#i cannot say that i'm a fan of having my belongings broken thanks.

[carnographix]

Today just KEEPS GETTING WORSE good fucking Lord. Can someone drop an anvil on my head and flatten me like a goomba

[darling-i-read-it]

The Mistress

Harry Gardner x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: smut (blowjob), cheating, sex in a public bathroom literally while his family is in the other room (who am i) 

Author’s Note: Hi love! Sorry this took so long! I feel like I went with the slightly creepy route straight into a bj lmao so I hope you like it. I don’t know how I feel lmaoo

Requested by anon, Happy to hear you're doing well, hun! I'm so excited to see your upcoming pieces because these most recent two are absolute gems 💗(I'm a big GTA and RE fan what can I saw I was overjoyed to see them 🤭)

Don't mind me with another Harry request (my sincere apologies, I'm obsessed 😌) I had this potentially spicy plot in mind - Harry x fem!reader. When he sees her being flirty with someone but cannot let his jealousy show since his wife is like RIGHT there. But still makes sure to let her know how much she upset him later on 😉 Take your time with this sweetie and if you don't feel like writing it that's totally ok too! 🤗 Thank you for gracing this site with your lovely works and making my day with them as well. Take care and have a wonderful day/night ~ Addie ❤

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Harry’s love for his wife was obligatory. The love he had for her was necessary, to keep their family going. He had created a space where he could comfortably do his job and be seen as successful. He had the wife, the house, and the kid. He had the room to grow and the means to do it. 

But you…you were not a want. You were a need. You were alluring in his worst times, gorgeous in his best. He could watch you move for hours and wonder what it was about you that entranced him. He could picture you from the bed as you slipped your clothes on and the memory filled his entire eyesight. He could see nothing else but you when you were there. 

You were like one of the people he wrote about. You were unreal. He couldn’t live without you now. 

“You’re starring,” your voice broke him from his thoughts. Sometimes he forgot you were actually there. You sat on the side of the bed, arms moving with grace down to your feet. You put your socks on, side eyeing him. “Everything alright?” 

“Uh huh.” He was in a shitty motel with sheets that he knew hadn’t been washed in far too long. 

“H?” You sat up straight. He grabbed your hand, shaking his head. 

“I’m fine,” he promised. You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. 

“You have to get back.” The time schedule he was on was brutal. Sometimes he wondered if the life he had was even worth all this. Couldn’t he just live here with you forever? The misery of his demonic child and his never ending wife seemed like a hell he had trapped himself in. When had he wanted that? “Henry.” 

“I’m here. I swear. I just don’t want to leave you.” Your face read the emotions he was feeling. You didn’t want to leave either but someone had to. If this thing was to be sustainable, you had to go. 

“I never thought I’d be here you know,” you muttered. Even your voice sounded melodic. “In bed with a married man. Jesus. What would my mother say?” He felt a pang of guilt but not for the person who he should’ve. He had put you in this position. You could’ve been living a life with a free man, someone to show you off to the world. Instead you were in shitty hotels by the ocean, the salt coming in through broken window frames. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You shook your head. 

“It’s alright. We’re in this boat together, hm?” He grabbed your hand and held it. The hand that had just been all over him, the hand that had felt every inch of his body. You must have been thinking about it too because you kissed him gently. A goodbye kiss. He wanted to curse, to beg you to stay. He didn’t. 

“I need to write you into a story,” he said against your lips. 

“Oh yeah? The girl who never got what she wanted?” 

“The girl who could get whatever she desired.” 

“That sounds better than my thing.” You smiled gently. “I’ll see you later?” He nodded, a promise he was sure to keep. He hoped he wouldn’t see you around town before that, for the sake of his life. For the sake of yours! You stood up. “I’m excited to read what you write me into. Hopefully a better situation than this.” 

You thought about the character of you and envied her. You would be her one day, you hoped. 

-

She was like fire if it never spread. Her silence was dangerous, the presence of her was terrifying. Electrifying was an understatement. She was the lightning that made electricity. She was the origin, the start, the very being that could bring down trees with a touch. She was-

“What’re you writing?” Doris’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. His initial reaction scared him a bit and he tried to be more caring. 

“Nothing. Nothing, I don’t think anyway.” He shut his computer. 

“Are we still going out to dinner?” 

“Yes. Yeah, sorry, time got away from me.” He got up from the chair. Doris was standing beside Alma who had her coat and shoes on already. She was giving Harry a look of disinterest, similar to her mothers. But Doris at least tried to cover it with a feign emotion, one he couldn’t grasp. “Coming.” 

They piled into the car and were quickly arriving at a small diner. The small diners in Provincetown were stereotypical and uninteresting. There was little local color and little locals. He saw you the second he walked in, like you had attracted his eyes like a magnet. You were sitting at the counter, a milkshake between your hands. Your hair fell in front of your eyes a bit as a smile played on your face. His eyes followed to the waiter you were speaking to. A man about your age, sharing your smile. The jealousy in him was surprising. He didn’t own you. 

But he wanted to. 

You hadn’t seen him yet. Maybe he could convince Doris to leave and go somewhere else. 

“Right here. You’re the newer family right? Big house on the water?” Their waitress said, gesturing to the table. Doris had been speaking and he hadn’t even noticed. 

“Yes ma’am,” Harry responded. 

“We don’t get lots of visitors here, except for the writers.”

“My husbands the writer,” Doris explained. At the mention of the topic, you turned your head ever so slightly. Your eyes locked for just a moment, zero panic in your face. It was like you didn’t even know him. You turned your head back to the waiter behind the counter. 

“What kinds of things do you write?” the waitress asked. 

“Screenplays.” “Anything I’ve seen?” 

“Not yet,” Doris promised. You were too distracting. He couldn’t stay here with you. His phone buzzed and he knew it was you. He checked it obsessively, turning it towards him so that Doris and Alma couldn’t see. 

I’m sorry, you texted. He didn’t answer. 

“Can I get you started with some waters?” 

His eyes flickered to you. Smiling at the waiter, a gentle comradery. It made him sick. 

“Yes please,” Doris said. She watched him and his discomfort but couldn’t find the source of it. The waitress left, leaving them alone, without a buffer between him and you. He opened up his phone again, staring at the message. You should leave. Why weren’t you leaving? “Everything okay?” 

He couldn’t hear what you were saying but he could see your hand brushing the waiters. Closer to your age, likely not married. Attainable. You could have something attainable. He glanced at Doris and nodded curtly. 

“I just need to go to the bathroom.” He got up, loudly. She scoffed, nodding. 

“Okay.” He pushed past you. Your eyes followed him as he turned the corner. You looked back at the waiter. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the little girls room.” You slid off the stool with a small smile and left your milkshake. You turned the corner and knocked on the men's bathroom door. It opened quickly. It was the type of bathroom that was private, without stalls. Just two rooms. 

Harry grabbed your hand and dragged you inside. He shut the door and locked it behind you. 

“I didn’t know you would be here,” you argued. He was standing so close to you, practically pining you to the door. 

“Who was that?” 

“Who was who?” 

“Don’t act coy,” he spat. You had never seen him so angry, jealousy practically dripping from his eyes. 

“The waiter? He’s a friend.” 

“That all?” “Harry, we can't do this right now. Your family is outside. Come on, we’ll talk later.” You made no movement. He starred, at you, at your features, the ones he could always find comfort in. He grabbed your wrist. “Harry?”

“Get on your knees.” 

You raised an eyebrow but the look in his eyes was too alluring to argue. He was usually gentle and guiding through sex, always careful with you even when he was rougher. You didn’t mind the demanding tone in his voice. You slinked down the door, onto your knees. You looked up at him. 

He was gazing down at you, his hand cupping your chin. You waited to see what he would do. Was he being so daring because his family was out there? Had you crossed a line neither of you had dared to verbalize? 

You put your hands on his waistband. He nodded, ushering you along. You undid his belt and fought with his jeans to pull them down. It didn’t take long for him to get hard at the adrenaline of the moment and you sitting before him. You pumped with your hand, staring up at him still. 

You wanted to tell him the waiter meant nothing. But actions spoke louder than words. You wrapped your lips around him, eyes locked, a glaze over his. He was staring at you like you were a meal. As you moved up and down, bobbing your head back and forth, he grabbed a fist full of your hair. He started to guide you more forcefully, a jealousy lacing his touch. 

You came up for air as minimally as you could. He lasted too long. His family was going to miss him. They would see your lone milkshake and wonder which of you would leave first. There weren’t enough people in this diner to not connect the dots. 

His precum was drooling down your chin. He wanted to fuck you. He knew he didn’t have time. Instead he let you make him cum, swallowing everything you could, making an erotic gagging noise as you did so. His moans came out muffled but clear, head tilted back in pleasure. 

You wiped your mouth, leaning your head against the door. 

“Feel better?” you asked. He scoffed. He helped you up, catching you as you stumbled. He kissed you, tasting himself among your lips. He could stay here with you forever and starve happily. “You go out first,” you muttered. “I’ve gotta wash up.” 

He nodded. He stared at you for a moment longer, brushing your hair out of your face. You locked eyes and the intimacy filled up the bathroom. You wanted to kiss him again but knew you had no time. You would have to let him go, just this once. 

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Anytime H.” You slithered away from him. “Pull your pants up and go back to your family.”

[missusgordo]

I've seen a lot in the fandom regarding S6 of Buffy (especially the end of S6) & her dynamic with Spike (which I personally cannot detach from S7 but that's another matter). People talk quite a lot about "Seeing Red" in all possible ways (& it's appalling sometimes) but less about "Gone", "Doublemeat Palace" or "Dead Things" (on the balcony, Buffy doesn't seem/isn't consenting, to say the least). My statement seems vague & I'm sorry for it but I'd like to know what you think about all of this.

No worries I totally get where you are coming from. With regards to the Sp.ffy elements of season 6, it’s true that the attempted rape garners the most attention over the other disturbing and abusive elements we see throughout season 6. I think it makes sense, seeing as this sexual assault, is really the culmination of, and honestly the most disturbing scene we see in the entirety of BtVS. I personally have trouble watching this scene myself and find it quite horrendous.

But as you say, even before the AR what we see is a pattern of incredibly abusive and toxic behavior. Buffy is using Sp.ke to self-harm. This is why I honestly don’t understand this notion of fans who claim to enjoy Buffy enjoying her “agency” or “exploring her sexuality” in season 6. This season is not an example of a woman owning her sexual desires and relishing in her sexual freedom – 

It is an example of someone who is incredibly depressed and has formed an addictive and unhealthy dependency on a sexual relationship that she is not happy about. And Sp.ike feeds into her depression, his comments in Dead Things are incredibly disturbing but he is a smart-ish guy and he is nothing if not intuitive. He knows the further and more alienated Buffy is the more likely she is to run to him. (How much more disturbing is all of this if you believe Sp.ke really did have ANY capacity for good during this time period… yikes). And so, of course, he tells her that she belongs in the dark with him, because this whole cycle of self-harm suits him just fine. Sp.ke isn’t just being used a tool here. He is a facilitator. And again, I’m of the mindset that all of this is because Sp.ke is a demon and therefore evil and so yeah - duh all of this is in character and makes perfect sense. I expect nothing less from him. Sp.ke wants Buffy. Her being in this terribly depressive state in which she runs to him for hate sex is the only way he can possess her, so her being sad and depressed works just fine for him. That is how soulless creatures view love, think back to Lovers Walk and how he discusses taking Dru back.

So yeah, my position is this: Buffy made some poor choices in season 6 as literally, ANYONE who is going through a deep and horrible depression might do. Some turn to drugs or cutting, she went and screwed a demon. But that being said, she had help. She had Sp.ke egging her further and further into that dark hole because it was to his benefit to have her sad and broken. 

But our girl is stronger than all of that. I love that Buffy finds the courage to break off her toxic relationship. I expect nothing less of a woman who has, time and time again, overcome incredible obstacles in her life. And to me, that���s what Sp.ke was in s6. An addiction to overcome. And once she broke free of the cycle of abuse he couldn’t handle that she had moved on, so he tried to rape her. 

So umm… fuck him.

Thanks for the ask. I hope it was more or less along the lines of what you were looking for…

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Could we get another chapter of Fergus through the stones? I'm a huge fan of any fic with our wee Fergus!

The Tagalong - Part Nine

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

Fergus hesitated to get out of the car. He had stayed over at the manse at least half a dozen times but then it had always just been the two of them, Roger and himself. They had slept in Roger’s bedroom flipping a coin to see who would take the bed and who got the cot on the floor.

This time there would be several other boys from school and Fergus wasn’t quite sure what to make of the prospect.

“He said we’d be camping,” Fergus explained to Claire as she eased the new car through the streets towards the manse.

Brianna gurgled in the strange basket on the seat beside Fergus. It was mostly stuffed with blankets and pillows to keep Brianna well cushioned when they went around corners. Fergus liked to drape his arm over the top to keep it in place as well and he knew Mother Claire relaxed when she looked into the mirror and saw him watching protectively over his little sister. Brianna found it great fun too pulling one of the blankets over her face and then laughing when Fergus pulled it off again. Her gummy grin brought a smile of pride to his face and he reached into the basket to tickle her cheek, setting off a riot of giggles.

“Is there something wrong with camping?” Claire asked when they stopped to let a trio of pedestrians cross.

“Camping is for armies or if you are traveling and cannot find a place to stay,” Fergus complained. “It is not something to be done when a proper bed is near. Why would anyone enjoy to sleep in the cold and the dirt and the mud?”

Claire was glad Fergus couldn’t see the full extent of her amusement from his seat in the back.

“Making camp is one of the things that’s different in this time––for the most part,” she tried to explain. “For one thing, most of the children have only had beds to sleep in. Even during the war, special care was taken to get the children to safe places. The beds may have been crowded and the rooms dar, but they were usually safe and warm too.”

“So they find the dirt and such interesting because it is different?” Fergus sounded less disbelieving and more fascinated. “Like when Bree wishes to play with the red ball instead of the blue even though they are the same.”

As though to underscore her agreement, Brianna screeched and pulled hard on Fergus’ arm, demanding his attention. He gave her his hand and she promptly pulled his fingers to her mouth so she could gnaw on his knuckles.

“Yes,” Claire concurred, turning her head to check the way was clear before easing through the intersection. “It’s a novelty. And they do some fun games and things too. Probably tell ghost stories and use a telescope to look at the stars.”

“Is this why I must bring something to give to Roger? To say my thanks for being asked and so we will have the games to play?”

“The present is for Roger’s birthday. It’s how they’re celebrated in this time. Friends and family have a party and the birthday person receives gifts.”

Fergus sighed and pulled his finger from Brianna’s mouth looking carefully at the skin to see if her new teeth had finally broken through and left a mark. They hadn’t so he wiped the drool from her chin as she blew bubbles. He gave her one of the strange toys to chew on. They were hard like wood at the core but had an odd and colorful coating on top of that, some material that didn’t chip or splinter and was soft enough not to hurt Bree when she bit down hard.

It was unlike anything he’d seen for children before but then there were many things about this time that were like that; sometimes it was more overwhelming than others and this was one of those times.

“How did you manage, Mother Claire?” he asked. “You lived for years in a time not belonging to you. I never would have known did I not follow you here. How is it you found your way so easy?”

She laughed. “It wasn’t easy and I did have help with most of it,” she remarked.

“Milord,” Fergus nodded looking down at Brianna. It was incredible how much the chubby-cheeked babe looked like her father. His eyes shone from her face and his hair gleamed on her crown… but her laugh was all her own.

Claire’s voice was somber as she responded, “Yes. I had Jamie. I didn’t tell him right away but he did know fairly early… And where I went backwards there’s the advantage of having some idea of what you’re going to find,” she added, moving on to the less painful side of the matter. “Even if you don’t study it specifically or know a lot you can’t help absorbing something of the past simply by living. It’s the future that leaves you blind… even then… trying to change things… I still don’t know if what we did had any impact one way or another…”

Fergus reached forward and rested a hand on her shoulder, snapping her from her reverie.

“You and Milord impacted me,” he assured her quietly. “And Bree. We would not be here.”

Claire smiled at Fergus in the rearview mirror and blinked back her tears before pulling to a stop and parking the car.

“Are you ready for Roger’s birthday party?”

Fergus stared out the window at the manse. There were two or three of the boys from his class saying goodbye to their parents, eager to move on to the fun and games ahead.

“Are all birthday parties like this?” he asked, his face scrunched with anticipatory disgust.

“Many are… but they don’t have to be. You can have whatever kind of birthday party you…” She stopped herself and looked carefully at Fergus. “Oh, darling…” she murmured.

“If this is what birthday parties are, I’m not sure I mind not having one,” he declared, quietly resolute.

“You don’t know when your birthday is,” Claire stated.

“Madame Elise sometimes said it was spring and that my disposition was sunny for that, but when I displeased her she would say it was my winter coming out.”

“March,” Claire said with some certainty, enough to draw Fergus’ attention to her. A smile crept across her face. “They say that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.”

A light lit Fergus’ face. “It was in March that Milord found me and brought me home to you.”

“Do you remember which day?”

Fergus puzzled for a moment before shrugging.

“Near to Easter, I think, but I cannot be sure was it the 23rd or the 24th.”

“Well, pick one and we’ll make that your birthday––the day you became a Fraser. We’ve overshot March by a few weeks now, but we’ll find a way to celebrate it; just the three of us if that’s all you want.”

Fergus grinned. “I will think which day I like. But now I must do the camping.” He stuck his head between the headrests to kiss Claire’s cheek.

“Wish me luck,” he said with resignation that made Claire laugh as the car door closed behind him and she watched him head for the door with Roger’s gift tucked under his arm.

When Claire returned the next morning to retrieve Fergus, she found him in much better spirits if a little tired.

“Have you had a change of heart about camping?” she asked with an amused smile.

“No, I still prefer a bed that is inside but I most definitely want to have a birthday party. The games were enjoyable––I was the most skilled at the game of picking up sticks and I showed everyone games for playing cards and won most of their sweets but when the Reverend and Mrs. Graham discovered this they made us stop and I had to return the candy,” Fergus rattled on as Claire negotiated the drive home. “I have decided I want my birthday to be the 24th and I want a present like the one Rabbie gave to Roger––they are shoes with wheels on the bottoms.”

“I take it you want some of the boys from school to come,” Claire guessed with a chuckle.

“Oui, I have already invited them.”