“Fucking shit, Ian,” Mickey groaned, voice catching when Ian pushed until the tip slipped inside. “The fuck is that?”
“It’s a new toy. Merry Christmas,” Ian murmured, sitting down the bed from Mickey and pressing a kiss to his elevated calf.
“What’s it do?” Mickey asked, less than impressed by the narrow shaft of the toy. “Better be more than this.”
“You’ll see,” Ian promised, probing around with the toy until Mickey cursed and squirmed. With the flick of a switch a vibrator in the tip of the toy started buzzing right against Mickey’s prostate. Mickey arched off the bed and made a loud noise. Ian smirked at Mickey as he was thoroughly overwhelmed by the stimulation. Based on the brokenness of Mickey’s voice, Ian wouldn’t be surprised to find his eyes red from crying after taking off the blindfold later.
- - - - -
don't forget to leave kudos & comments when you read! xx
She wanted to stand up and announce she was who James said she was. She wanted to declare herself as Princess Liliana, the rightful Queen of Great Britain and she wanted to tell them to shut up about the politics and logistics and strategies and just get her husband back. She had a grand vision of how it would play out in her mind. They’d fall silent and they’d listen and she’d order them about and they’d go after James and bring him home. But reality, she knew, would play out differently.
They would think she was a mad, lying witch. She would have to waste time convincing them one by one. She would have to face questions on where she had been for the last thirteen years. It would waste time, not to mention, break her promise. Tell no one who you are. That was what James had instructed all those days ago and she’d agreed. But they were sitting around a dining table, bickering about strategy and all she wanted to do was say something to make them stop. To make them get her husband back because didn’t they know that too much time had been wasted already?
“… can’t just go sashaying across the country side blindly-” Moody was arguing.
“It’s not blind! We know where they’re taking them and if we can intercept before they reach Fort Azkaban-”
“Before being the operative word, Black! I know you and you’re reckless! At this point there’s no guarantee we could catch up with them-”
“Because we’re too busy arguing over logistics! I didn’t come back for this. I came back to get a fresh horse-”
“You came back because your damn leg had a bullet rip through it!”
Hii Do you now a fic where Damian and the rest of the family don't have that good of an relationship and the librarian of his school starts to worry. I remember that he went to the art competition of his school and nobody of the batfam showed up and he doesn't look so good because of patrol so the librarian calls cps. Its not completed and it's on Ao3... Hope you can find it and help me! Thank xou so very much for doing this!
hello!!! i was looking for this fic too a month ago and the writer rewrote it so that's probably why i couldn't find it before. i'm glad it wasn't deleted though!
anyways, the fic you're looking for is Even Ashes Burn In Wildfires by solar_celeste. enjoy your read!
“Damian was rather well aware that he was hard to love. He wasn’t made to be loved, he had been created with the intent to be used. He had been constructed piece by piece, designed to fulfill missions, to serve a purpose. If he was seen ill-fit, then there was no justification for his existence.”
Ok so I read this such a long time ago but it’s a canon type fic but when the 100 land like the grounders are separated in territories and Bellamy is the King and the 100 are forced to go there and there’s a castle and Clarke is forced to be Bellamy’s queen sort of? and then the adults come down and ruin everything Sorry that’s all over the place LOL
Hi, i'm looking for a multi-chap bellarke fic where clarke needs a fake boyfriend to go to her ex boyfriend's wedding (finn is the ex and raven is finn's future wife), octavia offers bellamy up, and they go to a trip (it's a destination wedding), then finn ends up trying to get clarke back, raven breaks up with him and becomes clarke's friend and bellarke end up getting together for real.
this chapter is a lot more schmoop than plot, but still important to the overall story. as usual, thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for motivation & listening to me whine & stopping me from repeating myself every other sentence.
chapter warnings: this doesn’t quite hit explicit territory, i don’t think, but it does come close, so please proceed with caution.
AO3 LINK
chapter index: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5
Michael’s up to his shoulders in the guts of an ancient Volkswagen when Alex pulls into the gravel drive of the junkyard. He’s either so engrossed in his repairs that he doesn’t hear Alex’s approach, or he’s just ignoring it under the assumption that Alex is just another customer trying to get repairs done even though business hours are over. Guerin’s the best mechanic in town, and though the people of Roswell are quick to dismiss him as the town drunk, they’re just as fast to forget that when their cars start acting up. It’s the sort of double standard Roswell loves: those people will beat a man until he bleeds and come back for a second round, but as soon as they need something, they’ll still expect their victim to bend over backwards for them.
It’s easier to relax now that Alex has Michael in his line of sight, and he exhales slowly as he slides out of the driver’s side of his of his SUV. His eyes linger for a moment on the way Michael’s body fills out the worn denim of his oil-streaked jeans, because he’d have to be dead before he stopped appreciating Guerin’s physique, but he’s not only looking for that, tonight. Sex is fucking fantastic, but he needs to fill a need more basic than that. He needs to feel settled in his skin, to be reminded of the man that he is now, rather than the kid he used to be.
Guerin can’t give him those things; Alex needs to do it himself, and he knows that. But for ten years, Michael’s arms have been the only place Alex has felt safe. While enlisted, he’d been afraid to replay those memories too often for fear he’d wear them out and forget completely, so he’d only allowed himself to think of Michael on the worst days, when he couldn’t pull himself together on his own, and even Michael’s imaginary presence was better the inescapable sense of isolation that came from being the only one who seemed to realize that military action was just another name for evil.
“Alex?” Michael’s in front of him, frowning in a way that suggests he’s been trying to get Alex’s attention for a while. “What’s wrong?” He wipes his palms on the bottom of his t-shirt, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to reach out, but his hands find their way into the pockets of his jeans instead. “The meeting with your brother go bad?” The question is calm, but Alex is too good at reading the other man to miss the way his eyes immediately scan the horizon, as if expecting an army of MPs to descend upon them at any moment.
Alex shakes his head quickly, not wanting to cause any unnecessary fear. “No, no. It went --” He grapples for the right word, and gives up. “Charlie bought the story. He’s reaching out to Flint and Hunter as we speak, so I should have access to the Project within a week, as long as Hunter’s on base and not off comms.” The information comes quick and succinct, a post-op briefing, and Alex looks away afterward. Michael’s not his commanding officer, and Alex knows that, but asking for what he actually wants is harder than it should be now that he’s standing so close to it.
“Okay,” Guerin drawls, batting a rogue curl away from his forehead. “You wanna come inside? I need to change. And probably shower.” He glances down at himself, as if just noticing the mess of oil and sweat masquerading as clothing. “Or you can head to Max’s, and I’ll meet you in an hour -- Isobel’s staying there until all this blows over, and Liz has basically been living there since we brought him back, so dinner’s pretty much an open invitation for a while. You can fill us in, and we can keep planning, maybe come up with some contingencies in case shit goes sideways.”
Normally, the promise of sitting down to dinner with their friends would be a good way to end a shitty day, but right now, Alex wants to have Michael to himself for a while. “Do you think we could go over later?” he asks, squinting into the sun in an effort to meet the other man’s eyes. “I want to go, I just -”
Guerin looks at Alex for a long moment after the sentence trails off, then takes a slow, uncertain step forward. “It seems like you’re asking me for something,” he says finally, his voice quiet and eyes searching. Beneath his gaze, Alex feels like his every insecurity and anxiety is written on his face; no one’s ever seen him like Guerin has, and it used to terrify him that someone could look at him and see the man he is beneath the surface. It’s taken Alex a long, long time to accept himself for the man he is, rather than constantly judging himself against others -- in fact, it’s still a work in progress. But he knows he’s made some, because now, Alex looks at Michael and revels in the fact that someone can know him like that and want to stick around anyway.
“But I don’t know what it is, Alex. You gotta tell me what you want. I’m not the mind-reader, remember?”
It’s fair. Alex is pretty sure Michael has a pretty good idea of what he wants, or at least a reasonable guess, but they said that they’d talk about the two of them after the mission was complete. Right now, the mission’s barely started, no one is really safe, and they haven’t talked about anything. It’s probably wrong for Alex to do this, to show up here looking for refuge without any explanation or attempt to ask permission, but he can’t bring himself to leave, either. So instead, he swallows, and closes the short distance remaining between their bodies.
His palms land on either side of Michael’s face, and Alex tilts his head to rest their foreheads together. Guerin’s skin is tacky against his own, damp with sweat, but Alex barely notices. He just holds Michael there for a minute, wishing, for once, that he could just reach into Alex’s mind and take the explanation from his thoughts. Michael turns to granite against him, still and rigid, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s all the permission Alex needs.
“I spent all day pretending to be someone I’m not,” Alex says with Michael’s breath against his cheek. “And Charlie -- I think he was trying to protect me, and I was manipulating him. And I have to work out how I feel about that, and what comes next, and I just wanted to be somewhere safe to figure all of that out.” The explanation is disjointed, and the emotions connected to it are too, even for Alex; he can feel, but everything is separate, confusing, like images twisted in a kaleidoscope.
“You wanted to be somewhere safe,” Michael repeats, a strange vulnerability in the words that Alex doesn’t understand. “And you came to me?”
Alex blinks, and steps back enough that he can see Michael’s face, but his hands linger on broad shoulders that have suddenly gone tense beneath his touch. “Should I -- not have?” he asks warily, trying to figure out what he’d said to cause this reaction. He’s fairly sure it wasn’t the touching. Guerin seemed fine with that. But how is admitting that he’s always been Alex’s safe place to land a bad thing? Surely he already knew that? “Do you want me to leave?”
“What? No! No, I --” Alex watches as Guerin’s throat works, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists in uncertainty. “I just meant that I haven’t given you any reason to feel safe around me, lately,” Michael says finally, the words blunt and forceful. Again, Alex is left floundering, trying to figure out how the hell they got here when only moments ago, Michael had seemed calm. But now, his expression is shuttered, closing Alex out of his thoughts and leaving him guessing. This isn’t what he’d been expecting when he came here, and part of him wants to shove his fingers in his ears and tell Guerin to stop talking, to leave it until after the mission like they’d agreed, but he knows he can’t. Not unless he’s prepared to turn around and leave, and Alex knows he won’t be able to do that. Walking away from Michael has always been too damn hard, and now, with no good reason, Alex knows it’ll be all but impossible.
“Fuck, Alex, the last time you wanted to talk, I stood you up and went to Maria,” Michael continues, his voice a raw strain of vocal cords. “I lost my shit after Caulfield, and what happened to Max, and you kept bailing me out, and got dragged into all of it -- and now you’re lying to your brother and feeling shitty about it because of me. Don’t you ever think about how much easier your life would be if you just told me to fuck off for good?”
Alex can’t look at Michael anymore, not when he’s talking like that. This day has already worn on him more than he wants to think about, and this conversation is fraught with pitfalls and potential missteps, and Alex knows that he’s not going to be able to navigate it safely. But there’s no way to avoid it now, not without allowing Michael to believe the things he’s saying, and he’s literally sick to his stomach at the thought of it.
“No,” he says bluntly, his fingers digging into Guerin’s shoulders in a pathetic effort to keep the other man close. They’ve talked about Maria and the thought processes that led to Michael in her bed, and Alex doesn’t think they need to discuss it further -- certainly not today, when the thought of the other man with someone would sound far too much like another rejection. So he skips over that, choosing to focus instead on the rest of it.
“I don’t, because easy doesn’t mean shit to me, Michael. Nothing in my life has ever been easy. So if I have to fight for the things that make me happy, then fine. I’ve been fighting other people’s wars for what feels like my entire life. At least I chose to fight for you. And I’m going to keep choosing this fight, whether it makes me feel like I’m losing myself or not, because it’s the right thing to do.”
Alex’s hands slide down Michael’s shoulders to his hands, and he squeezes tightly as he tries to explain himself. “With them, with Charlie and Flint and everyone on base, I have to play a part. I have to act like a Manes, take orders, and keep my head down, and I’m going to have to do things that I hate. That’s what I signed up for. No one made me do that, and I’m not changing my mind.” He forces a fierce decisiveness into that statement, though it’s not clear whether he’s directing it toward himself or Michael. “I was just really hoping you’d be willing to help remind me who I really am, afterward.”
Allowing himself to be vulnerable isn’t something Alex is particularly good at, but there’s a waver in his voice that he can’t hide, and there’s no uniform or mission talk to hide behind, now. All of his cards are on the table -- what he wants, what he’s going to have to do, why he’s here -- and it’s up to Michael to call or draw.
There’s an achingly long moment in which Alex is sure Michael’s going to brush him off, to pull that damned devil-may-care smirk out of his back pocket and secure it over the naked longing on his face, but he doesn’t. Alex’s eyes slide closed in relief as Michael just nods, and curls a possessive hand around the back of his neck to pull him in. “Sorry,” he mutters, as Alex presses his face into the damp skin of his neck, relief like a cool breeze down his spine. “Max kicked me out of his place earlier because I couldn’t relax and was putting everyone else on edge. I kept thinking about you alone with someone who might hurt you, and --” he shrugs, trailing off with a bitter twist of his lips.
Alex sighs, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin beneath his lips. “I’m okay,” he promises quietly.
Michael’s explanation puts his earlier reaction into new perspective, and Alex feels guilty for not understanding sooner. The other man had been against the plan from the beginning, and had only ever agreed because Alex made it clear that no one could stop him. He’s been worried for Alex’s well-being from the start; Max and Liz and the others might know that his family was messed up and hurt him, but Michael knows the details. He understands exactly what this mission could do to Alex, and he wasn’t even allowed to come provide back-up from a distance for the meeting this morning, though he’d lobbied to do so. Of course he’s anxious today, just as Alex would be in his place.
“If we can go inside, I’ll let you check for yourself, if you want,” Alex offers, and wonders how long they’ll last before their clothes are scattered across the small floor of the trailer and their bodies are tangled together. They’ve never been good at spending time alone together in confined spaces without something escalating; the electricity between them is hard to ignore in a room full of people, but once the only eyes on them are that of the walls surrounding them, it’s all but impossible. Sometimes that energy manifests in wandering hands and slick skin-on-skin, and sometimes, on bad days, it turns into shouting matches and barbed words aimed where they hurt most.
Michael huffs an amused sound against the top of Alex’s head and pulls back, just to join their hands and lead them back toward the trailer. Alex follows easily, and as soon as the door has closed behind them, allows himself to be drawn back into a heated kiss. He gasps into Michael’s mouth in surprise, then finds himself shoved back against the door with hands rucking his shirt up past his stomach before he can get his hands on the other man at all. When he catches up, they land in Michael’s hair, using the grip to angle his mouth better against his own.
Warm, calloused palms move from his abdomen up his chest, and when Alex’s shirt disappears over his head, he tries to follow suit with Michael’s -- but he stops him with a gentle grip on his wrists. It takes him a moment to realize in the fever of the moment that Michael is taking him at his word, checking every inch of exposed skin with his free hand for injury. Alex tips his head back against the wall with a hollow thud and gives himself over to the inspection, trying to catch his breath.
“I told you,” he manages, biting back a moan when Michael’s searching touch slips below the waistband of his pants. “He didn't hurt me, Guerin. I’m okay. I’m here with you, and I’m okay.” Alex’s eyelids slam shut as the fly of his pants is undone, and despite his best effort to calm himself down, he knows exactly what Michael looks like on his knees, and he can’t help but picture it when he hears limbs hit the tin floor. The low-lidded, heavy look in his eyes, the flush that spreads across his cheeks when Alex is naked in front of him, the enthusiasm with which he leans in--
“You’re not gonna stop me?” Michael asks roughly, his breath hot and humid against Alex’s skin.
Alex draws a shuddering breath and opens his eyes, then dips his chin to look at Michael. The image is exactly like he’d pictured it, and lust hits him hard in the stomach. He tamps down on it immediately, and forces himself to ask, “Do you want me to?”
Guerin shakes his head forcefully enough that his curls fall in his eyes, fingers curling into Alex’s thighs for balance. “I want this,” he says raggedly, pressing a kiss against one exposed hipbone. “I want you, and I’m tired of waiting.”
This isn’t what they had planned, but Alex doesn’t give a shit anymore. Maria and all of the reasons they hadn’t managed to make this work before seem small and far away in comparison to the threat of what they face now -- Alex wants things solidified with Michael, wants to move them from the amorphous something they’d been for the last year to partners in every sense of the word, and if it’s selfish, he’s not sure he cares anymore. If he’s going to survive running with his brothers for any length of time and involving himself in their dirty work with his soul intact, then he needs Michael’s anchoring presence. And maybe it’s hubris, but he’d like to think that need goes both ways.
“No more waiting,” Alex promises, and they lose themselves in the refuge of one another.
It’s hours later, as they’re getting dressed to head to Max’s for dinner, that Alex has to destroy the contented silence between them with painful, gory reality. “Charlie told me I needed to think of a way to prove myself to Flint and Hunter,” he says quietly, pausing in the middle of securing his prosthetic over the stump of his leg. “It’s going to have to be something big, if I want to convince Flint. He told Charlie about Caulfield, that I blew it up on purpose to fuck Dad over or something.”
Michael’s foggy, post-sex look disappears as soon Alex starts talking, and the sharp, intelligent expression that replaces it reminds Alex that while Guerin is usually happy to let others talk over him and consider him the town drunk, there isn’t anyone in Roswell that can match his IQ. “Sounds like you already have a plan,” he says, sliding a clean button-up shirt on over his bare chest. As usual, Michael leaves way too many of the buttons undone, revealing a wide swath of skin.
Alex bites at his lower lip and finishes with his leg before answering. “You’re not going to like it, and Isobel is probably really going to hate me for suggesting it, but I can’t see any other way. Obviously I’m not giving them any of you, and I have to be careful what information I let on that I have, in case it leads back to you.”
A calloused hand cups his chin, forcing Alex to look up at Michael. “Alex. Just tell me what you’re thinking, and we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly, and there’s not an inch of give in the words. Like it’s just that easy. Like it isn’t going to dredge up all sorts of painful memories for everyone involved, like it isn’t disgusting and disrespectful and in direct conflict with every moral that Alex has left.
But Alex has already committed to moving forward with this operation, and unless Michael or one of the others has a better idea, this is all they’ve got. So he drags in a deep breath, rests his palm over the back of Michael’s hand, and asks, “Do you remember where you buried Noah’s body?”
