Whatever life Dom had in America, he’s left it behind as thoroughly as Arthur, and neither of them ever push the other for their life stories. Arthur likes to think that it’s because he and Dom agree about why everything that came before doesn’t really matter. That they both know their lives began when they met Eames and Mal.

In which Eames embarks on a campaign of seduction and Arthur mostly just wants someone to hang out with other than Cobb.

After his mother "retires," Arthur finds himself in need of a new business partner. He gets a bit more than he bargained for with Eames. OR; in which Arthur becomes a real boy.

Hate him, love him. It doesn’t matter. He’s still Arthur’s.

“This isn’t something we do, Eames. It’s something we are.” Magical realism, soulbonding, d/s fusion.

Arthur doesn’t quite know when renting a house in Westchester and pretending to be in a civil union with Eames came to constitute "lying-low" but however it happened, he wants a do-over. Pretending to be married fic!

The impulse to hang Mike from the rafters and find out where it hurts is nothing compared to how strongly Harvey has to restrain himself from rewarding Mike when he’s done well, when Mike is looking at him full of longing and hope for praise, and Harvey wants nothing more than to shower him with words and touches showing Mike exactly how good Harvey thinks he is. OR; in which Jessica Knows Everything, and also there is bondage and wooing, not necessarily in that order.

Mike swallows and stares unblinkingly back at Harvey when he says, “Like it or not, Mike, you made me the man I am today.” Time Traveler’s Wife AU.

At seventeen, Trevor and Jenny are prototypical high school sweethearts, or they would be, it if wasn’t for Mike. They’ve been dating since the eighth grade, and it’s at the point where they’re firmly “Trevor and Jenny,” and not “Trevor” and “Jenny,” but Mike’s been there for every minute of it. Officially, he’s Trevor’s best friend, and Jenny’s confidante, but in practice, Mike’s so much more than that.

Charles tried to calm her, to reason with her, but she was shouting, calling Raven a beast, a devil, and then she was charging at Raven with a knife in her hand. Charging at both of them, really, for Charles was standing in front of his sister protectively, attempting to shield her with his hands and his mind. All it did was make her scream at him, too.

He didn’t think of changing his mother’s memories, of making her forget she’d ever seen the blue skin that made her turn a knife on his sister, he only thought of running, Raven’s hand clasped tightly in his, as far as they could go.