Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I woke up with a start, and not the good kind.

My head throbbed like I’d been used as a battering ram by a troll. Everything ached. I squinted into the gloom of my bedroom, feeling like I’d slept inside a cement mixer. Mouse was snoring at the foot of the bed, completely relaxed. Mister, perched on the windowsill, watched me with the unmistakable expression of someone silently judging every life choice I’d ever made.

I needed coffee. That was non-negotiable.

I swung my legs off the bed, grabbed my duster, and trudged to the door. When I stepped outside, the morning air hit me like a slap. It was too clean, too fresh, like reality had been washed, folded, and spritzed with a cheap romance novel's idea of spring.

And then I saw them.

They were standing on my lawn. All of them. Like actors in some bizarre community theater production that had escaped into my front yard. That was the moment I realized something had gone very, very wrong. This felt like the kind of thing I’d find tucked into the darkest corner of the Nevernever, scrawled in glitter pen by a sugar-high sidhe with a taste for melodrama.

Murphy was front and center, wearing her standard tactical gear. Over it, she had a frilly pink apron, and in her hands, she held a pie. Her blonde hair was down around her shoulders, and her eyes had that soft glow usually reserved for greeting cards and Hallmark movies.

“Harry, my love!” she said, and kissed me on the cheek. “I baked this for you. You know how much I love taking care of my big, strong wizard. Without you, I’d be lost.”

I blinked. “Murph? What the hell is going on?”

Before she could answer, Susan Rodriguez stepped up beside her. She wore a red dress that defied gravity and taste, and she draped herself around Murphy like this was all perfectly normal. She leaned in close and breathed against my neck.

“Mi amor,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Last night was... intense. You complete us, Harry. All of us.” She smiled at Murphy. “Sharing you only makes our connection stronger.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but words failed me. Whatever this was, it felt like someone had hexed me into the world’s weirdest harem anime.

Then came the giggle.

Molly Carpenter bounded into view with rainbow-colored hair, a sparkly wand, and a costume that looked like it had been rejected by a cosplay convention. She pressed herself against me with a familiarity that made my spine twitch.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “Always pretending to be cold and distant, but I know the truth. I’ve been your loyal apprentice turned lover for years now. Remember when I confessed my undying love after that one training session? And you took me right there on the floor? So romantic. Now that we’re all together, the harem is complete.”

She actually said “harem.” Out loud. With a straight face.

I tried to back away, but it only got worse.

Lara Raith lounged against the mailbox. Her silver eyes glinted with amusement, and every inch of her posture screamed seduction. She draped herself over my arm like I was some kind of high-end chaise lounge.

“My darling,” she purred. “You’ve changed me. I no longer hunger for innocent lives. I only crave you. The others understand. We’re all drawn to your gravity.”

I looked around. They were gathering around me now; no jealousy, no fighting. Pie was passed around. Smiles and laughter everywhere.

Then Thomas strolled in, shirtless and glistening like he had been oiled by professionals. He threw an arm around my waist and gave me a smirk that sent my blood pressure into orbit.

“Morning, bro... or should I say, lover,” he said. “You know I’ve always had feelings. Deep, forbidden ones. Being brothers only makes it hotter. All that sneaking around? That was our thing.”

I wanted to vanish. Implode. Something. Anything but this.

And of course, that’s when John Marcone arrived. He looked immaculate, of course, as if this entire romantic horror show was just a normal Monday for him. He brushed my arm with his fingers.

“Dresden,” he said. “You broke through my icy shell. We’ve been allies in the bedroom longer than we were ever enemies in the field. And the others? They understand. There’s enough of you to go around.”

They welcomed him like he belonged. Lara narrowed her eyes but finally relented with a sigh.

“Fine. You boys can join the cuddle pile,” she said. “But I get Harry for movie night. That’s sacred.”

Susan nodded. “Exactly. Balance is important in any big, happy family.”

I stared at all of them. They stood close together, smiling at me like they were expecting a group hug. My instincts screamed trap.

“This isn’t real,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Murph, you’d shoot me for even joking about this. Susan, we broke up years ago. Molly, you’re like a kid sister. Lara, we’d kill each other first. Thomas? You’re my brother. Marcone? You and I would rather duel with chainsaws than date.”

They tilted their heads in unison, concerned and loving.

“Oh, Harry,” Murphy said gently. “You’re just having one of your doubtful moments. We’ve worked through this before. Remember our group therapy sessions with the fairies? Even the boys came.”

Panic clawed at me. Illusion? Mental manipulation? Soulfire-induced fever dream? I whispered the first shield spell that came to mind.

They moved in. Arms opened. The group hug loomed.

I screamed and sat bolt upright in bed.

Sweat soaked my shirt. My heart thundered in my chest. I was back in my basement apartment. The cluttered nightstand. The softly glowing wards. No harem. No Thomas cuddles. No pie.

Just Mister, who looked deeply unimpressed.

“Just a dream,” I muttered.

Mouse woofed from the floor, as if to confirm it.

Footsteps pounded from the other room. The door flew open, and Billy Borden burst in, toothbrush in hand and hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. Georgia stood behind him, bleary-eyed but alert.

“Harry?” Billy scanned the room, ready for trouble. “You okay? Sounded like something was trying to eat you.”

Georgia moved closer and sat beside me on the bed. Her hand brushed my arm. It was a soft, familiar touch. Too familiar.

Billy placed a hand on my shoulder. It lingered in a way that told me this wasn’t a casual visit. Their clothes were rumpled. They looked like they’d rolled out of bed next to me, not just come over to check the wards.

I froze. The hand on my shoulder. The gentle touch on my arm. This was routine. Normal. Intimate.

Something was off, and not in the same way as the dream. This was subtle. Real. The kind of unsettling you only notice when it’s already settled in.

“Yeah, nightmare,” I said, trying to smile. “The kind that makes you question your whole life.”

Billy chuckled and leaned against the bedpost. “Want some coffee?” he asked. “Georgia started a pot. We figured we’d all just hang in the kitchen, like usual.”

Georgia stood and gave me a soft smile. She squeezed my hand once before letting go. “Or tea,” she said. “If it was one of those soul-sucking dreams. Whatever you need. We’ve got you.”

They didn’t rush me. They didn’t leave. They waited.

I looked at their faces. Open. Warm. Loving. Like this was just another morning in our shared life. The regret crept in first, then shame. I felt like a heel for panicking. For recoiling.

But this wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t something I’d conjured, or imagined, or remembered. This was something else. Something that had been here long enough to be normal.

The nightmare had ended, but something remained.

I needed to play along. For now. First, coffee.

Then, I was going to check every inch of the wards.

Chapter Text

I sat at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around a coffee mug, clinging to it like it could anchor me to reality. My head was a mess, still reeling from the dream, and the quiet normalcy of Billy flipping pancakes and Georgia slicing strawberries only made it worse. They moved like they belonged here, in my kitchen, in my life, with an ease that felt too familiar, too intimate. It was comforting and terrifying all at once, like I’d woken up in someone else’s story.

I took a sip of coffee, wincing as it burned my tongue. “I had a dream,” I said, my voice rough. “A weird one. The kind where everyone you know is suddenly way too close.”

Billy laughed, flipping a pancake with a practiced flick. “Classic Harry. What was it? Zombie accountants? Demon karaoke?”

I glanced at Georgia. She stopped cutting strawberries, her eyes meeting mine, sharp and knowing. It made my chest tighten. “It was everyone,” I said. “Murphy, Susan, Molly, Lara, Thomas, even Marcone. All acting like we were... together. Sharing pie, calling me ‘lover.’ Like some sappy romance novel written by a faerie with too much time.”

Billy snorted, nearly dropping a pancake. “Marcone? That’s a new one. Bet he brought a contract for the cuddling.”

Georgia’s lips curved into a small smile as she set the strawberries aside. “That’s intense, Harry. But it’s not that far off from what some people feel about you. You know, the things they don’t say out loud.”

My stomach twisted. “What do you mean, ‘not that far off’? And why are you two acting like you’ve been crashing here forever? I don’t remember us being this close.”

Billy turned, spatula in hand, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “We’ve been over this, Harry. That dimensional fracture messed with your head. You’ve been tight with the pack for years, and we’ve... drifted together. You, me, Georgia. You’re like our third spouse in this thing we’ve got going.”

I stared at him, my brain struggling to catch up. “Third spouse? Since when?”

Georgia slid into the chair across from me, her hand brushing mine. “Your dream’s weird, sure, but it’s picking up on stuff people have felt about you for a while. Behind your back.”

My throat went dry. “How much of it lines up with that nightmare?”

Her smile turned sly, but her eyes were soft. “Maybe we should get naked first. Take the edge off before we dive into that.”

I nearly dropped my mug. “You’re serious?”

Billy grinned, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. “She’s got a point. You’re tense as hell, Harry. A little fun might help you think straight.”

They weren’t pushing, but they were certain, like they knew every argument I’d throw up and exactly how to counter it. Georgia’s fingers traced my wrist, gentle but deliberate. “You always say you need time to process,” she said. “But you relax best when you let go. You love that spot behind your ear, don’t you? Makes you melt every time.”

Billy stepped closer, his hand on my shoulder, warm and steady. “Don’t give me the ‘lone wizard’ speech. We’ve heard it all. You fit with us, Harry. Always have.”

I wanted to argue, to slow this down, but their calm certainty disarmed me. They knew me—too well. Every hesitation, every weak spot. Georgia tugged me to my feet, her touch light but insistent, and Billy was right behind, guiding me toward the bedroom. “Come on,” Georgia murmured. “Let’s take care of you.”

Before I could protest, my shirt was off, their hands moving with a familiarity that silenced my doubts. We hit the bed in a tangle, clothes gone in moments. Georgia’s lips found mine, her kiss deep and hungry, her body pressing against me, warm and soft. Billy’s hands roamed, teasing my sides, then lower, his touch firm and knowing. Georgia straddled me, her hips grinding in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her breath hitching as she leaned in close. Billy’s fingers joined the dance, stroking where we connected, his own arousal pressing against my thigh. The air filled with gasps and moans, our bodies moving together, slick and urgent. Georgia’s nails dug into my shoulders as she rode me, Billy’s thrusts matching her pace, and the intensity built until we shattered, a shared release that left us trembling, breathless, and tangled in each other.

We collapsed, panting, laughter bubbling up as the haze cleared. My heart was still pounding, my body humming with aftershocks. But reality crept back, heavy and sharp.

“Okay,” I said, sitting up, my voice hoarse. “That was... incredible. But we need to clean up. And we need to talk. I woke up this morning freaked out, and not in a good way. Something’s wrong, and I need to know what I’m missing.”

Billy propped himself up, his grin lazy but edged with understanding. “Shower first, then we’ll talk. Deal?”

Georgia’s hand rested on my knee, warm and steady. “We’ve got you, Harry. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

I looked at them, their faces open and resolute, and felt a flicker of trust, fragile but real. The dream still haunted me, and the nagging sense that something was deeply wrong lingered. I needed answers. And maybe a stack of those pancakes.

Chapter Text

I slumped at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around a fresh mug of coffee, the steam curling up like a lifeline to reality. My head was still spinning from earlier—spilling my guts about that damn dream, the tangle of bodies with Billy and Georgia, the shower that barely washed away the haze. They were back in the kitchen now, Billy flipping pancakes like nothing had happened, Georgia slicing strawberries with a focus that felt too normal. My apartment smelled of syrup and coffee, but the cozy domesticity only made my skin crawl. Mister lounged on the counter, eyeing me like I’d lost my damn mind. Maybe I had.

The dream was still vivid: Murphy, Susan, Molly, Lara, Andi, Justine, Luccio, even Thomas and Marcone, all tangled up in some sappy, over-intimate mess. Calling me “lover,” sharing pie, acting like we were one big, happy polycule. It was a faerie’s fever dream, and waking up hadn’t made it any less real. If anything, Billy and Georgia’s... enthusiasm earlier had only cranked up the weirdness. They’d been too certain, too comfortable, like they’d been part of my life in ways I didn’t remember. That dimensional fracture last month must’ve scrambled more than my memory.

Billy slid a plate of pancakes in front of me, his grin easy but cautious. “Eat up, Harry. You look like you need it after that... workout.”

Georgia snorted, setting a bowl of strawberries on the table. Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp and knowing, but softer than before. “You okay? You’ve been quiet since the shower.”

I took a sip of coffee, wincing as it scalded my tongue. “Yeah, just... processing. That dream’s still rattling around, and you two didn’t exactly help me forget it.” I tried for a smirk, but it felt weak.

Billy chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Fair. But you can’t say it wasn’t fun.”

I didn’t argue. It had been fun, too much, maybe. Georgia’s hungry kisses, Billy’s firm hands, the way they’d moved together like they knew every inch of me. It was intense, overwhelming, and left me feeling like I’d stumbled into someone else’s life. But the afterglow was fading, and the nagging sense of wrongness was back, sharper than ever.

“Fun’s one thing,” I said, poking at a pancake. “But I’m still stuck on that dream. Everyone acting like we’re all... together. It’s unnatural. Like I’ve been dropped into some alternate Chicago where boundaries don’t exist.”

Georgia slid into the chair across from me, her hand brushing mine. “Maybe it’s not as alternate as you think.”

My stomach twisted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Billy cleared his throat, exchanging a look with Georgia. He reached under the table and pulled out a stack of envelopes, each one marked “Harry” in different handwriting, looping, neat, bold, elegant. My blood ran cold. Molly’s script, Murphy’s print, Andi’s scrawl, and others I couldn’t place but recognized all too well. The sight of them hit like a troll’s fist.

“We found these,” Billy said, his tone careful, almost apologetic. “They started showing up at our place, addressed to you. We... looked inside.”

Georgia’s cheeks flushed, but she held my gaze. “We’re sorry, Harry. We didn’t know what was going on, so we went and talked to the women involved. Molly, Murphy, Andi, Justine, Susan, Luccio. Not Lara; she’s probably just screwing with you, her usual White Court mind games. But the others? It’s real.”

I stared at the envelopes, my pulse hammering. “Real? You’re saying those photos - ” The images flashed unbidden: Molly in seductive poses, Murphy half-naked in tactical gear, Andi wild and mid-shift, Justine fragile but fierce, Susan hauntingly familiar, Luccio commanding even in vulnerability. Each caught in raw, intimate moments—posed glamour shots and candid, explicit passion. Fingers, toys, showers, beds. It was an erotica avalanche, and every envelope was a bomb. “They actually sent them?”

Billy nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Seems your dream was... prescient, in a way. They’ve all got feelings for you, Harry. Deep ones. They didn’t plan it together or anything—no spell, no curse. Just... you being you.”

Georgia leaned forward, her voice soft but serious. “We talked to them. They’re all in this weird headspace, like they’ve been holding back forever and finally decided to act. We didn’t talk to Thomas or Marcone, so no clue if the guy part of your dream tracks. Yet.”

I gripped the mug so hard I thought it might crack. “You’re telling me every woman I know decided to send me those kinds of photos? What the hell is this? Some cosmic prank? Did I piss off a faerie who runs a supernatural OnlyFans?”

Billy snorted, but it was strained. “No prank. Just Chicago being Chicago. And you being... well, Harry Dresden.”

Georgia’s lips twitched into a grin, but her eyes were apologetic. “We shouldn’t have looked without asking you. That was wrong. But now that we know, what do you want to do? We can help. Shut it down, talk to them one-on-one, maybe date in turn to figure it out. Or, you know...” Her grin turned wicked, a playful glint in her eye. “Massive orgy.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Don’t even joke about that, Georgia. Knowing my luck, some trickster god up there’s already got it on their vision board, cackling in their sparkly penthouse.”

Billy laughed, but Georgia reached for my hand, her touch grounding. “Seriously, Harry. What do you want? We’re here for you, whatever you choose.”

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The photos were real. The feelings were real. Molly, with her fierce spark and nervous courage. Murphy, all fire and loyalty. Andi, wild and unapologetic. Justine, fragile but fierce. Susan, my past clawing back. Luccio, stern but vulnerable. And Lara, probably just tweaking my head for kicks, her photos dripping with predatory allure. My dream had been a warning, a glimpse of a world where everyone’s walls were down, and I was the center of it all. The Winter Mantle purred at the thought, but the rest of me? I was terrified. And maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice low. “I need to think. Talk to them, probably. One at a time. Starting with Molly; she’s the closest, and I owe her a conversation. But no orgies. And no more sneaking looks at my mail.”

Billy raised his hands in surrender. “Fair. We’re sorry, man. Won’t happen again.”

Georgia squeezed my hand. “We’ll help coordinate. Set up meetings, keep things chill. You focus on figuring out what you want, Harry.”

I nodded, my chest tight but a flicker of trust settling in. The dream still haunted me, and the stack of envelopes felt like a loaded gun. But with Billy and Georgia in my corner, maybe I could navigate this without torching my life. Or maybe I’d just end up with more pancakes and a bigger headache. Chicago’s weird like that.

Chapter Text

I pulled on my duster, the familiar weight settling over my shoulders like an old friend. Breakfast with Billy and Georgia had been a whirlwind of pancakes, confessions, and that lingering afterglow from our earlier tangle in the sheets. They'd dropped the bomb about the envelopes; Molly's bold vulnerability, Murphy's fierce tease, Andi's wild abandon, Justine's fragile heat, Susan's ghostly pull, Luccio's commanding edge, even Lara's predatory games.

My dream had been a twisted preview, prescient in the worst way, and now they were offering to play matchmaker in this alternate-reality mess. Shut it down, talk it out, date them in turn... or that orgy joke from Georgia that hit too close to home. My head was still spinning, the Winter Mantle purring low in my gut like it approved of the chaos.

I was about to head out, maybe track down Molly first since her envelope had kicked off this avalanche, when my fingers brushed something crisp in the inner pocket. Another envelope. Hell's bells. My pulse kicked up, expecting more of the same, another intimate confession from someone I'd fought beside, trusted, maybe even lusted after in quiet moments I wouldn't admit. But the handwriting froze me. Precise, almost severe, like it belonged on a stern note about propriety or faith.

Charity Carpenter. Charity. Michael's rock, the woman who'd built a family like a fortress, who'd eyed me like I was the devil incarnate more times than I could count. My stomach lurched, a cold sweat prickling my skin.

I hesitated, staring at it like it might bite. No way. Not her. But curiosity, or masochism, won out. I slit it open, and a small note slipped free, in Michael's solid, reassuring script:

Harry, I know this is unexpected. Charity wanted you to have these. If you have questions, I’m here to talk. – Michael.

Questions? Stars and stones, that was the understatement of the century. Michael knew? Approved? My mind reeled, picturing the knight of the Cross handing this over with his usual calm faith, like it was just another divine test.

Then the photos. My hands trembled as I flipped through them, each one a gut-punch that left me breathless and reeling harder than any of the others. Charity, captured in ways that shattered every image I'd held of her, but these were graphic, pushing boundaries I didn't know existed in her world. One showed her in a simple white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to hint at the curves beneath, her blonde hair cascading loose, eyes burning with a quiet intensity that spoke of depths I'd never imagined. Another was her bare in soft light, body strong and soft in equal measure, motherhood's grace mixed with a raw, unspoken hunger.

But the rest... God help me.

Charity in the throes, her hands mapping her own skin with a devotion that felt almost sacred, but taken to extremes. Slow, reverent touches escalating to her using toys that looked straight out of a forbidden catalog, positions that twisted her body in ecstatic contortions, close-ups that left nothing to the imagination; fluids glistening, expressions of unbridled release, a small cross necklace dangling between her breasts like a talisman amid the frenzy. It was intimate, vulnerable, fierce, everything Charity was, stripped bare and amplified to shocking levels that made the other envelopes seem tame by comparison.

I choked on nothing, shoving them back into the envelope like they were cursed artifacts. "No fucking way," I whispered, my voice hoarse, my face burning hotter than hellfire. This wasn't just weird—it was profane, a line crossed into territory I didn't belong in, and the explicitness hit like a freight train. Charity? The woman who'd swung a hammer at threats to her family, now sending this? And Michael offering a chat like it was coffee and confessions? My dream flashed back and this felt like the punchline, the universe laughing at my expense, but dialed up to eleven.

Georgia must've caught my expression from across the room, her brow furrowing as she dried a plate. "Harry? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I couldn't form words, my throat tight. Billy paused too, glancing over with that easy concern. I just thrust the envelope at Georgia, my hand unsteady. "Here. Take it. I... I can't."

She took it, eyes widening at the script, then at the note peeking out. "Charity Carpenter? Michael's Charity? And he...?"

"Yeah," I rasped, slumping against the doorframe. "Flip through if you want. But warn me if the world's ending." Billy leaned in, his whistle low as Georgia scanned the contents, her cheeks flushing. But their reactions... they weren't as floored as they'd been with the others. No wide-eyed shock like when they'd confessed to snooping on Molly's or Murphy's. Instead, a flicker of recognition, almost like they'd half-expected it, their surprise muted to something quieter, more resigned.

Still, Georgia's lips pressed thin, and Billy rubbed his neck, concern etching their faces; not at the content, but at the slip-up. "Damn," Billy muttered, glancing at Georgia. "We missed this one. Should've caught it like the others, kept it from hitting you raw."

Georgia nodded, setting the envelope down carefully. "Yeah, sorry, Harry. We talked to the rest, but this... it slipped through. We're concerned we didn't intercept it first. We could've softened the blow, like with the rest."

I stared at them, piecing it together. "You two aren't as shocked as you were about the others. Why? This is Charity. With Michael signing off. And these are... intense. Way more than the rest."

They exchanged a look, Georgia's smile wry. "We've seen a lot in the pack, Harry. People surprise you. But yeah, we should've had your back on this one too."

The stack of envelopes on the table felt heavier now, this one the crown jewel of awkwardness. Molly's dinner invite suddenly seemed tame. What next? A postcard from Mab? A set of Chinese etchings from Ancient Mai? A Victorian photobook from Mavra?!  I rubbed my temples, the Winter Mantle stirring with dark amusement I didn't share.

Chicago's weird, but this? This was a holy mess, and I was smack in the middle, questions piling up like unpaid bills.

Chapter Text

I trudged through Chicago’s icy streets, my duster flapping like a tattered flag. The weight of Charity Carpenter’s envelope burned a hole in my pocket. Her photos were raw and vivid, shattering every notion I had of her, leaving my head spinning. Michael’s calm note, suggesting a chat like it was an ordinary day, twisted the knife deeper.  Billy and Georgia’s sheepish admission that they missed intercepting it didn’t help. The Winter Mantle purred, dark and smug, as I fought to shove it down.

I headed for my office, desperate for clarity before Molly’s dinner invite.

My office was my sanctuary, a cluttered mess of controlled chaos. Stacks of yellowed case files teetered on the desk, threatening to topple. A chipped coffee mug held pens that didn’t work, and an ancient coffee maker hissed in the corner. Dusty tomes on magic lined the shelves, their spines cracked from years of use. A faded rug hid scorch marks from old spells. The wards hummed in the walls, a low buzz of protection that usually calmed me. Not today.

I pushed the door open, and my stomach plummeted. Charity Carpenter leaned against my desk, her presence a storm front in the cramped space. She wore a thin white dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, with no jacket, no scarf, and no underwear. The fabric hugged her body, outlining every line and swell, echoing those photos too vividly. Her blonde hair spilled loose, framing her face. Her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and raw, hungry desire. Her breath hitched, cheeks flushed, and her fingers twitched at her sides.

“Harry,” she said, her voice low and thick with a tremor that hit me like a spell. “We need to talk.”

I froze, my hand glued to the doorknob, the envelope scorching my pocket. “Charity,” I croaked, my throat drier than the Sahara. “What the hell are you doing here?”

My eyes betrayed me, flicking to the dress, noting how it clung to her hips and breasts, before snapping back to her face. The Winter Mantle growled, urging me to drink in her curves, but I gripped the knob harder. This was Michael’s wife, mother of seven, the woman who once vowed to carve me up for endangering her kids.

She straightened, her fingers brushing her neckline, her breath quickening. A flush spread down her neck.

Then she tore the dress.

The fabric ripped with a soft, deliberate sound, falling to the rug like a shed skin, leaving her bare. Her body was strength and softness, curves carved by years of wielding a hammer and raising a family, every inch radiating heat. Those photos, showing her in reverent ecstasy, wild and unashamed with toys and angles I couldn’t unsee, and that cross necklace glinting, were pale compared to this. Her skin glowed, her chest rising with shallow, eager breaths, her eyes dark with want, pupils blown wide

. I thought, Gonna have to lend her my coat after this. The Mantle roared, and I nearly crushed the doorknob.

“Charity,” I rasped, my voice barely working. “This is insane. You’re married. Michael, his note—”

She moved, fluid and fast, closing the gap. Her lips crashed into mine, the kiss a fire of fierce, desperate longing. Her nails dug into my shoulders, her body trembling with arousal, her tongue teasing mine with a hunger that made my head spin. Lavender and salt flooded my senses. Her breasts pressed against my chest, her hips grinding subtly, heat radiating from her core.

The photos burned in my mind, her uninhibited, that necklace glinting, and now she was here, real. Her moans vibrated against my lips, her fingers tugging my duster off, then my shirt, urgent and sure. The desk creaked as she pushed me against it, her thigh sliding between mine. I felt myself harden, the air thick with her gasps and the scent of her arousal.

“Charity, wait,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my hands still on her hips, her skin scorching under my fingers. “We can’t. Molly’s dinner, Murphy, Andi, the others. My dream’s coming true, and I’m drowning. I need to talk to Michael. To you. Not like this.”

She paused, her breath ragged, her body still pressed close, eyes wild with need but softening with a radiant smile, like sunlight through stained glass. “Harry,” she said, her voice low, flushed with desire but steady. “I know about them. Molly, Karrin, Andi, Justine, Susan, Luccio. They’re caught in you, like me. Hearing how you fight for everyone, how you carry their weight, it makes me want you more.” Her fingers brushed my chest, her touch electric, her body trembling with barely-contained passion.

I blinked, my brain scrambling. “Want me? Charity, what—”

“To show you,” she cut in, stepping closer, her bare skin brushing mine, her voice husky. “You’re worth it, Harry. For all you’ve done for my family. Those photos were me, showing what I’ve hidden. You deserve this. Us.” Her hands traced my collarbone, deliberate, her breath hitching, her body practically vibrating with need.

The Mantle howled, urging me to give in. I kissed her back, hard, my hands roaming her curves, her moans fueling the fire. Papers scattered as she climbed onto me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her cross necklace cool against my chest. Our bodies moved, slick and urgent, her arousal evident in every shudder, every gasp. But my brain clawed through the haze. I pulled back, panting, her eyes locked on mine, wild but warm.

“Charity, I can’t,” I said, my voice rough. “Not yet. Molly, Michael, this dream, it’s too much. But…” I softened, Michael’s note echoing in my head. Her faith in me, her raw honesty, cracked my walls. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can let you in. I need time.”

She nodded, her smile gentle, stepping back. Her nakedness was vulnerable, though her flush lingered, her breath still quick. “I understand,” she said, her voice firm despite a tremor. “I pushed too hard. But I meant it. Michael and I, we’re here when you’re ready.” She paused, her eyes warm. “And Harry? This office is your space. I respect that. You’re holding onto order in this chaos. I’ll return your duster fast. I know it’s your armor.”

I grabbed my duster from the floor and draped it over her. The fabric swallowed her frame, hiding the curves that still burned in my mind. “Take it,” I muttered, my heart heavy with guilt and longing. “Get home safe.”

She smiled, that cathedral glow, and left. I collapsed into my chair, staring at the cluttered mess: spilled files, a toppled mug, wards humming faintly. The Mantle buzzed, but Charity’s words lingered, her faith sinking in. Molly’s dinner, Michael’s talk, the envelopes, my dream, this holy inferno was consuming me, but maybe I could let her in. A little.

Chapter Text

I slogged through Chicago’s chilly streets, my spare coat, a beat-up leather jacket I kept in the office for emergencies, feeling wrong on my shoulders without the familiar weight of my duster.

That duster was currently draped over Charity Carpenter, who’d left my office with it after tearing her dress to shreds in a moment that still had my head spinning. Her confrontation had been a wildfire, ripping that thin white dress down the middle, her bare body pressing against me, that searing kiss, her warm smile as she spoke of the other women and her fierce determination to show me I was worth it. Gratitude, love, and hell’s bells, raw passion, all laid bare.  And Michael - Michael - was apparently fine with it, his note calm as ever, offering a talk like it was about carpentry, not his wife’s explicit photos and near-seduction of me on my desk. She’d agreed to hold off, thank God, but her parting words echoed: she was serious, and she wasn’t alone. 

The other envelopes piled up in my mind, a chaotic mess my dream had warned me about. Boundaries dissolved, everyone too close, and the Winter Mantle purred, loving every second.

I needed a drink, a moment to think, so I headed to one of Gentleman Johnny Marcone’s “businesses," a sleek, high-end club, all polished veneer over calculated power. Marcone’s standing order was clear: treat Harry Dresden like a VIP, give him anything he wants. Insurance against me torching his empire.

Fine by me. Molly’s dinner loomed, but first, I needed to breathe.

Marcone, mercifully, wasn’t there. His sharp suits and sharper eyes would’ve been too much after Charity’s... everything. The bouncer, a slab of muscle in a tailored jacket, nodded me through like I was royalty. “Mr. Dresden,” he rumbled, waving me past the velvet rope. Inside, the club pulsed with low lights, plush booths, and the hum of money changing hands, legal or not, I didn’t care.

A waitress in a sleek black dress slid a whiskey into my hand before I sat down. I muttered thanks and aimed for a corner booth, hoping to vanish into the shadows. No dice.

Before I could take a second sip, a figure slid into the booth across from me. Sigrun Gard, Marcone’s Valkyrie security chief, all blonde braids, lean muscle, and eyes like a storm over the North Sea. She wore her usual tailored suit, but her presence hit like a warhammer, radiating warrior energy. Gard worked for Monoc Securities, answering to Vadderung, Odin himself, and we’d fought side by side enough for me to trust her steel. But today, her gaze softened, almost affectionate, as she leaned forward, her hand brushing mine in a way that wasn’t just professional. The Winter Mantle stirred, sensing something new, and my gut twisted.

“Dresden,” she said, her voice low, that faint Scandinavian lilt warm with familiarity. “You look like a man lost in a saga not his own.”

I snorted, sipping the whiskey, its burn grounding me. “Lost is an understatement, Gard. Things have been... weird. Envelopes keep showing up - photos from Molly, Murphy, Andi, others. And Charity? She just ambushed me in my office, tore her dress off, nearly had me on the desk. Said she’s grateful, in love, passionate, and Michael’s fine with it. I’m wearing a spare coat because she’s got my duster to get home. I’m half-convinced I’m stuck in a faerie’s fever dream.”

Gard studied me, her storm-blue eyes narrowing, not in judgment but in understanding. She tilted her head, braids shifting, and a faint smile curved her lips. “Will and Georgia,” she said, almost to herself. “They’re trying to ease you into it. Your injury must have been worse than we thought.”

I froze, glass halfway to my mouth. “Injury? What are you talking about?”

She leaned back, her gaze steady, like she was explaining battle tactics. “The dimensional fracture, months ago. It scrambled your memory, Dresden. You’ve been... entangled with many of us for some time. Molly, Karrin, Andi, Justine, Susan, Luccio, Charity, even I. We’ve all spoken, shared our feelings over months. Photos, for most. Electronic albums for them, since they use phones. For you, envelopes, because you fry electronics like a curse.” She paused, her smile wry. “I chose keepsakes instead. More fitting for a warrior like you.”

My jaw dropped, the whiskey forgotten. “Entangled? You’re saying this is... normal? That I’ve been, what, swapping sexy photos with half of Chicago’s supernatural women and forgot?”

Gard’s smile softened, almost fond. “Not forgot, Dresden. Buried. Your mind took a hit, and Will and Georgia must be trying to bring you back gently. Check your wallet.”

I frowned, fishing my battered leather wallet from my jacket. Tucked behind a crumpled twenty was a photo—unmistakably erotic. Gard, bare, posed on a fur-lined bench, her body a mix of scars and strength, one hand resting suggestively on her thigh, eyes locked on the camera with a warrior’s intensity. My face burned, and I nearly dropped it. “What the -”

“You insisted,” Gard said, shrugging, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with amusement. “Said you wanted something to carry with you. I obliged.”

Before I could stammer a response, she slid around the booth, close enough that I felt her warmth. Her hand cupped my face, and she kissed me, slow, deliberate, not the fierce fire of Charity’s kiss but a steady burn, like a hearth after a long battle. Her lips were soft, her breath cool, and the Winter Mantle hummed, urging me closer. But she pulled back, her eyes searching mine, and shook her head.

“I won’t force this, Dresden,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “Not when your memory’s clouded. You might get upset, and I respect you too much for that. You’re a worthy battle brother, a commander I’d follow to Hel and back. But I hope you recover soon.” Her smile turned sharp, a glint of hunger in it. “I don’t want to wait long.”

I exhaled, shaky, clutching the photo. “Gard, I... I don’t know what to say. This is a lot. Charity, Molly’s dinner, the others, and now you’re telling me this is all normal? I need to talk to Michael, maybe Vadderung, figure out what’s going on.”

She nodded, standing, her suit impeccable despite the intimacy of the moment. “Go to your dinner. Face the others. You’re strong enough for this, Dresden. And when you’re fully back, come find me.” She handed me my whiskey glass, her fingers brushing mine. “I’ll be waiting.”

I watched her go, her braids swaying, the photo burning a hole in my wallet. The club’s hum faded back in, but my head was louder; Charity’s torn dress, Molly’s invite, the other women, my dream’s prophecy, and now Gard’s blunt honesty, all crashing together. She wasn’t skulking, wasn’t hiding, and that made it real in a way the others hadn’t. Refusing her felt like refusing a blood debt, and I wasn’t dumb enough to snub a Valkyrie.

I needed to talk to Molly, then Michael, maybe dig into this “injury” Gard mentioned. This was a saga I wasn’t sure I was ready to star in, but I might need to find my script in a hurry.

Chapter Text

Chicago’s evening chill bit at my skin. The spare leather jacket hung wrong, too light without the duster’s familiar weight. The city pulsed around me. My head churned with Gard’s cryptic words, Charity’s searing kiss, and those damn envelopes piling up like a curse.

Molly’s workplace loomed ahead, a slick graphic design firm crammed into a converted warehouse. She freelanced there, paying the bills with mundane gigs when she wasn’t tangled in Winter Court schemes. I shoved through the glass doors. The receptionist barely glanced up as I muttered my name and headed for Molly’s office.

Her door stood ajar. Molly hunched over a tablet, stylus dancing, blonde hair spilling from a messy bun. She wore a tight black sweater and jeans, more like the college kid I’d trained than the Winter Lady. Her eyes flicked up, and a spark ignited in them,, like she’d been waiting for me to slide back into her bed after months gone. She dropped the stylus, crossed the room in three quick strides, and flung her arms around me. Her body pressed close, lips brushing my cheek with a heat that woke the Winter Mantle, its low growl stirring in my gut.

“Harry,” she purred, voice low and playful, dripping with familiarity. Her fingers lingered on my chest, tracing lines like she’d memorized every scar. I froze, struggling to square this Molly with the one I’d mentored.

“Molls,” I said, stepping back. “Good to see you, but I just came to talk. Maybe grab dinner? Catch up?”

Her smile widened, all mischief and heat, like we’d been flirting over coffee yesterday. “Dinner? Hell yeah, Harry. I’ve got a standing spot at La Scarola. Seven sharp, don’t flake.” She winked, sauntering back to her desk, hips swaying with a deliberate tease. “See you there, big guy.”

I blinked, nodded, and stumbled out. My head spun. Standing reservations? That flirty ease? This wasn’t the Molly I knew. Or was it? Gard’s talk of a memory-scrambling injury chewed at me as I headed for the restaurant.

La Scarola was old-school Chicago, all dim lights and red checkered tablecloths, the kind of joint where deals got made over wine and pasta. I showed up at seven, still in my spare jacket, feeling like a stray dog in a penthouse. Molly waited in a corner booth, a deep green dress clinging to her curves, making her look like she’d stepped out of a faerie tale. She waved me over, her smile bright but sharp, like she knew something I didn’t.

I slid into the booth, awkward as a kid at prom. “Molls, this place is swanky. You sure about those standing reservations?”

She laughed, leaning forward, fingers grazing mine across the table. “Harry, chill. I’ve had this spot locked down forever. Perks of being me.” Her eyes flicked to my jacket, then back to my face, a smirk curling her lips. “No duster tonight?”

I grimaced, rubbing my neck. “Yeah, Charity’s got it. Things got weird at the office. And speaking of weird, those photos you sent. Gard mentioned them, said they’re part of some ongoing deal. Care to clue me in?”

Her smirk grew, and she sipped her wine, eyes glinting like polished steel. “Oh, Harry. Gard ratted me out, huh? Yeah, the photos are real. You loved them, kept begging for ‘keepsakes’ to remember me by.” She leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I’ve got our photos too, you know. The ones we took together. Pretty damn hot, if I say so.”

I choked on my water, face burning like I’d walked into a furnace. “Our photos? Molly, when did this happen? I’m coming up blank.”

Her smile softened, concern flickering in her eyes. “Harry, I thought we were past this. That fracture screwed with your head, but I figured you’d be back by now.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a small bottle of vitamin supplements and a packet labeled Ginkgo Biloba. “No magic, I swear. Just stuff to help your brain. You’ve been foggy since the injury, but we’re all trying to bring you back.”

I stared at the pills, my gut twisting. “No magic, Molls. And I’m not popping random pills either.”

She rolled her eyes, sliding them toward me. “Just supplements, Harry. No faerie bullshit. Take them or don’t, but I’m not giving up on you.” Her voice softened, and she squeezed my hand. “We’ve missed you.”

Dinner blurred by, pasta and Molly’s easy chatter washing over me, her leg brushing mine under the table like it was second nature. I was still reeling when we stepped outside, the night air a cold slap against my flushed skin. We’d barely walked a block when Karrin Murphy rounded the corner, all five feet of her, blonde hair tucked under a cap, leather jacket screaming no-nonsense. But her face lit up when she saw me. She closed the distance fast, grabbed my collar, and kissed me hard, right in front of Molly. The kiss was fierce, hungry, like we’d been apart for years. The Winter Mantle roared, and her warm anticipation, the spark in her blue eyes, hit me like a shot of whiskey, stirring something deeper than I could name.

“Harry,” she said, pulling back, eyes gleaming. “Damn, you look good.”

I gaped, brain fritzing. “Murph? Uh, hi?” I glanced at Molly, who just grinned, unfazed.

“Harry’s still recovering,” Molly said, her tone light but protective. “Memory’s patchy.”

Murphy’s face softened, slipping into the practical, sensible Karrin I knew. “Got it. The fracture. Alright, Dresden, let’s take it slow.” Her voice turned crisp, like she was briefing me on a bust. “You’re still you, just missing some pieces. We’ll sort it out.”

Before I could argue, Murphy hooked her arm through mine, nodding to Molly. “Drinks at my place? All three of us. Harry, you’re not wandering off alone like this.”

I sputtered. “Murph, I’m crashing with the Bordens. Will and Georgia are helping me out. I don’t need—”

Molly cut in, her voice warm but firm. “The Bordens have done solid work getting you this far, Harry. Will called me. They’d be stoked to hear you’re making progress with us.” She smirked, stepping closer, her hand grazing my arm. “Recovery’s a group effort.”

My jaw worked, no words coming. Both women stood close, their touches familiar yet jarring, Molly’s softness blending with Murphy’s hard-edged warmth. It overwhelmed me, but their affection felt real, not forced, and that scared me more than any spell.

“Look,” I said, finding my voice. “I had dinner with Molly. I’d like to see how that goes. No offense, Murph.”

They exchanged a glance, then smiled. Murphy chuckled, clapping my shoulder. “Good call, Dresden. You two take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”

Molly’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Karrin. That couch is tiny. Just the two of us for now.” She shot Murphy a teasing look. “You can join later.”

Murphy snorted, leading the way to her place. “Fine, but don’t hog him all night.”

Murphy’s apartment was small, cozy, all practical Karrin vibes: sturdy furniture, a few framed photos, no fluff. We settled with drinks—whiskey for me, wine for them. I sank onto the couch, Molly tucked against my side, her warmth a distraction, while Murphy sprawled in an armchair, watching us with a fond smirk that hinted at something deeper, like she was biding her time.

Molly sipped her wine, set it down, and turned to me. Her voice shifted, practical, almost like Murphy’s. “Harry, listen up. This isn’t a harem. It’s not about owning you, or us. It’s about support, love, and what we owe each other after all we’ve been through. You’ve saved Chicago, saved us, more times than I can count. Leaving you emotionally starved, open to some enemy exploiting that? Not happening. We’re smarter than that.”

I nodded. The logic snapped into place, cold and clear. Protect the wizard, keep him grounded, don’t let him be a weak link. But Molly’s shining eyes, the relief and enthusiasm as she leaned closer, her hands sliding up my arms, told me there was more. Something raw, something I hadn’t grasped. Murphy’s hungry kiss, her warm anticipation, echoed it. This wasn’t just strategy. It was personal, visceral, and I was still missing the full story.

Molly’s hands moved with purpose, fingers kneading my shoulders in a firm, possessive massage that sent heat through my muscles. The Winter Mantle growled, urging me closer, and I tensed, every muscle locked as I fought its predatory edge. My heart pounded, sweat beading on my neck.

Molly paused, her eyes softening like she sensed the war inside me. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, her lips cool and steady. The Mantle went quiet, a beast tamed by a familiar touch.

I exhaled, my body unclenching, and realized how hard I’d been fighting it. Warmth spread through me, my hands finding her waist, responding to her in a way that felt right, like my body knew something my mind didn’t. Maybe there was truth to this memory fracture talk.

She grinned, catching the shift, and grabbed my shirt, yanking it over my head with a gleeful laugh, her movements quick and eager, like she’d done this a hundred times.

I froze, panic spiking, my eyes darting to Murphy. Karrin leaned back, sipping her wine, her face calm but with a knowing nod, like this was all part of the script. It steadied me, even as my pulse raced. The Winter Mantle hummed, reveling in Molly’s touch.

“Molls, hold up,” I stammered, shirtless and flustered, but she just grinned, her hands tracing my chest, soothing and electric.

“Relax, Harry,” she purred, voice thick with relief and excitement. “We’ve got this.”

She stood, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward Murphy’s bedroom, her steps sure as she wove past the worn armchair, the low dresser, the creaky floorboard by the bed, like she’d mapped this place in her sleep. The familiarity unnerved me, my head spinning.

I glanced back at Murphy, still half-panicked. She raised her glass, eyes warm and reassuring, that knowing look anchoring me. “Go on, Dresden,” she said softly. “You’re in good hands.”

Molly hauled me into the bedroom, shutting the door. Her hands were back, massaging my shoulders, my back, fingers digging in with perfect pressure, melting tension I hadn’t clocked.

She pushed me onto the bed, her movements smooth, practiced. I barely caught my breath before she was on me, lips crashing into mine with a hunger that screamed she’d been waiting too long. She guided me with a confidence that felt like muscle memory, her hands steering mine to her hips, the small of her back, the sensitive curve of her neck. “Right there, Harry,” she whispered, voice a mix of command and need, her hips setting a rhythm that was steady, like we’d danced this dance before. She urged me to press harder, slower, then faster, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. Her breath hitched, body arching as she guided me to the spots that made her shudder, her soft moans filling the room. She kept me going, holding me in a rhythm that balanced us both, drawing out her release while stoking mine. Her thighs tightened, her nails grazed my back, and she gasped, her enthusiasm pulling me along until I followed, the room shrinking to just us, sweat-slick and breathless.

We collapsed, tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest, her breathing slow and content.

Her practical tone returned as she traced circles on my skin, filling in gaps; how we’d grown close, how the others had too, bound by battles and trust. It was a network of loyalty, affection, and logic to keep me strong.

I nodded, following her words, but her fervor, the way she’d navigated Murphy’s apartment like her own, the precise rhythm she’d guided me through, and Murphy’s warm, knowing look, they hinted at depths I hadn’t plumbed. There was more to this, and I was barely scraping the surface.

Chapter Text

The bedroom air hung heavy with the scent of Molly’s lavender perfume and the faint tang of sweat. I lay there, heart still thumping, Molly’s head nestled against my chest like she’d claimed her spot years ago. Her fingers traced lazy spirals on my skin, each touch a reminder of the rhythm we’d just danced, one she clearly knew by heart, even if my brain was still playing catch-up. The Winter Mantle purred, sated but smug, like a cat that’d just knocked over a vase and gotten away with it.

Molly propped herself up on one elbow, her blonde hair a glorious mess, and grinned like she’d won a bet. “You’re looking less like a deer in headlights, Harry. Progress.” Her voice was teasing, but her eyes held that same warm relief, like she’d been hauling me back from the edge of something for months.

I scrubbed a hand through my hair, still processing. “Yeah, well, you make it hard to stay freaked out, Molls. But seriously, we’ve got to—” I gestured vaguely at the door, where Murphy waited. “—figure out what’s next. I’m not exactly used to... this.”

She laughed, low and throaty, and slid off the bed, tossing me my shirt. “Chill, big guy. We’re not done, but we’re not animals either. Let’s clean up and talk to Karrin. She’s probably out there plotting how to steal you back.”

I snorted, pulling the shirt on, the fabric sticking slightly to my still-damp skin. “Steal me? I’m not a pizza slice, Molls.”

She smirked, adjusting her dress with a shimmy that was entirely too distracting. “Oh, Harry. You’re way tastier than pizza.” She winked, then sauntered to the door, leaving me to follow like a dazed puppy.

We stepped into the living room, where Murphy was sprawled on her couch, one leg slung over the armrest, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just heard us rattling her bedframe. Her blonde hair caught the lamplight, and her smirk was pure Karrin—equal parts mischief and steel. “You two look like you had fun,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Hope you left some energy for the rest of us, Dresden.”

I froze, my face heating up like a furnace. “Murph, I—uh—” Words failed me, which was just as well, because Molly plopped onto the couch next to her, completely at ease, and patted the spot beside her.

“Sit, Harry,” Molly said, her tone mock-commanding. “Karrin’s got stories to tell, and you’re gonna want to hear this.”

I sank onto the couch, wedged between Molly’s warmth and the faint scent of Murphy’s leather jacket. My brain was still doing mental gymnastics, trying to reconcile the two women who seemed way too comfortable with... whatever this was. “Alright,” I said, rubbing my neck. “Lay it on me. How’d we end up here? Because I’m still drawing a blank.”

Murphy set her glass down, leaning forward, her blue eyes glinting with a mix of fondness and amusement. “Okay, Dresden, here’s the short version. You’ve been a walking disaster for years, saving our asses and Chicago’s, but you’re crap at taking care of yourself. After the fracture messed with your head, we—me, Molly, Charity, and a couple others—started piecing you back together. Somewhere along the line, things got... personal.” She grinned, a flash of teeth that was equal parts predator and play. “Turns out, you’re not half-bad at the personal stuff when you stop overthinking it.”

Molly chimed in, her hand resting casually on my knee. “We each found our way to you, Harry. For me, it was late nights training, then late nights... not training.” She smirked, her fingers giving my knee a squeeze. “Charity? She was all fire and faith, patching you up after a fight, then kissing you senseless when you wouldn’t shut up about her cooking. And Karrin—” She glanced at Murphy, her grin widening. “Well, she’s been climbing you like a tree since you two started bickering like an old married couple.”

I blinked, my brain stuttering. “Climbing me like a - Murph, you told her that?”

Murphy laughed, a full, bright sound that cut through my embarrassment. “Hell yeah, I did. You’re tall, Harry. Makes you prime real estate.” Her eyes softened, though, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping. “When we found out about each other, we were surprised, sure. But there was no jealousy, no catfights. Just... warmth. For you, for each other. We’ve all been through too much to play petty games. You’re ours, and we’re yours, and it works.”

I stared at her, then at Molly, who nodded like this was the most obvious thing in the world. My chest tightened, not with panic but with something heavier, warmer. “So you’re all just... okay with this? No fights, no drama?”

Molly snorted, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Harry, we’re not idiots. You’re a lot to handle. Takes a village.” She paused, then added with a wicked grin, “A very talented village.”

Murphy stood, setting her wineglass down with a deliberate clink. Her no-nonsense exterior cracked just enough to let a spark of excitement slip through, her eyes locked on me like I was the only thing in the room. “Alright, enough chit-chat. My turn?” Her voice was light, but there was a hungry edge to it, a woman eager to reclaim her guy, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

I opened my mouth to protest out of habit, mostly, but she was already moving, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with a strength that belied her size. “Come on, Dresden,” she said, her grin downright feral. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Molly laughed, waving us off like a proud wingman. “Go get him, Karrin. I’ll be here, guarding the wine.”

Murphy didn’t waste time. She led me back to the bedroom with a purposeful stride, her grip on my hand firm but trembling just enough to betray her excitement. The door clicked shut, and she turned, her practical, no-bullshit demeanor melting into something raw and eager. She shoved me against the bed, her hands already tugging at my shirt, and I let her, my body catching up faster than my brain.

“Murph,” I managed, half-laughing as she pushed me down, the mattress creaking under my weight. “You’re not messing around, are you?”

“Not tonight,” she said, climbing onto the bed and straddling me, her hands splayed across my chest. Her eyes sparkled, a mix of joy and heat, like she was rediscovering something she’d missed for too long. “This is fun, sure, but it's mainly us. I’ve missed you.”

Her words hit harder than her touch, and I felt the Winter Mantle quiet, giving way to something deeper. This was reunion, a coming-home after too long apart. Her fingers explored my skin, tracing scars and muscles with a familiarity that made my breath catch. She leaned down, her lips brushing mine, then moving to my jaw, my neck, each kiss deliberate, like she was mapping me out all over again.

“Go on,” she murmured, her voice a husky invitation as she guided my hands to her hips, her thighs. “Explore, Dresden. I’m not fragile.”

I didn’t need more encouragement. My hands roamed, finding the curve of her waist, the strength in her shoulders, the soft skin at the small of her back that made her shiver. She moved with me, setting a rhythm that was all Karrin; fierce, focused, but laced with a playful joy that made my heart ache. She was climbing me like a tree and claiming every inch, her laughter mixing with soft gasps as we found our pace.

“God, Harry,” she breathed, her nails digging into my shoulders as she pressed closer, her body urging me on. “You’re still too damn tall.”

I chuckled, pulling her tighter, letting her guide us until the world narrowed to her warmth, her scent, the way she moved like she’d never let me go. When we finally collapsed, breathless and tangled, her head tucked under my chin, I realized this was about trust, and need, and about being hers again, and her being mine.

She propped herself up, her grin lazy but satisfied. “Not bad, Dresden. You’re getting the hang of this.”

I snorted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, well, you make it easy, Murph.”

She laughed, settling back against me, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “Good. Because we’re not done yet. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Outside, Chicago’s evening chill waited, but in here, with Karrin’s warmth and Molly’s laughter echoing from the living room, I felt something click into place. Maybe I was still missing pieces, but these women were helping me find them. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to let them.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since Molly and Karrin turned my life into a steamy romance novel with extra magic and zero chill. I was back to my usual grind—bills, spell diagrams, and the occasional demon-banishing gig, trying to pretend I wasn’t the center of a love-fest that would make a soap opera blush. My basement apartment was a mess of papers and candle stubs, the morning light sneaking through cracked boards like it was embarrassed to be here. I was hunched over a hex ward, muttering curses under my breath, when Bob, my wiseass skull-bound spirit, decided to stir the pot.

“Well, well, Harry,” Bob drawled, his eye sockets flaring like twin disco balls. “You’re basically Chicago’s magical Casanova now. Got a harem that’d make a sultan jealous. How’s it feel to be drowning in love, boss?”

I chucked a paperweight at him, missing spectacularly. “It’s not a harem, Bob. And can we not? I’m trying to avoid setting my desk on fire here.”

“Oh, come on,” Bob said, his voice dripping with glee. “You’ve got Molly, Karrin, Charity, Will, Georgia, the whole gang’s smitten. It’s like you’re starring in Love Potion No. 9: The Dresden Files. Spill the beans—how’s this steamy polycule holding up?”

I groaned, rubbing my face. “It’s… weirdly okay. They’re all happy, no one’s throwing punches, and I’m just trying to keep up without losing my mind. Molly says it’s about trust, Karrin calls it a team sport, and the others just… fit. I don’t get it, but it’s working.”

Bob’s lights danced like he was auditioning for a Vegas show. “Working? Harry, you’re living every guy’s fantasy! Molly’s all ‘sexy apprentice,’ Karrin’s your tough-as-nails soulmate, Charity’s the fiery mom with a heart of gold, and the werewolves are basically your kinky cheer squad. You’re the stud in a romance novel, complete with windblown hair and a brooding stare.”

“Shut it,” I snapped, but a grin slipped out. “They’re not like that. They’re just… into it. Into me. And each other, I guess. It’s less Fabio and more… I dunno, found family with benefits.”

The phone rang before Bob could sling another quip. Molly’s voice purred through, all sunshine and sin. “Harry, you still in one piece? Not buried under a pile of spellbooks?”

“Barely,” I said, leaning back. “What’s up, Molls?”

“Just craving you,” she teased, her voice like honey. “Karrin’s swinging by later with pizza and a salad - gotta watch your figure -  and I’m bringing dessert, whipped cream and all.” The innuendo hit like a fireball, and I choked on my own spit.

“Uh, yeah, dessert,” I managed, face burning as Bob cackled. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Molly’s laugh was pure mischief. “Worth it. See you tonight, stud.” She hung up, leaving me flustered and Bob in hysterics.

Not long after, Will and Georgia strolled in, looking like they’d wandered off a hiking catalog cover. Will tossed me a beer, and Georgia dumped a bag of burgers on the table. “Figured you needed fuel, Harry,” Will said with a grin. “All that… activity must be exhausting.”

Georgia smirked, sprawling on the couch. “Yeah, we heard about your little love nest. Gotta say, you’re giving romance novels a run for their money.”

I cracked the beer, shaking my head. “Not you two, too. Can we just eat and pretend I’m not the main character in a bodice-ripper?”

They laughed, and we spent an hour scarfing burgers, trading jabs, and ignoring Bob’s running commentary about my “throbbing wizard staff.” It was almost normal, and then a sharp knock at the door broke the vibe.

I opened it to find Anastasia Luccio, Warden Captain, standing there like she’d stepped out of a fantasy pinup. Her dark hair spilled over her youthful, body-swapped frame; thirty, curvy, and unfairly gorgeous in a tight sweater and jeans that hugged every curve. Her gray cloak screamed “Warden business,” and I braced for a mission briefing, clinging to the hope she’d be the voice of reason. Our fling had ended years ago, her call, all duty and “we can’t do this, Dresden.” Surely she’d keep it professional.

“Harry,” she said, her voice smooth as silk but with a dangerous edge. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, stepping aside, my gut telling me this was about rogue sorcerers or demon cults. “What’s the crisis? Hellspawn? Dark magic?”

She stepped inside, her eyes flicking over Will and Georgia (who waved like they were at a picnic) and Bob’s glowing skull before locking onto me. Then, to my utter shock, her lips curled into a sultry, romance-novel smirk that could’ve melted steel. “No crisis, Harry. I heard you’re back—really back. Mind sharp, heart open.” She sauntered closer, her hips swaying like she was auditioning for a rom-com seduction scene. “And I’ve missed you. Desperately.”

My jaw hit the floor. “Anastasia, wait—you broke it off. Council rules, conflict of interest, you were crystal clear—”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent heat racing through me. “Oh, Harry, I’m over two centuries old. Rules are for amateurs.” She closed the gap, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she owned me. “I’m not here as a Warden. I’m here as a woman who wants you. Now.”

Will coughed, grabbing the beers. “Uh, we’re out,” he said, dragging a giggling Georgia toward the door. Bob’s lights went full strobe. “Holy hell, boss, she’s hornier than the rest combined!” he crowed.

“Bob, shut it!” I barked, but Anastasia was already pulling me toward the couch, her eyes blazing with a hunger that made the Winter Mantle sit up and beg. Will and Georgia vanished, and Bob’s glow dimmed, though I caught his muttered, “Get it, Harry.”

Anastasia didn’t waste a second. She shoved me onto the couch, straddling me like a queen claiming her throne, her lips crashing into mine with a ferocity that left me dizzy. Her kiss was all fire and need, her tongue teasing mine as her hands ripped my shirt open, buttons flying like shrapnel. “I’ve waited too long,” she purred, her voice a velvet command. “You’re mine tonight, Dresden.”

“Anastasia,” I gasped, my brain scrambling as her fingers traced my chest, nails scraping just enough to make me groan. “The others - they’re - ”

“Thrilled,” she cut in, her lips grazing my jaw, then my neck, each kiss a spark that lit me up. “I talked to Molly, Karrin, all of them. They’re cheering us on, Harry. They know I’m here to claim what’s mine.” Her hands slid lower, tugging at my belt with a practiced ease that screamed experience.

She pulled me to the bedroom, her movements pure romance-novel cliché—sultry glances, a tossed sweater revealing creamy skin and curves that could start wars. The door slammed shut, and she pushed me onto the bed, her jeans hitting the floor in record time. Her body, that thirty-year-old masterpiece, was all taut muscle and soft curves, and her eyes promised no mercy.

“Stars and stones,” I muttered as she climbed over me, her dark hair a curtain around us. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ve had centuries to perfect this, Harry,” she whispered, her lips brushing my ear as she pinned my wrists above my head. “And I want you to feel every second of it.” Her voice was a husky command, and she didn’t hold back, telling me exactly what she craved—her words explicit, raw, and unapologetic. “Touch me here,” she murmured, guiding my hands to her hips, her thighs, her breath hitching as I obeyed. “Harder, Harry. I’m not glass.”

I didn’t need more encouragement. My hands roamed her body, fingers digging into her hips as she arched against me, her skin hot and silky under my touch. She moved with a rhythm that was all her—confident, demanding, her gasps and moans a symphony of want. She tugged my pants off, her hands bold and sure, and when she sank onto me, it was like the world exploded into heat and sensation. Her movements were deliberate, each roll of her hips a calculated strike that left me gasping, her nails raking my chest as she set a pace that was both torturous and divine.

“God, Harry,” she moaned, her voice breaking as she leaned down, her lips claiming mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. “You feel so good.” She guided my hands to her breasts, her instructions clear and wickedly precise—pinch here, stroke there—her body responding with shudders that drove me wild. The Winter Mantle roared, but this was Anastasia, centuries of passion distilled into a woman who rode me like she was staking a claim, her cries growing sharper as we pushed each other to the edge.

When we finally crashed over, it was a tangle of sweat and gasps, her body trembling against mine as we collapsed, breathless and spent. The air was thick with her sandalwood scent and the raw musk of us. She propped herself up, her hair a glorious mess, her grin pure romance-novel heroine—satisfied but ready for round two.

“Not bad, Dresden,” she purred, tracing a finger down my chest. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

I laughed, still reeling, my body humming with aftershocks. “Anastasia, you’re a damn hurricane. You sure about this? The others, I mean?”

She leaned in, her kiss soft but deliberate, her eyes locking onto mine. “Harry, I’ve lived long enough to know love’s a fire - to be shared. I’m in, with you, with them. It’s real, and I’m all in.”

I nodded, my heart pounding with something deeper than lust - ok, mostly lust. But something else, too. “Okay. I’m in, too.”

She smirked, pulling me close, her body already stirring against mine. “Good. Because I’ve got a few more centuries’ worth of tricks to show you.”

Chapter Text

Anastasia’s visit had left my basement apartment a wreck—spell diagrams scattered like love notes, candle stubs melted into waxy pools. Days later, I was still reeling, scratching at a warding rune while my mind burned with memories of Molly, Karrin, Charity, Will, Georgia, and now Anastasia. My life had spiraled from demon-busting to a steamy romance saga, and I was barely keeping up.

Bob, my skull-bound spirit, was having a field day. His eye sockets flared like twin infernos, grinning wickedly. “Hell, Harry,” he drawled, voice dripping mischief, “you’re the king of Chicago’s hottest polycule. Whole damn crew ready to jump you. Got a roster yet, stud?”

I chucked a pencil, missing his ghostly form. “Not a polycule, Bob. And it’s not a harem. Let me work, damn it.”

“Work?” Bob’s lights danced. “You’re drowning in lovers, and you’re acting like it’s just paperwork. Spill. How’s the schedule? Got a planner for all these horny heroes?”

I rubbed my temples, groaning. “No schedule. It’s just… happening. They’re all cool with it; no fights, no jealousy. It’s weird, but it works. Like they’ve got some secret deal.”

Bob leaned closer, voice low and sly. “You think this just happened? A polycule this smooth runs on organization, not luck.” He chuckled, dark and knowing. “I’ve been holding out, Harry, but it’s time you knew.”

I froze, quill hovering. “Knew what?”

“I’ve got a schedule,” Bob said, his tone sharp despite the twinkling lights. “A relationship spreadsheet—names, kinks, availability. Been tracking this love-fest since it started. Didn’t tell you ‘cause I thought you’d crack after Molly and Karrin’s tag-team. But you’re holding up, so here’s the truth: it’s organized, Harry. A well-oiled machine.”

My jaw dropped. “A spreadsheet? Bob, I can’t use a toaster without sparking, and you’re running a love database?”

“I’m a spirit of intellect,” he said, smug as hell. “It’s all up here.” He tapped his skull. “Molly’s got nights, Karrin’s got mornings, Anastasia’s got weekends. The werewolves are flexible. Charity loves midweek, Bordens are the backbone. It’s a system.”

I stared, brain spinning. “You’re orchestrating this? Like a magical pimp?”

“Just the record-keeper,” Bob said. “They set it up. And it’s a harem.” He shifted to a perfect Hagrid growl. “Yer a pimp, Harry."

I choked on a laugh. “Stop that Hagrid shit. It’s creepy from a skull.”

Bob’s lights winked. “Creepy or not, it’s true. They’re all ready to pounce, but they have their own relationships too. Bordens? Amazing marriage, but they’re hot for you too. Micheal and Charity are solid as oak, believe it or not. Others too, Molly’s got Ramirez, Karrin’s got her thing, but you? They’re all in.”

I slumped back, head reeling. “They’ve got a group chat about me? A Dresden fan club?”

“More like a worship cult,” Bob quipped. “They coordinate. They’re thrilled you’re catching up.” His glow flared as a sharp knock hit the door.

I groaned, standing. “If this is another seduction, I’m moving to Antarctica.”

I opened the door to Andi and Marci, werewolf duo, grinning like they owned the place. Andi’s red hair blazed, her tank top and jeans hugging curves that screamed trouble. She shifted, hips cocked, a wolfish challenge. Marci, leaner, dark hair cropped, flashed a lacy bra under her open flannel, stretching with predatory grace. They were raw, pulsing desire, and my heart kicked into overdrive.

“Hey, Harry,” Andi purred, brushing against me, her curves pressing into my chest, hand trailing to my hip, fingers teasing under my waistband. “Been naughty, huh? Got any magic left in that staff, or we gotta spark you up?”

Marci slid past, shoulder grazing mine, fingers dancing under my shirt, stroking my spine with a bold grip. Her lips brushed my ear, voice a husky tease. “Pack’s buzzing you’re Chicago’s hottest wizard. Molly and Anastasia wear you out, or you ready to howl?” Her hand slid lower, smacking my ass, her grin pure mischief.

I shut the door, face burning. They claimed the space like wolves marking territory. Andi flopped onto the couch, patting the spot beside her, tank top riding up to flash abs as she stretched, growling low. Marci pressed against me, hands roaming my chest under my shirt, nails scraping, nuzzling my neck with wet, hungry kisses that set my skin ablaze.

“Uh, hi,” I stammered, voice cracking. “What’s the deal?”

Andi laughed, throaty and wicked, pulling me down. Her hand hit my thigh, fingers grazing my bulge, bold and unapologetic. She leaned in, lips dragging across my cheek, teeth nipping my jaw. “No deal, Harry,” she growled. “Just starving for you. So damn glad you’re not running. You’re looking edible.” Her fingers teased higher, eyes blazing.

Marci slid beside me, body pressed tight, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging my head her way. She nuzzled my cheek, lips trailing kisses to my jaw, teeth grazing my earlobe with a growl. “Finally letting us in, stud,” she murmured, nails flicking my nipple, making me jump. “Thought you’d bolt. But you’re ours now, right?” Her hand teased my belt, curves pressing against me, scent wild and heady.

I swallowed, body buzzing. “I’m… holding on,” I rasped. “Barely.”

Andi’s eyes flashed, shifting closer, fingers tracing my chest, dipping to my stomach. “Holding on’s good,” she teased, arching to flaunt her curves. “But you look spent, lover. All those nights with Molly, Karrin, Anastasia. Running on fumes?”

She stood, hips swaying, and sauntered to the fridge. “Need a drink? Water? Beer?” She paused, grinning wickedly, and yanked her tank top down, freeing one breast,. She strutted right up, then pressed her bare breast into my hand, smirking. “Drink up, stud,” she purred, holding the pose, warm and soft, before laughing and fixing her top with a wink. “Oops. Had to.”

I froze, hand burning, brain short-circuiting, face flaming. “Andi,” I choked, “you’re killing me.”

Marci’s laugh was a wild yip, hand sliding to my thigh, grazing my bulge. She nuzzled my neck, lips kissing slow, teeth nipping. “Just warming you up, Dresden,” she growled. “You’re flushed. Need cooling down, or heating up?” Her fingers palmed me through my jeans, biting my earlobe, curves pressing tight.

I laughed, ragged and desperate, their wolfish touches setting me on fire. “I’m trying,” I rasped. “This is a lot. But you make it… normal. Ish.”

Then, like a spell breaking, their feral heat softened, the air thick with raw emotion. Andi’s smirk faded to a tender smile, eyes glistening. She settled close, hand on my chest, steady and warm, nuzzling my forehead. Her voice was soft, raw, a heart-punch.

“Harry, we missed you,” she whispered. “Not just the heat, but you, the way you make us feel like we’re all that matters. Even in the middle of a room full of other women. We’ve been aching for that again.”

Marci’s hand stilled, fingers lacing with mine, cheek pressed to my shoulder, lips brushing my neck in a tender kiss. “She’s right,” she murmured, eyes warm and open. “We’ve missed our time with you, Harry. You’re our pack, our heart. We need you back, soon.” Her fingers squeezed mine, her earnestness a jolt, as thrilling as their teasing but deeper, burning into my soul.

The shift from wolfish lust to raw confession hit like whiplash, but it was electric, their sincerity as hot as their touches. I swallowed, voice rough. “Missed you too,” I said, grinning softly. “Soon. I swear.”

Andi’s smile glowed, her lips brushing mine in a soft, lingering kiss. “Better be, wizard,” she whispered, hand cupping my face.

Marci kissed my cheek, squeezing my hand. “Don’t make us wait, Dresden,” she said, voice warm and hopeful. “We’re here.”

But as they stepped back, ready to slip out into the night, their eyes glinted with that familiar, feral spark. Andi leaned in, her tongue darting out to trace a slow, heated line along the left side of my face, her breath a teasing growl. Marci mirrored her, her tongue grazing the right, a deliberate, sultry promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Tomorrow night,” Andi purred, voice dropping to a husky whisper, “we’ll make you forget all about this softness, Harry. You won’t know what hit you.”

Marci’s lips curled, her eyes wicked. “Better rest up, Dresden,” she murmured, nipping my ear lightly. “We’re gonna ruin you.” They stepped back, their laughter low and dangerous, leaving me dazed, heart pounding, caught between their tender vows and that wild, lascivious promise.

Bob’s lights flared, cackling wildly. “Hell’s bells, Harry! From mushy confessions to that? I’m impressed, ladies! You’ve got him spinning like a top!”

“Bob!” I snapped, face burning, but Andi and Marci just smirked, their silhouettes fading into the dark, leaving me wrapped in the echo of their warmth and the searing promise of tomorrow.

Chapter Text

I barreled through the next day in a haze, my brain buzzing like I'd chugged a potion laced with espresso and lust. Work at SI was a blur of filing reports on a rogue pixie infestation in a Loop coffee shop and dodging calls from clients who wanted me to track down cursed heirlooms. Even my side hustles, like warding a rich Paranet member's safehouse for a fee that'd keep Mouse in kibble for months, felt mechanical. My hands moved on autopilot, sketching runes and incantations, but my mind? It was locked on tonight. Andi and Marci. Both of them. At Andi's place. Hell's bells, how had my life turned into this?

The weirdness didn't stop at my doorstep. At Mac's pub, where I grabbed a quick steak sandwich for lunch, Georgia slid onto the stool next to me. She smirked over her beer, eyes twinkling. "Heard from Andi. Said not to wait up tonight, Harry. Or disturb you three." She bumped my shoulder, her grin genuine and a little envious. "Lucky bastard. Have fun storming the castle."

I nearly choked on my fries. "Uh, yeah. Thanks? It's... new."

She laughed, soft and knowing. "We're all happy for you, Dresden. Really. Just don't break 'em. Or get broken." She winked and sauntered off, leaving me staring at my plate like it held the secrets of the universe.

Later, back at the office, Charity dropped by to pick up a protective amulet I'd enchanted for little Harry (the kid, not me). She eyed me with that maternal sharpness, but there was a softness too. "Andi mentioned your plans," she said, tucking the amulet away. "Don't wait up for the pack chatter tonight. We're giving you space." Her lips curved in a rare, warm smile. "You're good for them, Harry. For all of us."

She patted my cheek like I was one of her kids, then left me reeling. Happy for me? It was still bizarre, like the universe had flipped its script and no one bothered telling me the new rules.

By evening, I was a walking bundle of nerves and anticipation, clutching a bag of takeout from that Thai place Andi loved, extra spicy curry, spring rolls, the works. I'd promised to bring something, and showing up empty-handed felt wrong. I knocked on her apartment door, heart hammering like a war drum.

Andi answered, her red hair loose and wild, wearing a simple sundress that hugged her curves like it was painted on. No bra, from the way it clung. She grinned, wolfish and welcoming, pulling me inside with a hand on my shirt. "Right on time, wizard. Marci's finishing up in the kitchen. Come on."

The place was spotless—gone were the usual scatter of clothes and wolf-pack gear. Candles flickered on the table, soft jazz humming from a speaker, and dinner was set: steaming plates of pasta, garlic bread, a bottle of red breathing. Marci emerged, dark hair tied back, in shorts and a crop top that showed off her toned midriff. She took the bag from me, pecking my cheek. "Brought reinforcements? Perfect. We made carbonara, but Thai for dessert? Naughty."

We bantered through setup, me unpacking my haul while they teased. "Hope you're hungry, Harry," Andi said, leaning over the table to pour wine, her dress dipping low enough to flash cleavage that made my mouth dry. "Dinner's just the appetizer. Dessert's where we really dig in." Her eyes sparkled with that cheeky heat, but there was something else; a flicker of real hunger, not just for my body, but for this, us.

Marci slid behind me, arms wrapping my waist, chin on my shoulder. "Yeah, stud. We've been plotting all day. You ready to be the main course?"

Her hands roamed my chest, playful but lingering, her breath warm on my neck. It was laviscious as ever, their words dripping innuendo, but underneath? Affection. Longing. The way Andi's gaze softened when I laughed at Marci's joke, or how Marci's fingers traced my arm like she couldn't believe I was here. It hit me again: how the hell had this group agreed to share without claws coming out? Bob's spreadsheet revelation gnawed at me, but tonight, it felt real, earned.

We ate, laughing over pack stories and my latest screw-ups, the wine loosening us up. But tension built, electric. Then, a knock. Andi frowned, wiping her mouth. "Who—?"

She opened the door to a college girl, early twenties, blonde ponytail, tight jeans and a crop top. Friend of Marci's, I guessed from the familiar wave. Her eyes lit on me, widening. "Marci! You didn't say he was here already. I'm Jess—Marci's chem lab buddy. She mentioned this thing you do with your tongue, Harry? Party at the frat tomorrow. Wanna show me?"

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. Marci was up in a flash, stepping behind me, her hand possessive on my shoulder. "Jess, sorry! I wasn't clear. Harry's taken. Like, fully booked." Her tone was firm but kind, a line drawn.

Jess blushed, stammering. "Oh! Shit, my bad. Didn't mean to poach. Have a good night!" She bolted, door clicking shut.

Andi chuckled, locking it. "Close call. You're popular, Dresden."

Marci nuzzled my neck from behind. "Ours," she growled softly, nipping my ear. The air shifted, heat cranking up.

We cleared plates in a hurry, then they tugged me to the bedroom. Andi's space was cozy; big bed, soft lights, scents of vanilla and wolf musk. They kissed me together, Andi claiming my mouth deep and hungry, Marci trailing lips down my jaw, hands stripping my shirt.

"Been waiting all day," Andi murmured against my lips, voice breathless, startled me with its echo of my own thoughts - how did we land this guy?

Marci peeled off her top, breasts free and perfect, pressing against my back as she undid my belt. "God, Harry, you're ours. Finally." Her tone matched, awed, affectionate, like I was the prize they'd schemed for.

We crashed onto the bed in a tangle of claws and teeth, clothes shredding like tissue. Andi’s dress ripped clean off; my shirt lost buttons to Marci’s frantic yank. Jeans, panties, gone. The room reeked of vanilla, musk, and two werewolves who’d pined for their wizard too damn long.

Andi pinned me down, knees locking my arms, breasts swaying like ripe fruit. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Welcome back, Harry,” she growled, voice cracking with raw need. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she cradled my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones like I might dissolve. “We were scared you’d come back hollow, all duty and no spark.” Her mouth slammed mine, tongue diving deep, hips grinding slick heat up my chest. “Taste like ozone and home.”

Marci knelt between my legs, kissing every inch like a prayer. “Missed every damn inch,” she whispered, voice trembling. She pressed open-mouthed kisses to my hipbones, my stomach, the crease where thigh meets groin—each one a quiet vow. When she reached my cock she adored. Lips sealed around the head, tongue swirling like she was coaxing magic from a wand, humming a low, joyful growl that vibrated to my core. Hands rolled my balls like sacred relics.

I groaned into Andi’s kiss. She slid up, planting wet folds over my mouth. “That’s it - drink me, Harry. Every drop you kept from us while you were gone.” I lapped like a starving man, her taste wild honey and cedar. She bucked, claws pricking my scalp as fur rippled up her arms.

Marci popped off, saliva bridging us. “My turn to greet the wizard.”

They swapped. Andi impaled herself on me in one slick drop, walls fluttering. Marci straddled my face, thighs sprouting soft fur. “Saved this just for you,” she breathed, and sank down. Her taste burst across my tongue. I licked deep, nose in curls, while Andi rode hard, breasts bouncing, eyes glowing amber.

They kissed above me, sloppy and desperate. Andi’s rhythm stuttered; she threw her head back, red hair whipping, a howl ripping free as she came, gushing down my balls. Marci followed, flooding my mouth, claws raking my shoulders as her ears pointed.

No pause. Andi spun reverse-cowgirl, sinking back on. Marci dove between us, tongue flicking clit and shaft.

A vibrator buzzed to life. Marci pressed it to Andi’s back entrance; Andi yowled, pushing back, taking it inch by inch while riding me raw. “Watch us, Harry,” she gasped. “Watch your girls prove you’re still you.”

I watched, lost. Marci swapped the toy for slick, insistent fingers in my ass. I thrust harder. Marci mounted me next, Andi behind rolling her nipples, whispering, “Look how he fills you, baby. Take every inch like you dreamed every lonely night.” A vibrating cock ring snapped around my base. The buzz shot lightning up my spine.

We blurred into one beast: Marci clenching, Andi licking where we joined; me buried in Andi doggy-style, Marci beneath sucking whatever swung low. Fur flashed on thighs, eyes glowed gold, claws left pink trails that healed fast. Orgasms exploded, Andi squirting, Marci howling, me roaring as the ring milked me dry into Marci, pulse after pulse.

Sheets drowned. Toys scattered. Finally we collapsed. Me in the middle, Andi draped over my chest, Marci curled tight, tails twitching against my legs.

Andi nuzzled my neck, voice hoarse. “Stay tonight. Stay every night.”

Marci kissed my shoulder, tears hot. “You’re home, Harry. Really home.”

I locked arms around them, heart exploding. “Not going anywhere.” Sleep took us, tangled in fur, love, and the buzz of a vibrator still humming on the floor.

Chapter Text

I woke to the smell of coffee and the low murmur of female voices in the kitchen. Andi’s arm was flung across my chest, Marci’s leg hooked over mine, both of them still half-shifted, soft fur along their spines, ears pointed, tails curled possessively around my calves. Sunlight slanted through the blinds and painted gold stripes over three naked bodies that had absolutely wrecked each other until dawn.

For a minute I just lay there, listening to my own heartbeat and theirs, synced up like we’d been running as a pack. Home. The word still felt too big for my mouth.

Then the doorbell rang. Once. Sharp. Imperious.

Andi’s ears flicked. Marci growled low, burrowed deeper into my side. “Tell whoever it is to fuck off,” she mumbled.

Andi was already sliding out of bed, naked and glorious, padding to the door. She peered through the peephole and went very, very still.

“Harry,” she called, voice suddenly careful. “You might want clothes. Or not. Actually, definitely not.”

I sat up. “What fresh hell—”

The door opened before I could finish.

Molly Carpenter stepped through first, grass-green silk robe belted loose, hair in a sleep-tousled braid that somehow still looked runway-ready. Her eyes were bright, almost nervous. Behind her came Captain Luccio, corps-grey Warden cloak thrown back, sword at her hip, smile small and wicked and centuries deep.

And behind them both, filling the doorway like living winter, was Mab.

Queen of Air and Darkness. My boss. My fairy godmother from the bad side of the tracks. She wore a gown of midnight spidersilk that drank the light, frost crackling at the hem with every step. Her hair was a white cascade pinned with icicle daggers. Those star-field eyes fixed on me and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Andi shut the door. Locked it. Leaned back against it like she needed the support.

Molly cleared her throat. “So, uh, hi. Andi texted me last night. Said you were… fully on board now. No more freaking out. No more ‘this is just stress relief.’” She glanced at Mab, then at the bed where Marci had sat up, sheet clutched to her chest, eyes wide gold. “We figured it was safe to bring the big guns.”

Luccio’s laugh was low, throaty, pure sex wrapped in smoke. “Harry. You look well-fucked. I approve.”

Mab said nothing. She simply walked forward, each step leaving frost-flowers on Andi’s hardwood. When she reached the foot of the bed she stopped, tilted her head, and studied me like a cat deciding whether the mouse was worth the pounce.

I found my voice. “Your Majesty. To what do I owe the honor?” My mouth was dry. My dick, traitor that it was, was already taking interest.

Mab’s smile could have frozen lava. “My Knight has found his balance at last. I would see it for myself.” Her gaze slid to Andi, to Marci, lingered on the claw marks healing on my shoulders. “I would taste it.”

Molly bit her lip. “It’s need-to-know, Harry. Senior Council still thinks you’re a ticking bomb. If they knew Mab was… personally invested in your recovery—” She shrugged, cheeks pink. “We figured surprise was kinder.”

Luccio unbuckled her sword belt, let it drop. “We brought breakfast,” she said, voice husky. “And then we’re going to ruin you for anyone else. Again.”

Andi recovered first. She stalked forward, dropped to her knees in front of Mab with liquid grace. “My Queen,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the frost-kissed instep. “Thank you for coming.”

Marci followed, trembling, but when Mab cupped her chin the tremble turned into a shiver of pure want. “Little wolf,” Mab purred. “You kept him warm for me. Good pup.”

I swallowed hard. “We were just—”

“Eating,” Molly finished, grinning. She snapped her fingers; a picnic blanket unfurled across the living room floor, platters appearing—croissants, strawberries, clotted cream, dark chocolate, a bottle of something that smelled like starlight and sin. “First we feed the wizard. Then we feed ourselves.”

Mac’s steak sandwich had nothing on this spread. We sat in a loose circle; me still naked, Mab somehow making a croissant look obscene by the way she tore it with sharp white teeth. Luccio fed me strawberries dipped in cream, licking the juice from my lips with slow, deliberate swipes of her tongue. Molly perched cross-legged, robe slipping off one shoulder, eyes dancing every time I groaned.

Conversation stayed light. Pack gossip. Molly’s latest disaster with the Paranet. Luccio’s dry amusement at the Council’s ongoing meltdown over my continued existence. Mab listened more than she spoke, but every so often her bare foot would brush my calf under the blanket and ice shot straight to my groin.

When the last strawberry was gone, Mab stood.

“Enough,” she said softly.

The room went still.

She extended one hand. Frost curled from her fingertips, weaving through the air like lace. It touched Molly first—silk robe dissolving into nothing but glittering snow that melted against her skin. Luccio’s uniform followed, buttons popping one by one until she stood in nothing but Warden muscle and old scars. Andi and Marci’s fur receded just enough to leave them bare, trembling.

Mab’s gown slithered to the floor like liquid shadow. Underneath there was nothing. Pale skin luminous as moonlight, nipples tight from cold or anticipation, the neat dark triangle between her thighs already glistening.

She looked at me.

“Harry Dresden,” she said, voice winter wind over bare skin. “Come here.”

I went. Couldn’t have stopped if the building was on fire.

She cupped my face with hands so cold they burned and kissed me. Not gentle. Never gentle. Her tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, and when I gave it she took my mouth like she was claiming territory. I tasted wintergreen and ozone and something darker, older. My cock jerked against her belly.

Luccio moved behind me, hands sliding down my chest, nails raking lightly. “Still so responsive,” she murmured against my ear, centuries of memory in her voice. “I taught you this body once, Harry. Let me remind you.”

Molly dropped to her knees, pressed her face to Mab’s thigh, inhaled like she was drowning. “My Queen,” she whispered, reverent. “Let me serve.”

Mab threaded fingers through Molly’s hair. “You will. All of you will.”

She pushed me down to the blanket. I landed on my back, staring up at four goddesses. Andi and Marci crawled forward, eyes glowing amber, tongues already lolling.

Mab straddled my face without ceremony.

Her taste. God. Like snowmelt and midnight and raw power. I licked into her like a supplicant, tongue tracing every fold, every hidden crease. She rocked slowly, thighs clamping my head, frost blooming across my cheekbones. Above me, Luccio sank onto my cock in one smooth glide, hot, tight, perfect. She rolled her hips, slow, deliberate, the way she’d done in a candlelit room in Edinburgh a lifetime ago.

Molly and the wolves descended.

Andi took my left hand, guided it between her legs—slick, swollen, ready. Marci claimed my right, rubbing herself against my fingers in desperate circles. Molly knelt over my chest, facing Luccio, and the two of them kissed like they’d been starving for each other for centuries. Which, I realized dimly, they had.

Luccio broke the kiss to lean down, breath ghosting my ear. “Watch, Harry.” She reached behind, spread herself, and took Molly’s fingers alongside my cock. The stretch - fuck. Her moan was pure filth, ancient and shameless.

Mab ground down harder. “Tongue,” she commanded, voice cracking like a whip. I obeyed, spearing deep, sucking her clit until she shuddered and flooded my mouth with ice-cold honey.

She came with a sound like glaciers calving, hips bucking, nails carving frost sigils into my shoulders that burned and healed and burned again.

Then she moved.

Off my face. Down my body. She pushed Luccio forward until the Captain was on all fours over me, still impaled, and Mab, Christ, Mab licked a stripe from my balls to Luccio’s stretched entrance, tongue flicking where we joined. Luccio screamed into the blanket.

Molly straddled my face now, sweeter, younger, but no less demanding. “Please, Harry. Taste how much I love you.” She was dripping, grinding, fingers tangled in my hair. I drank her down while Mab (Queen fucking Mab) tongue-fucked Luccio’s ass in slow, deliberate strokes.

Andi and Marci weren’t idle. They took turns sucking my nipples until they ached, then moved lower, licking whatever skin they could reach. At some point Marci produced a strap-on, black silicone, thick, ridged, and Andi bent over the couch, presenting. Marci slid home with a growl that rattled the windows.

Luccio came first, clenching around me so hard I saw stars, centuries of pent-up want exploding out of her in a flood that soaked my hips. She collapsed forward, kissing me deep, tasting Molly on my tongue.

Mab rose, eyes glowing like twin moons. “My turn.”

She pushed me flat, climbed aboard, sank down until I was buried to the hilt in Winter itself. So cold it burned, then hot, then both at once. She rode me like apocalypse, hips snapping, breasts bouncing, hair whipping frost across the room.

Molly straddled my face again, facing Mab this time. The Queen pulled her into a kiss that was all teeth and centuries of deferred hunger. Luccio knelt behind Mab, spread those perfect pale cheeks, and buried her tongue deep. Mab’s rhythm stuttered, once, twice - then she threw her head back and screamed, a sound that shattered every glass in the kitchen.

I was lost. Molly came on my tongue, gushing, sobbing my name. Andi and Marci howled in harmony as Marci pounded into Andi from behind, silicone cock slick with werewolf slick.

Mab slammed down one final time and I erupted, coming so hard my vision whited out, pumping pulse after pulse into the heart of Winter. She milked me with internal muscles that felt like glaciers grinding, drawing every drop, claiming it.

When the world came back, we were a pile. Mab lay across my chest, frost melting into sweat. Luccio curled against my left side, Molly on my right, Andi and Marci tangled in our legs, tails twitching.

Mab’s fingers traced the new frost sigils on my collarbone—permanent, this time. Hers.

“Mine,” she whispered, soft as snowfall.

Then, quieter, almost shy: “Thank you for coming home, my Knight.”

Molly kissed my jaw. “We love you, Harry. All of us. In every way.”

Luccio nipped my ear. “Don’t you dare leave again.”

Andi and Marci echoed it, sleepy growls of agreement.

I wrapped arms around all of them, Queen, Captain, apprentice, wolves, and felt the last piece click into place.

“Not going anywhere,” I said, voice rough. “Ever.”

Outside, Chicago kept moving. Inside, Winter melted, Summer bloomed, and five hearts beat in perfect, filthy, impossible sync.

Chapter Text

Mab left like moonlight slipping off a blade.

No fanfare. No dramatic flash. Just one last kiss and then she was gone.

The room seemed to sigh in her absence.

What followed was the quiet ballet of people coming down from orbit. Plates were gathered, magic undone, whispers exchanged. Luccio straightened her cloak with military precision, stole one last look at me that felt like a secret, then vanished into shadow. Molly brushed frost from her braid and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek before disappearing in a whisper of green.

Marci stretched, wolf bones cracking softly, then leaned in and kissed me on the throat, just below where Mab’s sigils still pulsed faint and silver. “Be good,” she said, voice husky, and left without looking back.

And then it was just me and Andi. The apartment felt bigger without the others. Quieter. Like the aftermath of a storm; nothing broken, exactly, just everything changed.

Andi stood in the kitchen, hips against the counter, one eyebrow raised over her coffee mug. Her shirt hung loose, no pants, legs bare. The sunlight made her hair glow. There was a bite mark on her neck and the faintest shimmer of frost on her skin that hadn’t melted yet.

“You okay?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Define ‘okay.’”

She snorted. “Still vertical. Not crying. Pants on. That’s usually where we set the bar.”

I sat on the couch, elbows on knees. “Fair.”

There was a pause while she sipped her coffee. Then she came over and dropped into the armchair across from me, legs slung over the side like she owned it.

“So. You gonna get weird about this again?”

I blinked. “Weird?”

She gave me a look. “You know. That face you make when you try to process feelings and end up looking like you smelled something awful.”

“I do not make that face.”

“You absolutely do. Ask Molly.”

I sighed. “I was just wondering how you… manage all this. You, Marci, the others. This whole… setup.”

Andi tilted her head. “You mean, how do we organize our adorable, deeply nontraditional, possibly blasphemous werewolf-witch-courtly sex commune?”

“Well. Yeah.”

She grinned. “We don’t. Not really. It’s more vibes-based chaos.”

I made a noise that was maybe a groan. “How do you survive that?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Because we don’t treat it like something it isn’t. No one’s trying to fit us into a box. We love each other. Sometimes we live together. Sometimes we fight monsters together. Sometimes we sleep together. And sometimes we just… don’t. It works because we let it breathe.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. But… you all seem so close.”

“We are,” she said. “But close doesn’t mean domestic. I mean, if you forced me to label it, friends with benefits. Or lovers with backup plans. Or maybe just a bunch of weirdos who know what each other looks like naked and still think that’s worth preserving.”

I huffed a laugh. “So no chore wheel, then.”

“God no. Though Marci did make a ‘Who Gets Harry First’ schedule once. It was alphabetical. Didn’t last.”

I looked at her. “And you're okay with that? With me… bouncing between?”

She gave me a flat look. “Harry. I am not competing with my girls. If I’m bleeding or busy or just not in the mood? Take care of one of them. Hell, sometimes they need it more than you do. You think you’re the only one who needs stress relief after a week of fighting nightmares and pretending the rent isn’t late?”

I blinked. “You’re… surprisingly practical about this.”

“Yeah, well, practicality keeps things from turning into soap operas.” She leaned back, stretching like a cat. “Besides, if I had to pick someone to ride out a disaster with? I’d be hard pressed who I’d root for more—me or them. They're mine, Harry. And so are you, in your own completely aggravating way. So as long as you keep us safe and satisfied, I don’t need to micromanage the rotation.”

There was a heat in her eyes that wasn’t just teasing. A flicker of something possessive. Fierce. But also warm.

“You’re all insane,” I said, softly.

“Absolutely,” she said. “But you’re the one who keeps coming back.”

I stood slowly. My legs were stiff, my back sore in all the best ways. I reached for my coat.

Andi followed me to the door, watching me like a cat watches a mouse it doesn’t want to eat but might play with anyway.

“I’m kicking you out, by the way.”

I blinked. “Harsh.”

She grinned. “You’ve got a dog to feed. A world to save. And I need to disinfect my couch before the next full moon. Also, someone left a croissant inside my slipper. Not naming names.”

I stepped into my boots. “You’re a very gracious host.”

“I’m also pretty sure you owe me like three orgasms, but I’m not going to invoice you.”

I looked over my shoulder. “Rain check?”

She stepped forward, pressed her lips to mine. Warm. Firm. Just a little dirty. “Always. And hey, if I’m not in the mood later? Try Marci. Or Molly. Or hell, Karrin. Sergeant Stoic could use a little wrecking.”

I arched a brow.

She smacked my ass. “Go, Dresden. Get out there. Be the Knight. Buy some kibble. And text me when you’re clear of whatever doom-of-the-week is hunting you.”

“Copy that.”

I stepped outside. The door shut behind me with a soft snick.

The wind off the lake was cold. The sky was blue in that way it only gets in November, like a bruised promise stretched thin over the city.

Mouse was waiting.

And maybe, if the world didn’t end today, someone would be waiting later too.

I adjusted my coat, cracked my neck, and started walking.

Time to earn it.