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Harry and John are in a relationship, but pressure from their friends and acquaintances force them to break up. The separation is a mutual agreement. Neither of their friends have exactly been approving of them being together.
John gets a proper mistress and Harry gets himself a girlfriend. Everything is back to the expected heteronormativity and everyone else is happy.
Then their friends realize how different and miserable they are without each other, and try to get them back together.
Would love to see Murphy and Hendricks lead this thing.
John gets a proper mistress and Harry gets himself a girlfriend. Everything is back to the expected heteronormativity and everyone else is happy.
Then their friends realize how different and miserable they are without each other, and try to get them back together.
Would love to see Murphy and Hendricks lead this thing.
Yep, I've read that before. Not really what I'm looking for, but thanks anyway.
This. Just, someone please do this.
Unicorns!
I see Ramirez has been mentioned again in a discussion of virginity. May we have Ramirez being approached by a unicorn or two? Maybe he gets to ride one? And thus, Ramirez is outed as a virgin.
I see Ramirez has been mentioned again in a discussion of virginity. May we have Ramirez being approached by a unicorn or two? Maybe he gets to ride one? And thus, Ramirez is outed as a virgin.
Odin/Dresden, somnophilia (which means, dubcon/noncon)
To wake Harry from a curse, someone powerful has to fuck him. Odin preferred, but any other guy will do, just change the requirements for the curse-breaking.
This cure will most likely be suggested by Bob and Toot-toot.
To wake Harry from a curse, someone powerful has to fuck him. Odin preferred, but any other guy will do, just change the requirements for the curse-breaking.
This cure will most likely be suggested by Bob and Toot-toot.
The burnt hand does not get enough love by the fandom, so who ever fills this will my hero for the week.
because it can also be solo. :)
I want to see normal, everyday objects used in unusual and kinky ways. I don't care what. Musical instruments, cooking utensils, straws, baby bottles, diapers, dowsing rods, candles, backscrubbers, umbrellas, candy canes - find me something not usually kinky-sexy and make it kinky-sexy. Put it someplace new, or use it in a new way.
Props for dub-con (or non-con), and more props for 'I didn't know I liked this, but yes, I really am getting off on ____' dub-con leading to, uh, con?
I want to see normal, everyday objects used in unusual and kinky ways. I don't care what. Musical instruments, cooking utensils, straws, baby bottles, diapers, dowsing rods, candles, backscrubbers, umbrellas, candy canes - find me something not usually kinky-sexy and make it kinky-sexy. Put it someplace new, or use it in a new way.
Props for dub-con (or non-con), and more props for 'I didn't know I liked this, but yes, I really am getting off on ____' dub-con leading to, uh, con?
I would love forever whoever wrote this. Please?
Anyone/Anyone
Character A performs CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on character B.
Character B:
a. is saved by by Char A (in other words, he really needed it and it worked)
b. gets up and is "lol, I was just kidding, thanks for the kiss btw it was nice"
Slash preferred, and and het through genderbending is awesome, but optional.
Character A performs CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on character B.
Character B:
a. is saved by by Char A (in other words, he really needed it and it worked)
b. gets up and is "lol, I was just kidding, thanks for the kiss btw it was nice"
Slash preferred, and and het through genderbending is awesome, but optional.
I can just see those conversations when John and Harry figure out what's up.
"But Murph, I thought you'd be happy now that I'm all staring at boobs again!"
"You thought the gay thing was my problem? Dresden, you idiot. I didn't have a problem with the fact that Marcone has a dick. Your other friends may have had a problem with Marcone's dick, I don't know. I had a problem with the fact that you were sleeping with a mob boss."
"He's still a mob boss."
"Yes, which means he knows how to use a gun. Christ, Harry, where'd you find this chick, 'Damsels R'Us'?"
Meanwhile...
"She's using you, boss."
"Mr. Hendricks, while I respect your opinion, I am growing weary of your constant commentary on my love life."
"It isn't constant."
"You certainly had a great deal to say on the subject of Mr. Dresden."
"Dresden is a narrow-minded loudmouth pain-in-the-ass who attracts trouble simply by breathing and has no respect for your organization. But he's honest, and he looks out for you. I can deal with whatever Spencerian nightmare Dresden brings along. I refuse to deal with some Mata Hari wannabe looking for information to sell to the highest bidder."
"You noticed that, did you?"
"I also noticed that the contact list she stole was nothing more than a list of characters from Batman. Really, boss?"
"It was Mr. Dresden's idea."
-----------------
Okay, now someone fill this for real.
"But Murph, I thought you'd be happy now that I'm all staring at boobs again!"
"You thought the gay thing was my problem? Dresden, you idiot. I didn't have a problem with the fact that Marcone has a dick. Your other friends may have had a problem with Marcone's dick, I don't know. I had a problem with the fact that you were sleeping with a mob boss."
"He's still a mob boss."
"Yes, which means he knows how to use a gun. Christ, Harry, where'd you find this chick, 'Damsels R'Us'?"
Meanwhile...
"She's using you, boss."
"Mr. Hendricks, while I respect your opinion, I am growing weary of your constant commentary on my love life."
"It isn't constant."
"You certainly had a great deal to say on the subject of Mr. Dresden."
"Dresden is a narrow-minded loudmouth pain-in-the-ass who attracts trouble simply by breathing and has no respect for your organization. But he's honest, and he looks out for you. I can deal with whatever Spencerian nightmare Dresden brings along. I refuse to deal with some Mata Hari wannabe looking for information to sell to the highest bidder."
"You noticed that, did you?"
"I also noticed that the contact list she stole was nothing more than a list of characters from Batman. Really, boss?"
"It was Mr. Dresden's idea."
-----------------
Okay, now someone fill this for real.
Marcone/Dresden, roleplay noncon
In other words, acting out a rape fantasy.
Even better if it's Harry's idea.
In other words, acting out a rape fantasy.
Even better if it's Harry's idea.
Mafia don Marcone meets with yakuza boss Asami Ryuichi. Both are in a relationship with stubborn, snarky, perpetually underfed men. Also, both are rulers of their own crime empires, cool under pressure, and dangerous when provoked.
How and why they meet is up to anon.
How and why they meet is up to anon.
.... As one of those people who can't shut up about Harry's history with consent and rape... I want a deep, thinky fill for this. So much.
umm...
http://archiveofourown.org/works/95579
Harry/Bob the skull. Candlestick. Olive oil. First in a series. REALLY GOOD.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/95579
Harry/Bob the skull. Candlestick. Olive oil. First in a series. REALLY GOOD.
any pairing, any kink.
They're trying out something new for the first time, discovering the other's kinks (maybe even discovering kinks they didn't know they had!), and come across one they thought would work and just... doesn't.
I want kink!fail here. They start out, they try to get through it, and it's just not working. Someone fails to orgasm, someone calls a halt, someone can't go through with it, for whatever reason the kink fails. Kink is author's choice.
They're trying out something new for the first time, discovering the other's kinks (maybe even discovering kinks they didn't know they had!), and come across one they thought would work and just... doesn't.
I want kink!fail here. They start out, they try to get through it, and it's just not working. Someone fails to orgasm, someone calls a halt, someone can't go through with it, for whatever reason the kink fails. Kink is author's choice.
I am totally not opposed to either of these! :) I can totally see Thomas "helping a guy out," so to speak. And if that leads to helping with other things... he's a sexy vampire. ;) OP totally doesn't mind.
Straight razors are (more than likely) a must, because electric razors (most likely) won't work very well for Harry.
And Marcone/Harry is my not-so-secret favorite pairing, so I'm totally not against that either. :)
Straight razors are (more than likely) a must, because electric razors (most likely) won't work very well for Harry.
And Marcone/Harry is my not-so-secret favorite pairing, so I'm totally not against that either. :)
Dresden/Marcone, established relationship, and Harry is forced to confront the reality that his fuzzy fanon idea of Marcone (no kids awwww) doesn't change the fact that he's a MOB BOSS. Gun running is SRS BZNS, Harry, even if Marcone is sex on a stick.
But then there is sex. Because this is a kink meme! SRS BZNS SEX.
But then there is sex. Because this is a kink meme! SRS BZNS SEX.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said, touching my shoulder. He bent, empty-handed, and when he came up he had a red rose, long stem decorously stripped of thorns. “I think you dropped this.”
I goggled. “That was so lame.”
Marcone grinned. The crooked one with teeth that goes all the way up to his eyes. He tucked the stem between the buttons of my jacket so the rose stuck out, brushing distractingly against the skin under my jaw. “Looks good on you,” he murmured, hand hovering at my waist without quite touching. He wasn’t talking about the rose. Or the jacket.
When I’d first transformed, it’d been half necessity, half hysterical it’s the end of the world! joke. I hadn’t felt like a woman; I’d just felt like me with some really weird and inconvenient packaging. It was a trick, a disguise to get me access to the deep faerie magic.
I should no better. There are no tricks in magic. You don’t fool it, definitely not with packaging. I’d forgotten that. At least until I was holding the throbbing heart of faerie in my hands, and I had reached into it, and it had reached into me. And what it had raised in me was something . . . womanly. I don’t know where it came from. The packaging must have gone deeper than I thought, that’s the only explanation. It was my magic, but there was a richer harmonic to it, another layer, and the spell I needed to do came out of me like a tone from a bell.
I’d lost that feeling, walking out of faerie. I couldn’t even remember it, not in its fullness.
It came back with John Marcone’s eyes on me, and his rose against my throat. Except this time, it wasn’t about magic.
We’d been sticking to basic stuff all along partly because I didn’t really know what else two guys could do, or if I wanted it. In the visceral specific, I mean.
But I knew what a man and a woman could do together. Intimately. The idea crystallized, I couldn’t stop it. We could fuck; Marcone could push his dick deep into me, he could stroke it in, I could wrap my legs around his waist, we could—
Heat bloomed in me. I went liquid between my legs, aching. Stars and stones, I was wet, just like that.
“May I?” Marcone was saying, reaching for his wallet.
I pulled myself together with a wrench. “You may not,” I said, and turned to pay for my own drink, thank you. Marcone ordered – Chai, huh – and followed me down the counter.
“Are you going to Edinburgh any time soon, by chance?” he asked politely.
I groaned. “Oh, stars, you want me to play messenger boy again, don’t you?” There was a regular flow of mail between Marcone and the White Council; both parties seemed to prefer to send it with me, when they could. I’m not much for politics, but I’m pretty sure it was a bi-directional insult.
“It’s not urgent,” Marcone said. “But at your convenience, please, Warden.”
“”Yeah, yeah, all right,” I grumbled. “Hand it over.”
“It’s in my home office,” he said apologetically. “Do you have some time right now?”
I accepted my coffee. “I guess,” I said, sighing dramatically. “I mean, I was going to go have a nap in appreciation of saving the universe from annihilation, but that’s all right.”
“I appreciate it,” Marcone said immediately. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not. He accepted his drink without looking, watching me steadily. “How bad was it?”
I made a see-sawing motion in the air. “Eh, as apocalypses go? Not too bad. We were in faerie, so the catering could use some work, but still.”
His eyes crinkled. There were no smile lines on his face, just very faint crow’s feet. I’d known him for – stars, it’d been a long time – and I knew he was one of those people who seemed perfectly fitted to whatever age he currently was. Just another way of saying the fundamental truism of Marcone: he wore things well. Suits, manners, weapons, power.
“My car is just outside,” he said, touching my elbow.
He took me to his stupid status symbol out on the Gold Coast, and left me in the foyer for a few minutes while he unplugged the electronics. I wandered around, leaving a few fingerprints on the black glass top of a table, kicking a brown and red rug just a tiny bit askew. Marcone eventually came and ushered me through to a study at the back of the house. It was surprisingly small, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall and a fireplace opposite. I parked my rear on the corner of Marcone’s desk, sitting deliberately on his papers.
He retrieved a single sheet from a silent printer, signed it with a flourish, and folded it in perfect thirds. The council sent parchment, handwritten, and if they were feeling particularly stick-up-their-ass that day, in a fancy roll with a ribbon. Marcone always returned crisp, modern envelopes, laser printed and perfect. More politics, I was pretty sure.
I stripped off my jacket, tossing it and his stupid rose over my shoulder to the visitor’s chair. I leaned back on my hands, stretching out my legs and disarranging his neat stacks of paper. Marcone glanced over, smiling tolerantly. Then his eyes slid down my body, and the smile changed.
I was simmering, slow but steady. Only question was, did I want to do this?
Well, okay, no. I wanted to. But was I going to?
Marcone reached for an envelope and fumbled it. He jerked his eyes down to his hands, his gestures going snappy and precise.
Because – wow, okay. Because I was distracting him. I was flustering him.
I reacted the way I always do when Marcone does something unexpected: I poked him with a stick to see if he would do it again. Except I don’t actually know anything about, you know. Being seductive. If I tried to drape myself all over him, I’d probably just knee him in the balls.
So I did what my body had been thrumming to do all along. I let one hand drift up my stomach, casual, and brushed my knuckles up the underside of my breast, over the peak, then up and down the outside curve, soft and slow. My breath hitched. I could feel my nipples hardening. I wanted to shove my fist between my legs and rock against it.
Marcone looked, jerked his eyes away, looked again. I felt a power swell in me, alive and confident. It had nothing to do with magic.
Marcone sealed the envelope and placed it meticulously in the center of his blotter. Then he came at me, crowding close and leaning in, one hand on either side of me.
“Are you done playing with me?” he asked, low and just a tiny bit angry.
“Pretty sure I’ll never be done playing with you,” I said.
An odd smile crossed his face, and I belatedly wondered if I’d said what I meant. But then he kissed me, and I didn’t care anymore.
I goggled. “That was so lame.”
Marcone grinned. The crooked one with teeth that goes all the way up to his eyes. He tucked the stem between the buttons of my jacket so the rose stuck out, brushing distractingly against the skin under my jaw. “Looks good on you,” he murmured, hand hovering at my waist without quite touching. He wasn’t talking about the rose. Or the jacket.
When I’d first transformed, it’d been half necessity, half hysterical it’s the end of the world! joke. I hadn’t felt like a woman; I’d just felt like me with some really weird and inconvenient packaging. It was a trick, a disguise to get me access to the deep faerie magic.
I should no better. There are no tricks in magic. You don’t fool it, definitely not with packaging. I’d forgotten that. At least until I was holding the throbbing heart of faerie in my hands, and I had reached into it, and it had reached into me. And what it had raised in me was something . . . womanly. I don’t know where it came from. The packaging must have gone deeper than I thought, that’s the only explanation. It was my magic, but there was a richer harmonic to it, another layer, and the spell I needed to do came out of me like a tone from a bell.
I’d lost that feeling, walking out of faerie. I couldn’t even remember it, not in its fullness.
It came back with John Marcone’s eyes on me, and his rose against my throat. Except this time, it wasn’t about magic.
We’d been sticking to basic stuff all along partly because I didn’t really know what else two guys could do, or if I wanted it. In the visceral specific, I mean.
But I knew what a man and a woman could do together. Intimately. The idea crystallized, I couldn’t stop it. We could fuck; Marcone could push his dick deep into me, he could stroke it in, I could wrap my legs around his waist, we could—
Heat bloomed in me. I went liquid between my legs, aching. Stars and stones, I was wet, just like that.
“May I?” Marcone was saying, reaching for his wallet.
I pulled myself together with a wrench. “You may not,” I said, and turned to pay for my own drink, thank you. Marcone ordered – Chai, huh – and followed me down the counter.
“Are you going to Edinburgh any time soon, by chance?” he asked politely.
I groaned. “Oh, stars, you want me to play messenger boy again, don’t you?” There was a regular flow of mail between Marcone and the White Council; both parties seemed to prefer to send it with me, when they could. I’m not much for politics, but I’m pretty sure it was a bi-directional insult.
“It’s not urgent,” Marcone said. “But at your convenience, please, Warden.”
“”Yeah, yeah, all right,” I grumbled. “Hand it over.”
“It’s in my home office,” he said apologetically. “Do you have some time right now?”
I accepted my coffee. “I guess,” I said, sighing dramatically. “I mean, I was going to go have a nap in appreciation of saving the universe from annihilation, but that’s all right.”
“I appreciate it,” Marcone said immediately. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not. He accepted his drink without looking, watching me steadily. “How bad was it?”
I made a see-sawing motion in the air. “Eh, as apocalypses go? Not too bad. We were in faerie, so the catering could use some work, but still.”
His eyes crinkled. There were no smile lines on his face, just very faint crow’s feet. I’d known him for – stars, it’d been a long time – and I knew he was one of those people who seemed perfectly fitted to whatever age he currently was. Just another way of saying the fundamental truism of Marcone: he wore things well. Suits, manners, weapons, power.
“My car is just outside,” he said, touching my elbow.
He took me to his stupid status symbol out on the Gold Coast, and left me in the foyer for a few minutes while he unplugged the electronics. I wandered around, leaving a few fingerprints on the black glass top of a table, kicking a brown and red rug just a tiny bit askew. Marcone eventually came and ushered me through to a study at the back of the house. It was surprisingly small, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall and a fireplace opposite. I parked my rear on the corner of Marcone’s desk, sitting deliberately on his papers.
He retrieved a single sheet from a silent printer, signed it with a flourish, and folded it in perfect thirds. The council sent parchment, handwritten, and if they were feeling particularly stick-up-their-ass that day, in a fancy roll with a ribbon. Marcone always returned crisp, modern envelopes, laser printed and perfect. More politics, I was pretty sure.
I stripped off my jacket, tossing it and his stupid rose over my shoulder to the visitor’s chair. I leaned back on my hands, stretching out my legs and disarranging his neat stacks of paper. Marcone glanced over, smiling tolerantly. Then his eyes slid down my body, and the smile changed.
I was simmering, slow but steady. Only question was, did I want to do this?
Well, okay, no. I wanted to. But was I going to?
Marcone reached for an envelope and fumbled it. He jerked his eyes down to his hands, his gestures going snappy and precise.
Because – wow, okay. Because I was distracting him. I was flustering him.
I reacted the way I always do when Marcone does something unexpected: I poked him with a stick to see if he would do it again. Except I don’t actually know anything about, you know. Being seductive. If I tried to drape myself all over him, I’d probably just knee him in the balls.
So I did what my body had been thrumming to do all along. I let one hand drift up my stomach, casual, and brushed my knuckles up the underside of my breast, over the peak, then up and down the outside curve, soft and slow. My breath hitched. I could feel my nipples hardening. I wanted to shove my fist between my legs and rock against it.
Marcone looked, jerked his eyes away, looked again. I felt a power swell in me, alive and confident. It had nothing to do with magic.
Marcone sealed the envelope and placed it meticulously in the center of his blotter. Then he came at me, crowding close and leaning in, one hand on either side of me.
“Are you done playing with me?” he asked, low and just a tiny bit angry.
“Pretty sure I’ll never be done playing with you,” I said.
An odd smile crossed his face, and I belatedly wondered if I’d said what I meant. But then he kissed me, and I didn’t care anymore.
NOOOOO! YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE IT THERE! I'LL DIE!
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