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dresden_kink_mods ([personal profile] dresden_kink_mods) wrote in [community profile] dresden_kink2012-01-10 11:13 pm
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Round Five by five, baby!

Round Five: Open!
Ghost Story Prompts and meta: Open!
Tracking Post: Open

| Round One: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Two: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Three: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Four: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |

Read this first. Do it. There will be a test.

The Rules. Including the Posting Guidelines. aka:

In the first line of your fill*, you must include:

1) Character(s)/Pairing(s)/Threesome(s)/Moresome(s) as applicable.
2) Any kinks included. Please take this to include scenarios, themes, etc. Use your imagination.
3) MANDATORY WARNINGS/CONTENT NOTES if there is dubcon or noncon, underage characters in sexual situations, major character death, suicide, self-harm, and/or graphic descriptions or extensive discussions of abuse.
Please consider trigger warnings for any other widespread triggers in your fill, such as natural disasters, or specifying instances of harm, such as eating disorders.
Please don't conflate warnings and kinks; treat each individually, and use your pairings to indicate gen/het/slash/multi/&c. Do not warn for het, slash, or otherwise.

Characters & Pairings: Mentions of Harry Dresden/John Marcone, but entirely nonsexual gen in this fic. Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Ebenezar McCoy, Thomas Raith, Justine, Listens to Wind, Mister, Mouse.
Kinks: kidfic, second childhood, age regression, family bonding, fish out of water, situational:age change, involuntary transformation
Content notes: no mandatory notes. Mentions of a previous sexual relationship between two adults, one of whom is now a child, but absolutely no sexual contact or content while said character is a kid. Veg*n trigger warning for death of an animal.


For images: Please post image prompts and fills and all other images with alt tag descriptions or with a text description of the piece. Example: [img src="neked.jpg" alt="Here's John being all hot and half naked saying Dresden et cetera et cetera"], replace [ ] with < >. If you are linking to an external image, please include a description with the link.

NEW FOR ROUND FIVE: After you have posted your fill, please go to the fill tracking post and comment there to say so, including a link back to your fill. You don't have to do this, but no guarantees it will be caught otherwise.

Thank you.

The discussion post is here. Mod questions go here. The delicious account is here, (currently on-hold. Thanks, newdelicious.). The pinboard account is here (not up to date).

Don't forget about all the unfilled prompts. Got an unfilled prompt you want to give a second chance? Repost it here. Otherwise, go ahead and repost an unfilled prompt as a new comment with a link to the original if you are filling it. Please indicate in the subject line that it is a Repost To Fill.

Open prompt is here: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?thread=3032848#cmt3032848

Comments in chronological order: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?view=flat

Edit 5-14-15 So 3+ years later, the only comments this post is getting are spam comments. I've changed the settings to screen all comments to discourage that. If you leave a legit comment, I will unscreen it. Thanks, all. I had a great time.

Meet the Godmother (attempt 3)

(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 08:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Lea meeting and giving "the talk" to Harry's significant other with subtle, yet explicit descriptions of what will happen to them if they don't treat her godson right.

No real preferences about who Harry is paired with other than no Thomas (incest is not my thing) or Michael (who is married). Though I admit to having a fondness for John/Harry.

Bonus: significant other had no idea about Harry's fairy godmother

Re: Meet the Godmother (attempt 3)

(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 02:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Comes up in part 1 of "Bring Not All Mischief", with a callback in part 11. (Harry/Marcone.)

May/not be your thing.


gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) 2012-01-16 10:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Slight Harry Potter/Dresden Files fusion. Very slight.

"An Animagus (pl. Animagi) is a wizardess or wizard who can morph him or herself into an animal at will. It is a learned skill, rather than a hereditary skill. Animagi can only take on the form of one specific animal. This animal form is not chosen by the wizard, but determined by their personality and inner traits. Thus, one's Animagus form is a reflection of one's inner nature. Only very powerful and skilled wizards are able to become Animagi."
--Information from HP wiki, somewhat tweaked to fit my needs this prompt.

Harry Dresden is an (unregistered?) animagus. Rollll with it, because you know you want to. And because I'm a giant dork.

**Animagi forms are up to author to decide, because OP is cool beans like that, broskis.
**You can include other animagi (if there are any?)
**Not sure what the punishment would be in the Dresden!verse if you don't register yourself, but I'll leave that up to you. OR there doesn't have to be a punishment at all and animagi don't have to register themselves. That, too.
**The Alphas, Hexenwolves, and etc DON'T count as animagi, in case anyone was wondering. *squirms*



Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) 2012-01-16 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Is Listens to Wind included in the "etc"?

Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-16 23:09 (UTC) - Expand

Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-17 03:21 (UTC) - Expand

Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-18 02:22 (UTC) - Expand

Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-18 03:19 (UTC) - Expand

Re: gotta prompt 'em all (yes, even the silly ones)

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-11 06:14 (UTC) - Expand

The worst thing...

(Anonymous) 2012-01-17 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
...that they don't tell you when joining the Chicago outfit isn't the faeries, the supernatural turf wars, or the Valkyrie: it is the Boss' terrifying need to play matchmaker.

Re: The worst thing...

(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
YES. (This kind of reminded me of that Marcone having Sims prompt. Maybe he got tired of matchmaking virtual people?)

Fill: Familia

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-31 03:27 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fill: Familia

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-28 00:10 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fill: Familia

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-28 03:30 (UTC) - Expand

Harry/Marcone, hurt/comfort, dub-con?

(Anonymous) 2012-01-17 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
(Please to forgive possible messed up prompt header)

A couple of times in the earlier books, Harry had been so overwhelmed by all the shit going on in his life that he would break down and cry and cry. That scene with him propped against the steering wheel of the Beetle comes to mind. As we all know, Harry has the bad habit of holding back all his rage and frustration and terror inside of him until it becomes too much and he has a meltdown.

What if Marcone happened to see it when that happens? What would he do if he encounters the big badass snarky beanpole wizard in that very vulnerable moment?

I'd like to see what Marcone would do in that moment. Would he comfort Harry, or would he take advantage of the opening presented to him? Would Harry die of sheer mortification or curl against the warm body holding him?

Go wild!

Report to Fill: about Maggie

(Anonymous) 2012-01-17 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
Can I have something Maggie-centric? Her wondering about her parents, or thinking about what she can remember of Changes-events? Maybe her just hanging out with friends and having an oopsie moment with developing magic.

original link : http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=3481884#t3481884
(deleted comment)

Re: Report to Fill: about Maggie

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-17 08:58 (UTC) - Expand
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Re: Report to Fill: about Maggie

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Re: Report to Fill: about Maggie

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Re: Report to Fill: about Maggie

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Re: Report to Fill: about Maggie

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For White lies, Vengeance, and the American Way

(Anonymous) 2012-01-17 07:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Supernatural Cross/Fusion.

Dean is visiting one of Marcone's "Gentlemen's Clubs", not necessarily EP, when his lady of the evening comes under attack. Either she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, some witch/warlock has a personal grudge, or the whole establishment is suffering from some rogue monster. Whatever. Dean RAGES about the situation and proceeds to kick ass (while half dressed, possibly completely undressed), before turning back to his contracted girl and is like, "..so, uh, same time next month?"

Then Marcone shows up.
ext_960751: (Default)

Re: For White lies, Vengeance, and the American Way

[identity profile] tonnocal.livejournal.com 2012-01-18 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
huh. I kind of want this to be when Sam is still at Stanford or somesuch... just so I can has John meets Harry showdowns.....

I swear on my mother's soul, that cowboy prompt is to blame

(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 08:14 am (UTC)(link)
We all know ID!Harry is going to get a piece of that hot Italian ass sooner or later. So pretty please, Marcone riding ID!Harry, who is such a sex bamf that he can still top from the bottom. Yeees, you heard me right: dom!ID!Harry letting Johnny have a ride.

...Was the dominant part really necessary to mention? I don't know. It might just be me who has that specific, hard and raging headcanon. LOL


Re: I swear on my mother's soul, that cowboy prompt is to blame

(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
As the authornon who filled the cowboy prompt, I'd like to claim this in the name of sequelhood if that's alright (not that I'd intended to write one before I saw your prompt, but this site is worse than crack, I swear). Is it alright if I give you real Harry acting id-like because his id is riding shotgun due to sex happening, or do you want actual dream-fic/mind-warping-spell-fic wherein id!Harry is present instead of regular Harry?

... Ride A Cowboy 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-18 19:53 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-18 22:38 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-19 00:37 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1 OP here

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-19 00:11 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1 OP here

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-19 00:34 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1 ( Podfics! )

(Anonymous) - 2013-09-04 15:13 (UTC) - Expand

Re: ... Ride A Cowboy 1/1 ( Podfics! )

(Anonymous) - 2013-09-04 15:19 (UTC) - Expand

prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender

(Anonymous) 2012-01-19 06:12 am (UTC)(link)
So many possibilities. Miss Parker joins the Outfit as one place to escape the Centre? Jarod as psychologist for Harry, or is he investigating Marcone's insurance coverage? Mr. Lyle happens to EP and Marcone needs vengence? Or is Chicago just a backdrop with subtle hints being missed...

Re: prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender mini-fill

(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 07:43 am (UTC)(link)
characters: Broots, Marcone

"Uh, sorry, Miss Pa-Gard!" my latest interviewee aimed desperately in the direction of Miss Gard, hunching slightly and stumbling around her towards the chair, avoiding any contact. He was exceptionally anxious around her - I have seen people who knew she was a Valkyrie face her with more composure.

I had been introduced to him a few days earlier. He had been in a rest area with his daughter when they had stumbled into a situation involving the walking dead. It had been his reaction that had caught my attention. He had burst out with "Seriously, could people just stay dead, for once?" and pulled a gun from the glove compartment. He had sounded as though the sarcasm was the only thing holding off the panic, true, and his hands were shaking hard enough that he fumbled the gun, but he hadn't run screaming. A brief conversation had informed me that he was a computer tech looking for work. Observation had informed me that he was desperate and on the run, evidently living in his car. I had invited him to interview for a position. Since our first meeting, I had managed to determine that his name was Jonathan Broots, and he was in fact one of the finest computer experts in the country. He had won sole custody of his daughter, Deborah, from his wife, on the grounds of parental neglect. I had yet to determine what he was running from.

Throughout our interview, I carefully led the conversation towards various possibilities. As the interview wound down, with Mr. Broots apparently unfazed by the . . . unique responsibilities of the job, I led the conversation towards his daughter

The submissive behavior . . . stopped. He leaned forward slightly, hands gripping the arms of the chair, as he stared at me with narrowed eyes. "I looked you up before I came here," he said, lips turned up in an expression that missed being a smile by a mile and any sort of happiness. He continued, without waiting for a response, "You control Chicago's prostitution, gambling, drugs, weapons. You've got half the city under your thumb. The FBI can't catch you, and the Chicago PD aren't sure they want to. You've got influence all the way to the West Coast and Washington, D.C." He shrugged. "I can deal with the business. I've lived with monsters before. But the one thing everyone seems to agree on is you don't hurt kids. And that'd better be true, 'cause you hurt Debbie? I will destroy you."

I believed him.

{Sorry if this is terrible. I don't write often. And if someone wants to take this and do something more interesting with it, go right ahead.}

Re: prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender mini-fill

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-20 09:25 (UTC) - Expand

Re: prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender mini-fill

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-20 20:30 (UTC) - Expand

OP Re: prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender mini-fill

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-22 04:39 (UTC) - Expand

Re: prompt Dresden Files/The Pretender mini-fill

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-23 16:31 (UTC) - Expand

(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 12:36 am (UTC)(link)
A fairy or another creature capable of shapeshifting tries to seduce John Marcone by offering him to look like different people. When they turn into Harry Dresden, Marcone is finally tempted.

Bonus if Harry is watching somehow, maybe from a hiding place.

no subject Fill (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2013-04-17 02:34 am (UTC)(link)
Characters/Pairings: John Marcone/OFC in Harry's form, John Marcone/Harry Dresden. John Marcone, Harry Dresden, Nathan "Cujo" Hendricks, Sigrun Gard, and possibly a few of Harry's friends later on.

Kinks: A little bit of sexual content between a male and a female whose in a male's body, but not much beyond kissing, and later on there will be anal sex between two consenting male parties.

Sorry if this isn't much good, but I saw this prompt and couldn't help myself!

John looked out the window of his office and saw the imposing darkness fill the sky; saw how it shadowed his office and the face of the woman across from him. She was long and slender, with a large bust and long, brown hair that hung in nice curls around her rounded face. Her eyes were golden, like most of the Fae’s, and he was clothed only in a barely there, gauzy dress that hung from her shoulders and had a slit nearly up to her hip. All in all, she was gorgeous, like all the Fae, but that thought was hardly registered. All he was truly thinking of was getting out of this without owing a debt, as Gard had warned him to do, and when he saw the mischievous glint in her vaguely cat-like eyes, those thoughts increased. When she spoke, however, the thoughts fled and his mind nearly melted at the honey in her voice. He wished he’d taken Gard up on her offer to have her in there to assist with negotiations, but it’d been requested that the meeting take place completely in private. He was still unsure of who had requested that, or really even who the woman herself worked for, but he had the sneaking suspicion it was the Summer Court.

“Isn’t it a lovely night, Mr. Marcone? It’s the sort of night my Queen loves. Warm and breezy, bathed in starlight. It’s nice to love during nights like this, or at least I’ve always thought so. Perhaps you do as well?” John cleared his throat, ran the fog from his mind, and stared at her sharply.

“It is indeed a nice night, but I’m afraid neither of us are here for pleasantries, are we? I accepted this meeting without knowledge of who wanted it or why it was wanted in order to avoid angering either of the Fae Courts, as was recommended by one of my employees, but it is late, and I would like to get business underway.”

“That is what I was trying to do, Mr. Marcone. This meeting was desired by the Summer Queen, my Queen, who feels she owes a debt to you. I am here to fulfill that debt.”

“I must ask what I have done to have Summer indebted to me,” John said stiffly, suspiciously, but still with a business tone. The woman laughed, a soft, tinny sound that would’ve raised gooseflesh on John’s skin had he held lesser control over himself.

“Always business, never pleasure, just as my Queen said, but I suppose I can cooperate with this silly tendency of yours for now. Not long ago you saved a girl from being defiled by a group of men, correct? A very young one, dressed all in white, with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was one of ours, and a favorite of my Queen’s, so she feels as though she owes you. Because of this, she sent me to give you a night of pleasure, as that is often the most well-received payment a Fae may give a mortal, and, in this situation, it is equal to the service you’ve done Summer.” John quirked a brow, his fingers drumming a beat against his leg, and yes, he’d had Hendricks help that girl, but there hadn’t appeared to be anything abnormal about her, nothing magical. He found it hard to believe that she was of the Summer Court, and even harder to believe that that particular Court would do something so crass as to send a woman for him to bed as a reward.

“I must respectfully decline your offer, miss. If your Queen feels as though she is in my debt, she may consider herself released from it.” The woman laughed again, leaned forward to put her breasts on display, and even pouted when John’s eyes didn’t stray from her face.

“Oh, come now, it doesn’t work that way for a Fae! A debt must be repaid in full or we go insane, and merely saying we are released does little. Don’t you find me attractive, Mr. Marcone? If you don’t, I can change how I look with ease. I can be whoever you want.”

“I’m afraid I simply cannot bring myself to believe that that girl was of the Sidhe, and even if I did, I do not recall the Summer Court ever attempting to repay debts in this way. It feels more like a tactic of Winter.” She smirked, leaned forward more, spread her legs, and still John remained unfazed.

“Ask me three times, then, and you’ll know I am not lying.” John sighed, not quite liking the situation, but curious nonetheless.

“Was the girl in white a Fae?”

“Yes, she was. A favorite of the Queen, one of her best girls.”

“Was the girl in white a Fae?”

“Most certainly. A friend of mine, too, named Laurice.”

“Was the girl in white a Fae?”

“Always and forever. Do you believe me now?”

“I’ve not much choice, have I? If you were not lying about that, I see no reason for you to have lied about your Court or your purpose here. I must still, however, respectfully decline your offer. I’ve no interest in bedding someone as payment for services rendered. If your Queen must repay me, she may do so in another way.” She sighed, and propped her head up on his desk with one long-fingered hand.

“You still do not understand, Mr. Marcone. A night with me is the even payment for what you have done, and if your problem is consent, I must say I was quite willing to perform this task. You aren’t an unattractive man, and we Fae live for the little pleasures. There’s little else to live for, when one’s life doesn’t end. If the issue is attraction, however, I can fix that as well. Who is it that you want me to be? I’ll make myself into a perfect copy, down to every last hair on that person’s head.” John shifted, crossed his legs, and sighed.

“I want no one.” She smirked.

“Liar, liar,” she teased, “How about I guess who it is? Perhaps that lovely woman who organized this meeting, a Ms. Gard?” Her body changed with what seemed like careless ease, her hair turned blonde, her eyes blue, her skin tan, and her muscle gained definition. John didn’t react. She pouted. “Not her? Oh, well. Maybe you didn’t save Laurice out of the goodness of your heart? Maybe you wanted her for yourself?” she asked in Gard’s voice, and then she shrunk down to an over-thin, petite girl with wide, childish eyes, and the blonde hair shortened and straightened. Still, John remained passive.

“Are you quite done, Miss? I’m uninterested. I’m certain that this nonsense is not the only thing of equal value to what I did.” She sighed again.

“Come now, Mr. Marcone, there must be someone. Ooh! Maybe a forbidden love! Perhaps that girl you so care for, little Amanda?” Another shift, now to a girl obviously barely, if even, out of her teens. John’s hand clenched and his teeth gritted. She laughed, and it came out in Amanda’s voice, and John tensed up even more. “Not her either? Maybe another sort of forbidden, hm? A man, perhaps? Maybe your right hand, Hendricks?” She grew endlessly taller, suddenly, and broader. Her jaw squared off, her eyes turned to a deep, forest green, and her hair shortened to her scalp and turned red. By now, John could only manage a glare.

“You’re becoming quite ridiculous in this endeavor. I certainly don’t want to offend you or your Queen, but I care little for this gift, and I care even less for these attempts of yours.” She smiled.

“You don’t care for them because I’m getting closer and closer to the answer. It’s certainly a man, from your reaction, and it’s also forbidden, though whether by you, your intended, or society I do not know. I think perhaps it’s someone you’re not so close to, someone you don’t see every day. Maybe someone thin, dark haired? And you seem to have good knowledge of the Courts, too, but your Gard would know little of Winter, as only those connected to that Court in some way manage to get much knowledge, so a friend of the Winter Court. I can think of but one man, what about you?” she asked, and it was unnerving in the carbon copy of Hendricks’ voice. John’s fists clenched almost imperceptibly in the fabric of his slacks, and his face hardened even more, despite the slight softening of his eyes. The Fairy changed.

The body grew slim, almost to an unhealthy level, and elongated. Where on Hendricks there had been bulky muscle, here there were wires and bone, and where Hendricks’ hair had been red, it was now black, thick, and down to the fairy’s shoulders. The eyes grew dark, and a certain signature, black leather duster hung heavily over thin shoulders. The woman had turned into a carbon copy of Harry Dresden, and John hated the fact that she could obviously see him responding.

“Again, this is quite ridiculous. The wizard? I’ve no feelings for him, except perhaps a grudging respect.” She laughed, and it escaped her throat in Harry’s rich, boisterous way.

“Lying doesn’t become you, Johnny,” she said, and John couldn’t help the shudder that slid down his spine. It was Harry’s voice, Harry’s taunting, playful voice that flirted with him now, Harry’s dark eyes that stared back at him, Harry’s long, angular face he was looking at. The fairy stood and walked forward, too graceful to be the real Harry, and John tried to keep that thought in mind when she plopped his body onto his lap and pressed close against him, close enough that he could feel a low, steady heartbeat.

“Stop this nonsense,” John mumbled, but his eyes were lidded, and the long hand trailing touches up his chest, pulling his tie off, was obviously distracting him.

“That’s not what you really want me to do. You want me, and I want you. What’s the problem? This is just something friendly, yeah?” The fairy was shifting her speech patterns, sounding more like the real Harry with every sentence, but she wasn’t Harry. He had to keep thinking that, over and over, had to keep reminding himself that Harry would never offer his body so casually, would never want him, of all people, the man he called a criminal scumbag during every meeting, but the false Harry was grinding against him so sensually, he couldn’t hold back the soft groan. “See now? Come on, just let go. Let’s have fun tonight,” she whispered against his neck in Harry’s voice, and it was so, so easy for John to imagine it was Harry’s breath fluttering against his pulse, Harry’s body he grabbed and pulled closer, Harry who was kissing him now, forceful but easily allowing him to take over. But it wasn’t Harry. She wasn’t Harry, and he shoved her off of him. She fell back into her own form, and sighed.

“Leave. Get out. I’m tired of being polite, tonight. I cannot… that is horribly inappropriate, and rather disgusting. I’ve no feelings for Harry Dresden, and certainly no feelings for you.” A smile tugged at her face, but it conveyed disappointment instead of happiness.

“Won’t you stop your lies? I could tell from your kiss that your feelings for him are deep and true. Can you not allow yourself such a simple pleasure so freely offered?” John clenched his eyes shut, tightened his fist, and heaved a sigh.

“You are not him. You will never be him. You are right, though, that I cannot allow myself such a pleasure, because I will never truly receive it. Fantasy is simple, but it’s as insubstantial as smoke and just as worthless. To dream of him, to allow myself this, is only to open the door to more disappointment, as I’ll never have the real thing. He would never allow it, not from me. I’m a criminal scumbag, and it’s all I’ll ever be. I can’t be who he wants, and even if I could, he is already attached to that man in his house.” She gave him a pitying look.

“Mortals are foolish. You will not learn if your love is returned by pining and calling it hopeless, and besides, I think perhaps that you overestimate his relationship with his roommate. Look closer, will you? Try and gain your happiness, Mr. Marcone, as it’s something you deserve. I’ll take my leave of you this night, and with this advice I’ll call my Queen’s debt repaid.” John nodded stiffly, shamefully hard under his desk, and as the door closed behind the fairy he allowed his head to fall onto the desk’s solid wood. He had a thought that it would’ve been so, so nice if he’d just taken her up on what she was offering him, but he crushed the thought rapidly and instead attempted to focus on work. It didn’t work, and by the end of the hour he was still sprawled pathetically over his desk. He prayed no one walked in, prayed that no one would see him that way, but still couldn’t even bring himself to sit up or go lock the door. He offered a sad, self-deprecating laugh to the silent room.

The mighty Gentleman Johnny Marcone, crushed by hopeless love! He laughed again. What a pathetic sight he made! He, the man who most thought never got stupid, never got tired, never gave in, pining after a wizard, nearly crying, wanting nothing more than to get drunk and pass out like he had when he was young. And then he sat up, built a wall up behind his eyes, and got back to work. Weakness was bad for business, and things that were bad for business were good for getting him dead. Hendricks and Gard would be proud of him. Within minutes he’d built his front back up, forced himself to see Harry as little more than an annoying sometimes asset sometimes detriment, and carefully blocked the memory that people with that particular set up in his mind usually ended up dead. He’d have probably collapsed onto his desk again if he knew that, just outside his window, perched confusedly in a tree, was one Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.

Breaking the Bed

(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 04:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Sexytimes resulting in the bed being broken. Anyone/anyone is fine with me.

Alternatively, vampires grousing about the necessity to control their super-strength during sex in a human bed.

Fill (1/1) Breaking the Bed

(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
Warnings: None
Kinks: Hmmm. Slightly furtive energetic marital sex.

Charity twitches away from Michael's tickling fingers, biting down gently on her husband’s shoulder in retaliation. "Don't make me laugh," she growls, putting her own fingers to better use on the fly of Michael's jeans. "Once, just once, let's not get interrupted."

"Mmmm," Micheal tugs her in close, teases his way into a kiss, and isn't helping the Strip Fast for a Quickie plan at all. "No one at the door with a nightmare? Or an earache?"

"No one wondering what that noise is, or why Mommy's sitting on Daddy. No. So keep quiet and get your pants off, dear."

"Yes ma'am!"

She nearly laughs again as Michael strips, quick like Superman, before turning his attention on her. She lifts her arms and he whisks her top away, and Charity plants a hand against his chest, enjoying the feeling of her own strength, of Michael's, as he holds ground for just a moment before retreating gladly back towards the bed. He sits, she straddles him, and gets distracted from the game plan by how good he tastes, the familiar warmth of his mouth, the graze of his teeth. Michael's clever hands trace patterns across her back, workman's hands just a little rough, as she likes them, and then she's free of her bra, tossing it onto the floor and pushing him down, following.

They sprawl across the bed, Charity out of her jeans and intent on getting Micheal hard, getting him inside, and she’s already ready, more than, has been after this for the last million years--

“Ow,” Micheal mutters, as between the two of them they manage to bash his skull off the headboard. She drops a kiss on his scalp, snickers into his hair, and then slides down onto him, one long, familiar ride. Micheal skims his hands along her ribs, her thighs, where she straddles him, and he grins up at her.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Steady?” he’s still grinning.

“Go!” They move with one another, against one another, fast and hard in competitive cooperation, and she’d laugh if it wouldn’t get them interrupted, but Micheal drags her down for a kiss, her hair flying everywhere, in their mouths and in the way but they don’t care. She’s full, wants more, strokes herself when Michael isn’t and she’s close, needs just a little-- yes.

She tightens around him, clamps down on her cry of triumph, and then smiles. Yeah, that would do for starters. They roll, and Michael knows what she wants, she links her long legs behind him, lifting up, spurring him on and-- and that’s not quiet.

“I don’t think the bed’s very happy with us,” Michael whispers, clearly distracted by the way it was creaking in time with his thrusts. “Want to take this to the floor?”

Which would be quieter yes, and though she enjoys a little Michael won beard burn, the carpet would be taking things a little far. “It’ll be fine.”

“I did build it,” he grins, pleased, and thrusts harder, taking his chances with the creaking and maybe, just maybe, the kids would sleep straight through. She grazes her nails down the broad expanse of Micheal’s back, digs in a little when she reaches his ass, just how he likes and he hisses, thrusts, and--

Something snaps, and they drop, Micheal falling off her with a yelp, and then Charity's sliding down a mattress that’s turned into a slide, before colliding with her husband on the floor.

He bursts out laughing. Naked, still hard, he points at the splintered leg of the bed they’d both managed to avoid.

“Why’s this funny, Carpenter?” Charity asks, but she’s grinning too.

“Pride- Pride cometh- ” but Micheal doesn’t get to finish, because there’s a patter of feet and voices at the door “MOM! DAD! ARE YOU OK?”

Re: Fill (1/1) Breaking the Bed

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 02:59 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fill (1/1) Breaking the Bed

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Re: Fill (1/1) Breaking the Bed

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Re: Fill (1/1) Breaking the Bed

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He Followed Me Home

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 12:29 am (UTC)(link)
Because I've been spending way too much on the norsekink meme, I now have the need to see Loki fall from the bridge, possibly being de-aged in the process, and land near Camp Kaboom where theres people that are teaching kids to use magic to blow shit up and this other guy who kills everything with fire.

I'd really like one or both twins to be rescued. Either Harry reaches them in time or Loki does something to distract the ghouls.

Also, Loki needs to get foisted off on Harry for whatever reason (maybe he's technically an Outsider - fell off bridge, through the void, and popped out the Other Side.) Bonus if the people back in Chicago start thinking he's Harry's illegitimate child while Gard sees him and her brain short circuits.

Re: He Followed Me Home

(Anonymous) 2012-02-23 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
THIS ENTIRE PROMPT IS MADE OF WIN. Someone, anyone, please fill?

Re: He Followed Me Home

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Re: He Followed Me Home

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Re: He Followed Me Home

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Harry/Murpy Body swap

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 08:37 am (UTC)(link)
Could be smut, could just as easily be gen. Mainly, I want to see murphy in Harry's body, constantly banging her/Harry's head on doorways, while Harry takes advantage of being short and uses Mouse as his Noble Steed.

Also, I have this mental image of Murphy being able to do magic while she's in Harry's body, but a completely different kind of magic. Like Kinetomancy or something. And her reaction being similar to Rincewind's the only time he actually does a spell.

"No wonder wizards didn't have much truck with sex! Rincewind knew what orgasms were, of course, he’d had a few in his time, sometimes even in company, but nothing in his experience even approximated to that tight, hot moment when every nerve in his body streamed with blue-white fire and raw magic had blazed forth from his fingers. It filled you and lifted you and you surfed down the rising, curling wave of elemental force."

Re: Harry/Murpy Body swap

(Anonymous) 2015-08-13 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)
NOBLE STEED HARRY if someone doesn't do this I might cry

FBI Agents

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 02:04 pm (UTC)(link)
FBI agents trying to catch Marcone, and their manifold frustrations. Bonus if any have minor, or not-so-minor, magical talents.

Repost With Fill: Toddler!Johnny

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
From Round 4: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/2675.html?thread=2992755#cmt2992755
I can't shake this picture of a two-year-old Marcone, barely capable of speech, sucking on his thumb while staring up at Harry with big green eyes. Soooo cute! XD

Prompt has an adorable fill already (go see!), but I wanted to add my efforts as well because Eee! Cute!

In The Eyes Of A Child 1/1

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 06:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Pairings: (very) faint hints of Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Hendricks
Kinks: kid!fic, toddler!Marcone
Warnings: brain-melting schmoop, shameless cute!fic


It was a cessation of noise that sent Hendricks barreling down the hall, gun drawn and safety off as he slammed the door open with his shoulder. Far from kidnapping fairies or malicious rivals, however, the scene that met his panicked entrance was positively domestic. Johnny sat in his playpen, thumb in his mouth and wide, fascinated green eyes fixated on one Harry Dresden, pyromaniac wizard, stubbornly incorruptible PI, and all around sap for small children, it seemed. He had a goofy smile stretched across his face and one massive paw extended over the crib, jingling his bracelet enticingly just out of reach of pudgy, spit-soaked fingers.

Johnny opened his mouth and drew a breath – Hendricks winced reflexively – but what came out was not a strident wail but a sharp “Ah! Ah!” Small arms imperiously lifted to demonstrate the necessity of being carried, and Johnny bounced in place impatiently as he waited for his subject to obey.

Dresden turned to Hendricks, trying (and failing, spectacularly) to wipe the soppy expression from his face as he asked, “Who's this little guy, then? Your boss leaving by-blows in his wake now? You'd think he'd have the decency to drop them off somewhere other than a lair of vice and sin, or whatever the line is.”

“Not exactly,” Hendricks growled. “There was an incident with a … thing that giggled a lot and glowed and left changed things in its wake. Gard thought there was something familiar about its signature; she's out looking for it now. She said to tell you she's calling in her favor.”

“She wants help finding it?” Dresden's forehead furrowed. Johnny, displeased at being ignored, had levered himself upright and was rattling the top of his pen, trying to get the wizard's attention. “AH!” he shouted, scowling.

“I've never heard of anything like it, but if you've got samples of skin or ectoplasm or something I can set up a tracking spell.”

Hendricks didn't grin, but it was a close thing. “That's not the favor she had in mind, Dresden.”

He reached into a nearby cabinet and thrust a fully-stocked diaper bag into Dresden's arms. The shock that plastered the man's face was almost as gratifying as the panicky dismay that followed. “I've got rotating teams set up to keep an eye on you two, so stay in public places or behind your wards. Foster,” he said into his walkie-talkie, “they'll be coming out soon, get in position. And keep a lookout for Rossi, he'll rendezvous with you shortly,” he added as an afterthought.

Hanging up, he plunked Johnny into unresisting arms, added a teddy bear, a blanket, and a just-in-case bottle to the diaper bag, and bustled wizard and toddler out the front door before Dresden could gather his wits and start arguing.

“Rossi, Hendricks,” he spoke quietly into his phone from inside as man and child blinked at each other out on the steps. “Got a job for you. Day-long gig, two subjects, follow them discreetly and get as many pictures as you can. One of them's Dresden, so bring extra rolls, color and black-and-white. Usual deal, full reimbursement for wasted film and damaged equipment, fifty apiece for any clear shots. Hook up with Foster, he'll tell you where they are. Agreed?”

“On it.”

And that was the end of things, half-hourly check-ins aside, until evening when Hendricks received a call from the Boss himself, requesting pick-up and a change of clothes. Apparently kisses from a tall wizard in a makeshift bathtub were just what was required to break spells wrought by mischievous trickster gods, and Mr Marcone had abruptly found himself full-sized and naked, falling out of a large bucket of sudsy water with Dresden's lips still pressed to his cheek.


Hendricks spread Rossi's work across his desk and mourned once again the effect of magic on any technology more recent than typewriters. Over a thousand frames, and less than a tenth of them were good enough to develop. He sifted through the less grainy shots, following Dresden and little Johnny's day in still life.

A series of photos documented their trip to the park, messy chocolate ice cream grins in one, squalling evasion of napkins in another, a couple of careful walking lessons next to a park bench.

The next clear shot showed Dresden warily backing up from a flock of college-age girls who'd obviously gathered to coo over Johnny in his tiny blue sweatpants and “Spaceman Spiff!!!” t-shirt. Johnny seemed to be eying them uncertainly too, leaning away and clutching Dresden's fingers with a white-knuckled grip.

Blurred shadows, sourceless lights, and grainy warping destroyed the rest of that roll, the pair's activity lost until lunch. Hendricks bit back a laugh at the sight of little Johnny in black and white caught mid-stomp, chubby hand gripping the restaurant table for balance as he screamed up at Dresden's unimpressed face. The following stills showed him sulking in a time-out chair hastily pulled up behind Dresden's seat, being turned to face the corner again repeatedly, and – Hendricks did chuckle at this one – stubbornly falling asleep in the chair rather than apologize.

Sorting through the rest, he placed a few calls and wired Rossi's pay from his own personal account, hid the pictures and negatives briefly as the Boss came in for a file and left again, and made a note to share them with Sigrun when she returned from Asgard.

He returned thoughtfully to one of the crisper black-and-whites from right after lunch, a sleeping Johnny nestled in Dresden's arms as they made their way back to the apartment, Dresden looking off-camera at the city around them. You couldn't really see Johnny's face in the picture, and Dresden's was half-hidden, nose planted in dark, baby-fine hair, but his eyes were soft and his expression fierce, and the hand cradling Johnny's head was gently sheltering. Hendricks stared at it for a while, then set it aside for framing – it would make a perfect birthday present for the Boss.

Re: In The Eyes Of A Child 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-21 20:06 (UTC) - Expand

Re: In The Eyes Of A Child 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-21 21:44 (UTC) - Expand

Original OP Here

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-14 23:08 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Original OP Here

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-16 03:24 (UTC) - Expand

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
In... one of the short story, the one set right after Change, I can't remember the name, We see that Murphy is aware theat Harry, although mostly fluent in 21th century American culture, lives in another culture.

Can we see another character coming to that realisation? Marcone or Hendrix?

Bonus point if it helps them realise why Harry reacted so badly to Marcone's job offer.

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)

(no subject)

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-22 07:33 (UTC) - Expand

The Knight of Chicago

(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
So, who here's seen Le Chevalier D'Eon? We need more Harry kicking ass in a dress, reason non-specific. Could be he can channel his dead mother through it (was her old outfit?), or maybe Harry just likes feeling pretty (people are less intimidated by a super tall woman than a super tall man?). And poetry. Instead of quasi-latin he should be reciting Robert Frost or something as he burns buildings down (in a dress!)

Bonus points if Harry carts Bob around like Queen Marie did her skull.
11thmirror: (Default)


[personal profile] 11thmirror 2012-06-18 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
Filled here: http://spiegel666.deviantart.com/art/Knight-of-Chicago-309084750

Description: Two figures - in the background, Harry Dresden, with scruffy hair and long coat billowing dramatically (just the coat, not the hair. His hair's not long enough for billowing). In the foreground, Margaret Dresden, looking down in an arch manner, long black hair waving about; wearing a white blouse, cravat, and high-waisted full trousers. She is carrying a wand, around which power is visibly gathering.
Warnings: Potentially unwilling possession of the living by the dead. Really damn long legs.
Kinks: Crossdressing
Pairings: None

And because I forgot to incorporate any poetry into the picture:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Re: ArtFill

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Re: ArtFill

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Dresden/Marcone slave!Harry

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 06:10 am (UTC)(link)
Instead of the Doom, Harry is sold into slavery and through something plot points ends up owned by Marcone, who has no idea what to do with an angry wizard with serious authority issues.

Bonus points if Marcone doesn't believe in magic before he gets Harry

Re: Dresden/Marcone slave!Harry

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 06:30 am (UTC)(link)
akelios has already written something along that premise, if you're interested in grimdark stuff.

Re: Dresden/Marcone slave!Harry

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Re: Dresden/Marcone slave!Harry

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Re: Dresden/Marcone slave!Harry

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-23 12:46 (UTC) - Expand

FILL: Austringer, 1/maybe 18

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-23 20:07 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) - 2012-01-24 12:15 (UTC) - Expand

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 07:06 am (UTC)(link)

Harry runs from Justin when he's younger (11?) and has turned practically feral. Bob taught Harry how to hide from Justin and anything else he thought would help.

John Marcone finds Harry huddled in an alley clutching a human skull like a teddy bear and takes him in. John re-civilizes him and trains him to be his right hand man once he grows up.

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 07:29 am (UTC)(link)
Don't know how feral Harry will go with Bob around, but then Bob isn't a shining example of human civility. Still, teddybear skull makes me go awwww.

Mini Fill 1/?

[personal profile] 11thmirror - 2012-05-29 09:00 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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(frozen comment) Re: Mini Fill 1/?

(Anonymous) - 2012-06-12 02:26 (UTC) - Expand

(frozen comment) Re: Mini Fill 1/?

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Robin B. Goode 2/?

[personal profile] 11thmirror - 2012-06-17 09:57 (UTC) - Expand

OP thinks you are awesome

(Anonymous) - 2012-06-18 07:01 (UTC) - Expand

Re: OP thinks you are awesome

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Re: Robin B. Goode 2/?

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Re: Robin B. Goode 2/?

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Re: Robin B. Goode 3/?

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Re: Robin B. Goode 3/?

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Re: Robin B. Goode 3/?

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Re: Robin B. Goode 3/?

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Someone Do Something With This, Please!

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 08:21 am (UTC)(link)
I heard a door open somewhere behind me, and struggled to make my abused vocal chords work.

John didn't walk into many traps, but he was about to unknowingly deliver himself right into the hands of his enemies.

Because of me.

Re: Someone Do Something With This, Please!

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
Very nice!

Re: Someone Do Something With This, Please!

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 04:48 (UTC) - Expand

Repost With Fill: Bob Needs Love!

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 11:09 am (UTC)(link)
From Round 4: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/2675.html?thread=2447475#cmt2447475

Just about every story involves Bob griping about how he is not being allowed to watch.

Well, this time? Harry lets him watch. Maybe even comment.

What better way to safely satisfy John's exhibitionism kink?

Combined this with requests for a sequel to A Kiss To Build A Dream On: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/2675.html?thread=2823283#cmt2823283

Dreams Of Fire And Smoke

(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 11:45 am (UTC)(link)
Pairings: Harry Dresden/John Marcone est., Harry Dresden/John Marcone/Bob
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Bob
Kinks: BDSM, est. relationship, voyeurism, exhibitionism, temperature play, dirty talk
Warnings: trust abuse, light humil.
Sequel to A Kiss To Build A Dream On


The room was almost unfamiliar when they walked in. It had been more than a year, after all, and memory was an imprecise thing. Still, the table loomed large and immediately recognizable, and from the sharp intake of breath next to him John knew Harry remembered it too, although he didn't admit as much.

“This is your big romantic present? An empty council room? I'm sad to say, John, this isn't quite up to your usual standards.” John ignored the snark, fingers working to undo his shirt buttons.

“A year and a half ago you had a remarkably detailed list of things you wanted to do to me in this room. I thought, considering the occasion, a bit of fantasy-fulfillment might not go amiss.” He turned and leaned back against the stone table, eyes demurely fixed on the floor, slipping his shirt and jacket off together under Harry's darkening gaze. He fingered the tie still hanging from his neck, then slid his hands lower to unbutton his pants.

“No.” The word might have been a blade to the throat for the effect it had on John. He froze, waiting for judgment. Had he made a mistake? He'd been sure Harry would appreciate the idea, closet sap that he was, and John himself had been aching for this since it had been murmured into his disbelieving ear over a year ago.

“Put your hands behind you and close your eyes. I want to unwrap my present.” He relaxed into the velvet growl, linking his hands on the table obediently and arching ever-so-slightly in invitation. Cold stone bit into his buttocks through his trousers and his cock twitched in nervous anticipation of rutting into the frigid onyx. In contrast, the warm hands running over his bare chest were positively furnaces.

His pants fell to his ankles in one smooth motion, and he smirked a little, pleased by the gape he could feel plastered across his lover's face. Completely unrestrained by underwear, his cock bobbed free in the cool air.

Familiar hands yanked him about, tripping on the knot of clothes at his feet, and braced him against the table. He automatically flinched away from frigid rock, only to be clamped against it by the feverishly hot hips behind him. When had Harry slipped free of his own layers?

“You're a tease, that's what you are, John Marcone. A wretched, shameless tease who needs nothing so much as a good, hard fucking to put him back in his place. Isn't that right, sweetheart?” Thin silk fluttered away, slipping unhindered from his throat.

“Yess, please, that's exactly what I need. Please give it to me.”

“You know, John, I've got a present for you, too. Something new.”

John's skin tingled all over as he thought about what Harry might have for him. Something new? They'd played around before with cockrings, plugs, clamps, paddles, gags, ropes, handcuffs, riding crops – even a goodly few magical items enchanted to behave like their electronic counterparts, once Harry discovered what John was like after a few hours at the mercy of a remote vibrator, controlled by the innocent, relentless fingers of a toddler with a brand new light-flashing, noise-making, button-pressing toy. John never, ever took calls during playtime anymore unless they were truly life-and-death or apocalypse-level emergencies.

What was left that qualified as new? Well, plenty, but what was left that Harry would be willing to use? He was typically far more careful about how John got hurt than John himself was in these games. Maybe he'd finally come around to a little knifeplay? Or gunplay? Or – the table's lower edge viciously punished his involuntary reaction to the thought – blasting rod-play?

He heard Harry rummaging through the bag he'd brought, opening what sounded like a tupperware box and setting something hard on a book-laden shelf off to the left. What was he going to use from so far away?

“Stay exactly as you are, John,” he ordered as he knocked on whatever it was. “Wakey, wakey.”

“What – oh! Oh, Boss! You meant it!”

John stiffened, a thin hair from lunging for his clothes and stalking out of the room. What in hell had possessed Harry to invite a stranger to their games? He'd thought the man understood the need for secrecy in this matter – John could not afford to look weak in the public eye, and taking a submissive role in this relationship had been a dangerous gamble that he'd nevertheless rarely regretted, until now.


“It's okay, John, I promise. Bob's here to watch, under the condition that he never speak of what happens in this session once it's over. Ever. To anyone. Including me. Right, Bob?”

“Aw, but Harry – ”

“Right, Bob?”

“I promise. I promise, Boss. No speaking about it to anyone, ever, I promise. Please let me stay!”

“Thrice promised, John, and I trust him as much as you do Cujo anyway. That good enough?”

John shifted uncertainly, irritation and anxiety warring with desire and rationalization. It was a foolish risk, but... He liked pleasing Harry, and of course, there was the other thing...

“Why?” he snapped, indecision making him surly. He knew Harry didn't have an exhibitionist streak – he'd tested those waters thoroughly. It didn't make sense for him to spring this on John now.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice?” came the husky response from directly behind him. Harry stepped forward and embraced him, setting John shivering with the sudden heat engulfing him. He licked a wet, fiery path down John's neck, goosebumps rising in his wake as the saliva cooled.

“Notice what?” John panted, already half-distracted from his protest.

“How hard you come when I jerk you off after Cujo's left for a coffee. You and I both know perfectly well that he's going to take extra long so he doesn't walk in on something – he's not dumb. But he might time it wrong, and that thrills you. Or how wild you get whenever I put you up on your desk during office hours and fuck you while you try desperately not to make noise, knowing that any second I might coax a sound from you loud enough to bring someone rushing in. Remember the time I had you against that one-way window? I saw how you stared at the people outside as they passed, jerking against the glass every time one of them seemed to be looking our way. And when I ate you out in my office with the door unlocked, you could hardly tear your eyes away from it. Did you think I wouldn't notice, John?”

John hadn't thought he'd notice – after years of blunting his horns on the wall of Dresden Obliviousness™ it was still difficult to remember that once Harry was actually aware that someone was interested, he could be frighteningly good at picking up on small cues and unstated desires. How on earth the wizard had immediately cottoned on to John's weakness for dirty talk, for example, still mystified him. Harry took advantage of John's distraction to snap open the lube.

“Did you think I'd missed how blown your pupils were when I teased you about blowjobs under the desk?” he crooned, easing cold slick between John's legs while John did his level best not to rut against the sharp edge of the now almost lukewarm table side, “or the way you get two or three times as hot and bothered when I grope you in public?”

He withdrew long enough to boost John onto the table before plunging back in and launching an attack on John's unwitting prostate. John yelped as his whole front was tumbled onto seemingly arctic stone. His nipples puckered in an instant, his belly quivered trying to escape the abrupt cold, his dick vehemently protested this sudden abuse, and his balls seemed to be trying to climb up into his body and squeeze out a few extra sperm at the same time.

“I ought to have you call up Hendricks sometime, make you talk to him in those level tones of yours, trying not to let him guess what I'm doing to you as I slick you up and plow you from behind.” John's legs dangled from the unusually high tabletop, toes just barely skimming the carpet, and as the internal assault escalated he kicked them uselessly – sending his pants flying – trying to find purchase on something, anything, that would let him rock back onto the relentless fingers or escape them altogether.

“Aw, did you hear that squeak, Boss? That was adorable! Make him do it again!”

Long digits swirled and crooked, and John squeaked on cue, cheeks hot with embarrassment and renewed, hypersensitive awareness of “Bob's” regard.

Harry let his other hand drift between John's legs, coaxing his bewildered gonads out from their refuge and warming them in his palm. He tugged them back so they'd be visible from Bob's bookshelf, massaging them and showing them off like fine jewels. “Aren't they something, Bob? Always figured them for solid brass, but he's as human as any man, look.”

Then he dropped them against the icy table, waited for them to retreat in confusion, and repeated the process. All the while he stroked and prodded and teased, now drifting close enough to John's prostate to shoot off phantom sparks behind his eyes, now toying with the very rim of John's opening, leaving John quaking, trying to suck his digits back inside where they belonged. A low, animal sound escaped John's throat, desperate and wanton.

“Oh, hell, Boss, are you really going to keep teasing him after that? That was porn-star material, right there! Hey, hook his leg over a chair, let me see his hole. Is it pink? Does he shave it? Maybe he doesn't have to, does he have to? Is it – ooh. Ooh, that's pretty. Look at it flutter! Heh, he really wants you in there, huh, Boss?”

Every word was like a firebrand lit in John's stomach, and the heat flowed from his mouth in sobbing, gasping pants, painting the frigid surface of the table with condensation. He could barely feel his front anymore, and hot tears streaked down his cheeks to mingle with smeared drool as he begged breathlessly for more.

Harry spread him open with his fingers, left him like that while he adjusted himself. Then he lined himself up and pushed in – John yowled his approval – but only as far as his head. “You seem to have forgotten, Bob,” he purred, all dark heat and not-quite-menace.

“Teasing is what this night is all about. Isn't, babe?” He started gyrating in small motions that stimulated John's entrance without supplying any kind of physical satisfaction. “How long did I say I'd work you like this, do you remember? An hour? Two? You're such a kinky little slut. Can't wait to spread your legs and let me do whatever I like to you.”

Harry leaned down, his breath fanning hot against John's chilled neck, brushing against his ear, passing cool and gentle over a flushed cheek. “And now you want an audience, you dirty little pervert. Maybe I should make you beg me for it like the whore you are. Shall I put him away? Send him back to sleep and lock him away in his box again?”

Bob's protests went ignored. John whimpered and shook, rolling his head from side to side on the no-longer-cold-enough polished stone with guttural negations.

“No? Are you sure?”

John nodded, trying and failing to buck against the projection torturing his sphincter. It slipped in and out by infinitesimal measures, setting him aflame with need and doing nothing to assuage it. A finger worked in beside it for a thrust or two, and oh, Christ, that was incredible.

“Tell me with words, baby. Tell me why I shouldn't leave you here and take Bob back home to finish his beauty sleep.”

“No... no...”

“Why not, babe? C'mon, convince me.”

“Please. Please. Stay. Give me... Please, Harry”

“Please what? What should I give you? You have to ask for it, darling.”

“More.” The word was a bare whisper against the stone under his cheek, inaudible to ordinary ears.

“What was that, sweetcheeks? I don't think I quite heard.”


“A little louder, honey, Bob wants to hear it too. What is it you want?” The last word was punctuated with a thrust that took Harry almost halfway home.


Dreams Of Fire And Smoke 1b/1

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Through the Ice Pond

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Story MUST take place sometime after Summer Knight. Preferred (but not required) pairings: Harry/Susan or Harry/Hendricks.

While Harry is sleeping his entire apartment is transported to another reality where he was never born -the why doesn't matter. Everything inside his apartment (including Mouse if after Blood Rites) goes with him. He soon discovers his non-existence status, the fact his building is abandoned (and owned by Marcone, but that isn't readily apparent), the Council is not, in fact, at war with the Reds, and there is snow EVERYWHERE. Why? In this reality, since Harry was not available to puzzle out Aurora's plot she succeeded. The Fimbulwinter is coming (if not already there) and unless Harry can restore the balance Chicago (and the world, but Harry tries not to think about that) is doomed to an eternity of Ice.

Re: Through the Ice Pond

(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 06:12 am (UTC)(link)
Yes! Epic prompt is seconded!

Harry/ Hendricks

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
Harry and Hendricks fluff, because there just isn't enough. Will be awesome if Marcone is all like "WTF? when did this happen?"

Re: Harry/ Hendricks

(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
I agree. Except I think Marcone would be secretly pleased, because he knows Harry will want to keep an eye on Hendricks, which will make keeping one on Harry easier.

Re: Harry/ Hendricks

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What Happens When John Annoys Harry

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 12:39 pm (UTC)(link)
So in Dreams Of Fire And Smoke there's a mention of vibrator use that ends with John noting that he never, ever takes business calls during playtime anymore unless it's a people-will-die and/or the-world-will-end emergency. Let's expand on that. Just what happened there?

Last segment of the Dream Series. (I'm sure this time, really!)

The Alchemist's Dream Of Violet Flame 1a/1

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 01:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Pairings: Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Harry Carpenter
Kinks: BDSM, est. relationship, punishment, vibrator torture, orgasm denial
Warnings: roundabout and nonsexual involvement of a child in sex games
Sequel to A Kiss To Build A Dream On, prequel to Dreams Of Fire And Smoke


The first call came at ten-thirty, and Harry ignored it. John had lasted longer than he'd thought – he could see his little namesake in the playpen down the hall, and he knew how popular that button had been over the course of this babysitting gig – but it wasn't near long enough yet. At eleven the ringing was more persistent, but Harry had his hands full trying to pull lunch together for the massive Carpenter brood quickly enough for them to get to their afternoon activities on time and he let it go. John could damn well wait a little longer.

At twelve, when the feeding frenzy was over and Harry had counted his fingers – twice – to make sure the appropriate number were still there, the phone had taken on a desperate air, almost leaping for his hand as he finally took pity on his unhappy lover.

“Harry,” came the greeting, and Harry blinked at the ragged edge to the voice, heat suddenly coiling in his belly. He kept his own words light and unconcerned.

“John! Fancy hearing from you at this hour of the day! I thought you had some ritzy meeting scheduled that simply couldn't wait!”

“The Chairman and her staff will be here in less than half an hour. Harry, I need to be able concentrate on this. It's a major purchase that could net several million in profits. I can't afford to be distracted.”

“That's right, the transaction-thingy with those computer-people. Wow, it sounds like a pretty important deal. Maybe you should be focusing on that right now instead of playing sexy-funtime games with me, Johnny.”

“That's what I – ”

“After all,” Harry interrupted smoothly, letting a just a little of that bite seep through that caught John's attention, and libido, without fail, “nearly anyone could tell you that mixing business and pleasure is a bad idea. It tends to detract from your attention to either, and ruin your efforts in both. That's a pretty amateur mistake for you to make, Johnny.”

John abruptly quieted, apparently having caught this time the use of his moniker, the one Harry only used when he was very unhappy indeed with his lover, and inclined to make him suffer hard and long for whatever he'd done wrong.

“This is about the phone call.”

“Don't be silly, Johnny. Of course it's not about the phone call. It's about the fact that you took that call, informing me that it was about the meeting and therefore too important to wait a couple of hours while we finished our game or even dinner, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the night talking on it about lunch menus. And dinner menus. And hotel rooms. And tours. And flower arrangements. And any number of trivial details that could have been discussed later or delegated entirely. You were still yakking away when I gave up the ghost and went home to bed. Alone. On date night. So you tell me, Johnny, why are you being punished? And do you or don't you deserve it?”

A long silence echoed down the phone line, broken only by John's occasional whimpers as Harry Carpenter's small, pudgy fingers found the magic button again and again. “Harry – ” the tone was pleading, but also decidedly guilty, and Harry interrupted again, almost certain now that, eventually, he would get an apology, and John would wholeheartedly mean it.

“Goodbye, John. Enjoy your lunch.” Click. Given how the next few hours were going to go, he probably wouldn't be repeating this mistake, either.

“Hey kiddo, you want another pixie stick?”

At roughly twelve-thirty the phone rang again – and again and again and again until Harry made it to the infernal machine from where he'd been washing dishes in the kitchen.

“You know John, if you're going to run up the Carpenters' phone bill like this you probably should offer them some kind of compensation. This is just thoughtless.”

“Harry. Harry. Please. I can't do it. I can't do-ooooo! Harry!” John sounded close to tears now. Harry was impressed. He could work all day to get results like these, and here they were in only three hours' time. Clearly his namesake had talent.

“Gee, you don't sound too good, John. I guess I can understand that; Little Harry's been going a bit stir-crazy since he had all that candy for after-lunch snack. He's figured out that playing with the dial makes more lights come on, too, the clever tyke.”

“Please, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Ple-hee-ease!”

“Your voice sounds a bit funny, John. Kind of echo-ey. Where are you?”

“B-bathroom. Executive wash-washroom. It locks. Harry. Please, please, let me take it out, let me – fuck!”

“Fucking's not on the agenda right now John, although if I think you've learned your lesson I may nail you to the nearest flat surface later. If you're very good I might even let you come. Right now, though, I'm still a bit unhappy with you. I don't think you even quite get what you should be apologizing for. So I wouldn't count on achieving release any time soon.”

Quiet moans and breathless sobs were all the reply Harry received. They were all he needed, too. Still...

“Hey John? Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.” Harry smiled, touched as always by the unhesitating response, even when his lover was in the doghouse.

“Tell me what it looks like? I had to get somebody else to pick it up and drop it off with my note so I wouldn't break it by accident. What color is it?”

“Purple. It's p-ah!-purple. It sti-nnn-sticks out in a b-ball at the end so I can't sit without it pressinnnng-oh-oh-oh! God, Harry, please, I can't ta-aaaay ahhh! Ahhhh! Domine, domine, mater diem,” Shouts and prayers? John really must be in rough shape. Harry bit his lip, wanting to be there so badly he nearly swamped the signal with static.

“I wish I could see you,” he said, packing every bit of the wistful longing he was struggling with into his voice. “Check the mirror, tell me what you look like right now. Are you flushed all over yet? I bet your eyes are like little rings of jade around hard vacuum.”

“Yes. They – I – very thin. Christ.”

“Open your pants and give yourself a pull, John. Are you dripping? You sound like you're dripping.”

“Sss-some.” Harry Listened. Rustling cloth, a zip, and the sound of skin slapping on skin echoed across the line. A truly piteous whine nearly broke his resolve, but this whole thing was pointless if Harry made it too easy to obtain forgiveness. He couldn't let him off the hook yet, not if he wanted John to take this matter seriously.

“I missed you this morning. If you'd been there like you were supposed to I'd have woken you up with a blowjob, nice and wet and slow. I'd have sucked you down and swallowed your come for breakfast. Instead I had to make do with a poptart. There's just no justice in that, John. Let go and suck your fingers clean. How do you taste today?”

“Salty... I'm so sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry, please...”

“Not yet you aren't. Button up, Johnny. You've got some very important people to meet, and it wouldn't do to have your dick hanging out for that.”

This time when Harry hung up he bolted for the bathroom. Crime and punishment was all very well, but sometimes he worried about his reactions to John's distress. Not for very long, though.

With his head cleared he reconsidered the conversation. John really had sounded well and truly miserable toward the end there. Maybe this little toy was more of a chink in the armor than Harry had anticipated. Perhaps... perhaps he should end things a bit sooner than he'd planned. It wasn't like John knew how long Harry intended him to squirm – he could stop by a little early.

The Alchemist's Dream Of Violet Flame 1b/1

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Okay, I Lied, There's A LITTLE More

(Anonymous) - 2012-01-27 16:54 (UTC) - Expand

A Dream In A Bottle 1/1

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"There! I'm Ruined!"

(Anonymous) 2012-01-24 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)
John/Harry, established but somewhat contentious relationship. Boy or girl Harry is fine with me.

We all know how possessive John is, right? Now imagine John and Harry in a relationship where Harry decides s/he is OK with but some not all of John's possessiveness, which is an ongoing source of tension between them. John gets a huge kick out of Harry never having had sex with another male/cast ritual sex magic with anyone else/let anyone else fuck him/her or whatever else of the author's choice. One day, John's possessive and controlling behavior just goes too far for Harry, so s/he runs out and does whatever John was virginity kinking off of with at least one other person, then throws it in John's face.

Fallout is up to author.

Repost With Fill: Not So Much A Gentleman

(Anonymous) 2012-01-25 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)
From Round 4 (http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/2675.html?thread=2151539#cmt2151539)

Dresden glared at me, but that was nothing new.
The sheen of tears in his eyes? Was.
"You're not a gentleman, Marcone," he said evenly. "You're just a dick."
With that, Dresden left. For once, I let him have the last word.

This is a Sentinel/DF fusion, in a world where sentinels and guides are widespread and well-known.

No Gentleman

(Anonymous) 2012-01-25 05:40 pm (UTC)(link)
What the hell am I doing, I like happy endings, dammit!
Pairing: Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Hendricks
Kinks: au!Sentinel crossover/fusion, sentinel bonding, Harry teary-eyed
Warnings: non-con interrupted


It all came to a head in my office. Another enemy, another battle, yet another time that my Guide (“Not your Guide!”) had come to me far too late to keep him safe and gotten badly injured as a result. Even reminding myself that at least the wizard had come to me this time didn't do much to settle the beast within, and when Dresden exposed a length of skin that looked more like hamburger meat than human flesh I snapped.

And so began the extremely juvenile yet deadly earnest chase around my desk.

“Mine,” I growled, finally getting my wayward Guide into my grasp.

“No, mine,” Harry snarled back, reversing the hold and pinning me to the wall. I grinned ferally, genuinely delighted. Finally the man understood!


I don't know what triggered it, I swear. He'd gone all bossy-Sentinel and insisted I come to his office – not that I'd care what he wanted ordinarily, but after a battle it was generally easier to go along with the less pushy requests so he'd ease up and drop the really unreasonable ones, instead of going Blessed Protector and literally carrying me off somewhere his inner caveman felt was safe. That had not been a good day. I still got guff from Murphy about it. I'm not even a guide! Seriously, I'm not! As far as I can figure, wizarding just overlaps in places for some practitioners – go figure I'd be a lucky winner.

So I'd gone to the damn office, figuring I'd check my latest scars-to-be and wait for him to get himself under control. One second I was looking over what Sunshine, Sparkle, and Twinkle had managed to do to my side, the next he was full-blown claiming feral like I hadn't seen him since that first godawful meeting in his car, chasing me around his desk as I backpedaled furiously and tried to make enough noise to get Hendricks in there. Say what I will about Cujo, when it comes to talking down John Marcone in full Sentinel mode I'd never seen anyone better. I don't know why the stubborn ass won't just take him as a Guide.

Marcone managed to get his hands on me though, and the growled “mine,” was the last damn straw. He'd been doing this for years, dammit – oh, not this exactly, not since I gave him a concussion and half-melted his car getting away from the bastard the first time and left him to fend of a pack of berserker-type werewolves by himself the second, but a more genteel version that amounted to pretty much the same thing. And I was sick of it. I. Am. Not. Property. No one controls me but me!

So I used a move I would buy Murphy a six-pack for teaching me later in order to break loose and slam him into the wall for once.

“No,” I snarled, because hell if I belonged to him or anyone but myself, “mine.”

I don't know what reaction I was expecting, but it wasn't what I got.

His eyes widened and his pupils blew so wide so fast for a second I thought his eyes had changed color. Then he grinned as if I'd offered him all the sharp metallic instruments of death a growing boy could wish for. “Yes!” he exclaimed, like I'd just gotten first prize in the science fair, like I'd at last made the final leap to understanding quantum physics. I didn't know what the hell he thought I understood, but I did not like the satisfied excitement suddenly pouring from him, like he'd won a long, hard battle against ridiculous odds. I had too strong an inkling that I was those odds – and the goal.

“Yes! Yours! Mine!” And he kissed me.


Dresden tasted like – oh, I don't even have words to explain it. There is no way to truly describe what losing yourself in your own Guide is like, but it was something like winter sunlight and that smoky autumn scent, the dry, crackling heat of summer and the damp, life-packed feel of a spring day, all rolled into a sparking electric bundle and flavored with the best steak you've ever eaten.

It was beautiful.

It was mine.

I could feel him responding as I called out to the Guide in him, pushing him down and rubbing my hands over the scenting areas to lay the foundation for where I would claim him. “What – ” he protested muzzily, “How are you – stop. What are you doing?”

His protests were halfhearted and distracted at best, and even less convincing was the weak, “No. Get … get off...” that followed as he writhed and arched, exposing his neck instinctively so I could mark him. I nuzzled his jawline, nipped lightly, playfully, at his pulse, then moved to secure my claim, eager to take and be taken by him, to accept him as he had accepted me a moment ago.

I was thrown from my Guide by a surprisingly silent red-haired semi-truck.

I very nearly killed Hendricks in that moment for interrupting, best friend and sometimes-guide though he was. = It's just as well he knew what to expect and had me pinned thoroughly the second we landed.

“Stop, Johnny, you need to stop, he asked you to stop,” he repeated in a frantic litany.

I snarled and fought. “Mine! He claimed me! He's mine!”

“Dammit Johnny, you're scaring him, you're taking him against his will.” He growled the last one furiously, never having been remotely tolerant of guide-abuse and forced claiming. For that matter neither had I, and although it took me a moment, those two phrases were the ones that brought me out of the animalistic state I was in.

Dresden hadn't moved except to pull his arms in from where I'd held them down. Now he rose, pulling his clothing closed with trembling hands and wrapping his arms around his middle as if it was all that could hold him together. He shook incessantly.

Remorse washed over me, and I felt a pang of horror. This hadn't been what I wanted, had never been what I wanted. I wanted him bold and reckless and laughing fearlessly in the face of enemies who far outclassed him, winning by brains and guts and luck and the skin of his teeth. I wanted to be a part of that, be the one who guarded his back and fought by his side – the one he trusted to protect him when he was weak and care for him when he hurt. Had I broken him instead?

Dresden glared at me, but that was nothing new.

The sheen of tears in his eyes? Was.

"You're not a gentleman, Marcone," he said evenly. "You're just a dick."

With that, Dresden left. For once, I let him have the last word.

How I'd ever make up for this, I didn't know.

Re: No Gentleman

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Definitely Not A Gentleman

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A Gentleman Never Asks

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Not A Gentleman's Gentleman

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Re: Not A Gentleman's Gentleman

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An Officer And A Gentleman

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