im a strong believer that draco would touch you under the table while you’re having a dinner with his parents just to make your life difficult cuz he’s a lil bitch
oh he 100% would. and I can think of a few others who would too...
in the palm of his hand
pair with: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Evan Rosier, Sirius Black, Billy Hargrove, or whoever you want!
cw: MDNI 18+, exhibitionism, sub!reader
So delicate, you almost thought it was a breeze, his fingers brushed along the hem of your dress. Gliding the fabric up your thigh until his palm rested heavily on your skin, a stanchion. Locking you in place.
He didn't falter in his conversation with his family, never once glanced in your direction, but with that simple motion, he'd consumed every one of your senses. Rewired the synapses of your brain to only fire for him.
It was effortless for him, derailing you. And he knew it, the bastard, wielding his powers at the most inopportune moments.
Like now. In front of his entire family. At dinner.
You wrapped your hand around his, hoping to keep him from pushing further, and took a too-large sip of your drink to settle your nerves.
He flipped his hand over, twining his fingers with yours, smoothing his thumb over yours. Mollifying you.
Then, his aunt asked you a question, drawing your attention away, and you reluctantly allowed it, fielding her questions about your week. But not even a minute later, he guided your hand to the arm rest of your chair, wrapping your fingers around the lacquered wood.
Even without speaking, the order was secure as rope.
You tried to continue your conversation, but his hand had settled back onto your thigh, creeping higher with every word. His rings were cool against your fevered skin, coaxing tingles to dance up your spine.
His grip tightened, tugging your leg out a bit, spreading you, and your words hitched in your throat.
“Quiet,” he warned. Then, with a few carefully arranged words, he deflected the conversation, looping in his parents to take some of the heat off you. A small mercy that had your heart going gooey.
“Baby, please—” you protested weakly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“You have a safe word,” he replied in a low whisper, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “And please isn't it.”
Fucker had you there.
He slipped back into the larger conversation, and you straightened, trying to look as dignified and poised as possible while his hand finally settled against your core. He palmed the entirety of you, feeling the heat, the moisture soaking through your panties.
His mouth quirked up at the corner, clearly pleased with his find, and a rush of excitement rinsed through you.
As much as you whined, you loved his insatiable appetite for you, and craved his approval like air, even if he was an ass about it.
His middle finger slipped beneath the gusset your panties, dragging through you, and you had to bite back the whimper that bubbled up.
With expert, practiced precision, he coaxed you open, slow and steady, completely hidden beneath the table. His family none the wiser of the way he was pulling you apart at the seams. Piece by torturous piece.
For his part, he seemed entirely unaffected, carrying on with the conversation like there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than talking about his uncles work.
You were getting closer, pleasure burning through you, twisting low and merciless in your belly. You braced your hand on your chin, trying to cover to your face in anticipation, when suddenly his hand slipped away, the fire under your skin sputtering out.
You glared at him, and he winked at you, carefully cleaning your slick off his fingers before reaching up to take a sip of his drink. He tossed a wink at you, smug as could be.
📢 PART 9 of SHAKEN TO THE CORE - A Steddie Interactive Fic is now available on AO3! You all voted!
Hey friends! Here’s the second to last installment of Shaken to the Core! Thank you to all who responded. There will only be 10 parts. I decided for this one I don’t have any choice at the end, but I’m excited to share where this story will go once part 10 posts (hopefully sooner rather than later). I hope you all enjoy it! 💖
Summary:
Steve races through the forest toward the sound of the gunshot and a beast flying overhead. But has his decision put the whole group at risk?
I didn't publish a poll earlier and promptly deleted it after a half hour 👀 IDK what you're talking about. I totally didn't let the voice win and wrote the first drabble for both an F!reader and an M!reader knowing damn well I'm going to hate myself for it later.
Readers choice DBD Killer(s) x F!reader
Part 1
You shivered under the blanket that covered your bare body. The thick fur of it dense and yet you couldn't seem to get warmer no matter how tightly you curled up. It was like the chill of the weather had seeped into your very bones. The bite cold sleeping from outside doing little to help as you heard arguing in the room you laid in. Two bellowing figures yelling at each other one in you think Russian the other in a language you weren't even familiar with. An occasional English word thrown in. The mask man was angry about something, but the mask woman wasn't having it.
“That thing is a Trap!” he screamed, pointing right at you, “Huntress please, put it back where you found it and let the fog consume it!” His words begging for her to see reason.
“You no tell me what to do Evan! I make own choice!” She screeched brandishing her axe. Eyes blazing with a barely contained fury. The name seeming to enrage the man his cleaver pointed at her chest, “Don't ever call me that!” He growled through gritted teeth. “I am the Trapper and don't you forget it!” He hissed storming out into the blizzard door slamming behind him, clearly upset with the woman.
She mumbled something in Russian making her way to the pot on the fire. A fresh stew cooking, the smell wafting through the cottage. A soft smile gracing her face once she noticed you. Letting go of that anger she moved to fireplace grabbing a bowl from the mantle and ladling in the chunky stew. “Sorry, rebenok, did I wake you?” she cooed, rising to her feet, bootsteps heavy yet graceful as she moved to your side kneeling before you, presenting the bowl. “I apologize if the taste is not to liking. I still learning, but it nutritious. Make you strong like bear.” Accent thick and the words clunky.
Her build was thick and muscular you could see the faintest of a brown bob hidden by the veil that covered her head. Your own head still swirled and throbbed, and no matter how hard you tried to think no memories would come to you. It was like who you were was stripped away. The person you once were lost.
?
Take the bowl and thank her
scream because you're naked in a strange woman's house
throw caution to the wind and bolt out into the storm
So I have most of the chapter names and plots written out in my head and here's what potentially to come(though changes may be made):
Chapter 1: A Rough start
Chapter 2: Front row seat
Chapter 3: The shelf life
Chapter 4: Solo act
Chapter 5: The Unexpected and (not) Unwelcomed
Chapter 6: Freed dove, caged crow
Chapter 7:
Possible spin of one shot chapter's:
-Did the leopards eat you're face?
-A good day
First things first, each main story chapter will take place during the a sole phase of the gorillaz, phase 7 sadly not included, as it will only go to phase 6.
But you also should see chapter 7 is blank as I am unsure of how the series should end. While thinking things out, the series is seeming like it's gonna be a lot more angsty than I thought, which there's nothing wrong with and I'll try to balance everything out, but with that I'm not sure if I want to give it a good ending or a bad ending, so it's up to you guys, the people who are actually gonna read it. And chapter 7 shan't be named till I know the ending type.
what kinda ending?
Sad and angsty ending(Murdoc and reader will either not get together fully)
When I started writing Protocols Unknown: A Decision of the Stars, I had no intention of going past eight chapters. It was supposed to be a short, focused piece. But the story kept growing. The characters had more to say. The ideas kept coming.
Since then, we have made it through two kidnappings, one coma, a couple of J/C moments, a J/K scene I will not be talking about, and Janeway going full Captain Badass Galaxy Mama in Chapters 9, 10, 26, and 28. A massive timeline reset. Kashyk raising Astrea in the shadow of her mother.
So where are we now? We are at the end, but it is not what you think.
These chapters were built for you, as a readers choice.
I have spent so much time building these final chapters. Each one is different in structure and tone, but they all lead to the same ending. Astrea and Kathryn had to be reunited. There was no other way.
I have a deep respect for canon. That meant Astrea could not go back to Earth. The original timeline had to be reset and Q was the only one who could do it.
*Each timeline is linked under the gif set*
Kathryn and Seven - The Tether <- 🔗
Kathryn and Kashyk - The Wait <- 🔗
Kathryn and Chakotay - The Final Shape <- 🔗
If you have been following me for a few months, then you know what today is. It is the day I leave for London. That intention was set all the way back in Chapter 18: Kathryn Janeway. I knew what, how and when, i wanted to post these.
I know it’s just another fic out there on the internet. But, to me, this was my way of coping and staying busy.
Please leave a comment here or on AO3 and let me what your timeline is.
Thelifeofanother
Happy Reading!
P.S. Told you I would be around on the 12th with a trip update…
You adjust your stance behind the bar, careful to push up on your toes to reach the top shelf to slide the clean glasses in. He thinks he's blending in with the rest of the crowd, lingering amongst the tourists who are all peering in the shops and booths. But he's not. You spot him easily, as if he has a spotlight on him in the dark shadows of the alleyway where the crowd is funneling in from.
You tilt your head looking blatantly at him. He's leaned against the brick of a building with his arms crossed staring into you as if you were the only person here. He doesn't even flinch as someone barrels into him in their haste to get onto the street.
The last time he had been by had been over a month ago, but he had walked the street every night then. Pausing outside your club to just stare up at you before disappearing again. At first you had been creeped out, worried he was watching you for something nefarious and had asked your friends to walk with you to your car. But he never tried anything, always just lingered in the background, never coming in to talk to you.
Shy boys were common, but he didn't give off the air of a nervous man. If anything he was oozing confidence in how he walked and stared which was why you didn't understand why he didn't come up to you, or at least come in for a drink before finding someone for company that evening.
A knock on the bar has you looking down and you do your best to not frown as you spot the face of your regular. Like clockwork every Tuesday evening he was there. He wasn't bad, not really, just overly chatty and always attempting to to take you home. When you walk over to him the wave of alcohol oozing off him overwhelms you, which is saying something since you work in a bar, and you know you're going to have to turn him away.
"Go on babes," you say with a fake smile as he grins sloppily at you. "Come back tomorrow when you can stand, waste of money when you're like this," you wink pointing him away. He doesn't go though and instead moves to take up one of your precious seats for paying customers. Damn it.
"Pretty sure they said no, mate," comes a growl of a voice as your watcher finally appears. He had moved quick, you hadn't even seen him make his way over. "Go sleep it off," he instructs as the guy stares up and notices the height, and build, difference. Your regular nods before stepping back, stumbling a bit before slipping through the crowd.
"Thanks," you say quietly to your watcher, trying to take in his face that's hidden by a ballcap and hood. "I was wondering if you were ever going to work up the courage to come talk to me," you say lightly, leaning on the bar as the music from the stage thrums in your veins.
"No courage needed," he answers flicking his eyes up to yours. What you see there gives you pause. He's gorgeous up close. Intense eyes under long lashes that make you envious. His face is marred in spots, old scars crisscross across his eyebrow and cheek, yet you find them intriguing. "You watch me as much as I watch you."
"When you stare at me while I work it's a bit hard to not watch you," you answer simply, ignoring as someone calls for a refill.
"That's your job though isn't it?" He asks as he takes a seat, "to be stared at…watched."
"People usually pay when they stare," you answer trying to not snap at his presumptuous tone. "You've had a free show for weeks," you tack on before the person calls for a refill again and you turn heel to help them. Even with your back turned you can feel his eyes on you, as if they were consuming you. And you know when he walks away, the burning sensation on your back gone to be replaced by disappointment.
But when you return to where he had been seated you find a folded piece of paper under a glass. A few large bills and a note are tucked inside. "Payment for staring" is all that is scribbled inside.
You don't see him for another few weeks but one night during a downpour he walks in like he's never been gone and sits at the bar for hours. You don't exchange a single word aside from taking his order, water, all night. But the staring is enough to make your breath catch and body shake with desire.
He watches you like he wants to destroy and worship you all at once and you are fairly certain he can do both.
