anonymous asked:

Can you do a piece about Harry coming back from France and you haven't seen him for a while and you notice he's more musclier whilst smut is occurring😈 in light of new pics ppleeeease xxx

As promised, new writing. Loosely based on Important or Summat. Enjoy. x

Warnings: daddy!kink with four rings.

Gentle reminder: requests are closed – this is old.

054. Or Summat - Sequel to Important or Summat

Dawn hasn’t even broken when you hear your name. It’s soft, and thick, and there’s a gentle sweeping sensation over your forehead. Your face scrunches against it and you shrink away from the bothersome, tickling sensation.

“Love,” the gravelly voice pipes up, a little firmer but also pleading. “Don’t yeh wanna say hello?”

Say hello to whom?

You open your eyes and blink. Everything is cloaked in darkness but the sky is lightening through the window, turning from a pitch black to a gradient of indigo and blues.

It’s barely enough for you to make out the green eyes, stubble-lined pink mouth, and beanie-covered curls of your boyfriend.

“Harry?” you croak, blinking furiously to clear sleep from your eyes.

“Someone else you’re lookin’ fo’?”

His answer is cheeky but you’re too vulnerable to care.

“Harry!” you gasp. “Oh, Harry!

He’s laughing at you with sleepy eyes as you fling covers back and scramble onto your knees and throw your arms around his neck. Two long arms wind around you and you grunt as they squeeze you into a bear hug, your lungs feeling curiously more pressed than they would ordinarily, trapped in muscular arms against a chest that is broader and firmer than you remember.

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Damen dropped the pitcher.

It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor.

Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him.

‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen.

‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent.

—  Kings Rising by C. S. Pacat
Polka Dots

Harry and Y/N are friends with benefits, and a lot more.

Harry buries his nose into Y/N’s neck and ignores the chatter outside. He wants to get out of here and take her home. She smells like strawberries and probably tastes like it too.  “Someone’s gonna see you.” She picks at the pretzel sticks and attempts to wiggle away from him.

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Imagine you've been captured by a witch Part 2


When you and the witch passed through the open gate, she stopped to reseal it with the wave of her hand. Your knees trembled as you tried to stay standing, leaning onto the witch for support. The new weight of whatever was inside you pressed down against your cervix. You glanced down, fearful that something would start moving, pushing outward against your skin.

“Now,” The witch waved her hand again, this time toward the cave exit, “There’s still some time before you give me what I want, so you’ll be coming with me.”

You would have tried to get away from her, but you hesitated. The witch understood what was happening to you. If you tried to run away or kill her, you would be left without any help. If she found you again or survived an attempt on her life, she would likely curse you to something far worse. As long as you were full of the creature’s spawn, she would aid you in dealing with them. Besides, you didn’t have the energy to escape.

She opened a portal, guiding you through. A wave of nausea hit you. You leaned forward, putting a hand over your mouth to try and keep yourself from vomiting. The witch removed herself from beneath your arm, “Silly girl. So vulnerable to magic,” She walked toward a wardrobe, skimming through it.

You looked around warily. It seemed that the witch had brought you to her shop. There was a small set of wooden stairs leading to a door, light streaming from the cracks. It was the only way outside. There were no windows. The shop was built within the ground, likely beneath an inn or bar. Witchcraft was illegal in most of the world. Many feared it and burned anyone suspected of using magic without sufficient evidence. The shop was an open area, save for one small door. The witch’s bedroom, probably. Your gaze drifted some of the bottles of potions and jars of specimens she had set up on several shelves. One of them twitched, and you quickly looked away.

“Put this on,” The witch handed you a simple dress.

You looked down, realizing that you still had the torn remains of your old dress hanging from your form. You removed the rags, slipping the cotton dress on. The waist had ample room for a pregnant woman, but you were too big. It would have draped nicely over a soft, round belly, but the fabric was tight over your stomach. You pulled at the dress, trying to see if you could stretch the material. You paused, palms shakily pressing against your skin. Nothing moved. It was firm and heavy. You were tempted to sit down in one of the chairs, just so you could get some rest.

The witch approached you again. This time, with a bucket of water and other cleaning supplies. She placed them at your feet, “You’ll be here for a while, so make yourself useful.”

You stared at her. She couldn’t be serious. She had made you the victim of some monster and now she was expecting you to clean, “No.”

“No?” She removed her hood, revealing a prettier face than what you had expected. From the look of her, she was five to seven years older than you. But she was a witch. Her appearance could be changed. She smirked, her hands on her hips, “You’re saying no? And you think that leaving will be better for you? You have no money. You’re days from your home and you can barely walk. Even if you stayed in the city, what happens when these,” She reached down, her hand on your stomach, “Leave you? If you’re caught birthing these, you’ll be executed for witchcraft. You’re carrying the young of a terrible beast, my dear. A terrible beast that is created using witchcraft.”

You looked away, deciding not to argue.

“Good~ So, you’re going to cook, you’re going to clean, and you’re going to give me a wonderful supply of new ingredients,” She smiled, then gestured to the bucket at your feet, “Go on.”

You carefully sank to your knees, grabbing a scrub brush from the bucket of soapy water. The witch was being intentionally cruel and you knew it. There was a mop in the open supply closet, but she hadn’t given it to you. You were sure that, if you tried to reach for it, she would end up punishing you somehow. She wanted you scrubbing on your hands and knees. You leaned forward, a hand reaching out to balance yourself. Your stomach pressed against the floor and you had to spread your legs to accommodate the space it took up. You sighed, but kept it quiet. You glanced up to the witch, who was humming to herself and working on some potions.

After an hour, the front of your dress was soaked. Working on your hands and knees with your stomach hanging so low made it impossible to stay dry. But there was no way around it. You couldn’t stop working, fearing that the witch would bark at you to get back to scrubbing.

Multiple customers had come into the shop. You tried to avoid eye contact, hoping that no one from your town had traveled to the city. You didn’t want anyone you knew to see you in such a state. A few of the customers asked the witch about you. They wanted to know your age, how the witch had come across you, and how far along you were. The witch lied. She guessed your age. She said that she had found you in the alley behind a whorehouse. She made herself into a hero, claiming that you had been impregnated by one of your clients and fired from your job. The witch’s voice would drift into a lilting tone as she told them that you were still quite a way’s away from giving birth, even though you had already grown so much. You didn’t argue with her story. You merely kept cleaning.

It was getting close to sunset when the door opened again. You didn’t look, keeping your head down as you scrubbed the floors. Your knees were sore. Your back ached. You were covered in sweat. You huffed, deciding to take a small break. You sat back, still on your knees. The wet fabric of your dress made you a bit as you moved. The weight of your belly kept your back arched, thighs parted to make room. You reached up to wipe the sweat from your brow, only to notice something in your periphery. You stopped, looking up.

It was a man. He was tall and dressed in dark, expensive clothing. Your gaze flickered to his face, but you quickly looked away. It wasn’t his appearance that had you averting your gaze. It was the look he gave you. His eyes were dark, roaming over your form. You could feel him staring at you, like a wolf that had happened upon a defenseless lamb.

But then he turned and walked away from you, as if deciding that he wasn’t hungry. He approached the witch, starting a conversation. He made no mention of you. Still, when the witch wasn’t looking, you could feel him staring at you.

Two weeks had passed. You were terrified. Each morning you woke up from your small cot, you wondered if your stomach had grown. But you couldn’t notice a difference. Your dress hadn’t tightened around your belly. Your breasts, however, had changed. There were nights that the pressure was so painful that you couldn’t touch them without wincing. The witch had noticed, telling you that it was just your body responding to the spawn inside of you. The things that would leave your womb wouldn’t need your milk. You shivered at the thought.

The man had started coming to the witch’s shop more and more. At first, he merely watched you clean or cook. There were times that you glanced at him, trying to figure out what he wanted. But he never focused on one part of you. His stare always wandered. It was obvious that he had dark intentions. You didn’t say anything to him. You just kept your distance.

As time went on, he began getting closer to you when the witch was busy with a potion or another customer. If you were on your knees cleaning, he would tangle his fingers in your hair. He would pull your neck into an uncomfortable angle, forcing you to look at him. He would keep you there for a moment before letting you go and acting as if it had never happened. If you were cooking, he would sneak up on you when your hands were full. He’d grab your hair, pulling your head to one side. Your dress would be pulled away from your shoulder, his teeth sharp and tongue hot against your skin. His free hand would disappear between your legs, rubbing against you as you quickly discarded whatever you were holding so you could try to push him away. But just as your hand grabbed his wrist, his fingers would delve into your entrance. With the weight against your cervix and his fingertips pressing into places that had your knees weak, you became more focused on staying quiet than getting away from him. After the second time it happened, you were sure that the witch knew and simply didn’t care.

But you had a plan now. You had found times in the day where the witch wanted you to have tea prepared for more prestigious guests. At first, she merely told you to make the tea. As time went on, she decided to humiliate you by ordering you to bring the tea and serve it to your customers. So many people had reached out to touch your stomach, reminding you of why you were stuck with the witch. Some of them commented that you must be carrying twins. Others had started making bets over when you were going to give birth. It was horrible to endure, but it was the best time for you to avoid that man. You stood by the door, your back to the wall as you waited for the guests to finish their tea so you could either pour them another or relieve them of their cups. The man usually came to the shop at a specific time. If you had tea prepared and already waiting at the table, you could keep him from sneaking up on you.

The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. The man descended the stairs, still dressed as elegantly as he would any other day. But you could tell from the way his fingers gripped the railing that he was furious. His shoulders were tense, everything about his posture screaming agitation. At first, you thought he was going to storm right past you to see the witch. But he stopped, turning to look at you. You froze, eyes widening. His breathing was ragged, hair mussed as he pinned you beneath his gaze. You couldn’t move, legs locked in place despite your urge to run. He was on the hunt now, but he wasn’t just hungry. He was starving.

The witch stepped out of her bedroom. You relaxed slightly, thinking that she would see to his potion order. But she glanced between you, a smile creeping onto her face, “You’ve been eyeing her for quite some time.”

“Of course I have,” He growled, “Everyone that comes here takes notice.”

“They’re curious. They always whisper about her water breaking as she’s cleaning. Some of them have been coming more often just so they can watch.”

The man suddenly relaxed, his fiery rage turning into something dark and focused. He smirked, “But she won’t, will she? Not yet, anyway.”

“No, not for another week. I could have sped it up, but that risks some of the young. I need as much as those little creatures as I can get out of her.”

You glared at her, but held your tongue. If she could make the process faster, she could likely slow it down, too. You returned your attention to the man.

The witch laughed slightly, “Is that why you’re so worked up? You’ve been waiting to find her empty?”

He grinned. If you had met him before anything had happened to you, before you knew what he was capable of, you would have fallen in love with him easily. He was handsome. Tall and lean, yet strong. But you knew what sort of darkness he held. He tilted his head to one side, “I’ve always wanted a wife. Finding a woman to give me fresh supplies, but also keep my bed warm and provide me with plenty of children? I’m a lucky man. You only need her once. I want her for eternity.”

You looked to the witch, praying that she would refuse. She only had to use you once, then she would let you go back home. The only thing that had been getting you through this entire ordeal was the idea that you would be able to go home and continue your life afterward.

But she smiled wickedly, her voice sweet, “You can use her now, if you like. She’s stable.”

The man’s smirk widened and he approached you, “Come here, darling.”

- Keira Metz

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Originally posted by clubeskimo

Summary:  You’re the newest artist to sign with AOMG.  Jay has decided to feature you on the Mommae Remix for his Worldwide album.  (You’ll be rapping Honey Cocaine’s part.)  You haven’t heard everyone’s parts, so at the rehearsal for the live show you finally hear Simon’s part.  And after you finish you look at him and ask if his dick so solid, why is he still single.  Jay and the boys join in and make fun of Simon.  Simon doesn’t say anything and just smirks at you.  After practice he takes you by the arm and back to his office and then ya know SEX. lol.

Admin Kitten

Word Count: 3006        

Tags: SMUT!  Daddy!Kink.  Mild Brat Taming. Spanking. Oral (male receiving)

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The silk sheets felt cold on your legs as you were gently placed in the center of the bed.

“You need to learn to control yourself baby” Calum calmly says before walking into the large walk in closet to collect a few items.  The familiar sound of clanking handcuffs makes your ears perk up, and the feel of his skin on yours makes you shiver, the cold metal wrapping around your wrist makes your tummy start to do flips.

“I-im able to control myself,  really.” Your voice shakes as he leans his body closer to yours, close enough to feel his breathing on your lips, but just far enough to not touch.

“We’ll it’s good you think that way babydoll, because I’m going to wreck you.” Your not even looking at his face and you can see the smirk spread wide across his lips.

His fingers lightly dance up your inner legs, being able to feel the rough calluses on his finger tips scrap against your soft skin making  goose bumps rise across your whole body.

A small moan leaves your lips as you slowly move your thighs closer together,  preventing Calums wandering hands from coming any closer.

“Baby, open up for Daddy. I don’t want to get the spreader bar out for this, because I promise once I put it on you it’s not coming off for a while.” His words sound genuine but his actions seem mischievous as his fingers glide closer to your inner thighs and his lips move from knee to knee.

And still you keep your legs closed.

@cutepotter for giving me the idea 💕 Please let me know if you like it.