dissipates, leaving nothing but a hollow-shell and a bar napkin stuck beneath it. as the minutes waste themselves away, and the last drops of liquor swipe themselves clean, mike heaves out a sigh, and tugs a pen from his jacket pocket. i’m moving on, he states, all gruff and factual with only a scribble of numbers to spare. he stands, the napkin nudging against her palm, as a stare levels out to her. look after yourself, kid, he advices, and gestures to the dim surroundings of the bar. you won’t find anything good in places like this.

the calls come in small increments. how are you holding up, keep an eye on your mother, and is that boyfriend of yours behaving himself all stack into five minute phone calls that span out over the years. she tells him things in return  —  like she’s holding up just fine, her mother should learn how to take care of herself, and her boyfriend never behaves himself so mike should give up on that dream. sometimes she’ll get a brief chuckle through the phone, sometimes she can hear a distant huff of disapproval, and sometimes it’s a silence that says everything she needs to know. it’s nothing special, but it’s a secret that keeps itself contained to just the bare essentials. mike doesn’t need to know anything more than what she tells him, but his stand-up citizen routine doesn’t fool her. he left the very day after two cops dropped dead, and she doesn’t need to hear the shots ring out to know who the hell pulled the trigger. it’s why she keeps calling, she thinks. part of why she keeps calling, at least, because there’s some pieces of her past she doesn’t know how to let go of, and that younger year, sort-of-tipsy self being given ten digits towards a lifeline isn’t something she takes lightly.

so much so, that when her apartment space clears and her life bumps down to a population count of one, there’s no hesitation in packing her bags and sob-storying her way into a one way plane ticket to new mexico. mari needs a clean slate, mike found his in that city 5 years ago, and albuquerque welcomes her in with a straight faced mike ehrmantraut running his hand over his face as she dials his number for a couch to crash on. three days and some subtle amounts of digging later, he tells her two weeks, as she changes the channel for the 10th time in their conversation. and no visitors, he adds, with just a little less patience than before. her tongue clicks against her cheek, humming as she presses a button on the remote again, and tosses out a comment that runs any last patience downward. why, you got something to hide? her shit-eating smirk meets his unamused disapproval, and any formal barriers shred themselves shy. nothing you haven’t already tried to find, he responds, and unsaid understandings birth anew. mari’s laugh echoes through the room, telling him she’s glad his skills aren’t slipping in his old age. he shakes his head, and only pauses in his step as she follows up with a piece of advice: you might want to consider some other hiding spots, though. mari clicks through a channel, flashes her pearly whites in a grin, and finishes any last wipe-aways of lies with a taunt  —  your collection of suppressors is pretty tempting for a girl like me.

mike could tell himself that he gets her in the door with gustavo fring for the sake of his couch being free again, but he doesn’t. the world is a rat-race of whoever bears their teeth the sharpest, and mari may have proved she’s a sharp-shooter and a clean-criminal, but he still remembers the days before her left eye had a permanent reminder on why she became that way. she’s older, wiser, but not as old and wise as he is, and he knows there’s something beneath all those laugh-tracked smirks and casual callousness. he’s got too many memories of her looking over her shoulder to focus entirely on the days that she doesn’t. or, seemingly doesn’t, because their weekly diner chats and early morning pop-ups seem to be the only thing that she keeps around in her life. she does her job well, she’s more than equipped for her line of work, but he’s been around the block enough times to know that padlocking the world shut comes at a cost. mike may roll his eyes as she dumps 10 packets of sugar and too many cups of creamer into her 6am coffee, but if he chooses to stand outside while she burns down a cigarette and makes just a little more conversation than usual, he’s in no denial that it might be the only conversation of the day she has. so, maybe he was never a good cop. maybe he’s not even a good criminal. but, at the very least, mike thinks he owes it to her to try to be a good friend.

by the time 2009 rolls around, and mari’s life is a work-play cycle on repeat, mike tosses the consideration of suggesting to find a friend her age between his teeth. it never makes its way out, in a careful reminder of just who mari dai is — and what she refuses to be — but he does find a little relief when she mentions plans that are more comfortable, rather than concerning. i’m going birdwatching with a friend, she admits after a diner breakfast that only finds itself half eaten. her fork nudges at syrup-soaked pancakes, cheek resting in her palm as her gaze raises. an eyebrow perks, humor concealing any small admittances that mike doesn’t miss. got any advice, old man? she teases, and he swallows a mouthful of black coffee before telling her a little sliver of truth he isn’t so sure she’s going to listen to. don’t overcomplicate it, he murmurs, adjusting his palm against the newspaper, and choosing to ignore when mari asks what’s so complicated about birdwatching. avoidance, he knows, is more of an answer than she wants it to be.

however, that friend in question seems to be a little more close to home than expected. jesse pinkman: textbook addict, meth cook sidekick, the unfortunate companion of a man that mike thinks has never learned the meaning of quit while he’s ahead, and apparently, mari dai’s newfound friend. it’s a thin line between business and pleasure that skews into nothing, when her routine presence turns to absence and her phone skips to voicemail. he’s aware mari has her fair share of hobbies —- some of which are people — but skipping out on work is a waving red flag if he’s ever seen one. it’s not hard to figure out where she’s ended up, and any suspicions turn factual when her re-entry into the workplace is lock-jawed and jittery. addiction, regardless of mari’s so-called functionality, is still addiction, and her exceptional skills don’t make her any exception to the rule. her indulgent habits have never made her a liability before, but mike is well aware: this won’t fly. they’ve both got a boss to answer to, and the product they’re pushing has no place to become something that mari keeps on taking. but getting her to do something she doesn’t want to do, comes down to not just one factor, but two. if she’s got a supplier, mike’s dose of advice won’t cease any downward spiral dealings, and jesse pinkman has enough on his plate as is.

you know his policy, mike sighs against the spark of her lighter and a pupil-blown blink. smoke billows between them, a hand flicking a flame to life repetitively as mari tries to fend off the inevitable. it’s never been an issue before, she bites out along with a short sniff and a stand-still gaze that only adds onto the already-existing issue. he keeps his tone straight, leveling a stare that says more than what his words do. you’re right, he affirms, before letting discretion speak the rest of his implications. this hasn’t been an issue before. mike knows, just like she does, that this high-rise of a behavior isn’t comparable to any past discussions on late-night drinking or numb-toothed recreations, and trying to fool a man like him, isn’t as easy as any stray idiots she decides to drag through her front door. mari draws from her cigarette, flicks her lighter to life again, and then drops her gaze. it makes things easier, she murmurs in the midst of another cloud of smoke. mike quiets, trying to find the line dividing business and personal matters, and picks something in-between. no, he says, as gentle as it is, firm. it really doesn’t. 

in an impromptu evening of what mike has decided to deem as something of a payment on an infinite debt, mari has found herself on his couch yet again. over the years, he’s learned that she’ll only sit tucked into the very corner of the left side of the couch, and she won’t ingest a single movie he decides to put on. he watches his tv, mari blasts music from a bygone era through her headphones, and occasionally, they’ll say something. tonight, however, is not following any of those rules. she sits in the middle of his couch, the sides of her forearms resting on her knees, and her hands clasped together as if preparing for a prayer. i’m guessing you know who my friend is, she exhales through a slightly bittered laugh. mike gives a hmph of a noise in confirmation, pours himself a cup of coffee, and prepares for whatever confrontation mari has in mind. yet, instead, she blinks down at the ground, traces her sock over the hardwood flooring like she’d done so many years ago, and asks him what his opinion on jesse pinkman is. any surprise is filtered away from his features, replaced with a contemplative silence that tells her he’s choosing his words carefully. little fish, in a big pond, he starts, and then swallows a sigh, finishing his admittance: and he’s starting to drown.

a week later, mari’s voice is carrying itself over the phone in a haphazard panic that tells mike he’s got about ten minutes or less before she’s past the point of no return. absolutely not, she’s repeating, the faint jingle of keys in the background eliciting an upturn of his head to stare at the ceiling. you’re not going to fucking mexico without me, she continues, her words rushing together. she presses onward, telling him he can tell gustavo fring himself that she doesn’t trust this. if he needs an enforcer, she says, i’ve more than proved myself. the slam of her car door aligns with her half-sales pitch, half-plea. that is not what this is about, mike responds, his slow pace of words contrasting hers. it is not in your best interest, or mine, to go off book on this one. a pause in any rustle or background noise gifts a sign of getting through, and mike takes his cue to carry onward. it’ll be two days, and then we’re back to business, he reassures, and mari swallows. her forehead presses against her steering wheel, keys palmed into her hand as her eyes close. promise me, mike, she murmurs through the receiver, sounding just a little bit more like that sixteen year old girl, and mike closes his eyes too. i promise, he says, and forces himself to keep it at that.

two days and a notice of mike’s recuperation period later, mari’s holding well over twenty insults and reasons on exactly why she didn’t trust that mexico trip to begin with behind her tongue. gustavo fring may deal with her less-than-serious comments she dishes out, but arguing with him over something that’s already happened is a waste of her goddamn energy. instead, she bides her time, and thinks that the next time mike decides to go on a stay-cation across the border, she’s not giving in for anything. the days pass slowly, with jesse dwindling out into the distance with his on-again off-again girlfriend, and mari designates her new task as familiarizing herself with the empty corners of her apartment. that new task of hers, however, doesn’t make it to even two weeks, before gustavo fring is dropping dead, and mike’s voice is slinging back across the receiver. his words rumble through the speaker of her phone, telling her it’s only a matter of time, and reminding her that a one-way ticket to elsewhere is a small price to pay. what about you, she tosses out into the speaker-phoned conversation as she packs, and mike’s sigh is disgruntled enough for her to imagine the twitch of his lip to follow. i’ve got to wrap things up, he says, and then pauses long enough for her to visualize him holding back another sigh. and then? mari prompts, because neither are under the impression that the suggestion of a matter of time doesn’t apply to him, either. on the other end of the phone, mike glances out to 308 negra arroyo lane, and tells her he’ll be getting the hell out of dodge, too.

marissa dai died plenty of years ago, and planning a pseudo-death is a security measure in maintaining the existence of mari, herself. excessive is what mike had called it back when she’d first mentioned the idea, but thorough, is what mari’s decided to call it, now. recreating herself is something she does figuratively as is, and slapping on a new name to match is nothing she’s got any room to be sentimental over. being mari dai has its perks, but there’s more of a risk, now, and while leaving the few connections she has behind isn’t her first choice, it happens to be the only one available. that is, until jesse’s contact name is flashing on her screen, with a ramble about a poison cigarette that has somehow removed itself from his pockets, and only one person who fits the bill on why they’d take it to begin with. walter white is a name that hasn’t ever quite made it into the conversation, but mari’s been circulating the great heisenberg for longer than he’s been aware of. it doesn’t take an idiot to put two and two together, she thinks, but it takes a particular brand of man to condition someone into this level of submission. or devotion. or both, because mari’s no stranger to the big-egoed eagerly-greedy kind of man that walter seems to be, and reading out the situation is as instinctive as any of her next moves are. but first, she needs more information, and mike ehrmantraut is full of it.

give me a rundown on what you know about jesse pinkman, is what she leads with. below ten minutes, and any thoughts on his partner are appreciated, is what she adds on afterwards. there’s hardly a pause, before mike’s response of should i ask why, is as flat as mari expects it to be. the faint rustle of the phone pairs with a scoff, her head shaking as her car flies through a stop sign and her palm adjusts on the wheel. i’m not killing him, if that’s your concern, she retorts, and swerves out and around a car that’s decidedly going too slow for her taste. mike reels out the hits, avoids any too-personal touches, and, in under ten minutes, delivers a nearly-full rundown on the man in question — with a few jabs at walter mixed in the middle. after 20 seconds of what mike can only assume to be a processing time, mari clicks her tongue, gives a hmph of contemplation, and then says thanks, before abruptly hanging up. he closes his phone, slides it into his pocket, and knows that that conversation most certainly will not be the end of it.

it’s no surprise when mike picks up the phone to mari asking for a favor. what is, however, is the specific favor in question. even more, is the sheer determination in it. he’s been around mari for long enough to know when to sway her mind, and when it’s near impossible to even try. picking your battles with her is the most efficient and effective route, and this isn’t a battle he believes she’s ready or willing to give up. what’s your move here, he asks through a veiled layer of uncertainty, and mari hesitates. he needs an out, she says, her voice shrinking for only half of a second. mari inhales, sliding her hand around the rings that dangle around her neck, and finishes her answer as simply as she can: i’m prepared to give him one.

a way out isn’t as clean or efficient as mari had planned on, but she’s chalking that up to a business-woman who’s gone off leash. handcuffs, a DEA agent, or even a warrant out for her arrest were all on the list of risks in lingering around to try to get an ending tied up in a bow, but this? this wasn’t quite expected. an answer to who has it out for her is cursive looped in lydia rodarte-quayle’s name, and while mari’s sure mike has tried his best to deter her hit-man hiring activities, she would’ve preferred if it was through a bullet, rather than a stern warning. spending an already risky afternoon disposing of a body is more than just an annoyance, and at this point: it’s a liability.

after she catches her breath, mike’s ten digits dial into her phone, and mari’s tone weathers thin as it crackles through the other end. get ahold of your chihuahua associate, she drawls. i’m risking enough as is, and while i’d love to tally some numbers up in any other circumstance, i’m not feeling too competitive right now. mike’s jaw clicks, mari takes his silence as an understanding, and continues. i can’t stick around, she states, and sinks a bite into the inside of her cheek. a beat of silence stagnates, and then her point forges forward. but i’m taking him with me. neither end of the call needs a name, to know exactly who she’s talking about, and mike slowly hauls himself upward, adjusting the phone in his hand. alright. his confirmation is brief, moving to pluck his keys off of the counter. he pauses. now? the question sits, both parties still attempting to pick options out of a mess that provides nearly none. mari inhales, exhales, and digs her shoe into the gravel beneath her. eventually, she speaks, her gaze darting to the skies.  i guess there’s no time like the present.

the crawl of mike’s car coming to a stop parks right along the street, a short whine of his brakes echoing outward. the creak of his door opening doesn’t depart mari’s stare from the house that sits across from them, her lips wrapped around what he’d assume to not be her first cigarette upon arrival. he could ask if she’s ready, but this isn’t the type of situation that either of them were ever fully ready to encounter to begin with, so he simply listens to the crackle of tobacco and her slow exhales. thanks, she says, as if it’s almost a secret. and, to her, maybe it is. smoke flies out and up into the air, catching itself through the wind, and mike spares a glance her way. ash flutters downward, as she leans herself against her car. i’m sorry, she murmurs, and mike doesn’t need to ask what for. after a beat, he clasps his hands, leaning against her car beside her, and says don’t be, because leaving an old man who’s been on this road for a long time isn’t anything to be sorry for. she’s got a whole lot of life ahead of her, and the least mike can hope for, is that she won’t spend it forcing herself to be alone. he knows, just like she does, that as much as mari may paint herself selfish, and choose only a select few to do differently for, no one is as loyal as her. 

though, jesse pinkman, he thinks, may come pretty damn close.

[breakingjunkie]

Breaking Bitch Fic Drabble!!

—————

Walt parks inconspicuously and goes inside the lab, he’s surprised to find the door was already unlocked. Cautiously, he continues forward, looking around and seeing nothing at first… then… a red blob in the corner… it just appeared to be a pile of cloth, still, Walter approached it with caution.

He pokes it about three times before it begins… Moving? Walter is about to smack it, when finally, it stands up and the red cloth falls to the floor, revealing a very tired Jesse Pinkman.

“What the hell, Mr.White?!”

“Ah, Jesse, it’s just you.”

“Who did you think it was? The blob?”

“What’re you doing here?”

Jesse looks around for a bit, averting Walt’s eyes, “Don’t worry about it, I was just sleeping, why’re you here?”

“I’d rather not be home.” Walt responds, bluntly.

That’s where it started and if you asked either of them, both would probably say it was a complicated turn of events that led them to where they were… But no one would ask them, because not a soul would ever know of what they would do there that night. Turns out, Jesse had managed to disable the cameras in such a way as to not alert Gus. What it really came down to was the drugs in Jesse’s system and the jar of rum he’d hidden and decided to share with Walt.

There wasn’t much complicated about it, really; they had an odd affliction for each other. Walt always found himself magnetized to Jesse, the universe constantly pulling them together. Sometimes the man swore he knew Jesse better than his own wife… And when she’d told him, with that uncaring tone, that she’d fucked her boss… Well, maybe, in a fucked up way, this felt like some sort of vengeance, even if he’d never speak of it.

Jesse was piss-drunk by the time Walt was towering over him, unzipping his fly, with the palm of his hand resting on the young man’s head. The brunet was biting his lip and looking up at his former teacher, too drunk and high to care about the cock about to go in his mouth.