#oh my god fuck ot3s HALF A FUCKING YEAR passed and it’s the first time i see this bc they probably ate all hakyeon pages in anger

[kenmung]

[sibillascribbles08]

If you could take creative control of ninjago what would you change

Christ...

WELL

Actually no idk where to start with this there’s so much anon there’S SO M U C H I guess I’ll do a run of MINIMAL changes tho (for as long as I can)

I don’t think I have to change much in the first two seasons, thankfully, since the writers actually sat down to think about what they were writing at the time but g o d did it go to hell afterwards

Season 3 - This Zane focused season is going to be ZANE FOCUSED DAMN IT. We’re focusing on his loss over his Father, having salt rubbed in the wound by having his father’s work turned into an evil army, and being faced with the fact he’s obsolete compared to it all. He keeps trying to stack up numbers to win, recalculate things, and it’s why his line at the ending ACTUALLY has impact. The thing that sets him apart from the nindroids, his ability to love, is what allows him to defeat the Overlord.

Jay, Cole and Nya love triangle is DESTROYED. Pixal, Zane and Cole is the new love triangle and later OT3

Season 4 - The explanation for the other EMs being around is far less stupid. Garmadon establishes that oh yeah all of your parents had elemental powers and even talks about a few of them because holy SHIT. Cole mentions his mom because he should have done that a g e s ago. Is this supposed to be a Kai season doesn’t feel like it. Open the season with better explanations of why the ninja split. Emphasis the fact that Kai blames himself for what happened to Zane, and continues to do so throughout the season. Add that to why he’s so desperate to save Skylor from her dad (not willing to lose someone else). We still lose Garmadon, Kai and Lloyd have a talk at the end of the season. Also ZANE IMMEDIATELY GOES TO GET PIXAL A NEW BODY WTHHH????

Season 5 - Idk this season was pretty good over all I think. A bit better lore established into the cloud kingdom, hints that they don’t actually control fate they just think they do. Explain where the FUCK NIMBUS CAME FROM?? Water can still beat up ghosts but idk feel like there should be some other factors involved, some magic. Kai and Zane figure out they can make water a LOT sooner. Also why doesn’t Kai just set the preeminent’s house armor on fire??? Should have. OH I did forget since this season is supposed to be for NYA GETTING HER WATER ELEMENT how about she actually GO WITH THE NINJA AND DO SOME SHIT SOMETIMES??? I don’t mind her training, specially Ronin helping her but like??? Wtf why not have her ENGAGE, idiots.

Season 6 - I’m the weirdo who actually likes season 6 but that doesn’t mean it’s not without its issues. I don’t mind Jay wondering about where he stands with Nya but his behavior throughout the season has to stay consistent. When he agrees with Nya he needs to let it go he needs to LET IT GO. IT LITERALLY SHOULDN’T BE BROUGHT UP AGAIN UNTIL THE LIGHTHOUSE. He also needs to linger more on his birth father (and besides he should have suspected he’s adopted since season 4 cause he knows neither of his parents had lightning powers). Zane doesn’t ignore Pixal’s warning about Nadakhan but if she’s off somewhere else idk how she gets threatened I’m sure Nadakhan could figure it out. OH and time can still reset and stuff idc but like, Jay and Nya need to talk about it and they need to GO BACK FOR ECHO. EVEN IF THEY DON’T FIND HIM THERE.

Day of the Departed - just wish it was longer tbh, but major changes: Why do the ninja not seem to care that cole is FADING OUT OF EXISTENCE and Lou should be a lot more worried about his son.

Season 7 - I mean, it’s mostly a trash fire, but I think it’d be a lot more enjoyable if they actually had good sibling dynamics going on. Acronix following his brother because he always has, but starts questioning their plans as things go. At first their relationship is much better, which is why they best Kai and Nya, but by the end that flips over. Actually have Kai and Nya having an ISSUE. Kai thinks their parents could have been traitors, Nya seemingly doesn’t care because she’s so wrapped up with her samurai x stuff being stolen. They end up fighting and don’t make up until the boiling sea. ALSO GIVE RAY AND MAYA A BETTER FUCKING EXCUSE FOR BEING GONE THEY COULD HAVE FUCKING SHANKED KRUX WHEN HIS BACK WAS TURNED GET OUT OF HERE HE HAD NO LEVERAGE.

Also Machia isn’t dead okay she’s just in the past she WILL COME BACK

Seasons 8 and 9 I’d say are pretty solid honestly? My minor changes: Garmadon isn’t Garmadon he’s a fucking fake get out of here with that shit THE REAL GARMADON WOULD NEVER. We actually learn where Mr. E came from I don’t even care if it’s just Harumi and UV talking about how they found him in a scrap heap and got him fixed just give me something. Stop treating Dareth like SHIT. Ronin and The Commissioner plan a jail break long before they’re let out in season 9. Teen Wu is a lot less... air headed. Like seriously he seems to have more logic when he’s a child it doesn’t add up. I’m not saying he has to remember everything but wth?? Oh, and Mistaké isn’t dead fuck you.

Season 10 - ............................................ delete it and start over. Literally, hate all of it, get it out of here. Four episodes for villains you built up like FUCK in the last two seasons??? All of them fucking as big as people???????? cowardly, weak, uninspired, I don’t want it I’m just going to have to redo this whole gd season. A) Oni leader is a QUEEN now and she can be up to 30 feet tall no I do not give a FUCK B) Fake ass Garmadon is revealed to be a different oni entirely he was an agent for the queen the whole time but never finished his mission C) She can still paralyze a bunch of people but man Lloyd you’re going to need more than a shiny tornado to fight her off. D) In fact you need to summon your other great grandma so the two of them can get over their divorce spat. E) Where’s the mask of vengeance bring that back into play. F) Mistaké shows back up to help. I suppose plot wise it can?? Mostly run the same but I think they’re going to have to run much farther than the city with how fast she spreads her reach. Also she’s weak for Lloyd because he’s the smol great grandson and he has to use that to his advantage to slow her down. Mistaké makes something that can unparalyze people and they get some of their allies back before the finale thank god. Faith isn’t just in a coma the whole GD time.

Season 11 - Fire half? Good. I need a much better reason why the ninja go to the never realm tho because wow did they just make everyone out of character in that last episode. The ninja have no reason to just ignore Wu and shove him out like that. Wu has no reason to NOT NOTICE LLOYD IS BREAKING INTO HIS ROOM WHEN HE WAS KICKING THE NINJAS ASSES IN THE FIRST EPISODE. Ice half?? ... h Yeah no they should have known Zane was the emperor from the start LMAO. Or at least suspected the possibility. The decades of time passing??? Deleted. Maybe give it a year. Idk why it’s just Lloyd snapping Zane out if why aren’t the other ninja involved like p l e a s e. Also kill Vex with an ice spike, thanks.

Season 12 - Over all I liked what this season had going but there... should have been more. And that ending felt so crunched together like damn... Unagami was a p cool villain at least BUT idk, despite all the focus on the plot so much of it didn’t feel tangible enough. Even if we’re going to focus more on the video game world I want to see more of what these NPCs are up to. Should have tossed in a couple of filler episodes. Also can someone just kill the Mechanic too SMH (and they should have tied Wu up in something sturdier how did he not just break out of that WHATEVER)

Suppose I’ll stop there I haven’t season season 13 yet.

Oh, the timeline itself needs some fucking work too. At least establish Wu and Garmadon’s sudden aging. At least establish how old Zane is (I’d believe he was built 40 years ago but I find it hard to believe he was active for all of it). Establish that yeah the FSM really did basically fuck off like idk 14 years ago and idk why the show acts like it was so long ago it couldn’t have been based on the other facts we know have Wu learn that his dad is a bitch ass motherfucker and he needs to ditch.

Honestly there’s more but like................. this is the simple version

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Nigerian Job

(PART ONE)

leverage 1.01

note: there are A LOT of scenes in this one, but they are all important in one way or another in terms of notability, character-building, etc

Dubenich: I’m sorry Mr. Ford, sorry, I know who you are I’ve, uh, excuse me. I’ve read all about you. I know for example that-that when you found that stolen Monet painting in Florence you probably saved your Insurance Company what 20-25 million dollars. Then there was that identity theft thing and you saved your insurance company I don’t even know how many millions of dollars but I just know that when you needed them… What happened to your family is the kind of thing--

Nate (slams glass down): You know that part of the conversation where I punch you in the neck nine or ten times? We’re coming up on that pretty quick.

- - - - -

Dubenich: I’m serious. Look, look at the people I’ve already hired. Do you recognize any of these names?

Nate (going through file): Uh, yeah, I’ve chased all of them at one time or anoth-- Parker? You have Parker?

Dubenich: Is there somebody better?

Nate: No, but Parker is insane.

Dubenich: Which is why I need you.

Nate (laughs): No. I’m not a thief. (closes file)

Dubenich: Thieves I got. What I need is one honest man to watch them.

- - - - -

Hardison: I’ve been doing this since high school, bro, I’m Captain Discipline.

[Flashback]

(New York City Hotel, Five Years Ago)

Manager: They came straight from the airport and up to their room.

Security: So you never actually saw any of them then.

Manager: No, but the credit card numbers checked out.

Security: Break it down!

(Doors open to reveal Hardison sitting on a couch drinking orange soda while three beautiful women dressed as Princess Leia fight with lightsabers)

Security: Does that look like Mick Jagger to you?

Hardison: This is not the room you’re looking for.

what a fucking GEEK oh my god

like, his flashback is so tame compared to the others???

like, his version of criminality is hanging out with cosplaying pretty girls and watching them fight with lightsabers, all under the guise of pretending to be mick jagger

- - - - -

Hardison (holding up an earpiece): It’s a bone-conduction earpiece mic, works off the vibrations in your jaw.

(Hardison tosses it to Eliot who holds it to his ear)

Hardison (whispering): You can hear everything.

Eliot: You’re not as useless as you look.

eliot being subtly impressed with hardison is my religion

- - - - -

Hardison: I don’t even know what you do.

[Flashback]

(3 Years Ago Eliot, wearing glasses and drinking from a mug of tea, enters a room full of men in Belgrade, Serbia)

Eliot: I’m here to collect the merchandise.

(Most of the men pull guns. Eliot takes a long sip of his drink. Outside, the windows flash with gunfire. Moans and the sound of a body falling fill the air. Inside, Eliot calmly takes another drink. One man sits at a table surrounded by bodies that litter the ground. He places a baseball card on the table. Eliot smiles)

am I the only one that wants to know the context of this???

- - - - -

(Parker drops down between Eliot and Hardison, hanging upside down from scaffolding)

Parker: Can I have one?

Hardison: You can have the whole box.

(Hardison holds the box of comms up for her. She takes one and pulls herself back up)

Eliot: What are you going to do when she finds out you live with your mom?

Hardison: Age of the geek, baby. We run the world.

Eliot: You keep telling yourself that.

(Parker puts the comm in her ear, smiling)

ot3 moments from day one baby

also eliot goes from ‘baby’ to ‘oh god, I’m baby’ in 0.0000005 seconds

- - - - -

[Flashback]

(19 Years Ago in Kansas City, a ten year old Parker stands in her living room watching her foster parents fight. The foster father turns to Parker, holding a stuffed bunny while the foster mother stands in the background, crying)

Bill: You thought I wouldn’t find this? You don’t get bunny until you do what I say. So be a good girl or, I don’t know, a better thief. (walks out of room)

Foster Mother: Bill!

(Parker walks outside and down the walk. Behind her, the house explodes. She hugs her bunny and smiles)

for the LONGEST time I thought she blew up the house with her foster parents until I saw that john rogers confirmed they weren’t home at the time

also this gives HEAVY insight as to how even the smallest part of Parker’s childhood was

abusive, emotionally manipulative, etc

- - - - -

(Parker adjusts her repelling gear, caressing it as if it were a lover)

Parker: Last time I used this rig, Paris, 2003

Nate: You talking about the Caravaggio? You stole that?

- - - - -

Eliot (examining earpiece): Is this thing safe?

Hardison: Yeah, it’s completely safe, it’s just, you know, you might experience nausea, weakness in your right side, stroke, strokiness.

Eliot (puts earpiece in): You’re precisely why I work alone.

shut up eliot you’re about to be so far gone for them it will be amazing

- - - - -

(Parker dives off the roof)

Parker: Yeehaaaa!!

(Eliot and Hardison run to the edge and watch her fall)

Eliot: That’s twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag.

what’s the opposite of foreshadowing? because I’m thinking about the long goodbye job and it’s reference to this (also the SIGNIFICANCE in that episode in how both hardison AND eliot repeat this line, finishing one another. because they both are on the same wavelength by that point, so in tune with one another and in constant awe of parker.)

- - - - -

parker just ??? drops the fucking glass ??? onto the sidewalk below ??? like ??? what if it hits someone ???

- - - - -

Nate: Okay, you got any chatter on their frequencies?

[Electrical Room]

Parker: No. Why?

[Unfinished Office]

(Nate checks records)

Nate: There’s eight listed on the duty roster, there’s only four at the guard post.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: I can’t even tell how many guys are in the room. How can you tell who’s who?

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: Haircuts Parker. Count the haircuts.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: I would have missed that.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: What?

[Electrical Room]

Parker: Nothing.

mastermind father and daughter in episode ONE

- - - - -

we love to see eliot beat up four guys in the time it takes hardison’s bag to fall to the ground

- - - - -

Eliot (empties gun and smiles): That’s what I do.

(Hardison looks impressed. Behind him, the door clicks open. He and Eliot smile and enter the server room together)

the FLIRTING ENERGY in this scene

- - - - -

Eliot: Did you give them a virus?

Hardison: (chuckles) Dude, I gave them more than one virus.

hardison doesn’t half-ass, pass it on

- - - - -

Parker: Problem. Those guards you ganked?

[Electrical Room]

Parker (looking at monitor): They reset all the alarms on the roof and all the floors above us. We can’t go up.

[Hallway]

Eliot: Every man for himself then. (starts to move away)

Hardison: Go ahead I’m the one with the merchandise.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: Yeah, well I’m the one with an exit.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: And I’m the one with a plan. Now I know you children don’t play well with others but I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes. Now get to the elevator and head down. We’re going to the burn scam.

[Elevator]

(Eliot and Hardison enter an elevator and begin changing their clothes)

Hardison: Going to Plan B.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate (packing his things): Technically that would be Plan G.

[Elevator]

(elevator doors open and Parker runs in. She begins changing while the men look away)

Hardison: How many plans do we have? Is there like a Plan M?

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: Yeah, Hardison dies in Plan M.

[Elevator]

Eliot: I like Plan M.

there are SO MANY things about this scene I want to discuss but here are the top ones:

1- nate calling them out as children? amazing

2- eliot and hardison canonically changed in the elevator together BEFORE parker dropped in, but they weren’t necessarily looking away in a backs-turned way when she came in (when they were still getting finished getting dressed)

3- parker being completely nonchalant changing with two men in the elevator? she must not really care about being naked in front of other people (as seen later in what I think is the morning after job (?), for example)

4- the boys look away to be polite but there is definitely interest in BOTH of their faces

5- so this is what the burn scam entails

- - - - -

parker takes shotgun while the two boys are in the back. I need to see the scene of them awkwardly sitting together in the back. possibly bickering.

- - - - -

Nate: All right, all right. The money will be in all your accounts later today.

Hardison: Anybody else notice how hard we rocked last night?

Eliot: Yeah, well, one show only, no encores.

Parker: I already forgot your names.

Hardison: It was kind of cool, being on the same side.

Nate: No, we are not on the same side. I am not a thief.

Parker: You are now. Come on Nathan, tell the truth. Didn’t you have a little bit of fun playing the Black King instead of the White Knight, just this once?

(they all walk away in different directions)

smh you’re all 0.000005 seconds away from becoming a family

“no encores” my ass

+ I love how hardison is the FIRST one to (immediately) bring up how awesome they worked as a team

- - - - -

(Nate walks slowly down a toward a large room where voices are coming from)

Hardison (holding gun): You mind telling me what happened to the designs?

Eliot: What makes you think I know what happened? Stupid.

Hardison: Look, forget you man. You did it when we were coming down from the elevator.

Eliot: Yeah, that makes sense doesn’t it? You had the file every second.

Hardison: Hold up Kujo, I did my part, I transferred the files.

Eliot: You better get that gun out of my face...

Hardison: What did you do?

Eliot: …or else I’m gonna feed it to you.

Nate: Hey!

(the men turn, Hardison pointing the gun at Nate)

Eliot: Did you do it? You’re the only one that’s ever played both sides.

Nate: Yeah, you seem pretty relaxed for a guy with a gun pointed at him.

Eliot (looks at Hardison): Safety’s on.

Hardison: Like I’m gonna fall for that.

Nate: No, no, actually he’s right, the safety is on.

(Hardison looks at the gun and Nate grabs it)

Nate (to Eliot): You armed?

Eliot (shakes head): I don’t like guns.

(Eliot looks pointedly past Nate’s shoulder. Nate turns, pointing the gun at Parker who is holding a gun on him)

Parker: My money’s not in my account.

(She walks around Hardison, raising her gun as Nate lowers his)

Parker: That makes me cry inside in my special, angry place.

Nate: Okay, Parker. (slowly reaches out to lower Parker’s gun) Now did you come here to get paid?

Hardison: Hell no. Transfer of funds man. Global economy.

Eliot: It’s supposed to be a walk away. I’m never supposed to see you again.

eliot could have IMMEDIATELY taken the gun away but it made hardison feel safe so he was humoring him

and how easily nate took the gun away? interesting, for a former insurance agent

“you armed?” “no, I don’t like guns” eliot sweetie I love you

also parker’s entrance tho

- - - - -

Nate: Then the only reason you guys are here is because you didn’t get paid. And you’re pissed off. (laughs) As a matter of fact the only way to get us all in the same place at the same time is to tell us that we’re not. Getting. Paid.

(a look of realization goes through the group and they all start to run. Nate opens a garage door and directs them out. Hardison trips on the stairs and Eliot pulls him to his feet)

Nate: Come on, come on, get up. Let’s go, hustle. Go.

(the others exit and Nate looks back to see a ball of fire headed toward him)

eliot: I hate you all, I work alone, I don’t care about any of you

eliot 0.000005 seconds later: hauling hardison off the ground so he doesn’t die in an exploding building because ‘I guess he’s by boyfriend now’

- - - - -

Nate: Have we been processed?

(Eliot waves ink covered finger tips at him)

Eliot: They faxed our prints to the State Police.

[Hospital Room B]

Hardison: Yo, if the staties run us man, we’re screwed.

Parker: How long?

Hardison: Thirty, thirty-five minutes depending on the software

- - - - -

Nate: Parker! Get me a phone. What we’re going to do is, we’re going to get out of here together.

Eliot: This was a onetime deal.

Nate: Look guys, here’s your problem. You all know what you can do, I know what all you can do, so that gives me the edge, gives me the plan.

[Hospital Room B]

Parker: I don’t trust these guys.

[Hospital Room A]

Nate: Do you trust me?

Eliot: Of course. You’re an honest man.

Nate: Parker, Phone.

[Hospital Room B]

Parker: This is gonna suck.

(she sticks her fingers down her throat and bends over)

Hardison: Oh. Hell no

the amount of times eliot brings up that it was supposed to be a one-time thing is HILARIOUS considering just how fast he imprints on them lmfao

also how they all immediately trust him, I’m soft

- - - - -

(Parker nods compliantly. The doctor and nurse leave the room. Officer checks her handcuffs then leaves. Parker and Hardison hold up the phones they stole. After a quick glance, they switch phones. Parker holds up the keys she stole and tosses them to Hardison before standing up and talking to the vent into the next room)

domestic pardison

- - - - -

(Hardison leads Eliot to a police cruiser that Nate and Parker are already inside of. As Hardison guides Eliot into the backseat he hits Eliot head on the top of the door frame. Eliot turns and growls at Hardison)

Hardison: Walk it off. Walk… get inside. Get inside.

(Eliot gets in the car)

I love chaotic (pre)boyfriends

- - - - -

Eliot: I’m gonna beat Dubenich so bad that even the people who look like him are gonna bleed.

Parker: You won’t get within 100 yards. He knows your face. He knows all our faces.

Eliot: He tried to kill us.

Parker: More importantly he didn’t pay us.

Eliot: How is that more important?

Parker: I take that personally.

Eliot: There’s something wrong with you.

okay to be fair eliot at least is open to and listens to parker’s reasoning before concluding she’s crazy

- - - - -

Eliot: What’s in it for me?

Nate: Payback, and if it goes right a lot of money.

Parker: What’s in it for me?

Nate: A lot of money, and if it goes right, payback. Hardison?

Hardison: I was just gonna send a thousand porno magazines to his office, but, hell yeah man, let’s kick him up.

these characterizations are so on point

- - - - -

SOPHIE’S INTRO LMFAO

+ how everyone else is horrified but nate just looks entranced

- - - - -

[Flashback]

(In Paris seven years ago, Sophie is cutting a painting out of a frame with several empty frames nearby. The door burst open and Nate enters with a gun in hand)

Nate: Freeze.

(Sophie grabs her gun and shoots Nate in the shoulder. He responds by shooting her in the back. They both clench at their wounds)

Sophie: You wanker!

so are we, as a fandom, EVER going to talk about this scene ???

- - - - -

(so apparently there’s a 250 text block limit for posts on tumblr so I guess I have to make more than one post for this now. the following part will be reblogged on this post immediately after. reblog that version instead please lol)

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 6: “Going Down With The Ships!”

You know what I’m talking about. We all have an armada parked in the bay, but there’s that one ship, that one ship, that you would die for. Today is all about OTPs and OT3s!

Wanted to do something for Fianceshipping too (cuz it it still very dear to me), but I’ll admit my Idol headcanons are a little more in depth.

“So what clubs are you thinking about joining?”

“Definitely music if they have one!” It’s the first week of middle school and Atticus practically vibrates as he walks towards the cafeteria with his new friend. New school, new people to meet, friends to make, and fun adventures to be had! And Atticus fully plans to make the most of it! “Or maybe track. Man, I’d love if there were a surfing club!”

Tashiro laughs. “This far inland?”

“You never know! I could try to start one!”

“Just joining the swimming club if you wanna play in water that badly.” Tashiro shakes his head, and Atticus gasps at him.

“For shame! How dare you compare the art of surfing to swimming! It’s like apples and oranges!”

“Still both fruit.” A cheeky grin.

Any further dramatic protest dies in his throat as another boy rounds the corner ahead and walks toward them with an open book. Atticus freezes where he stands.

He likes to people watch, so he’s noticed things recently. Girls have always been pretty, but lately...well, just this last week, he’s found himself comparing who looks better in their gym outfit like huh you’re kinda pretty wait that’s a dude or oo that shirt really shows off your muscles nice. It’s been confusing to say the least.

“Tenjoin?” Tashiro calls, but Atticus can’t bring himself to answer with his eyes glued to quite possibly the best looking person he has ever seen in his life please shove me against a locker and wreck me.

The guy passes, seemingly oblivious to Atticus’ eyes following him, and Atticus finally, finally peels his eyes away and snaps his jaw shut. How wrecked does he even look right now? Is he blushing? He’s gotta be blushing. Well, one thing is for sure.

“I’m not straight,” he croaks.

“Dude, what?”

*

The docks are peaceful. The sound of the waves lull Zane’s mind and emotions into a tranquil silence, not the buzzing numbness he’s learned to carry with him to combat the chaotic tempo from a life of stress. Out here, with the smell of salt on a gentle breeze, he feels relaxed.

It will be graduation soon.

He always thought they would graduate together.

Atticus’ disappearance hit Zane harder than he would have expected. The boy was practically sunshine incarnate when they met in middle school, something Zane never thought he’d be comfortable with. And yet Atticus barreled through all his defenses in a matter of weeks of and they’d been best friends ever since.

“Hey. I thought I’d find you out here.”

Zane turns at the sound of the voice. Atticus walks down the dock with a friendly wave and gentle smile on his lips. It’s not the same sunshine-and-rainbows smile it used to be, but it’s honest.

“So, nearly the big day, huh?” He leans casually against the light post. “You nervous?”

“It’d be stupid not to be,” Zane scoffs, relaxing into the familiar banter in a way even the ocean waves can’t induce.

Atticus laughs and sound warms Zane. His friend’s eyes are still haunted, but they’re also still just as warm as they’ve always been. Zane isn’t as oblivious as Atticus might want to believe; he sees the way Atticus looks at him, has looked at him for years. The emotions in those brown eyes have evolved, but the core of it all stays the same.

Atticus “the ladies man” fell for another man. It’s almost funny. He’s not even that subtle about it. But Atticus had never pressed the matter, and Zane can’t say he minds.

“Gotta admit tho, I’m kinda sad.” Atticus lowers his eyes to the wood under his feet. “Always thought it’d be the three of us, you know?” Shrugging, he lifts his gaze to the dark sky.

Zane does know. “You still don’t remember what happened?”

Atticus shakes his head. “If I did, I’d tell you. I have a feeling not telling you is what led to all of this.”

Zane doesn’t bother answering that. He’s fairly certain Atticus knew something about Yusuke’s disappearance at the time, but Atticus became edgy, evasive, and almost distant before his own disappearance. Zane blamed himself for doing nothing despite the warning signs. Now, he knows enough to doubt he’d have been able to do much.

He still wishes he’d tried.

“It’s fine,” he says automatically.

Atticus snorts. “Liar.”

Warm solid arms wrap around him and Zane leans into it.

“Nothing about this is fine,” Atticus’s voice shakes.

No, but sometimes one needs to pretend in order to survive.

It’s tiring.

They stand there like that for a while in the peaceful ambiance of the sea until finally making their way back to the dorms.

“Hey,” Atticus says, pulling them to a stop outside the doors. He looks troubled. “Just this once,” he murmurs, tugging on Zane’s jacket as he presses their lips-

What the fuck?!

By the time Zane’s brain reboots itself, Atticus has already run off into the building, and Zane stands there, hand to his lips, severely confused and reevaluating the last six years of his life.

*

Zane books a different trip from the island than the rest of his fellow graduates, he doesn’t want to feel cramped in the same space as dozens of other people, so the farewell fanfare has moved on as well. It’s just him and docks, and that’s how he likes it most days.

The quiet gives him space to think.

Just this once, Atticus said, and Zane’s not sure if he’s okay with that. If he’s completely honest with himself, Atticus is one of very few - if not the only - people that Zane feels comfortable and related around. He’s well grounded and practical under that playboy attitude of his, and he’s, well...Zane can understand to a certain extent why half the student population wants to fawn over him (not why they do - that is a level of impulse Zane can’t comprehend - but why they want to).

“Hey~!”

Speak of the devil. Zane jolts out of his thoughts as Atticus jogs over, waving his arm excited.

“Geez! Were you gonna leave without saying goodbye?” Atticus pouts dramatically. “I thought I was your bestie!”

“Who else would be?”

“Exactly! No one but me can crack that cold, stoic shell of yours!”

Zane rolls his eyes.

“Hey! That’s the part where you’re supposed to laugh! Damn, I must be out of practice...”

“Atticus,” Zane says, and the other teen looks up from his mussing to give Zane his full attention.

Now or never.

Steeling himself, Zane takes the plunge. He has zero idea what he’s doing but Atticus should get the message regardless if he mimics the other’s action from a few days ago. His brain doesn’t short circuit on him this time, thank gods.

“I don’t want it to be ‘just once’.”

Atticus stares at him like a deer in the headlights. Zane...expected something more. He expected Atticus to squeal or squeeze him or something, but all that comes in a shuddering breath and HOLD ON WAIT BACK UP WHY YOU ARE CRYING?!

“I- damnit you’re graduating I’m such an idiot!”

The carefully constructed I’m okay, nothing’s changed facade breaks apart in front of him and for the first two seconds Zane spirals into PANIC before the word vomit makes sense and drags him out of it.

“It wasn’t you.” Zane pulls the shaking mess against him. “You’re not that subtle. I’ve known for awhile. I just...refused to acknowledge it.”

“And then I was gone for two years.”

“Worse two years of my life,” Zane admits, and surprisingly means it, despite all the other bullshit. “I didn’t...expect this reaction.”

“I didn’t think I was going to cry either!” Atticus angrily swipes at the tears in his eyes. “Do you know how many times I fantasized about this? Crying was not part of the equation!”

“At least I know it’s honest.”

“Huh?”

“You fake your smile half the time.”

Atticus huffs. “It’s just how I cope.”

Pretending to be okay will break you, Zane could say, but that would just be hypocritical. He ruffles Atticus’ hair instead and revels in how Atticus leans into it.

“I’m glad tho,” Atticus whispers, then looks shyly up through his bangs. Shy is never a word anyone would associate with Atticus, but Zane knows better; he’s one of the few who gets to see that more vulnerable side. “Can you kiss me again?”

Zane obliges. Atticus’ lips are warm and soft, his face still damp, and it still sends tingles through Zane’s own lips down his chest. Butterflies? Huh, so that’s what it feels like. He could definitely get used to this.

Atticus smiles when they part, a small, gentle curve that Zane knows is genuine. “Next time, I want you to wreck me.” He winks.

Wreck what...? Oh. Snorting, Zane hides his face in his hand. Gods, this guy... “Next time. Sure.”

*

Halfway across the dock, Syrus stands frozen midstep, turns around, and walks away. Zane probably didn’t wanna see him anyway. What the fuck was that?! Nope, not gonna ask, none of his business. Zane can kiss whoever the frick he wants. Just keep walking.

And if Syrus feels the ghost of arms around his shoulders, he stubbornly ignores it.

[jujywrites]

WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda. 

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi.  Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear   

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online��� and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned  to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over. 

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme…  Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess.  The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au. 

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 4

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: Even more art in this chapter 'cause Dara is a gift.

***

“Oh, there you are. Did you absolutely have to sing in the shower?”

“I did not--”

“I could swear I heard a grito. Or were you just shrieking?”

“Well, if a certain someone hadn’t finished all the hot water…” Ernesto grumbles, causing Imelda - who personally turned off hot water the moment she and Héctor were out of the shower - to smirk.

“Serves you right for getting up last. And to think Héctor and I shower together to save water,” she says, causing Héctor to snicker over his breakfast.

“We’re very environmentally conscious,” he mutters through a mouthful, causing Ernesto to roll his eyes. “But the shower is pretty big. Maybe next time we can all save water and--”

“Absolutely not,” Imelda and Ernesto snap exactly at the same time, causing Héctor to recoil and lift his hands in surrender. Not that it stops either of them from speaking again.

“As much as I’d love to see her melt when water touches her--”

“It’s a miracle he even fits in it on his own, with that ego in the way,” Imelda cuts him off, and he glares at her. She supposes he means to be intimidating; he only comes across as the overgrown pouting child he is. She smirks, and pushes a plate towards him, a couple of tacos mañaneros in it. “Eat. You look like you need the energy to keep up.”

Several things happen in quick succession: Ernesto opens his mouth to retort only for his stomach to grumble loudly before he can utter a single word, Imelda’s smirk widens, and Héctor tries to disguise his laugh with a very unconvincing coughing fit. Ernesto scowls at both of them, but eventually he sits down and starts eating. Within minutes he’s talking about music through mouthfuls, about a producer they absolutely need to meet - he knows people who know him, he can get them in touch - and entirely ignoring Imelda… who, on the other hand, is ignoring him as well and checking her emails for new orders on her phone.

Héctor dutifully nods along with what Ernesto says, and promises he’ll be available whenever this Armando Abascal can meet them, but truth be told he’s only half-listening. What he’s really wondering, as his gaze moves back and forth between his wife and his best friend, is how much time should he let pass before he suggests another night together.

He’s not an idiot; he can tell that as much as they butt heads over everything, the central focus of it all - the thing that keeps Ernesto coming and Imelda letting it happen, the rope they’re both clutching while trying to win an unspoken tug war, the one person who binds them - is him.

They keep trying to outdo each other and, really, that works to Héctor’s advantage given everything that he gets out of it… but now he’s starting to wonder if that is actually the entire story. Maybe it is most of it, yes, but Héctor’s mind keeps going back to how relatively easy Imelda was to convince to invite Ernesto over again, and how quickly Ernesto had been to bend down on their bed again despite all his complaints.

As much as she rolls her eyes and as much as he protests, Héctor can tell they are enjoying the fuck out of this, pun intended. Or at least, they’re enjoying it far more than either is willing to admit. Héctor wonders, for the first time, what it may take to get them to say as much.

A lot, very likely: they are both stubborn and prideful, as much as they like to deny having anything in common. Making them admit something as simple as the fact they’re enjoying the challenge, or at the very least the sex, isn’t gonna be easy. But then again, if you want your life to be easy, you do not pick Ernesto as your best friend, and you do not marry Imelda. Héctor has done both, and regrets neither.

It’s time to up the game.

***

I bought a pair of boots last month, and it was my best purchase in years! They were custom-made to my measurements, fit perfectly form the first day and didn’t give me a single blister  as I trekked up a mountain. I cannot recommend these enough!

The review is followed by a smiley as well as a full five-star rating, and Imelda finds herself smiling back at it. Almost all the reviews are like that - the only exception are a few whining about late delivery caused by postage issues she had no control over, as she always mentions in the reply - but she’s always happy to see a new one, giving her credit for a job well done.

When the first glowing reviews began coming in, as well as the beginning of a steady flow of income, it took all of her willpower not to take screenshots and send everything to her parents, writing nothing but I told you so. She held back because she’s not that childish but oh, was she tempted. Told you so has always been one of her parents’ favorite sentences to utter.

Don’t take chances. Don’t attempt anything new. Follow our advice. Stay in your lane. Oh, you tried and failed? Well, we told you so.

Sometimes it was warranted - Óscar and Felipe’s attempt to build a homemade pressure cooker when they were eight was one such occasion - but a lot of the time it was unnecessarily smug and grated her nerves like nothing else. Getting to make things work despite their misgiving was always very, very satisfying.

Moving to Mexico City for a course in business management? They had supported her in the end, but not without a lot of stubborn silences, thinly veiled jabs and grumbling. But she stood her ground, and excelled; Imelda knows they’re proud… but she also knows that they are somehow disappointed for having been proven wrong, for never getting to tell her that they told her it was a bad idea.

Starting her own business, and online? It would never work, they told her, to many people already did the same. And making shoes the old way, to order? Who even does that anymore? Who would pay money for that when you can buy much cheaper shoes elsewhere?

But it did work; she's found herself a niche in the market and her business has grown to the point she now estimates that, in about a year’s time, she might very well think of looking into renting proper premises and employing a few people. Again, the told you so mantra failed to leave their lips, and they were proud of her. They usually are, despite everything.

And then she decided to marry Héctor which, of course caused friction. That too, according to them, was a bad idea. They didn’t dislike Héctor, whom they had seen from time to time when they played together as children; they knew that, while a troublemaker - that was usually Ernesto’s fault, but he had a way to evade all the blame somehow - he was a good kid who had grown into a good man.

When Héctor’s parents had died when he wasn’t yet seventeen - a gas leak, a spark, and they were both gone while their son was a couple of towns over for a gig - hers went to the funeral with her, after donating some money to help pay for it. Imelda has hazy memories of that bleak day, of Héctor standing alone before the coffins until Ernesto reached him and passed an arm around his shoulders. She remembers walking up to them, and squeezing Héctor’s hand, but she cannot recall what she told him.

The following year, both Ernesto and Héctor packed up quite suddenly and left for Mexico city to turn their passion for music into a proper career. Her parents had talked about it over the dinner table, expressed their sympathy for Héctor and wished him luck, and that was the last they'd said of him. Until their daughter moved to Mexico City, met him again, and began dating him. Until she had announced they were going to marry.

A musician, and with no steady job and no family behind him? They hadn’t liked that at all, questioning how he’d even be able to provide for her and pretending to have forgotten how her business was beginning to take off well enough to support them both in bad times if need be.

Óscar and Felipe supported her quite vocally - they always liked Héctor, who was a very willing guinea pig for some of their experimenting back when they were just children - and in the end, while grudgingly, her parents stopped arguing. They came to the wedding, were perfectly polite, but Imelda knew that they were waiting for the day that told you so would be warranted.

So far, it never was: Héctor always finds work. As much as Imelda doesn’t like to admit it, she knows that Ernesto - his used-car-salesman charm, his shameless self-advertising and the fooling around he calls networking - is the main reason why. Héctor has so much talent and plenty of charm of his own, but lacks the ambition and drive Ernesto has; that pendejo is the one who gets them most of the paid work and, for that, Imelda can tolerate him. Grudgingly.

Oh yes, Third Wheel Ernesto. What would your parents think of that development?

The thought makes her laugh aloud - oh God, they would flip if they knew  - and she doesn’t realize how loud she was until Héctor’s head peeks into the workshop. “Found another singing cat video, mi amor?”

Imelda rolls her eyes - it was one time she laughed to tears, just one time, can he stop bringing it up? - and turns from her laptop to glance at him. “I was thinking about Ernesto.”

Héctor raises his eyebrows. “What a coincidence. So was I.”

“Not that way.”

“I was thinking we could have him over next Friday.”

“No. I need at least another two weeks without seeing or hearing of that--”

“I have an idea,” Héctor cuts her off, and he’s grinning so widely she can’t help but be intrigued. When that expression appears on his face, she knows he’s thinking something really interesting. She leans back, folds her hands, and crosses one leg over the other.

“... You have two minutes to convince me.”

One minute later, Héctor is already sending out a text message.

***

“Do you really have to go already?”

Sitting on the bed with only the sheets around her, Luciana - or Lucia? He doesn’t remember and just refers to her with pet names to avoid trouble - is pouting. Ernesto kisses that pout.

“I have a meeting. I’d love to stay,” he lies, and follows it up with another lie. “I’ll call you.”

Another number to block, of course. She’s getting attached, he suspects, and Ernesto doesn’t like that, no señor. Best for both of them if he ends this here. Most of all, best for him. He’s a free man, no strings but those of his guitar, and he’d rather keep it that way.

Plus, last night wasn’t even fun. It usually is, with Lucia - or Luciana? - but this time it was… underwhelming. Not that he can pinpoint the reason; she did or said nothing out of the ordinary, and there was nothing wrong with the sex itself. It hasn’t exactly left him unsatisfied, but something was lacking and that gnaws at him in a way he cannot explain.

A few more reassurances, just enough time to throw his clothes back on, and Ernesto leaves the apartment, heaving out a long sigh of relief. He glances at a cab passing by, and digs into his pockets to pull out some change. Not nearly enough for a fare. He shrugs and gets walking towards the bus stop, putting the change back in his pocket - and feels his phone vibrating against his hand. A text from Héctor.

Come Friday at nine. You don’t want to miss this one.

***

"Red or white?"

"Black. You look good in black."

"All right, let me see..." Héctor lets out a hum and rummages in the closet, finally pulling back with some black lingerie in his hands. He unfolds it, glancing at the transparent skirt, and holds it up. "Is this mine or yours?"

"Yours. I'd need to walk in stilts to wear that one without tripping over the skirt."

"Or very high heels," Héctor mutters, glancing at Imelda. She's standing in front of her section of the closet, tapping her chin with a finger. She tilts her head towards him, and the braid falls from her shoulder down her back; Héctor has to ignore a sudden urge to undo it, and run his fingers through her hair.

"Is that a suggestion?" she asks, and Héctor grins.

"You look wonderful in heels."

"Aw, what a charmer."

"Plus, it's nice not having to bend over too much to kiss you."

"Aaaand you ruined it."

Héctor gives her his tried and tested Can't Be Mad At Me smile. It always works. "I'll make sure to kiss you plenty to make up for it. You still love me, right?"

Imelda laughs. "Against my better judgment," she says, and reaches in the closet to pull out some lingerie of her own - the red lacy one that never fails to drive Héctor loco. "This, with the red boots?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I get the feeling you'd say that no matter what I put on."

"You could just stay naked. You're perfect when you're naked."

Imelda's smile turns into a smirk. "Ah, but isn't it better when you get to unwrap me?"

That, of course, is a logic Héctor cannot possibly argue against. Trying to think of something else - anything that will keep him from thinking of the moment he'll get to unwrap her, because this isn't the right moment to get hard - Héctor turns away from her and begins putting on the lacy black lingerie... which, truth be told, was a nightmare to find his size. Maybe he is ridiculously tall, which is why he has so little lingerie of his own and mostly borrows from Imelda, when they feel like it.

Sometimes Héctor still has trouble believing what an amazing woman he had somehow managed to marry. Back when they had been dating just for a few weeks and were learning to know each other in ways they definitely hadn’t as kids, there were very few things about himself Héctor was afraid to talk about... his taste for crossdressing being one of them.

He knew plenty of people would find it ridiculous at best, and break up with him as soon as the confession was past his lips; the thought Imelda could do that - ridicule him and turn away - scared him more than words could say... but when he finally brought it up, his face hot as fire, there was no rejection nor mockery. Imelda had seemed intrigued, and - for the first time - she had told him about her taste for strap-ons, adding that she’d wondered if the mention of it would send him running for the hills. It had been his turn to be intrigued and soon enough they both ended up laughing, their faces bright red but relieved beyond belief, clasping each other's hand.

When they had met at her place the following week, Imelda surprised him with lingerie for them both. It was one very, very interesting evening; Héctor was delighted to find out that Imelda was as aroused as him. Crossdressing soon became normal - not something that happened every time, but often enough. It was exciting, and fun, and if made for some really nice pictures that they took great care to keep in a very, very safe place.  

Not long afterwards, they’d tried the strap on together for the first time and it had been more enjoyable than Héctor had dreamed it could be - so much so that he’d lasted… forty seconds, maybe. Likely something closer to thirty.

But practice makes perfect, and they had a lot of practice since.

“When is he going to show up?” Imelda speaks interrupting the reminiscence. She sounds suddenly annoyed, and Ernesto isn’t even there yet. It’s kind of a new record, but Héctor hopes they might begin to get along better, in time. It’s a project he’s actively working on.

Héctor glances at the clock on the wall, slipping on the lingerie and lacing it up. “I told him to come in about half a-” he starts, only to trail off when the doorbell rings. “... Well, there he is.”

“And there he stays.”

“Imelda.”

“He’s got to learn to take you seriously when you give him a set time,” she points out, frowning. Héctor wonders if she even realizes how beautiful she is like this, scantily dressed in red silk and laces as she puts on her boots, the braid falling over her shoulder. “He can’t come and go as he plea--”

Clack.

Imelda freezes. So does Héctor. She turns. He smiles innocently. “I, uh--”

“You gave him the spare key?”

“I figured it would be a good idea, in case one of us got locked out. I mean, he lives downstairs, and we have his spare key.”

Imelda scoffs, lacing up her boots. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says, but Héctor knows she’s conceding the point. “And you go make it clear to him that he’s not supposed to use that key when he damn well pleases.”

“All right.”

“Use those exact words, or I will. Loudly.”

“Fine, fine,” he promises. Of course he doesn’t use those exact words, even even if he did, they would be wasted. The moment Héctor shows up in the living room, Ernesto’s jaw very nearly drops - and so does the bottle of wine in his hands, really, but he manages to catch himself just on time before it slips from his fingers and crashes on the floor.

That would definitely put Imelda in a bad mood.

“You’re early, amigo. How much cologne did you put on?” Héctor asks, tilting his head on one side in the most nonchalant way possible - like he’s fully clothed and they’re having a chat over a drink.

“I… a dash,” Ernesto mutters, gaze running across him, and he swallows.

Héctor raises an eyebrow in doubt.

“All right, maybe two. I… I brought… I… are those earrings?”

“Clip-on ones, no worries. No one had to be subjected to the sight of yours truly crying before a needle. Unlike that poor tattoo artist in Oaxaca who saw you jumping five feet in the air the second the needle touched your skin,” he adds. That is a little story that never fails to make Ernesto defensive, and it doesn’t fail now either.

“I just… I changed my mind, all right? I realized that defacing my skin was a stupid idea.”

“Of course. Was that why you were also holding my hand?”

“I was not--” Ernesto starts, but suddenly there is the clicking of high heels on hardwood floor, and his gaze goes past Héctor, to the door. He doesn’t turn to look, but he can tell the exact moment Imelda stands in the doorway from the way Ernesto’s eyes go wide, and his jaw slack. His brain seems to have crashed and, really, Héctor cannot blame him.

“Oh, there you are,” Imelda says, and walks up to Héctor. She leans on him, and taps her lower lip with a finger as she glances at Ernesto. “You’re awfully overdressed.”

That causes him to recoil, as though snapped out of a trance. The look on his face goes from the personification of a blue screen of death to sudden, clear awkwardness.

“I, er…” he starts, and swallows, his gaze moving back and forth between them. His skin is flushed, and he tugs at the collar of his white shirt. “I thought we. Dinner. First,” he manages.

Ernesto.exe is not working. Please restart.

The thought almost makes Héctor laugh, but he manages to hold back, allowing himself just the smallest quirk of his lips as Imelda shrugs and walks up to Ernesto - who almost, almost steps back… but does not. He just stays still, transfixed, as Imelda reaches to toy with the upper button of his shirt.  

“Later. First, let’s get this off you,” she says, her voice soft, and tilts up his head to look at him in the eye, a hand reaching to cup his cheek. Normally, Héctor would expect his best friend to smell the trap from a mile away. Now, however, he's not at all surprised when stares at her and, slowly, he smirks. Look at him, Héctor muses, thinking he knows what’s ahead.

Ay, mi amigo, you won’t see this coming.

He somehow manages to stay serious as Imelda pulls her hand away from Ernesto’s face. Ernesto lifts his own free hand as though to catch it, but he stops himself just on time; Imelda doesn’t seem to notice, and takes the bottle of wine from Ernesto’s limp fingers.

“A good choice,” she practically purrs. “I’ll get the glasses. Héctor, would you be so kind to get him ready?”

Héctor smiles and holds out his hand, gesturing for Ernesto to follow, and he does.

Oh, he's definitely getting the wrong idea of where this is going.

***

Ernesto is very much enjoying the way things are going.

It’s not something he’s ever going to admit aloud, of course, but the fact stays that this is finally taking the direction he wanted - with Héctor and Imelda entirely focused on what mattered. Namely, on him. Oh yes, Ernesto can get used to this.

He was slightly disappointed when Héctor slapped his hands away on the way to the bedroom, but very much willing to let himself be undressed down to his underwear. He was already getting hard and he expected Héctor to get rid of his boxers, too, but he had not. Instead he'd pushed him on the bed, straddled him, and kissed him deeply.

On the mouth.

That caused his mind to go blank for a moment, because despite everything that has happened - the kisses Héctor had dropped on his shoulder and neck and face, the fact Ernesto gave him, all humbleness aside, the best blowjob a man could ask for - a kiss on the mouth was something that had just never happened before between them.

Taken aback, he found himself letting Héctor lead; it was slow and thorough, and entirely too brief. All too soon, Héctor pulled back and grinned down at him. Ernesto opened his mouth to protest, or demand more, but he placed two fingers on his lips and gave him a look that made words die in his throat. His eyes roamed across on his body, on the silk and laces on him and, in that moment, he could have let him do anything.

Which includes, apparently, tying his arms to the bedpost with silk scarves.

“Try to break free,” Héctor tells him. He does, and he can’t. To be fair, it's not like he tried with all his might; he's a pretty strong guy, so of course he could break free if he really wanted to... but for now, he'll play along.

"Good knots," he says, and tries to catch Héctor’s mouth again, only to miss when he pulls back to turn to the door.

Ernesto follows his gaze and there’s Imelda, carrying two long-stemmed glasses of red wine in one hand and a third in the other. She looks down at him, tilting her head on one side, and Ernesto has to make a conscious effort not to squirm when her gaze pauses on his groin.

He’s painfully hard and, he knows, his boxer shorts are doing absolutely nothing to hide it. Suddenly very much aware of how helpless he is, he braces himself for the calm expression to turn into a mocking smirk… but it doesn’t. She just hands two of the glasses to Héctor, and smiles.

“He might need help to drink,” she says, and looks back down at him, calmly sipping her wine.

What game is she playing?

The thought makes it briefly to Ernesto’s mind, but he chases it away before it can fully form - because thinking that would mean that deep down he knew something was up, and that would open up the very annoying possibility that he’d willed himself to ignore it to go along with... whatever Imelda is planning.

If she’s planning something, of course. Which she isn’t, or else like hell he’d have handed over control like that. Ernesto wills himself to believe as much, and turns his attention on Héctor - who has put down one glass and is holding the other in one hand, the other on the back of his head to support it.

“Salud,” Héctor says with a grin, and brings the glass to Ernesto’s mouth. Impatient as he is to get things going, he drinks in slow gulps. It’s good wine, if he says so himself - and he does say so; he picked it, after all - so there is no reason to make it go to waste. Once the glass is empty, Héctor pulls it away. A few drops fall on Ernesto’s collarbone, and before he can even protest Héctor lowers is head and suckles at his skin where the drops fell, causing Ernesto - who now he feels pleasantly warm as well as desperately aroused - to shiver.

He tosses back his head, and his gaze finds Imelda, who’s almost finished his own wine and is staring at him, her expression unreadable.

“Good choice,” Héctor chuckles, and takes the glass he left by the table - guzzling it down way too fast, but Ernesto really doesn’t give a damn whether he properly tastes it; there is one thing he wants Héctor to taste now, and it’s not the damn wine.

The empty glass is placed back, and Héctor is grinning more widely. The next moment he’s back on the bed, crawling towards him, and then he’s reaching to brush back Ernesto’s hair, humming. “Looking good,” he mumbles, and something seems to leap in Ernesto’s chest. Héctor is smiling, Imelda is towering over him, and he has a few moments to savor, once again, their full attention… until they turn to glance at each other, smirk, and are suddenly a few steps away from the bed, in each other’s arms. What the…?

“Hey!” Ernesto calls out in protest, or at least he tries to; all that leaves his mouth is a choked-out noise. He tugs at his bounds, but the knots don’t give in at all - Imelda’s fault, surely, who else may have taught him to tie knots? With a snarl, Ernesto glares furiously at them as they lock lips, hands all over each other. “Seriously? Untie me!”

“Oh, we could do that,” Imelda says, turning to glance at him. She’s leaning her head against Héctor’s chest, and traces abstract patterns over it as she speaks again. Her voice is silk-covered steel. “We could untie you, and you can go home. Or you can stay put, and if you behave you get a reward later. Your choice.”

Ernesto opens his mouth to snap at her to go ahead and untie him, but then Héctor moves to kiss her neck, and words die in his throat. For several moments he can only watch them with wide eyes because oh, they are a sight to behold, heat is pooling in his groin and his cock is so hard it hurts.

“I…” is all he manages in the end, and nothing more. Imelda smirks.

“A rare good choice from you,” she says, and Ernesto wants to hit her, wants to scream, wants to fuck her, and he can do none of those things. He scoffs, and turns away. Fine, so they can tie him up, but they can’t make him watch, and so he won’t. He won’t play along, won’t even steal a glance. He shuts his eyes, and keeps them shut.

For two whole minutes.

***

By the time the last bit fabric hits the ground - once they’ve done unwrapping each other like you do with a gift, as Imelda would put it - Héctor is desperately hard, Imelda is soaking wet… and, unsurprisingly, Ernesto is beyond frustrated.

“Are you always this slow? I think I’m about to fall asleep.”

The moan leaving Imelda as Héctor nips at her breasts turns into a scoff halfway through. She turns to glance at Ernesto, an eyebrow raised. “Are you? There seems to be a small part of you that is still very much awake.”

Ernesto glares at her, and bends his knees to try hiding the very obvious bulge in his underwear. Not that he can hide his flushed skin, or the marks on his wrists from pulling so hard at his restraints. He shifts his gaze on Héctor and his expression turns mocking. “You know, if it were me in your place, your wife would already have forgotten how to talk at this point.”

That annoys Imelda enough to pull away from Héctor. “Another sound from you, and I’ll stick a gag in that stupid mouth,” she warns, crossing her arms over her heaving chest.

Ernesto sputters. “You wouldn’t!”

“One more word, and I will,” she hisses. She is beautiful like this, hair undone and eyes flashing, and her tone makes it clear that she means every word.  Ernesto can see that, too, and he goes quiet for a moment… then there is a flash of something in his eyes that Héctor cannot quite pinpoint, there one moment and gone the next, a bolt of lighting against Imelda’s steady fire.

Then, Ernesto sneers. “You wouldn’t,” he repeats, and that’s it. Next thing Héctor knows, Imelda is at the dresser and the ball gag is in her hand. Ernesto has just enough time to sputter again before said ball gag is shoved in his mouth, the strap fastened behind his head. That causes him to give a noise like that of an angry ox, and to shake his head furiously, but of course it isn’t enough to dislodge it.

Imelda grasps his hair, and forces his head back so that he’ll look at her face; he stares at her with wide eyes before he catches himself and glares. She responds with a smile. "I like you best with your mouth busy,” she says, and her free hand reaches down to palm him through the boxer shorts. The glare immediately fades, and buckles into her touch one moment before she pulls her hand away, causing him to whine in the back of his throat. The grip on his hair slackens, and she ruffles it.

“Behave, and Héctor will take care of that,” she says, giving his erection one last pat before she stands and, without another word, she’s in Héctor’s arms again.

They fuck against the wall, with Imelda clinging to him, scratching his back and biting bruises on his neck and shoulder. Even in the midst of it all - skin on skin, his wife’s body so welcoming and warm, the scent of her hair in his nostrils and oh God he’s not going to last much longer - Héctor knows, with utmost certainty, that Imelda is looking straight at Ernesto over his shoulder... and that he’s glaring back.

He loves them both but ay, sometimes they can be so predictable.

***

[Back to Part 3]

[On to Part 5]

[boxoftheskyking]

Stranger things: Steve holds a pot luck fourth of July barbeque for the gang, everyone forgets to bring something except Jonathan, and El/Jane, who brings a shit ton of eggos. Jonathan and Steve finally reconcile, the party™ man the grill and somehow only burn half the things, and pizza is ordered by the only responsible person there. Star wars: Rose and the people she tazed before Finn got to her. Or the five times Leia was impressively patient and diplomatic, and the one time she wasn't.

Thank you for the prompt! As always I am going to take a teaspoon of it and then run into an entirely different direction, with much love and affection for you.

Here’s some Stranger Things, Steve POV, OT3

—-

Steve, if pressed, would say that they are fine. Him, Nancy, and Jonathan. He’d say they’d reached an understanding, and he isn’t angry and he doesn’t get acid reflux when he sees her kiss Jonathan’s cheek at his locker before heading off the class. He’s eating and sleeping just fine.

Not that anyone would press, as he doesn’t really have, well. Friends. Anymore. Besides the two of them and their gaggle of almost-freshman disasters.

A few weeks after the Whole Thing (the Will-is-Possessed, Dustin-Has-a-Pet-Monster, Dustin-is-Surprisingly-Okay, Eleven-is-Back, Mad-Max-is-Almost-Eleven-Level-Scary, The-World-Almost-Ended Thing), Jonathan cornered him outside the bathroom and said, “Look, man, I’m sorry about how it all went down.”

Steve had blinked at him and said, “I think it all went remarkably well, considering. Miraculous, some might say. Straight up Deus Ex Madonna or whatever—”

“No, I—” Jonathan cut him off, then looked down at his feet like he regretted it. “Machina. I’m not talking about all the, the that, I mean me and Nancy.”

Steve’s stomach lurched up, sending that burning feeling up behind his ribs.

“Oh. Right.”

“We should have talked to you. Or Nancy should have and then I should have waited. It’s just with everything—You know. It was kind of a now or never thing and then—”

“I really don’t need to hear this,” Steve said quickly, and Jonathan flinched. “I mean, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. I’d say treat her well, but I know you will, and if you don’t she’s perfectly capable of, you know.” He mimed a shotgun, making a dumb little pew sound. It sounded more like a Star Wars blaster than a shotgun, and he felt ridiculous. 

“Okay. Yeah.” Jonathan jerked a little, almost like he was putting out his hand to shake, but didn’t complete the action.

“Yeah.” 

They stared at each other for a minute, and then Jonathan started to turn away. Possessed by God knew what, Steve said, “It’s probably for the best, anyway. I should be focusing on school. Stuff. School stuff.”

Jonathan looked confused, but he wasn’t walking away.

“I’m not doing well.” He had no idea why he was still talking. “Like, at all. So. More time to study.”

After about a hundred years of Jonathan staring wordlessly at him, Steve finally turned on his heel.

“Great, okay, bye.”

“Hey!” 

Steve stopped but didn’t turn around.

“You can study with us, if you want. Sometime.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

And then Steve had fled.

It had turned into the occasional study session in the library, followed by a more regular meeting at the Byers house. After everything they’d gone through there, it was surprisingly comfortable, and he didn’t feel suffocated by their—whatever. Relationship. Love. Chemistry. Whatever. Not all the time, anyway.

Surprising himself—but not Nancy—he didn’t graduate at the very bottom of his class. He got in to Roane County Tech— “Everyone gets in, Nance.” “That is not true, Steve, and you should be proud of yourself” —which means he can still live in town and work for his dad while taking care of his generals. That’s the plan anyway.

And now the summer’s started and he’s feeling like he has to do something to memorialize the end of the most fucked up chapter of his young life. Hopefully.

So, a Fourth of July barbecue. Two years ago, it would have been the event of the summer, everyone who was everyone from Hawkins High, including alum, would have come out, and there’d be people from towns up to an hour away.

And now it’s Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids. There isn’t any spiked punch, just sodas and iced tea and a shit ton of Cheetos. 

Jonathan has brought nothing but his camera, though Steve saw him tuck a brown bag away beneath his chair. Mrs. Wheeler sent Nancy and Mike with a pan of hot dish which looks like death but mostly tastes like cheese and gravy. 

Dustin is helping Eleven cook Eggos on the grill, because that’s what normal looks like these days. Lucas tried to fight him for the role of “Grill Master” when it came to burgers and hot dogs, but Max had snatched the tongs away at the last second and proven herself to be more than competent. 

(About a month ago, Steve had a run in with Billy in the school parking lot that he thought was going to turn ugly. Before any blood was spilled, Max had zoomed up, kicked her skateboard up into her hands and glared her brother down. “Steve counts as one of my friends, asshole,” she’d growled, and Billy had spit on Steve’s shoes and taken off.

“Still scared of you, huh?”

Max looked around, then leaned in and said quietly, “Wanna know how I do it?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Every time he starts acting like too much of an asswipe, I wait til he gets really drunk and passes out, and then I sneak into his bedroom and I stand at the end of his bed with my hair all—” she shakes her head so her face is mostly hidden— “and I just point at him and stand super still. And then, Mike gave me this toy he has, this really sick raptor, and when you pull on it’s leg it screeches. So I do that so he wakes up and go all uggghhhhh.” She twists her head and bugs out her eyes, and Steve has to admit it’s creepy as hell.

“That’s fucking disturbing,” he says.

She grins. “He thinks it’s a nightmare. He’s had night terrors for ages.”

Steve wonders if the rest of the kids appreciate how lucky they are to have her on their side.)

Will and Mike are playing some variation of rock-paper-scissors that involves a weird amount of hopping around on one foot and yelling.

Every time he loses, Will gives a delighted little giggle that carries all the way into the house. It makes Steve grin every time. He doesn’t know the little guy very well, but it sure is nice to hear him sounding like a normal thirteen year old.

It’s also nice to see Jonathan’s private little smile every time he hears it.

Steve catches Nancy’s eye just then, and there’s something in her face that tells him she’s noticed him noticing Jonathan. She’s cocks her head thoughtfully, and Steve strategically retreats to the kitchen. He takes a few minutes with his head in the freezer before opening the fridge to grab a beer.

“Whatcha doing?” Dustin asks, and Steve just about throws his beer across the room.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry. Whatcha doing? Can I have one?”

“No, you can’t have a beer.”

“Aw, come on, it’s not like I’m driving.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass.”

Dustin sighs. “Fine. I hope you’re prepared for a bunch of really sugared up and caffeinated kids, though. Because I for one have had six Diet Cokes and I’m not ready to quit.”

“If you have to puke, use the bathroom.”

Steve ruffles his hair and heads back out to the pool.

“Alcohol is a depressant, Steve! You’ll be wishing I was drunk in about an hour, mark my words.”

“Alcohol?” Jonathan is suddenly right at his elbow, and he just about has a heart attack for the second time in as many minutes. Jonathan doesn’t seem to notice, instead snapping a picture of Eleven tripping Lucas into the pool.

“Want a beer?”

Jonathan grins at him. “I can do you one better,” he says. “Think the kids will be okay for a while?”

Steve looks over the group, catching Nancy’s eye and jerking his head towards the house. 

“Hey, little shits!” he yells. “Adults are going inside. No drowning, no wandering in the woods, no setting shit on fire.”

“Okay!” Will shouts back before cannon ball-ing into the pool.

“El,” Steve says. “You’re in charge. Any nonsense, you come find us. Deal?”

She nods seriously at him, and he can’t not smile and give her a little salute.

What Jonathan has is a bottle of Vodka and one of club soda.

“It’s from that Baumann guy. The reporter who broke the story about Barbara. Well, the fake story.”

“Hey, man, I look no horses in the mouth.” Internally, he kicks himself. There’s something about Jonathan Byers that turns him into a complete idiot.

Nancy comes into the den with three glasses and sets herself down beside them, the last corner of their weirdo triangle.

They toast each other wordlessly, grinning at each other after the first burning sip.

“Damn, Wheeler. You make ‘em strong.”

Nancy blushes, but then takes a long swallow without breaking eye contact. Steve’s brain misses a step, free falls.

As Steve is pouring each of them a second drink, he notices Nancy and Jonathan having some kind of wordless conversation. The beer and vodka mix with the acid in his stomach and he doesn’t look up at them after handing back the glasses. He’s about to say something about checking on the kids when Nancy reaches out and puts a hand on his knee.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey, Nancy,” he says, and waves, because he is an idiot.

“We were thinking. And talking. Have been talking. For a while.”

“A long while,” Jonathan pipes up. 

Steve looks down at Nancy’s hands. He knows how long they’ve been talking, because he knows how long they’ve been dating, and he really doesn’t need to hear about it.

“Something isn’t right,” Nancy says, and that makes him look up.

“What, like with Will? Eleven? Is that fucking—” he doesn’t realize he’s halfway to his feet until he feels Jonathan’s hand wrap around his wrist and tug him back down.

“No, man, nothing like that. Sorry. That’s not what she means.”

“I mean with us. There’s something not right with me and Jonathan.”

Steve stares at her. There’s no way they’re coming to him for relationship advice. Nancy’s reckless and Jonathan’s a spaz but they’re not cruel, they’ve never been intentionally hurtful. He can’t think of a thing to say, but he must get his point across because Nancy’s face crumples.

“I’m doing it all wrong. I’m saying it wrong. Jonathan, say something.”

Steve suddenly realizes that Jonathan hasn’t let go of his wrist. He looks up, and Jonathan is staring at him, brows furrowed, like he’s trying to read his mind, or figure out some kind of code, or maybe like he’s taking a photo in his head, taking note of the light and shadow and the way Steve’s heart has started bleeding out through his eyes. 

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but he shifts his hand down to clasp Steve’s fingers. Steve looks down at it, dumbly. Jonathan shifts again, sliding his fingers in between Steve’s, locking them together, palm to palm.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and his voice is dry and scratchy.

“I— Um, okay,” Steve says. 

Nancy moves her hand up from his knee, flattening her palm over his thigh. He looks up at her, then over at Jonathan, then down at both their hands.

“Wait. What?” He feels like he’s on the precipice of something, like he’s taking a timed exam and he knows he could figure out the answer if he just had more time, if he could just be in a quiet room by himself, not listening to twenty-five pencils scratching and the clock ticking and the teacher tapping her heel against the leg of her chair. 

Nancy takes a deep breath and slides her hand up to his hip, then up under his shirt. He stops breathing.

“Okay?” she asks.

“I— I’m not hurt.” He’s not sure why he says it. But he can’t think of a reason for her to— for them to— unless. “I’m fine. Guys, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m—”

Nancy lurches forward and kisses him.

For the first and only time in his life, he doesn’t kiss Nancy Wheeler back. She pulls away and her face is burning red. 

“Do you want—” she starts, then turns to Jonathan. 

Jonathan’s mouth is open, gaping, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip and Steve suddenly has something wrapped around his lungs. Maybe the monsters are back, maybe something’s behind him and has just punctured through the center of him, maybe he’s been dead for months and is only just getting the memo.

And then Jonathan is kissing him, and is still holding his hand, and he tastes like vodka and ketchup and something suddenly, finally, slots into place. Steve opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid like “Aha,” or maybe “Eureka” or “Holy goddamn shit,” but Jonathan slips his tongue into his mouth and he can’t say anything but a groan in the back of his throat.

When they break apart, Steve is pretty sure he’s having a heart attack. He can’t seem to catch his breath, and his mouth feels wet and warm and Nancy is smiling at him so widely and simply, no disappointment and no secrets and no shame at all, just happiness. 

And Steve says, broken and quiet and way too exposed, “Really?”

And Nancy tackles him to the ground, kissing his cheek and his neck and giggling into his ear, “Yes, yes, Steve, yes.” And Jonathan still has his hand, and he let’s himself be pulled down next to them, laughing, with his hair in his eyes. And somehow Steve has an armful of each of them and he shuts his eyes and breathes in, full and healthy and strong, it feels like, for the very first time.

[sandpapersnowman]

[PREACHER SECRET SANTA] i must be dreaming (or we’re onto something)

woo!! posting a little later in the day than expected but it is all in the name of Quality bc my gf has spent the last like 4 hours editing with me and she singlehandedly polished this stone into a Gem :’)

for the lovely @homelygrantaire who asked for ‘con artist cassidy/jesse/tulip’

it’s also on ao3 with proper tagging and links!

explicit, all fun and consensual, ot3!

This is the third hotel room they've been in since the talk happened, and they all came clean about their feelings and they all kissed it out.

But that's the furthest they've gone.

Yet.

"'Con artist' implies, like, betrayal," Cassidy says. "That's what 'con' stands for, y'know? 'Confidence'? Like, you gain someone's confidence, y'know, their trust, and then you fuck them over."

Tulip rolls her eyes.

"Okay, but it doesn't have to mean complicated shit," she replies. "If I tell someone they can trust me and I'll pay them back tomorrow, and then I don't, that's still a con."

"Sure, but what's artistry about that?" Cassidy scoffs. "That's, like, a con trick or something. Or just being a dick. Con art would be an elaborate plan to pay them back, and then paying part of it, but later they let you in their house to make a phone call and you steal a bunch of their shit."

"That's just robbery, Cass."

Cassidy thinks for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” he mutters, like he’s done that exact thing before. Of course he has. "Okay," he accepts, "what about this?"

He sits up on the motel couch and shuffles his ass to the edge; it's the position that means he's got it, the next thing he says is gonna be genius.

"The shell game," he says. "Or cups, or cards, or whatever. You put a ball under a cup and shuffle the cups around and have someone try to follow it."

"Yeah," Tulip says, "you let them win a couple times and then when you get them to make a bigger bet you swap out the ball without them seeing, or swap the card, or whatever."

"Yes! That's con art."

"Slapping some paper cups around is art but a good lie isn't?"

"I never said that," he says quickly, and points at her. "You know I love your lies.”

She snorts.

"Since when are you the expert on con artistry, anyway?" she asks. "Last I checked the only thing you were an expert of was getting on Jesse's nerves."

He snorts too, and, speak of the Devil, Jesse returns from a convenience store run.

"Jesse!" Cassidy barks. If he reels Jesse into the conversation first, he'll take his side, right? "Help us settle something."

Jesse sets the bags of microwave meals and alcohol on the big desk every motel always seems to have.

"One of these days," Jesse sighs, "you're going to run out of things to argue about, and I'm gonna come home to dead silence and have a stroke."

Cassidy and Tulip both snort, a mimicked, almost-identical sound that's arisen from spending so much time together, perfectly in sync, and Jesse smiles between the two of them.

"What is it now?"

He takes his jacket off and tosses it on the bed before he sits beside Tulip. Only one of her legs is hanging far enough off the end to touch the carpet, sitting with one crossed over the other.

"First of all, it's not an argument." She kisses him 'hello'.

Jesse freezes up against her.

He knows that Cassidy is in on this now, and none of them have any problems with it. It's great; it feels like all of his and Tulip's rough edges have been sanded down just enough for Cassidy to slot himself into their world. It's good.

But he's also more than aware that they've all been dancing around the actual sex part of all three of them being together. The way Tulip has brushed his hair back with her fingers and re-crossed her legs so her ankle catches his is just a bit too much contact for a 'hello'. It’s definitely instigating something.

He can feel Cassidy's eyes on them and that makes him blush more than Tulip's mouth does.

She finally pulls away, casual as can be, and returns to their conversation as though Jesse's not sitting on the edge of the bed with his fists in the sheets, looking halfway toward debauched.

"And second," she continues, voice as level as a gun to his head, "it's not a who's right, who's wrong thing, anyway."

Cassidy is smiling at them both with that big, lazy grin that shows all his teeth and looks dangerous if you can't catch the spark in his eye.

"Okay," Jesse says. "So what is it?"

Neither of them speaks. Glancing from one to the other again, he realizes that now they've both got the same expectant look.

"What?"

Cassidy scoffs. "Do I not get a kiss hello, Jess?"

Oh, the offense in his voice.

Jesse swallows. "Didn't know you wanted one," Jesse says, instead of 'you big dramatic baby' or 'you scheming fuckers' or 'I'll give you a lot more than a kiss if it'll wipe that smirk off your face'.

Cassidy stands smugly (and if anyone can be smug just by standing up, it's Cassidy) and puts himself at the end of the bed, his knees almost touching Jesse's. He isn't straddling him, or crowding between his legs, but the way Cassidy stands over him, waiting, says that he won't be bending down to kiss him until they get more comfortable.

Jesse chooses the less nerve-wracking option and slides his hands over Cassidy's thighs, slowly, and barely curls his fingers as though he'd like to pull him closer.

Cassidy follows the ghost of the motion, brings his knees up on either side of Jesse's hips as though he did go through with it, and Jesse breathes a shaky exhale when Cassidy settles his weight on his thighs.

"You alright?" Tulip asks quietly.

It's obvious now that this is a thing, something Tulip and Cassidy have both conspired about to ease Jesse into the thing without him having to directly address how bad he wants it. They know him and the second either of them pushes too far, they know he'll tell them to stop, but in a hundred years he'd never ask for any of it out of fear or anxiety or something).

"I'm good," Jesse whispers to her, but his eyes haven't left Cassidy's grinning mouth, unfamiliar lips thinner than Tulip's but equally inviting, screaming please, Jesse, kiss me.

Cassidy waits until Jesse's focus flicks back up to his eyes like he's asking permission, and then he closes the distance. Jesse's mouth is every bit as warm as he'd hoped, and after a few hesitant seconds, Cassidy tilts his head more to make it deeper, more involved, and Jesse groans into it.

They've kissed before, drunk or at Tulip's request or just a good morning peck on the cheek while they're both still too tired to overthink it -- but never with such blatant intent.

Cassidy's hands move from staying safely at his own sides to lightly hold onto Jesse's shoulders, and that is the right call because Jesse's hands press, up his thighs and then his hips and finally settle with one hand on his lower back and the other cradling his side. He’s holding him closer than they've ever been as he pulls Cassidy flush against his chest.

"Shit," Cassidy groans into his mouth.

Jesse feels cool fingers at the back of his neck, but they aren't Cassidy's. Tulip's fingers thread into the hair at the base of his skull and tug, not painfully but not gently. He lets her separate them so she can guide Jesse’s mouth back to hers.

He feels Cassidy's fingers next, his knuckles light over Jesse’s collarbone as he starts undoing shirt buttons.

Jesse continues kissing Tulip, but feels his way to Cassidy's front for the hem of his shirt -- nothing buttoned or tucked in like Jesse's, just a gaudy T-shirt he stole from the last laundromat they passed through, and when his hands move under it, Cassidy's hands move to meet his instead to help him get it off.

He had closed his eyes kissing Cassidy, and then Tulip, but he opens them and pulls back so he can take Cassidy in. He's seen him shirtless before, but never with an excuse to really look.

He can't help running his hands over Cassidy's tattoos while he looks at them; some seem much, much older than others, and he briefly wonders which is the oldest. Some are smooth, properly done so they don't leave scar tissue, and others are raised only enough to notice when you're running your fingers down them or rubbing a thumb softly along its edge.

"I like this," Cassidy says, breaking through his haze. "Sweet, speechless Jesse."

Jesse swallows against his dry throat and tries to laugh, but Cassidy is pushing him back so he can undo the rest of his shirt buttons.

He hesitates at the last of them, hands directly above Jesse's belt buckle.

"Do you want me to...?"

Cassidy runs a thumb over the smooth metal on his buckle. Do you want to go the rest of the way with this? Are you comfortable with that?

Jesse sits up on his elbows and looks down at himself, and where Cassidy’s hips meets his. It almost looks ridiculous because they’re both hard and still mostly-dressed, but he wants the image of them seared in his head.

He nods. Cassidy beams.

He opens Jesse’s pants and pushes them under his ass, and they both laugh when Cassidy has to shuffle completely off the bed to get them down over his feet. Cassidy takes his jeans off while he’s up, and God, Jesse can see half the detail of his dick through his thin, beat-up underwear. His face goes a few shades redder, and he covers it for a moment by pulling his undershirt off.

Cassidy is grinning at him when his shirt is discarded and he can see again. His grin redirects itself to Jesse’s left.

“Tulip?” he asks. “You joining us?”

Jesse had almost forgotten she was there, even with the weight dipping the bed in beside him.

“Jesse?” she asks. “Your call.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “Of course, if you want.”

She slides off the bed and turns her back to Cassidy, both of them now directly in front of Jesse and both looking like they want to eat him alive.

“Unzip me.”

Cassidy obeys easily, like he’s spent his whole life waiting to hear those words.

He ducks his head to kiss her cheek as he pulls her zipper, and something ugly and possessive rips through Jesse’s stomach out of habit, but then Tulip’s smile goes soft at him, and the feeling is forgotten in favor of heat.

“Slower,” Tulip whispers, and Cassidy obeys that, too.

His mouth moves down to her neck, kissing past her jaw and pecking under her ear as he makes his way to her collarbone. His hand stays on her zipper, almost to the end of its length, and the other rubs up her arm. His fingers tuck under one dress strap and help it fall, and his mouth follows that, too, open and wet over her shoulder and back up.

Cassidy’s fingertips distort the fabric at her sides as his hands slide under to help push her dress the rest of the way off.

(Is this the first time Cassidy has seen Tulip topless? Jesse imagines it can’t be, not with the constant close quarters lately, but like this? In this context?)

His hands slide over her ribs, prominent when she stretches back to lean into him. His fingers fit perfectly into the divots they make in her skin, thin and long like he could hold her lungs in place for her if she wanted him to.

The two of them are a vision together, both naked except for a pair of horrible bright green briefs and a pair of (definitely stolen, he remembers Tulip slipping them in her bag at a mall) deep blue lace panties. They have the kind of visual contrast he and Tulip have never had, Jesse always too tan for his hands to stand out so prominently on her skin. Similarly, he thinks the two of them are just differently built enough that Cassidy will look like even more of a noodle against Jesse’s thicker frame, he’ll have to lean down just enough to kiss him when they’re both upright.

Again, his and Tulip’s rough edges, huh?

“His fingers are fuckin’ cold,” she warns, and both the boys laugh. Jesse knows that already, from less intimate situations, but he appreciates the thought.

Cassidy gives her neck one last kiss, with a shaky scrape of his teeth that makes her shiver.

“Stop teasing,” Jesse groans without meaning to.

He doesn’t even know which of them he’s talking to.

“Go on,” Tulip tells Cassidy, over her shoulder, with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Cassidy’s hands drag and hesitate to leave her skin, but return to Jesse’s like a magnet when he moves himself back up onto Jesse’s lap. There's something strikingly hot about Cassidy being so close that he can taste his breath while his dick is jammed up against his stomach.

"Hey," Cassidy says. The nerves in his voice aren't hidden, but he doesn't look like he’d bothered -- it's a good nervous. The kind of nervous that will fade into security and familiarity, and isn't that the sappiest fucking thing to think of while his hot new boyfriend is rubbing himself down onto his lap?

Jesse smiles. "What's the plan?" he asks, glancing at Tulip. She hasn't returned to the bed yet, and despite the brief moment of I can do this, he's not sure he can handle Cassidy one-on-one yet.

"The plan is relax," she chides. "You trust me. You trust him. Means you trust us."

She crawls forward to his side again and kisses his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and then her small hand is tipping his face up to hers so she can kiss him properly.

"We've got you, Jesse," she whispers.

Cassidy kisses the opposite corner of his mouth, the one Tulip didn't kiss, silently agreeing with her. He takes a shaky breath in, and it's even shakier out.

"Do you want to -- " Cassidy starts to ask, and rolls his hips down in a way that clarifies exactly what he's suggesting. "Y'know, you could -- "

"Not yet," Jesse answers quickly. "Not right now." God, one day. He'll fucking dream of the day he fucks Cassidy, but that isn't today. "Just hands, maybe?"

Cassidy nods and kisses him again. "You want me 'nd Tulip to both do it?"

That's the worst idea Cassidy has ever had, because Jesse holds back a moans at just the thought of them both, each with a hand on his dick and him watching both of them slicked up with lube and precum.

Watching himself spill over two sets of knuckles while they both kiss him stupid, hopefully.

"Jesus," he croaks. "Sure, yeah, if -- yes."

Tulip does something like a giggle beside him, and kisses his cheek again. "Yeah, Jess?" she asks, low and purposefully sultry. "You want both of us to jerk you off?"

His hips twitch into an involuntary grind against Cassidy, and his breath hitches the same as Jesse's.

"Yeah," he says again.

Tulip grins, the same dangerous show of teeth that she perfected when she got her braces off in 4th grade, and looks to Cassidy.

"Scoot."

Cassidy does as she says and slides himself more to Jesse’s right, slipping his knee between Jesse’s thighs to straddle just one.

He opens his legs more so Cassidy can comfortably settle back down, and Tulip mirrors his position over the other side of his lap. He's got the two most beautiful people on the planet in this hotel room, each straddling one of his thighs, and all he can think to say is a mindless, groaned-out "Fucking Christ, shit."

His hand twitches up to rub Cassidy through the single layer of cloth keeping his dick from being actually touching Jesse’s skin.

"Can I -- ?" Jesse starts to ask, but Cassidy is already nodding.

"Yeah."

Cassidy kisses him again as Jesse tentatively cups his hand around him. It’s not mindblowing -- Jesse has to get past the odd angle and all his nerves, first, but it’s something.

“You couldn’t have worn something cuter?” Tulip asks, referring to Cassidy’s God-awful, also-stolen underwear. “We could put CGI over those.”

“Sorry,” Cassidy says sarcastically, “I didn’t realize I needed to be dressed to the nines to sit on Jesse’s dick.”

There’s a split second where Tulip tenses, worried that Cassidy might freak Jesse out, but he gives a bark of laughter instead.

“They’re fine, Cassidy,” he says, and squeezes him through them with more confidence.

Cassidy bites his lip to shut himself up, but it doesn’t stop the flush spreading over his face.

Jesse’s other hand slides up Tulip’s thigh, and he gives her a quick kiss.

"Don't worry about me," Tulip sighs, even as she presses her hips forward.

“Shut up,” Jesse says good-naturedly, as he slides his hand between her legs. His fingertip pull lace back so he can slip his hand into her panties.

She rocks down against his fingers with a grin, and keeps rocking her hips -- he presses up for her, not dipping into her but giving her more pressure, more to use.

His attention starts to wane from Cassidy and focus on her, and she smacks his arm lightly when she notices.

“Jesse,” she scolds, “focus on Cassidy.”

He feels guilty that he can't multitask and actively get them both off, but Tulip's still moving her hips and he can feel how wet she is. As in most things, Tulip can handle herself.

“Fine,” he sighs, sounding exaggeratedly put-upon. His wrist already aches from holding the same tense position for Tulip to grind down on, but he wouldn’t care if it broke his wrist.

He kisses Cassidy again, and slides his hand up to his waistband as well. “Can I?” he asks again.

“Yes.”

Cassidy sits up higher on his knees so he can pull his briefs low enough for Jesse to touch him properly. While he does that, Jesse uses that time to really focus on Tulip.

She’s always been a hair trigger, and at times like this, where Cassidy is waiting on him too, he’s especially glad for it. She’s almost at the edge when Cassidy’s finally got his underwear down properly, and he admires her with Jesse while she shakes. She’ll need more than this, she’s always needed to cum two or three times to feel truly satisfied, but they can work on her again later.

She’s breathing out curses and her hand has moved to push Jesse’s harder against her when Cassidy leans over to help; he kisses her neck and up her jaw, while one of his hands starts roaming over her chest again to help give her just that little bit extra.

Jesse uses both hands, one still rubbing between her legs and the other sliding over her thigh and ass to help her shove forward into his fingers.

Tulip peaks with a strangled moan and Cassidy kisses her through it, scraping teeth over and over like flint against her skin.

Her whole body shakes as she dismounts Jesse’s thigh.

She falls down to his side, still panting. Jesse’s hand follows, sliding between her legs again to feel her, cum-slick and hot as the sun, and knowing that just because she can’t hold herself up anymore, that doesn’t quite mean she’s done.

They both ignore their own wants in favor of watching her, as she squeezes her eyes and legs shut while Jesse keeps stroking her. The new angle is easier on his wrist and allows him to press and push her further than she needs. As sensitive as she is now, moving his fingers too much would only hurt her, so he stills them and just lets her rock into his touch for those last few ruts she needs while her hands grip at the blankets with white knuckles.

Jesse’s hand is still trapped against her, making the pressure even worse, her body squirming like she can’t stand it. She reaches down to force his hand harder against her, still trying to get him closer, harder, more.

After a few more seconds, her hips stutter up one last time, hard enough she arches up off the bed, and she cries out one more overstimulated ”Fuck” before she collapses again.

She spreads her legs enough to push Jesse’s hand out of her underwear. He smiles at her.

“Jesus,” Cassidy groans against his cheek. The twitch in his cock that must be painful answers Jesse’s question of whether Cassidy and Tulip have gone this far yet.

Jesse lovingly squeezes Tulip’s thigh, a promise to finish up with Cassidy so they can join her all fucked up and half passed out. They smear tacky against her skin, but the lazy grin on her face says she doesn’t mind.

He tries to wipe his hand off on the blanket, but Cassidy catches his wrist before he can. He brings Jesse’s fingers to his mouth and licks at them, sucking the taste of Tulip’s wetness off and putting on a show for Jesse, gazing up at him like he wants a lot more than fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck off,” he mutters, a pang of want hitting him at the same moment Cassidy’s mouth closes over a knuckle. Cassidy laughs around his finger and lets go.

“Come on,” he begs, rutting his hips up to push his cock through Jesse’s fingers again. Jesse wraps his fingers around him again, tighter, turning his full attention to him now, and stroking him feels as natural as breathing now that he’s gotten more used to it.

Cassidy pants against his mouth between kisses, but as Jesse keeps going, gets a little rougher, hand sounding a little more lewd as it moves, Cassidy can’t even keep up with that. He buries his face in Jesse’s neck and bites. Not hard enough to draw blood, he’s thankfully got slightly more self-control than that, but enough that it stings. Jesse pulls him closer and thrusts up against him too, because God, he wants Cassidy just as bad as Cassidy wants him right now.

Cassidy’s trying to swear against his skin, but Jesse can only make out the vowels and teeth of it. He catches something that sounds an awful lot like ”God, fuck, don’t stop”, though, and it’s only moments after that that Cassidy goes tense and spills himself over Jesse’s fist.

He keeps fucking up into Jesse’s hand as he cums even as Jesse loosens his grip, unsure of how sensitive he’ll be.

His teeth detach from Jesse’s neck, and he hears a long, satisfied ”God” on his pulse.

Jesse’s hand is gross, cum and sweat clinging to his skin, and that he wipes on the blanket. He’ll have to leave a better tip for housekeeping. Oops.

“We were supposed to be getting you off, Jess,” Cassidy finally says, still trying to catch his breath against Jesse’s neck.

“Sorry,” he sighs, certainly not sorry. He slides his hand around Cassidy’s waist and holds him there, arm slung around him. It’s strange; Cassidy is almost as cold as he usually is. Vampirism will do that, he guesses.

He’s still the hardest he’s ever been in his life, and Tulip has regained enough functioning thought to notice.

“C’mon,” Tulip says to Cassidy.

She’s wobbly as she sits back up, still barely shaking while she arranges herself so she can lean most of her weight on Jesse. Her hand slides over his hip and over his thigh, barely scratching her short nails over his skin. He’s still wearing underwear, and she tugs at the band to start pulling them down.

Cassidy barely moves; he stays on Jesse’s thigh, but lets his weight slide so he’s kneeling at Jesse’s side with a leg thrown over his. His face is still pressed against Jesse’s neck, though now it’s smeared sweaty and lazy over to his shoulder as he’s gotten more comfortable and limp against him.

“Tell us what you want, Jess,” Tulip says.

“Anything,” Jesse blurts out. “Just want you,” he sighs. It’s a general ‘you’, and he makes sure Cassidy knows that by squeezing him with the arm wrapped around his waist.

He feels Cassidy smile against his skin. He tucks his thumb into his waistband too, and they carefully maneuver his ratty white briefs down his thighs.

“Nice,” Cassidy says out loud. Jesse’s been leaking since Cassidy sunk his teeth into him.

“Right?” Tulip says. “At least he’s good for something.”

Jesse tries to laugh, tell her to shut up, maybe, but he’s already too overwhelmed to do much more than huff and put his arms around them both.

Tulip’s fingers wrap around him first, at the base of his cock, and Cassidy’s wrap around him above hers, and it’s… Hot... But awkward.

“Maybe -- “

“No, yeah, let’s -- “

“Yeah.”

Tulip and Cassidy wordlessly come to a solution, and then Jesse feels them thread their fingers over him.

His long-time girlfriend and brand new boyfriend are holding hands around his dick.

“Oh my God,” he moans, half because it’s ridiculous and half because it’s the hottest singular thing that has ever happened to him.

“That feel okay?” Cassidy asks.

“Yes,” he answers.

Their hands move slowly, a surreal kind of pressure that’s nowhere near what Jesse would need if it wasn’t the most incredible feeling, and probably the most emotionally climactic sex he’s had since him and Tulip got together for the first time.

He doesn’t last long at all -- between both of their hands around him and both of them tugging his head back so they can kiss at his neck, he’s amazed that he lasts as long as he does. It’s their hands stuttering against each other that pushes him over the edge, both trying to move faster for him but not managing the right rhythm.

He groans one last time into Cassidy’s hair, arms tight around both of them. He forces himself to watch, as much as he wants to shut his eyes against the feeling of it all washing over him. He doesn’t dribble over their fingers as much as he’d expected, too worked up and tense for it to come any softer than a slow gunshot up against his stomach.

He lays back, dragging them both down with him, and he tries to take deep breaths so he’ll stop seeing stars.

Tulip removes her hand, but Cassidy’s stays for just another moment, just a couple more admiring, overstimulating strokes that squeeze a few more fat drops out of him. His dick looks as spent as he feels.

The room seems too still while he’s dizzy from it all, and he’s just starting to feel like he can think again when Cassidy breaks the silence.

“Who’s getting the cum rag?”

“Gross,” Jesse groans, because that’s the worst thing to call it, even if it’s the most accurate. “Also, Tulip.”

Tulip groans too. “Why am I getting the cum rag?”

“Because you’ve had the most time to recover from sex brain. And the… The sex legs,” Cassidy explains, either agreeing with Jesse’s unspoken logic or just not wanting to be the one that has to get up. Jesse nods regardless.

Tulip groans again, but rises on shaky legs to go get it. Jesse barely hears the water running over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

She tosses it at them, her part done, and collapses back against Jesse.

Cassidy, the gentleman, wipes Jesse’s stomach off for him. He even sits up and tries to wipe his own dry jizz from where Jesse had smeared it on the blanket, as much as he can, and then tosses the washcloth back toward the bathroom.

Jesse pulls him down to lay next to him too.

"That's gotta count," Cassidy says, tucking himself under Jesse's arm. "He was confident making him go to the store wasn't a trap."

"But he got something out of it too," Tulip reminds him. "He didn't get ripped off, he got jerked off."

Cassidy and Jesse both snort, Cass with a proud "Good one!" and Jesse with a slightly disgusted but decidedly not-bitter "Gross."

"So a con would have been making him get us off, and then we just, like, didn’t get him off?" Cassidy looks up at Jesse with a snort. “He tried to do that anyway.”

Tulip snorts too.

“Just… Jesse can fuck off,” she says, like they’re not talking over his chest. “If he hadn’t been trying to do that and we’d just left the room or something, that would have been a con. Or something.”

She nuzzles her face down against his chest to get herself comfortable.

“I can’t think straight, who cares?”

Jesse and Cassidy laugh then.

“Is that what the argument was about?” Jesse asks. “What counts as a con?”

“It wasn’t an argument,” Cassidy and Tulip mumble in sync.

Cassidy turns so he’s more on his back, leaning on Jesse’s arm like a pillow and bringing his hand to his own chest to thread their fingers together.

Jesse kisses his temple.

Somehow, all tangled up, they sleep through the night.

[oloreandil]

hq!! ot3+ week day 2 - asadaisuga

written for the haikyuu ot3+ week day 2: popcorn

@hqot3week and everyone, i hope you’ll enjoy !

daichi is a cashier at a movie theater and suga is a journalist who comes in often because he does movie reviews. he always bring in fancy popcorn (article about it here) that daichi mocks him for and that’s how the conversation gets going

after seeing him almost every day for like three months daichi decides that cheeky banter over the action movies and chick flicks and weird artsy movies that suga has to see isn’t enough so he says “hey what about next time i come see the movie with you” and suga automatically answers “that’s a date !” which flusters them both

next time turns out to be saturday night and they end the evening at a bar where they meet one of suga’s colleagues, asahi. he’s tall and shy but very passionate about movies which makes for interesting discussions. they all end up drunk out of their asses and pass out in daichi’s flat

there’s three ways to wake up from a night like this: gay awakening in front of the dozed off friends (suga), fucking hangover from hell (daichi) and confused mumbling about how he needed to be gone half an hour ago oh my god he’s going to get fired (asahi)

saturday night officially becomes date night in the sawamura household and it very soon becomes apparent that they all have a bit of a crush. they’re all casual about it until they end up kissing and then asahi has a crisis which leads to Communication (remember kids that’s what makes a healthy relationship)

they decide to keep things casual and don’t see each other more than saturday and at the cash register for the movies, but it’s ok for the three of them because they still have a life and daichi works like two jobs and suga is actually married to journalism.

it’s the one year anniversary of their first movie date and daichi who is secretly a romantic decides to have a date at the fancy popcorn shop suga likes so much which is both kinda too serious for all of them usually but also completely ridiculous

they have a fun time and they hold hands and they don’t say i love you because they’re not in love in the traditional sense of the term but they do love each other very much and they all know it

extra: daichi fake proposes with a candy ring one day and asahi bursts into tears because he’s not ready to have a baby. they’re all cis men

[itsclydebitches]

Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet

Title: A Three Flower Bouquet 

Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 4,574

Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol) 

Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa! 

A Three Flower Bouquet 

Week One

Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.

A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...

"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"

"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.

And so the day began.

***

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.