#jessesaul

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Idc TAKE THIS very crude saul and jessy art. And now I disappear to the void never to be see again. 🫡

[ice-station-toaster]

Just starting up this fandom sideblog

If you post about any of these topics/fandoms in your blog * Breaking Bad *Better Call Saul *Stuff relating to any of the actors/actresses involved in any of the previous fandoms *Jesse/Saul *Meta discussion

Please reblog this post so I can follow you! Thanks

[conquesooo]

Erm, did someone ask for sauljesse 🥹

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Can we have a sauljesse renessance? I'm dying here. A saujessace. I'll go first 🥹

[bingoricopimento]

A Pretty Thing To Think About

read it on AO3

Parts 1, 2, and 3 of this absolutely-not-cutting-it-as-a-drabble story are now compiled into a chapter on AO3

E for sex  // 2300 words (5700 total) // Saul/Jesse // Mike and Walt exist in the background Summary: Tired of only ever seeing Jesse on stolen time, Saul negotiates his way into a real night together.

Chapter Excerpt:

Saul waits for him in the car.

When Jesse emerges -- and it takes less than five minutes, in the end -- Saul has to stop himself from an obvious double take. Jesse's thin frame is draped in clothes that actually fit him, not swimming in three layers that offer up enough room for a few friends. He’s wearing a simple thermal shirt, gray and worn-in with jeans cut the way a normal human 20-something would wear them. Astounding, breathtaking, what a goddamned time to be alive.

Jesse catches him staring -- well, gazing, admiring really -- as he takes the passenger seat, dropping a backpack to the floor. "Sup?"

He looks suspicious and Saul can't decide whether or not a compliment is going to make him feel antsy. His gut instinct is to wax poetic about the way that Jesse suddenly looks like he’s stepped out of some magazine that’s too cool for Saul to even be reading, but it comes out -- as things often do, when he talks to Jesse -- as sniping. "Just didn't realize you own clothes that aren't big enough for Huell. You incognito?" Jesse rolls his eyes. "I knew you were gonna rag on me about this." "Hey, Christ, no ragging," Saul says, offering his palms up. "If it's any consolation, the getup is giving me a partial." Jesse snorts and Saul pulls away from the curb.

read it on AO3

[bingoricopimento]

Rippin’ Jimmy: Ch. 1

Read it on AO3

Words: 3500 // Rating: E for (future) sexual content, pot smokin’ Warnings: Shipping, lots of talk about weed, Saul being tragic  Characters/pairing: Saul Goodman/Jesse Pinkman

Co-written with the disarmingly handsome @partyinthemysterymachine​

CHAPTER SUMMARY: All Jesse wanted was some snacks.

The buzz of early morning hits ‘n coffee is far behind Jesse as he steps into Target -- but even in this soberer-than-usual state, he wonders if the lights really need to be this bright.

Who designs these consumer hell-holes?

Honestly, seems like they’d sell more shit if they invested in, like, a little mood lighting. Sober or not, nobody can honestly say they appreciate this lighting. The store is bathed in white-hot fluorescent bee stings, illuminating every aisle in its hateful glow. It’s a buzzkill even without a goddamn buzz.

Jesse’s got a wad of cash and an abysmally empty cupboard right now and he’d needed to get out of his apartment, so. Right. Target. It’s the classier version of Wal-Mart, designed for people who dig the concept, but don’t hate themselves as much. He just hadn’t really thought it through -- the clusterfuck of colors all a little sharper than they ought to be under that light and the eye-catching red end caps of shit he most definitely did not need but goddamn did he want. And at midday on a weekday, the place is mostly deserted. No screaming, godawful kids. No shuffling old people to get stuck behind. He’s king of goddamn Target this morning -- soon to be snack king.

Everyone, make way for the new god almighty.

Read the rest on AO3

[bingoricopimento]

Peace by Piece Negotiation

(Part 1 // Part 2 // SaulJesse, nsfw, 1100 words) 

When the doorbell rings at dusk the next day, Jesse knows who it is without a second thought.

Yeah, it could be Badger and okay, it could be the geezer next door who always wants to give Jesse a hard time about landscaping and sure, it could be a pair of those randos on the bikes wearing black neckties.

But he already knows it's not any of them. Because it's Saul Goodman.

When he hears the bell chime, Jesse is fresh out of the shower – one of those overlong, scalding ones where he achieves some mental state that's halfway between a buzz and zen meditation. His hair is still dripping a little, and he pulls on jeans between the bedroom and the front door, not bothering with a shirt.

Jesse flings the door open and meets Saul with an eye roll.

"You're a prick, you know that?"

"I may have heard the term bandied about from time to time," Saul says without missing a beat.

He doesn't step forward to come inside, so Jesse pokes his head out the door to scan the street up and down. No Mr. White, no unfamiliar cars, no neighbors. He's probably ok to let Saul stand here in the open for a minute with that conspicuous Cadillac – but they'd have to make it quick.

He sighs and stands back to look at Saul. Somewhere between the office and Jesse's house, Saul has lost his jacket and tie – and in charcoal gray pants and a teal shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he's approaching a normal outfit. He's in the vicinity, at least.

"You almost look like a real human, without all the…" Jesse says, gesturing vaguely at Saul's torso. “Y’know. All your bullshit.”

"Charming," Saul says, raising his eyebrows and bobbing his head a little. "You should write greeting cards."

Jesse pulls a face at him and doesn't miss the way Saul looks at him like in spite of the vinegar, Jesse is the most adorable creature the lawyer has ever encountered. It ought to make his skin crawl. Instead, Jesse's punching down some expanding warm feeling in the front of his chest.

"So… sup?" Jesse shrugs his bare shoulders and fans out a hand.

Saul frowns a little. Yeah, Jesse knows why he's here – but he can't suppress the impulse to drag the fumbling truth out of the other man.

"Funny thing," Saul says – and from the way he smiles and bounces on his heels, Jesse knows he's about to lie. "I got wind of some bad hombres with an agenda in town and dispatched Mike to keep an eye on Walt until things cooled down."

Incredible. So much for the fumbling truth.

"You are fucking unbelievable, man – "

Saul flashes his palms at Jesse and ducks his head a few inches, feigning innocence.

"I’m just here expressing deep concern for a valued client -- totally professional, of course," Saul says. His eyes drag down the front of Jesse's body as he wets his lips, and Jesse is struck for the millionth time since this thing with them started that Saul Goodman is exactly as sleazy as he seems in his commercials. There's something deeply wrong with Jesse, he thinks, because this doesn't turn him off at all. 

"But what with me here now,” Saul continues, on a roll now, “and this entire you-without-a-shirt situation – and, hear me out, I'm just thinkin’ on my feet here – you should probably take a ride to my place with me and lay low for the night."

Jesse leans against the doorframe. He hadn't exactly been kicking himself for saying no the day before, but he had found himself wondering what tonight would've been like had he accepted. The fact that it would be a fucking disaster hadn't done anything to extinguish Jesse's curiosity about what the inside of Saul's house (Apartment? Condo?) is like.

And hadn't the invitation been the weird vote of confidence Jesse was waiting for, if he was gonna be honest with himself? To push himself on a weak man in his own tacky office (And car. And broom closet.) was one thing. Being invited over was another thing entirely.

Being invited over when the stakes are what they are is, frankly, something Jesse isn't even ready to wrap his mind around. Saul clearly has a death wish, a sex addiction, or a real curiosity about Jesse. Maybe those options aren't mutually exclusive.

(Some part of him wants to suggest that whatever Saul’s nursing right now is "affection" -- but every time Jesse approaches the word, the visceral lurch that feels like missing a step at the bottom of a stairwell is enough to make him stop speculating.)

"Mike's seriously watching Mr. White? Like, literally right now?"

"Literally like right now. Scouts’ honor," Saul says – and he can't hide his excitement at what is definitely starting to sound like a maybe from Jesse. One corner of his mouth is curling up, out of his control. "Any movement towards your place or mine and he'll call me. Worst case scenario, he'll have to intercept. But it’s my professional opinion that the likelihood of Walt showing up unannounced is zilch at this juncture."

It's like he knows. He probably does know – Saul is probably enough steps ahead of Jesse at all times to know that the only way he's going to convince him is to show up like this and force a decision. The longer he stands there, the harder it is to say no. Send him away and then what? Watch television alone for another fifty hours? Microwave the delectable frozen potpie that's been calling his name? The standard options for his evening seemed more appealing without Saul Goodman standing on his porch.

Jesse stares desperately past Saul and tries to find a single good reason -- aside from the sex they'll have -- that this whole thing isn't a real shit idea.

There are zero good reasons – but his brain is happy to provide at least a half a dozen bad ones: the image seared into his memory of Saul's hand working around his cock with a confident flourish and the glint of that stupid pinkie ring, the way Saul looks younger and somehow genuinely himself as he squints and gasps when he's close, and the hollow-bird-bones feeling Jesse gets when Saul bottoms out for the first time and fills him until he can't breathe.

His whole body throbs in one tight pulse as he looks at the moron standing hopeful before him.

"Give me five minutes," Jesse says, shutting the door in his face.

[bingoricopimento]

The Pitch

[A continuation of Muscle Memory. Saul/Jesse sfw, 1300 words]

This isn’t where Jesse expected the minute alone together to go, and he frowns as Saul rests against the wall of the back of his office with a sigh.

Saul drops the mostly-spent cigarette and grinds it into the cracked asphalt with the heel of a shiny shit-brown loafer. He’s squinting off at nothing, straightening his spine, and slipping back behind a practiced neutral expression. Christ Jesse would take just about anything but neutrality right now. He’d rather go back into that nightmare of an office and sit hip to hip with Mr. White.

Fuck it, he thinks, dropping his own cigarette to the ground.

Before Saul can protest, Jesse’s there and tilting his head up to kiss him hard, curling a hand around one ugly lapel and closing his eyes and enjoying the shocked half-noise Saul makes at the contact before opening to him – and this is exactly why Jesse hadn’t just done this in the first place. Because as goddamned unlikely as they are, the moment one of them is dumb enough to start it up, neither one wants to back down or – God forbid – stop.

As if the stakes weren’t high enough.

This is how it had started and maybe this is how it’ll always go: Jesse moving rough and unexpected, Saul accepting with enthusiasm, and the two of them meeting in the middle to almost satisfy some need neither of them can quite find a vocabulary for. It’s a stupid, kamikaze attempt at having something that’s just theirs.

Jesse fights the feeling that they’re getting too good at this as Saul’s hands find the back of his hips. The feeling isn’t fresh and they’ve done this too much for it to feel novel — but it’s no less thrilling than it was the first time, and acknowledging that makes Jesse feel very uncomfortable, like there’s an iron band constricting around his chest.

This is the last thing either of them needs, he thinks, even as he catches Saul’s bottom lip between his teeth, as he leans more weight against him and ignores the way his heart is beating so hard it’s flopping around in his chest. They are a runaway fucking train and Jesse knows better. Saul is pliant and warm and familiar and responsive and Jesse pulls away anyway.

Saul doesn’t let him go far, holding him by the front of his hoodie.

“On second thought, forget buying me dinner,” Saul says, his voice a little rough. There’s something in his face that looks like a challenge. “Come to my place.”

Jesse snorts, backing up to break his grip and turning.

“Come over tonight,” he says louder, sounding final but – Jesse notes – careful not to order him. And that’s Saul all over, isn’t it? Careful with Jesse. It’s the kind of thing that has Jesse torn between leaning into a too-gentle touch and wanting to give Saul a bloody nose.

This is the first time he’s asked to see Jesse.

“Can’t tonight. We’re cooking,” Jesse says. He realizes that isn’t ‘no.’

“Tomorrow, then. Come on – pencil me into your dayplanner, you social butterfly.”

“That’s a shit idea,” Jesse says, trying not to smile at the little dig and the way Saul is moving his hands around as if feeling for an argument in thin air.

“Did you ever hear me claim it wasn’t a shit idea?” Saul asks, eyebrow raised.

“He knows where you live.”

“Then I’ll pick you up and we’ll shut the blinds.”

Jesse shuts his eyes and squeezes the back of his neck.

“Sneaking around? This is some real high school shit, Saul.”

“Yeah? And? Have you seen you? I’d have gotten my ass kicked in exchange for spending the night with you in high school, too.”

Jesse starts to frown and Saul holds a finger up in his face.

“Take the compliment – don’t be a punk, punk.”

“Bitch.”

They smile at each other for a beat, and Jesse can practically watch the wheels turning behind the other man’s eyes. Yeah, here comes the pitch…

“Listen. Say I put Mike on him for the night. Let him keep tabs on Heisendad for twelve hours so you can take a deep breath and maybe eat something that’s not off a value menu. No pressure – just a night off from being you.”

“Like he’s not gonna be pissed when he catches Mike outside his apartment? Be real.”

“If Walt hollers, I’ll say Mike was working protection detail. Say, I got wind of some hombres with an agenda in town and dispatched Mike to keep an eye out until things cooled down.”

“He’s still not gonna like it.”

“Then I will beg, I will implore on bended knee – Walt, please, in your vast wisdom grant me mercy for this one minor fuckup in our huge shared legacy of fuck ups,” Saul says, hands wringing together as he acts out the scene. “And then I’ll promise nicely not to do it again. But he’s not gonna catch Mike in the first place, so your point’s moot, kid.”

Jesse sniffs hard and looks everywhere but Saul’s face, like there might be an answer in the graffiti on the dumpster or the stained asphalt. Jesse’s fine with taking heat from Mr. White – but fuck up and drag Saul into this and Walt’s liable to move their lawyer into his little mental column of “expendables.” Jesse has more than enough shit on his conscience without adding Saul to the body count.

“No thanks, man.”

“No thanks man?” Saul parrots back – and yeah, it sounds a little harsher when it’s repeated back to him, and Jesse is already rolling his eyes, retreating back towards sarcasm and frustration because it’s far safer than this fucking quicksand that Saul is pushing them towards.

Before Jesse thinks much further, though, Saul has his hands in Jesse’s hoodie, squeezing around his waist, letting some weight fall against him – and it’s as satisfying as it is annoying that Saul can change tactics like this, like he’s just switching gears on a goddamn bike. Jesse doesn’t like it when he knows he’s being played and he wouldn’t let anyone else in the world other than Saul do it and back up unscathed.

“Don’t you think you deserve to get fucked in a bed for once?” Saul asks, a little gravelly.

“I didn’t hear you complain about your office.”

Saul laughs against his ear.

“Trust me, I’ll take it where I can get it,” he says, and he’s holding Jesse up off the wall, pressing their hips together.

After a moment, though, he pulls back. Jesse waits for him to cajole or try a new tactic, but instead Saul just stands there, breathing even and looking every bit like he’s trying to work out a complicated math equation.

It makes Jesse feel a little off kilter to watch Saul fucking Goodman back down from something he wants, and the only time he’s seen Saul do it is when Mr. White goes steely and sharp, telling Saul absolutely not. Even then, Saul always managed to dig in a few barbs and let their shared employer know that as their attorney, he’s advising strongly against whatever Walt is dead-set on.

That’s not the case here in the alley when it’s just them. It’s clear he won’t push Jesse to get what he wants. The man just looks sad.

He must solve that math equation, then, because he sighs hard and puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. It’s almost like Jesse can watch the man build up a fake wall between them as he prepares to go back into the meeting. He straightens his hair and pretends not to see Jesse frown.

“Think about it, yeah?”

Jesse just looks up at him. Maybe Saul can turn on a dime but Jesse feels dizzy as he tries to organize himself enough to face Mr. White again.

“You wanna lead the way?” Saul asks, holding the back door open.

At least once they’re back in there, Jesse won’t have to pretend to scowl.