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temptress-writes · 2 years ago

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📺 Sugar

A/N: Welcome to The Tonight Show with Harry Styles. The year is 1964, and you are his assistant. He's a bit of a shit. So this is a fun one.

C.W: sexual content: kinda rough— choking, spanking, degradation, slapping, spitting, squirting.

18+ ONLY.

***

New York City, 1964.

"Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather."

The bright lights heated him even from behind the curtain. A warmth that coasted alongside his adrenaline. He struggled to keep his body cool underneath his designer sweater, felt his feet tapping restlessly in his leather oxfords.

This was his favourite part.

The cheers, the introduction, the attention.

You ran the lint roller over his shoulders as he sipped steaming tea from a paper cup. You made sure the collar of his plaid shirt was straight as it peeked out from his red sweater.

Another sip of steaming tea, another tongue twister.

"She sells..." You coached.

He took in a deep breath, watching you as you made sure he appeared perfect, rearranging the groomed curls on his head. Your green dress stood brightly against the black of the stage, the white cuffs of it framing your wrists as you fussed over his hair.

"She sells seashells by the seashore."

"One minute till curtain!" The stage manager yelled as he breezed by. "How're you feeling, Mr. Styles?"

"Like a million bucks, Sal!"

"That's the spirit!" Sal chuckled, running towards the side of the stage, probably chasing after an intern who wasn't doing their job properly.

"Remember, you're meeting your parents for dinner after this." You reminded, ticking off the mental to-do list that was really his. It was clogging your mind but after all, it was your job.

"I haven't forgotten." He rolled his eyes. Yes, you were his assistant, but he found you controlling at times and he had little patience for women who tried to control him. He preferred to be the one in charge.

"But you'll still find a way to be late, anyway." You stepped back with a huff. He really did make your job a living hell.

"I'm taking a refreshment in my dressing room after the show."

You scrunched up your face in disgust. Refreshment. You hated that you knew it was code for a visit from a desperate groupie. You remember when he told you how he chose which girl he liked the best. You'd been watching the audience file in and he appeared behind you, chewing gum with a confident pop of his jaw.

"Let me scope it out."

"Why?"

"Like to see who's gonna join me for a post-show soirée. See those girls?" He pointed to a group of overdressed girls, all giggling and excited for the show to start. "Bingo."

"How do you know which one to pick?"

He shot you a look, clicking his tongue. "The tits, sugar. I always pick the girl with the biggest tits."

"Ugh." You rolled your eyes. "You're disgusting."

"I'm just messin'," He tilted his head. "I'm an ass man, too."

You shuddered at the recollection.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." Your voice was laced with a seething sarcasm that he raised a brow at.

He didn't seem to conceptualise that you talked that way because that's how he talked to you. He couldn't see past his blinding, misogynistic ego.

You were purely volleying it right back at him. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest move because you really needed this job and he had a tendency to fire staff with a snap of his jeweled fingers. He'd made the past six months hard on you and he really made your blood boil.

Who knew becoming Harry Styles' assistant would be akin to babysitting a grumpy toddler?

The Tonight Show with Harry Styles.

Hilarious with guests, a major flirt, and entertaining — even when reading out news segments.

He was well-loved by everyone. For his fun fashion statements, for his guests, his charm, his whole fantasy world on his show. Worldwide, he was adored as the most entertaining and handsome talk show host.

But you knew what happened behind the scenes.

Poised and perfect on camera, but as soon as the director called cut, you had trouble convincing yourself it wasn't a joke. People of the television world had a different sort of ego and you struggled to breathe among it all. Harry hated mingling with guests before and after the show more than he had to, he hated when the crew bothered him, he hated being approached by fans for autographs because he had a headache — or whatever excuse he was offering that day.

Don't get it twisted — he loved the attention he got from being so famous. You were surprised his head wasn't bigger. The one thing he loved most about being so popular was the fact that he could have anyone on his knees for him, be between their legs, and have them at their disposal. And he treated them like that was their only use.

The charming and cheerful Harry Styles.

Purely a falsity of a man.

The crew fled from the stage as the band started playing the introduction theme music and you swept the cup from his hand. You replaced it with two certs breath mints that he chewed on routinely.

"Wish me good luck." He demanded as you gave him a once over.

You beamed. "Break a leg."

"Thanks, sugar."

"No, like trip and fall."

His smile dropped into an unamused glare. "Oh, bite me."

The music ensued, getting louder with an abundant cheer from the live crowd, the curtain preparing to lift to reveal him. You rushed off stage, your Mary Janes clicking on the floor before nodding to Sal who gave you two thumbs up.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

Harry took a deep breath, already bathing in the adoration he garnered from simply existing.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

You rolled your eyes as he mouthed along with the words as they were spoken.

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

The curtain parted and he stepped forward, his hands waving to the crowd before clasping them together as he took a small bow. He blew kisses, thanking them for coming and welcoming them. He egged on the drummer of the band while the crowd cheered for him.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

More cheers that he absolutely cherished and bathed in, letting them fuel his ego.

"We've got a great show for you tonight, we have special guests The Everly Brothers joining us!"

Your job while Harry was doing his magic spiel on stage was to check in with him during commercial breaks, smooth his hair, offer him mints, refill his water. Also to make sure everything was perfect for him when he wrapped up. He was extremely demanding, and while you were warned of that when you first took the job, you were still so surprised just how needy he was.

He liked ham and tomato sandwiches exactly fifteen minutes before he was put into his hair and makeup chair. He liked a cup of hot tea right before air time, alongside a few tongue twisters. He went through packets of Certs breath mints faster than you thought humanly possible. He also wanted a cup of black coffee waiting for him directly after he got off stage.

He didn't like to talk to anyone on his way to his dressing room unless it was Sal congratulating him and inflaming his already huge ego. Or security telling him about a waiting groupie in his dressing room. Or you, running over his schedule or helping him memorise his script. Well, he didn't like talking to you. He more or less answered in grunts or irritated comments.

As Harry settled in for his show post the joke segment, you ran around backstage. Ordering his coffee and one for yourself because you couldn't keep up with his demands without your own shot of caffeine. You were due within minutes to refresh him during the breed.

It really was an exciting job, aside from being a woman in a man's world. You were treated as such but you were lucky enough to be given the job in the first place. At first, you were nervous around Harry. It took him a second to warm up to you.

The first time you met was when he found you in his dressing room before a show, bent over the vanity as you watered his flowers. He thought you were there for a completely different reason and had quickly started to unbuckle his belt.

"Alright, let's make this quick."

You then spotted him in the mirror and turned with a gasp. "What are you-"

And before it could have got any more awkward, before Harry could even fully unbuckle his belt, Sal stormed in with a shocked laugh.

"Oh!" His amused gaze flickered between the two of you. "Harry, I see you've met your new assistant."

"I don't need an assistant, Sal. We've been through this. Why do you think I got rid of the last one?"

"Well, of course, you do! She's just here to help you perform at your best, Styles. Try not to scare this one off."

And while he'd probably never admit it to you, you actually were very helpful to have around. Once you'd stopped being so awkward and nervous and jittery around him, you found a dynamic that worked. One where he could be a condescending male and you could be just as snappy right back to him.

Past assistants had stuck to him like a bad smell and only irritated him. You did what was expected of you. Nothing more, nothing less. You kept your little purse stocked with certs breath mints, lint rollers and kept that fact that he fucked fans in his dressing rooms after and sometimes before shows quiet.

But after all, everyone was well aware. They even congratulated him on his sexual success. Nothing grossed you out more.

Aside from Harry being a mildly misogynistic, cocky, well-dressed thorn in your side, you loved your job. You met exciting guests whom you only dreamed of meeting. Stars you had posters of in your apartment, musicians whose vinyls you span on your turntable.

In your first week on the job, you met Santo and Johnny. They'd just finished a performance of Sugar Song and they flirted with you until you were a blushing mess.

Harry had watched the interaction, grumbling about professionalism and waiting for them to leave so he could torment you about it.

"Got the hots do ya, little sugar?"

"Kiss off, Styles."

That was the most colourful thing you'd ever said to him. The shock of it raised his brows and sent a singeing pang of arousal directly to his crotch.

There was a part of Harry that wanted to hate you. Because you were a woman bossing him around and because you got on his nerves. But the more rational part of him knew he could never hate you. You were too helpful and he'd be lying if he said you weren't one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of girls.

But he knew you were disgusted by his habits, how he slept with so many people. In his own sick way, he used it to his advantage, to keep you at arm's length. That and endless comments he knew would rile you up. And boy, did he rile you up. He'd finessed the art of it.

The show ran smoothly tonight, but by no means were you any less busy. You raced around with your clipboard tucked under your arm and two cups of coffee in either hand. You sipped on yours, grateful for the kick it gave. Harry was saying his goodnight to the crowd, his cup steaming in your left hand as you rushed to meet him.

"Thank you for spending the night with me, New York!"

His classic closing catchphrase. Cheeky and risky, but it was him and he got away with everything.

Thunderous applause overpowered the sound of your heels clicking as you turned a corner, beelining towards the stage exit. You were late. He'd be off stage by now, demanding things and barking orders like the diva he was.

As if you weren't going to hear an earful from him as it was, an intern bumped into you. The crash caused your two cups of coffee to spill all down the front of your dress. You barely noticed the burn.

"Seriously?" You seethed, holding your now empty cups out in exasperation.

"I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching-"

"You don't say."

You could hear Harry asking where you were and you groaned, absolutely vexed. You turned in the exact opposite direction of him and back to grab more coffee. You knew he'd especially need it tonight if he was meeting with his parents.

"What happened to you?" Sal guffawed and you rolled your eyes.

"If you see Harry, tell him that his coffee is coming."

"Bit hard getting it to him when you're wearing it."

"Not funny."

A few minutes later, you held a single coffee cup. Steaming, black. You wrapped both your hands around it, holding it steady and keeping far away from anyone who could bump you. Your dress had seen better days and the stain was obvious and uncomfortably wet.

You found your way back to his dressing room, where he'd no doubt holed himself up in to freshen up. You knocked, hoping he was alone and waiting for you before continuing on with his post-show... rituals.

"Come in!" You heard from the other side and you slipped inside quickly.

"So sorry, Mr. Styles, I had an accid- oh, my god!"

You took in the scene before you. Harry. With a girl on his knees in front of him. His jeweled fingers clenching a fistful of the girl's hair as she sucked him off. His brows were turned down in the middle but his eyes... his eyes were on you. And he was enjoying it. Enjoying the girl, and enjoying you watching.

"Alright, sugar?"

"I-" You didn't know what to say, and the girl didn't stop. You didn't know if that was her doing or if Harry was holding her down. You turned, and idiotically turned back around, taking the few steps towards him, and handed him his cup of coffee. You didn't meet his eyes, like a bumbling idiot.

You left the room, but not before hearing Harry take a hefty sip of his coffee and letting out a soft moan, "Oh, that's so good."

Vexed by his antics, and the fact that he made it his mission to throw you off like that, you signed out and went home. It was as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him and you felt an odd sense of jealously wash over you. Maybe you were jealous of past you, because she hadn't witnessed it. Or maybe there was a bit of jealousy there because you wanted to be the one on your knees for him.

As delightful as the thought was for a margin of a second, you felt ill knowing you'd be another Harry Styles groupie. And it would make your job more difficult which you didn't think was even possible.

But you couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. His blissful expression, the way he directed it at you as opposed to the mouth wrapped around him. He had told you to enter his dressing room so that you could see it.

The next night, you planned on fully avoiding him and pretending the whole thing never happened. Which was hard considering, you know, you were to follow him around and listen to his demands. And especially hard because you just wished he'd command you onto your knees already.

Sure, you found him extremely attractive — everyone did. You may have even had a little crush when you first met him. But then you got to know him, and his habits and his ways. Last night grossed you out just as much as it turned you on. You felt so thrown off and now you weren't sure how to act around him.

You arrived at the studio not too long before showtime, Harry's cup of tea in hand. You were a little bit late today but you figured he could survive fifteen minutes without you. He was in hair and wardrobe, getting his curls perfected and his forehead powered.

He sat in the chair with his legs spread, a pair of black dress pants and a white singlet, his inked arms on display. You focused on staying professional and met his eyes for a brief moment as you greeted him and handed him his cup of tea. No milk, and don't be shy with the honey, he'd told you when you first started.

His eyes scanned your attire, a pink dress with long sleeves but a shorter hem than usual, he noticed. He didn't hate having to look at your legs, your plump thighs, and the intrigue of what was between them ran rampant in his thoughts.

You had a soft yellow ribbon in your hair, keeping it swept away from your face in a high ponytail. He clenched his jaw, wishing it was his hand fisting your hair. He'd tie your hands up with the ribbon so you'd have to behave for him.

"Thanks. Dig pink on ya." He took a sip, his eyes full with mischief as he watched you over the rim of his cup. "Enjoy the show last night?"

You knew he was referring to you seeing him get blown by some random groupie so you ignored him, looking at your clipboard. "So Sal wants to see you in five, and we're reconfiguring some set pieces before airtime. So be on stage straight after you've seen him, okay?"

The hairstylist finished up, and you were left alone with him in the room. You were a lot stiffer tonight, more reserved than usual and he picked up on it right away. You raised a brow, wondering if he'd heard a single word you said.

He smirked. "Why did you come in last night? You know I have post-show celebrations in my dressing room."

"I was bringing you coffee! You told me to come in!" This man was exasperating. He knew that he'd asked you for coffee and told you to enter his dressing room after you'd knocked. He wanted you to see and now he was just winding you up.

He raised a brow. "Did I?"

"Five minutes." You reaffirmed. You tried to hide the way that his tone crept down your spine in slow, hot trickles.

He sat up in the chair, his hand reaching to cup the back of your lower thigh. You stopped breathing at the sudden touch and he pulled you towards him. His gaze was searing on yours, his eyes wondering and daring.

"You wanted to stay, didn't you? Watch me get my dick sucked while I watched you."

"No, I didn't." You whispered, letting him pull you forward until you were standing between his spread legs.

"No?"

"No." Even you weren't convinced by your answer.

"Hmm... you wanted to be the one on your knees for me. Is that it?"

You took a deep, shaky breath. His question fired something off in your brain. A realisation perhaps. You did want to be on your knees for him, being the reason for his pleasure, be at his command, make him feel good, make him fucking fall apart because of you.

"So pretty in this tiny fuckin' dress." He cooed. His hand came up, cupping your cheek. Your eyeshadow was a pretty soft blue and he adored it. His fingers trailed down, tracing your lower lip. "You'd look so perfect with my cock in your mouth."

You couldn't even suppress the whimper that ensued. Did you thank him? Slap him? Get on your knees and prove his point?

He didn't seem fazed by the fact that you weren't saying much. You were responding to him in other ways. Leaning right into him with your eyes lulled, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaving beneath that fucking pink dress. You were driving him crazy with how badly he wanted you.

The night before had been his own sick little test. Either, you'd be game, or you'd pull away from him completely. Regardless, he'd know where you stood and accept all that accompanied him. He knew how fucked up it was but you really seemed to enjoy the game.

His other hand squeezed the back of your thigh, inching higher. "What colour are your panties?"

You gasped at the question, so turned on by him and how bold he was. It used to scare you, but now being on the receiving end was a completely different ballpark.

"Blue." You breathed out.

"What shade of blue?" He pressed on. "Like your eyeshadow?"

You twisted your lips in thought. "Do you want to see?"

Harry released a shocked laugh, but his mind was fucking reeling. Did you really just ask if he wanted to see your panties?

"A peek couldn't hurt."

He gripped your hips and lifted you up onto the vanity behind you. You were shocked that he could lift you so effortlessly and smoothly. You crossed your legs, more to tease him than anything else. Your expression was sultry, and he felt lightheaded at the sight of you. Slowly, you unfolded your legs but didn't open them.

"Don't be shy, sugar. Show me and I'll make it up to you."

You let out a slow exhale, mustering up all of your courage. You were shaking, but it wasn't nerves. He had you so worked up and he had barely done anything. He'd riled you up and talked to you, and you were already fucking saturated.

Your legs parted, feet resting on either side of his thighs on the chair. Harry's eyes stayed on yours, his hands reaching to slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of your pink press up so he could get a good view of you, finally looking down.

And what a fucking view it was. Your thighs were soft, and he let his hands squeeze at them. Sky blue lace covered the area he'd been dreaming about for six months. He let out a soft groan and let his fingertip brush over the skin where your abdomen met the panties.

"Lace? Did you wear these for me?"

"I had you in mind."

"Naughty girl." He smirked, shuffling forward. His thumb brushed over your clothed clit and you let out a whimper, biting your lip to quell anything louder than might to escape. "Can I taste you? Please? Been wantin' to for months."

You nodded, your mouth dry. You'd let this man do anything to you, and hearing him tell you he'd been wanting this for months left you in a frenzy.

"Words, sugar. Let's hear 'em."

"Please," You whispered. "taste me."

"Good girl, that's it." He pulled your panties to the side, desperate to see you and taste you. You were glistening, so wet and plump for him. He sighed, running his thumb along your clit before venturing between your folds to feel how wet you were. Your thighs jolted as he slipped his thumb to collect your excitement and spread it up to your clit.

"Why are you so wet, hm?" He wondered aloud, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Because of you, Harry."

"Me?" Cocky little shit.

"Mm."

"Are you always this wet for me, sugar?"

You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to give him this. He would never forget it, probably remind you that he knew every day. Probably slip his hand up your dress just to appease his own curiosity.

"Only when you're nice to me."

"But you like me mean, don't you?"

"You're an asshole."

"Gets you wet, though."

Abruptly, as if impatient, he lowered his head and attached his mouth to your clit. The scorching heat of it was intense, and you grabbed a fistful of his freshly tamed curls to hold him to you.

His tongue ran over your entirety. From your entrance right back up to your clit, tasting you fully as his mouth closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You threw your head back, rolling your cunt towards his face as he softly ate you with a passion that had you shaking.

Before anything more could occur, Sal knocked on the door, demanding that Harry meet with him. He knew better than to enter any room that was hidden behind a closed door when it came to Harry. But if he'd known it was you behind that door with him, that would be another issue entirely.

You shot up, pushing him out of the way and righting your dress. You were tingling and you could still feel his tongue between your legs. His eyes were dark as he watched you from his seat, amused by your fumbling.

"Go before Sal comes back." You were flustered, your body felt electric and all he'd given you was his mouth for what — ten seconds?

He was too relaxed, and it only pissed you off further. He stood, sauntering towards you to press you against the vanity. His hand cupped your jaw, his rings kissing your skin.

"Funny that you're making demands when I'm the boss."

You breathed heavily, unsure of how to reply so you just held eye contact with him. Your lips parted as his head tilted, inching closer. His hand loosened, melting to your cheek so he could rub it with his thumb.

"Who's in charge, hm?"

"You are."

"That's right." He crooned, his lips brushing yours. "And who's gonna give you his cock later?"

The air was stripped from your lungs, the depth behind his question clear. Would you submit to him? Venture into this connection you had with him? You got on each other's nerves but fuck if there wasn't the most incredible sexual tension between you.

"You are, Harry."

He hummed, gripping your hand and bringing it down to cup his cock. He was hard, and pulsed in your hand when you gave him a squeeze. You just about crumbled when he moaned, his eyes lulling as you did it again. Harder.

"There's my good girl."

Sal knocked again, clearly impatient tonight. Harry smirked and could feel his lips curl against yours before he pulled away. He left the room with a confident strut while you were left shaking. You took a second to catch your breath, willing the arousal between your legs to simmer down before heading back out towards the stage.

You grabbed your purse and kept busy doing your job while Harry caught up with Sal. He was doted over, like always, and Sal told him how his viewings were skyrocketing. After he'd finished up his tasks on stage, he was whisked back to wardrobe so he could be styled.

Because Harry was busy chatting with tonight's guest and getting ready, all you had to do was wait for him to come to you. You peeked through the curtains at the set. The audience was being brought in and you were watching the seats fill from the side of the stage.

A piercing whistle sounded out from behind you and you twirled on the spot. He looked phenomenal. His suit was a sky blue, not too dissimilar to the shade of your panties. His shirt was a crisp white, his chain peeking through where it was unbuttoned, sat between his pecs and the light dusting of hair.

His eyes looked greener when he was dressed in blue, his lips more raspberry. He approached you and your eyes flew down to his shiny black oxfords.

"Whaddya think huh?" He spun on his heels, showing off. "Matchin'."

"Blue suits you."

"Suits you, too." Harry winked, standing close to you before nodding towards the audience. "How's it looking out there?"

Was he... trying to make casual conversation? After his face was between your thighs and all the talk that proceeded it? "Full house, like always. Did you... was that on purpose?"

"What?"

"The blue suit."

"Why else would I ask what colour your panties were, hm?"

"Because you're nosy."

"You know... every time you insult me, I get hard."

"Good thing I have plenty of them, then."

"Come on," He pressed you tight against the wall. "Gimme another one."

"Prick."

He chuckled, amused by how freely you were cursing. "That all you got?"

"You're the cockiest son a bitch I've ever met." You breathed out. His hands pressed to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.

"Alright." He was crowding your space, the spicy-sweet vanilla of his cologne clouding your senses. He checked to see if anyone was around before clicking his tongue. "Take your panties off."

"What?" You were well aware that any crew member could walk by, and you weren't about to be caught slipping your panties down your legs.

"You heard me. Just lemme hold onto 'em until the show's over."

"Are you bent? I'm not giving you my panties. I need them and someone could walk by at any moment."

"Mellow out, no one's gonna see."

You deliberated in your head, genuinely considering it. His head tilted to the side, gauging your thoughts. This was so... exhilarating. Exciting. You were so out of it for him, and glad that you finally both agreed on something. You were both attracted to each other physically and that was about it.

Fuck it. Your hands reached beneath your dress, and Harry took a step back to give you room, keeping a lookout. You stepped out of those pretty little panties and held them out to him on your index finger. He snatched them up, eyeing how delicate they looked in his hand.

"Far out." He laughed, in shock that you actually did it.

You were a bundle of surprises tonight. He was throwing stuff at you that was pretty out there and you were throwing it right back. Sweet little sugar had a little more spice than he had anticipated.

"Cheers, sugar." He twirled them around on his finger and you slapped his shoulder.

"Don't just wave them around!" You hissed, looking around to make sure no one had seen the whole interaction.

Harry shoved them in his pants pocket and you smoothed out the bump they left, always a perfectionist. The guest of the night turned the corner and almost bumped into the two of you. You jumped apart, letting Harry chat to the guest on his own. He rarely enjoyed it and you looked back to see the subtle hints of irritation on his face. You knew he'd flash that charming smile and those adorable dimples as soon as the cameras came on.

With only a few minutes until the show was due to start, you bumbled around and made sure everything was perfect for him. You were very aware of the fact that you didn't have your panties on, and with your dress being shorter than usual, you had to be careful.

Sal breezed past you, beelining towards Harry and the guest with a huge grin. He greeted them loudly and you did your part by waiting to the side for further instruction. The guest was led to their spot for showtime, one of the stage managers with them to keep them entertained and to give their cues. Harry shook Sal's hand, hearing Sal's usual encouraging words before making his way towards you.

"Feeling okay?" You checked in, handing him a couple of Certs breath mints. You walked side by side towards center stage, and he wasn't shy about his stare on you. It felt different — the air around you. Usually filled with annoyance, was something else. Hotter, dreamier, sensual.

"Snazzy." He nodded, chucking the mints into his mouth. "Little foreplay always gets me goin'."

You huffed out a breath at his response, resisting the urge to retort something cheeky as the stagehand came to run through the show one more time. You righted his outfit, his eyes not leaving you as you made sure he looked smooth and perfect.

As the stagehand left, you grabbed your round brush from your purse and went over his curls. You began adding a little volume while he hummed and oohed and aahed to exercise and prepare his voice.

"You know New York..." You guided.

"You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Again."

He sighed, closing his eyes so he could focus. "You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Lesser leather..." You hinted at another tongue twister. You ran the lint roller across the lapels of his suit jacket and over his shoulders, catching his eyes and not missing the glint in them. "...never weathered..."

"It's funny," He smirked. "you're a tongue twister master right now, but you won't be able to say your own name by the time I'm done with you later."

"Oh my-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you."

"One minute till curtain, everyone!" Sal's voice boomed. "Look alive, look alive!"

The crowd was roaring with applause as the show began, but all you could hear was your pulse in your ears as your heart thudded in your chest. Harry, who usually thrived off of the cheers, was only focused on you. On your sweet voice asking if he wanted to see your panties, on your feisty insults.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

You called him a cocky son of a bitch and all he could think about was bending you over his knee and seeing how much shit you talked while his hand was marking your ass with its imprint.

Everyone fled the stage, but you were stood completely still in front of him. Frozen.

"Harry..."

His lips brushed yours again and your ears started ringing.

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

"Look at you," He crooned. "Runnin' round with no panties with that pretty ribbon in your hair. Dirty little thing, aren't you, sugar?"

You could feel how slick you were between your thighs and your eyes fluttered as his hand ventured beneath your skirt from behind, cupping your ass cheek with a strong hand before venturing further. His fingertips found your cunt and you almost collapsed against him.

He hummed lowly, rumbling in his chest. He pulled his hand away, very aware that the curtain was close to pulling up. He held his index and middle fingers in front of you, glistening with your arousal, and ran them along your lower lip.

You didn't even hesitate to suck his fingers into your mouth, not losing eye contact. Harry's brows turned down, his mouth dropping as he drawled out a slow fuuuck. And then he kissed you. It was messy and wet and quick. His lips were so soft against your own before he sucked deftly on your tongue, tasting you and your cunt at the same time.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

"Fuck, can we cancel the show?" He growled, holding you to him with a grip on the nape of your neck.

"N-No. I have to go."

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

You fled from the stage, walking backwards, not wanting to take your eyes off him. His expression was one of longing, his eyes not leaving you either. The curtain lifted, igniting him in the warmth of the stage lighting and the eruption of cheers.

He turned and faced the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. His smile was dazzling, and his blue suit was celestial under the bright glow. He was wrapped in success and adoration. You could see it radiating off him as he found centre stage and bowed.

"Good evening, New York!" He waited for applaud to finish. "How are we?"

You rounded the backstage area, checking in with crew and chatting to the guest.

"Can I just say..." Harry continued, clasping his hands together. "you look ravishing tonight, New York." More praise from the audience. "It's true, you do."

You rolled your eyes at the excited yells and cheers from the crowd. You watched him in a totally new light tonight. He was on a level that no one could reach. He was born to be on stage, to entertain.

He introduced the guest and brought them onstage, talking about their upcoming music and chatting them up. During the commercial breaks you checked in with the guest, and made sure Harry's appearance was on point.

His eyes were on you the whole time, and you could see him fighting the urge to make some kind of questionable comment. His eyes veered south and stayed on where the hem of your dress brushed your thighs.

"Need anything else?" You asked him politely, aware of the audiences stare on your back.

"I won't need coffee tonight." He educated softly and you nodded.

"We're back in fifteen seconds." The cameraman alerted and you gathered your things and went to leave. The guest was busy fixing their hair with the stylist. Harry's hand on your wrist stopped you, pulling you back.

"Actually, there is one more thing." He back peddled, and you raised an expectant brow, leaning in close to hear him. "Stay right over there, okay? Wanna be able to see you."

He pointed to a spot off stage, where only guests and select members of crew like Sal or the director were allowed to stand during air time. And he wanted you there. So he could look over and see you and know you were watching.

"I- Yeah, okay."

You rushed off stage, standing exactly where he told you to. He watched you right until the advertisement break ended.

"And we're back in three... two... one..."

His eyes switched back to the camera, his expression slipping into the charm that came so naturally to him once he was live on air.

He was a star. Delightful and eccentric and unapologetic.

He exchanged more jokes with the guest, who as an up and coming musician, was gearing up for their performance. You stayed to watch the show exactly where Harry wanted you, and you were pleased that you didn't get any slack from Sal. You rarely got to actually enjoy the show like this, and in a way, it felt like Harry had done you a favour.

His eyes often flicked to you after he'd told a joke or said something cheeky. Like he was directed it at you, or maybe he was checking to see if you found him as funny as the crowd did. When you didn't laugh as hard as he thought the joke deserved, he'd try extra hard to get you to laugh at the following one.

It was odd that he was trying to seek validation from you when he had millions at his feet.

As the show wrapped up, you couldn't have applauded him louder. You were proud, you felt giddy and bubbly inside. He was born for this, there was no denying it.

And then there was the realisation of what was to come once the show had finished. You became nervous. And insanely wet. The anticipation rattled yet excited you and you weren't sure what to make of it.

You rounded towards his exit, a crowd of crew and groupies waiting for him. He came to you first, as you were closest. He shot polite smiles to everyone but his attention was on you.

"How'd I do?"

"Phenomenal."

"Did you like my jokes?"

You side-eyed a few people waiting for a shred of his attention and felt the need to rush this interaction between you along. You didn't want to raise suspicions and you also didn't want to take away any attention he could be giving to these people who were clearly waiting for him.

"My tummy laughs from hurting so much." You whispered. His grin was contagious, dimples and his bunny teeth on full display. His eyes were warm as he stared down at you.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

A throat cleared behind you and Harry looked up to shoot them a reassuring wink and then looked back at you. "Wait for me in my dressing room."

It was an order, even with the softness in his tone. You licked your lips, not missing when his eyes caught it. You backed away, slowly pulling your ribbon out of your hair. His jaw clenched as your hair fell free.

"Yes, Mr. Styles. Right away."

His dressing room felt alien to you as you slipped inside, a familiar place with such a different atmosphere now. How quickly the dynamic had changed between you was dizzying. You always knew you were attracted to him, but you never thought you'd act on it.

And you certainly never thought he'd have his mouth on your cunt minutes before a show.

How long were you meant to wait? You checked your appearance in the mirror, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Your dress was pristine, as was your makeup and you wondered how long that would last.

You were riffling through Harry's pile of books when he came in. Your spine straightened, every nerve tingling. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it.

His gaze was one that had you clenching your thighs together. An intimidating hunger, a deep lust. His eyes were dark, void of the bright glint they usually offered. He didn't say anything and that only made the tension thicker.

And then he locked the door with a click.

He took one single step towards you and you inhaled a sharp breath at the slow, torturous pace of it. Like he was taunting and teasing you. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reaching up. He gripped his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, his eyes finding your feet in your Mary Janes and trailing up your legs.

He was slow with that as well as if to keep you on your toes. He had always been so rushed and spontaneous with a lot of what he did. But this.... this he'd been thinking about for a long time. He'd had months to plan this through.

Plan how he was going to play with you, make you beg for him, make you feel good.

He really enjoyed the secrecy of it. And all that would come after. He liked the idea of meeting your eyes at work, both of you exchanging knowing looks because you both knew what it took to pleasure each other.

Fuck. His sex life wasn't complicated. He fucked fans because the likelihood of seeing them ever again was slim. But you were close to home, dangerously so. He saw you all the time. And somehow that just made him want you even more.

He produced your panties from his pocket and came to stand in front of you.

"Now," He began, lowering his head to meet your eyes. "are you going to need help keeping quiet?"

He fucking knew he'd have you screaming for him. He was just being precautious, knowing that on the other side of the door, the studio was littered with crew members.

You shook your head. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think you're that good."

He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, huffing out a humourless laugh before pocketing your panties again. You were so snappy and cheeky with him and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his dick so fucking hard in his pants. You were winding him up. Trying to poke at him and provoke him. Well, it was fucking working.

"Oh, you don't think so?"

"I think that's why your ego's as big as it is. Because you can't fuck."

He did what he wanted to do earlier that day; he grabbed your hair in his fist. You gasped through a surprised smile, and he brought you close until you were pressed against him.

"What did I tell you?" His voice was low, thick with arousal. You'd never heard his voice that deep and you felt it between your legs. "Hm?"

"That you won't need coffee tonight?"

He gripped your hair harder and his cock throbbed when you smiled.

"I told you," His eyes were burning. "that I'm going to ruin you."

The way he pronounced every word was electrifying. As if he was really trying to get his message across. How was this the same man that had asked if you laughed at his jokes after his show?

You flicked your tongue against his lower lip. "Do your worst."

His kiss was far harsher this time. Still just as messy, and you figured that was just how he liked it. He wasn't shy about it. He used his teeth, nibbling on your lower lip, biting on your tongue. He used his free hand to fist your dress at the small of your back.

You were pressed tight against him and fuck, he was so hard for you. Even through his pants, you were impressed with his size. You wanted to feel more, experience him fully. You didn't have all the time in the world, locked away in his dressing room. You were both painfully aware.

He pushed you back, landing you in the chair next to the vanity. He stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. You watched as he pushed your dress out of the way, clearly annoyed that the fabric was disrupting him from his goal. Your center was still so wet for him and he couldn't even suppress the low grown at the sight.

"Pretty little pussy," He gripped your inner thighs, holding them apart. "still so fucking drenched for me. You enjoyed watching me onstage tonight, didn't you? Hearing everyone fawn over me but you know you're the one I want."

"I want you, too. So bad, please fuck me." You whined, your hips rocking up restlessly.

"I wanna have a play first."

"Fuck, please just-"

He spat directly between your legs, coating your pussy in his spit. His eyes flickered up to the clock on the wall before he attached his mouth to you with a deep moan. He licked along your entrance and then right up to the sensitive bundle of nerves, fully tasting you again.

He dipped his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away with a pop and sucking your clit back into his mouth. He trapped it between his teeth and flicked and twirled delicious patterns against it that had your muscles clenching.

He ate you as if he enjoyed it more than you did. He targeted your clit perfectly, able to read your body and its responses so well.

He held eye contact while had his mouth on your cunt, burying his face against you like he couldn't get close enough. Your legs shook on either side of his head, and he kept them spread with his wide hands. You could feel how cold his rings were against your skin.

Your hands reached down, tangling themselves into his curls. You held him against you, his mouth so scorching on you that you felt lightheaded with the tingling heat.

He pulled away momentarily, slipping his index and middle finger in his mouth, all the way until he drew back so teeth were peeling off his rings. He grabbed your hand, taking two of your fingers one by one and replacing the rings on them. They were huge on you but you admired how his jewelry looked on you, the ones he wore while he was on air. Glistening and extravagant.

Now he'd removed them so he could feel you properly.

Deciding that you were wet enough, he ran the pads of his fingers along your entrance. They veered up, circling your clit slowly before heading south again. You cried out softly as his fingers slipped inside you. It was an exquisite sensation and you stared down at him in wonder, mouth agape as you moaned out.

He curled them up, your spine melting as they pressed against a spot inside of you that had before now never been discovered. It was a blinding pressure, tight and full and so fucking good.

Harry smirked at the apparent shock on your face before he moved his fingers, curling them against your g-spot. As he found a rhythm, he brought his mouth back to your clit.

You arched your back, gasping for air as he worked you. He pumped his fingers hard, bringing you higher and higher to an elevation you'd never known. His mouth left your clit and before you could complain at the loss, he was spitting on it once more before giving it a mild slap with his free hand.

You screamed out, not expecting the harshness to feel that enticing. You were being far too loud for him to continue this comfortably. He didn't want anyone to interrupt and moreover, he didn't want you to get in trouble. He wanted to make you come over and over without a care in the world.

The same hand that slapped you retrieved your panties from his pocket before he shoved the lace into your mouth.

If you weren't so blissed out, you may have even be shocked by it. But at that moment, it was so hot and dirty. You trusted him to know best and look after you.

His fingers pulsed against your g-spot and you felt an intensity building in your abdomen and you rolled your hips towards his face. His mouth was relentless on your clit, desperate to get you zoned out with pleasure.

Your walls clenched and ballooned around his fingers and he pulled away, his eyes on you. They were full of lust and hunger, piercing right through you.

"Eyes on me sugar, don't look away." He wanted to watch you. To stare into your eyes, to see your orgasm shatter you.

He pumped his fingers, his pace blinding. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what to do to get you there. He grunted with the exertion, the tendons in his arm flexing and bulging with how hard he worked you.

And then he smirked, almost pleased with himself. "Have you ever squirted before?"

With your mouth full of lace, you weren't able to verbally answer. You shook your head and he thought the confused frown on your face was fucking adorable.

Before you could even think about what he was asking, the most euphoric explosion of bliss rocked through you. You cried out into the lace, your entire body shaking as you came harder than you ever had before. It was fucking annihilating. You did as you were told, your eyes not leaving his. It was hard, of course. You wanted to shut your eyes and bask in the hot sensation that was taking over every nerve in your body.

But he wanted to watch you. And he wanted you to see the burst of fluid that erupted from your cunt, past his fingers. "Thaaat's it. Good fucking girl, come all over my fingers. Just like that."

You writhed in the chair, grateful for his grip on you. You didn't stop shaking, tremors of pleasure rocking you. He helped you as you came down, your chest heaving and your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn't think it was possible for you to come that way, and you could feel yourself becoming addicted to him.

Harry stood, his hand running up and down your thighs, squeezing them. He removed your panties from your mouth, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You blushed as you tasted yourself on his tongue and curiously ran a hand between your legs to feel the aftermath of your orgasm.

He watched, thinking it was so hot to see your fingers venture between your folds and along your dripping thighs.

"Feel nice?" He hummed, chuckling at your curious expression.

"So nice, I've never... I didn't think I could do that."

"You got me all wet, messy girl." He smiled, kissing you again.

He stood and helped you out of your dress, peeling off your bra so he could play with your tits. He sucked and bit at your nipples, feeling the fullness of your breasts in his palm.

"You're delicious all over, sugar." He admired your fully naked body. "Can't wait to feel you properly. See what that tight little cunt feels like around my cock."

He palmed himself as he spoke, so desperate to feel you. His expression was one of lustful longing, and you could feel it resonate between your legs as if you hadn't just had an earth-shattering climax.

"Take your clothes off." You whined, going to sit up and pouting when he stopped you.

He started to unbutton his shirt, revealing the white singlet underneath. "Stay just like that. Wanna give you my cock while you're sitting in my chair."

The chair where he sat before every show. Reciting jokes in the mirror while his hair was fussed over. The vanity where he'd first seen you, bent over it watering his flowers.

He got rid of his shirt, clearly impatient. He peeled off the white singlet too and you could have drooled at the sight of him. His broad torso and shoulders, his toned tummy, his strong pecs. The ink decorating him. Fuck, you probably did drool.

He caught the leg of the chair on his foot and dragged you closer, undoing his pants at the same time. You shifted forward, your hand reaching out to boldly cup his cock. He groaned, lulling his head back on his neck. His hand came over yours and urged you to squeeze him harder.

"You're so hard." You mewled, humming as he watched you feel him. His jaw dropped as you moved your hand expertly.

"I've been hard for you all night."

He was hyper-aware of the position you were both in and that you were on limited time. The studio was due to lock up soon, left only to after-hours security and the cleaners.

You leaned closer, pulling his pants down with his help. You ran your lips along his length over his briefs, letting your tongue flick out. He could feel the heat of your mouth seep through the material and he was losing his mind over the fact that only his briefs separated your mouth from his cock.

You peered up at him through your lashes, grabbing the band of his underwear to pull them down. You'd always been so reserved and controlled but the look on your face when you finally saw his cock had him fucking spiraling. Intimidation, thirst, determination.

With his pants and briefs pooled at his ankles, he guided you to take a hold of him. You obeyed, wanting to please him just as much as he pleased you. You pumped him slowly in your hand, loving how he felt in your fist.

"Your cock is so..."

Harry laughed, cupping your cheek and staring down at you expectantly. "What?"

"Pretty." It wasn't the word you were going for, but it wasn't the wrong word, either. He had a gorgeous cock, so thick and long. It was silky and hot and pulsed in your hand. You were impressed and intrigued.

"Pretty?" His voice was so soft as he regarded you.

"Yeah."

Pretty. He could deal with pretty. His thumb trailed across your lips. "Mm, and how's it taste?"

You pulled away marginally, grabbing his free hand and urging him to grab your hair in his tight first once more. You laid out your tongue and licked the tip of his dick, glistening with precum. You hummed at his taste and took him deeper, using your hand to spread your spit down his shaft.

Harry moaned deeply, taking a solid step forward so that you took more of him past your lips.

"Swallow me."

"Make me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, watching as you opened wide and held still, waiting for him to make you take it. With his hold on your hair, he guided you to swallow his cock. You were able to take about half, your hand working what you couldn't yet fit.

But he was helping you, not pushing you too far but doing it inch by inch. Your eyes began to water and you gagged when he pushed in deep. Your other hand was pressed against his thigh to keep yourself steady.

"Good girl." He praised, his voice low. "Take my cock so fucking well, don't you?"

He couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. He'd imagined this day far too many times to count, and it was always blurred by the unpleasant dynamic you two shared. But here you were, sucking him off after he'd made you explode around his fingers.

You loved having him down your throat. You enjoyed the challenge. He was so big and when you were able to take all of him, it was a feeling of satisfaction. He held you down until you were choking and your nose was buried in the hair around the base of his cock.

He wiped a tiny bit of smudged mascara from under your eye, admiring the blue of your eyeshadow and the colour of your lips as they wrapped around his cock. Fuck, he needed to be inside you. He was desperate for it.

He slipped you back onto the chair, angling you so that you were open to him. It happened so quickly and your mind was reeling at the sudden change. He was in full control and had no issue putting you where he wanted you. And you trusted him. He was so arrogant and you wanted to see if his bite was just as harsh as his bite. Considering the wet mess you'd made, it definitely was.

"Fuck, can't wait to feel you properly." He sighed, grabbing his cock at the base and running his tip between your legs.

Your gripped his arms, absentmindedly smoothing your fingers over some of his tattoos. "Beg me."

"What?" He raised a brow, his tone perplexed.

"Beg me to let you fuck me. You're an asshole, tell me you're sorry and beg me. Then I'll let you fuck me."

You didn't miss the way his cock throbbed when you called him an asshole, the flex in his jaw as he took in your words. Beg? Apologise?

He scoffed. "That's cute. As if you don't get so fucking wet when I'm an asshole to you. Just like how hard I get when you call me shit like that with that filthy mouth of yours."

You rolled your hips up, gripping his hip to pull him closer to you. "Please, baby. I wanna hear you beg."

The very tip of him slipped inside of you and you both moaned at the sensation. You were so wet and tight and he knew he could step forward and be inside you fully. But the expectant look you were giving him stopped him.

He gripped your throat, leaning down so he could bend over you. He gritted his teeth, his eyes hard on yours. "Please let me fuck you, sugar. Get you gushing on my cock over and over, fuckin' drown in your wet little pussy."

"Are you going to be nice?"

"But it's better when I'm mean." He crooned. "I'll make you take my cock, fuck you so hard, and won't stop until you cry."

Your eyes fluttered as he inched forward a little, sliding himself in further. The head of his cock was so snug inside of you and the way he stretched you had your toes curling. You brought your legs higher, hitching them up to his sides.

"Please," You mewled.

"Tell me, sugar." He needed to hear you say it. "Tell me you want me to fuck this dreamy cunt."

"Fuck me, Harry. Please."

"Hard?"

"Hard."

His hand tightened around your throat as he rolled his hips forward. He stretched you, so fucking big that he had to take his time to push past your tightness. His gaze narrowed as he pressed in tight, his hips flush against you. As he became fully buried inside of you, your vision tunneled on him and him only. On how good he felt, how his eyes were trained on yours.

He'd thought about what you'd look like stuffed full of his cock but he could never have imagined you being this perfect. Whimpering and moaning so fucking sweet while his hand was wrapped around your throat.

"Please move." You begged, feeling so overwhelmed with him being so thick inside of you but not moving.

He slowly retracted his hips, your pussy trembling to keep him there. He slowly pushed his hips forward again, groaning lowly as you clenched around him. He started out slow as first, wanting to ease you into it, his hands holding onto your sides. But you were desperate.

"You call that hard, baby?"

He shook his head, smiling at the bite in your tone. "You sure you can handle it?"

"What did I tell you about that ego of yours-"

He growled, seeing that you were toying with him again. He didn't want you to have the upper hand. So he started fucking you. Hard and relentless and strong. You cried out at his strength, his cock pumping against your g-spot so perfectly.

"Fuck yes, take my cock. Good fucking girl."

It was electrical. You were saturated from your orgasm he'd given you, he hit so deep, pushing against your front wall. He gripped your breasts, admiring as they bounced while he fucked you. He spat on them, unashamed in his desires to be so fucking dirty with you.

"Love your tits." He grunted. "Let me fuck them one day, sugar. Wanna see them fuckin' dripping in my cum."

"Yes, take whatever you want." You gasped.

You'd let him. He was cheeky and an asshole but he fucked you far better than anyone else ever could and he was just getting started. And you could find ways to keep his mouth busy when it started spouting nonsense.

"Yeah?" He hung over you, his curls dangling down. "Will you let me have you again, hm? Let me fuck your throat, your tight cunt, fuck- make you my plaything?"

"I want to be your plaything." You sighed, his necklace swinging in your face, glistening silver.

"You do, don't you? I'll have this pussy on my tongue while I memorise my script. Carry your panties around in my pocket and give them back to you when you've earned them."

The pressure was blinding and he brought your legs up over his shoulders so he could take you even harder. The legs of the chair scraped obnoxiously against the ground as he fucked you into it. He was brutal, making you take his cock with each harsh thrust.

You cried out, sobbing his name. He was so deep and you knew you'd be feeling him for days after. He picked you up, sitting you on the vanity. You leaned back against the mirror, icy against your back. He hauled your hips towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He took his cock in his hand and fisted your hair with the other, holding you still so he could slide inside of you again. You clenched around him mercilessly, and he had to flex his hips harder so he could take you properly.

The vanity jolted on its legs under the force of him. Your hand wraps around his neck, trying to stabilise yourself against the onslaught of his thrusts.

"Call me an asshole again."

"Harry-" You jolted underneath him. "Fuck, you're an asshole."

"Yeah? Wanna hit me?"

"W-What?"

"Fucking do it. Slap me like I know you've been wanting to for the past six months."

Your hands clutched at his curls. Hitting him was the last thing on your mind right now while he was inside you. Until he'd brought it up, that is. You'd wanted to slap him on a daily basis and you wondered if he'd been reading your mind.

Mustering up courage enough to do so, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Not as hard as you could have, but the groan he emitted told you that you weren't gentle, either.

"So good." He grinned, his cheek reddening from your hand. You gripped his jaw harshly, licking your handprint before kissing him.

Your kisses moved to his neck and he tilted his head to give you more access to the skin. He flicked his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, finding his lustful expression, his cheek red, His eyes were alight with danger and arousal, driving his hips into you as he stared at himself. You moaned loudly as he pounded into you, unrelenting. Wanting you so out of it so that you could never look at him the same way again.

He imagined you looking at him during rehearsals, looking down at your Mary Janes with flushed cheeks. Your soft cadence as you asked him when he would fuck you next. Your surprised gasp when he'd pull you into a supply closet to fuck you hard and quick before anyone noticed your absence.

Just as you grew accustomed to the position, he flipped you, brushes and hair products flying off the top as you found balance on it. Your eyes met his in the mirror and they blazed through yours as he pushed himself into your warmth again.

"Fuck," He hissed, throwing his head back as you gripped him tightly. He held onto your shoulder and fucked you, near on slamming you into the furniture. His hand crept up to cup your throat, the other doing the same as he found a rhythm.

"Right there, don't stop." You gasped.

"Gonna think of this every time I'm in this room." He grunted. "Sit in that chair before a show and think about your perfect cunt around me. How you smile when I wrap my hands around your throat, how much you love having my cock to choke on."

"I want you to fuck me on this vanity every day, Harry."

"Every day, Sugar." He was breathless. "So much I wanna do to you. Play with you, make your pussy cream for me. Fuck, how did we go so long without this?"

He started using his height to his advantage, screwing down into you. You struggled to grasp clarity, your senses clouding as pleasure took over. His hands tightened around your throat and he took you harder when a ghost of a smile touched your lips.

He slipped two of his fingers in your mouth, hooking them into your cheek and pulling. He hissed at how fucking submissive you were and how you were willing to be just as dirty as him.

Letting go of your neck entirely, one hand moved to your hip and the other to your hair. He pulled you up, forcing you to look into the mirror.

"I'm an asshole but I fuck you good, don't I?"

You wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He could sense your annoyance at how cocky he was. He took you harder and you eyed him in the reflection, not wanting to give him an answer. And that didn't work for him.

He gripped your hair tight, pulling you back until his lips met your ear.

"Don't I?" He spat.

"Yes,"

He spanked your ass. Hard. Twice. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, you fuck me good."

Pleased, Harry reached in front of you, getting you to wet his fingers with your tongue before rubbing fast circles on your clit. Your legs turned to jelly, your body melting against him as he took you hard and played with your clit.

You felt the rush of pleasure wrap around you and grow in every nerve ending. He watched you in the mirror, intent on seeing you come again. He held you up while you writhed in his arms, his hips unyielding as he split you in half with his cock.

Your hands flew out, pushing various things off the vanity top as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Harry gritted his teeth, bending his knees to follow you as you moved so he could keep fucking you.

"You gonna come? Hm? Dirty fucking girl. Running around the studio with no panties on. This cunt was so wet for me from the start, wasn't it? Tiny dress, bossy little heels, and that fucking clipboard."

This climax was more intense than the first, but no less wet. You exploded around his cock, crying out his name before his hand came over your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Shhh. Good girl. Keep coming on my cock, don't stop, don't stop." He was feral at how good you felt around him, rubbing your clit until you were trembling at the overstimulation. His hips slowed, faltering. He was losing composure the tighter your pussy clenched around him.

He picked you up, not wasting any time in settling back on the small couch in the room. He laid flat on his back, while you straddled his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, nails digging into the skin as he gripped your ass and moved your hips.

His cock sat snuggly between your folds and you shamelessly rolled yourself along his length. You felt empty without him inside you and you lifted up, grabbing his length with a shaking hand, and slid him back into your warmth.

You both moaned out softly, his cock throbbing inside you. He could feel how close he was, as could you. Your hot and wet and dreamy cunt wasn't helping him stave it off. His vision was trained on you sitting on top of him like a fucking angel. Your tits, red from his teeth, your full hips, and your blissed-out expression.

He rolled his hips up softly, encouraging you to move. "Ride me, sugar."

You found a rhythm that had you shaking, so sensitive from your orgasms His cock pressed deliciously tight against your g-spot with every roll forward. With your hands flat on his chest, you started to bounce on him. You were so wet and the sound of it was making him crumble. The wet slaps and the way your pussy was drenching him.

His gaze met yours and he just about came. Your eyes lulled, cheeks flushed and your mouth agape as you fucked him. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He grabbed your tits, playing and pulling your nipples with deft fingers. He strained his neck, moaning as you picked up your pace.

You wanted him to finish. To feel the toe-curling euphoria he'd given you. The one given when a connection like the one you had was this electric.

"Ooh, shit. Just like that." He praised, squeezing your hips so hard you knew they'd bruise.

"Yeah? You love watching me bounce on your cock, don't you?"

You'd thrown his own tactic right back in his face. The sweet voice with the daring question. Of course, he loved it. He was addicted.

"Fuck yes."

Your hand trailed up, lightly wrapping around his throat. He could feel the rings he'd given you to wear against his skin and he snarled, holding your hips and screwing up into you, meeting your thrusts. Having you fuck him with your hand around his throat had him fucking spiraling into another dimension.

"You're close," You mewled, his cock throbbing hard inside you. "I can feel it."

"Yeah? Go on, make me cum. I'm gonna cum so fucking hard for you, sugar. Gonna fill you right up, fucking take it. Take all my cum- fuck."

He let you take him while his orgasm hit. It was white-hot intense, his grip on you not lessening as he moaned out your name. He pumped you full of his cum, the thick white ropes painting your walls. His brow turned down in the middle, his lips parted a little and you could see the whites of his teeth. The thick cords in his neck protruded under your hand.

He was stunning and animalistic and brazen, even in a time when one is most vulnerable.

The muscles and tendons in his arms flexed as he held you down on top of him, humming out lowly as the flames of his orgasm dimmed into embers.

And while neither of you was sure how it would feel post the explosion, you'd expected at the very least that it would be awkward. You didn't have the fondest attachment towards each other but fuck if you weren't addicted to each other's bodies now.

He sighed, reeling in his climax. His hands crawled up your sides, encasing you and encouraging you to come down to him. He hugged you, sighing in your neck before kissing the skin. You could hear a commotion in the hallway of the crew leaving and it suddenly sunk in that you'd just fucked your boss.

And neither of you could wait to do it again.

"Should we get out of here?" He asked after a few minutes.

"We?"

"Mm. Head back to mine if you want. Got the new Sam Cooke vinyl we can jam out to."

You grinned, trailing your finger along his lips. "Can we fuck again?"

His expression mirrored yours. "We are definitely fucking again. Don't have to be as quiet at mine, wanna hear how loud you get."

You rolled your hips, feeling his cock softening and his release beginning to trickle out of you. He hummed, squeezing you as if to warn you.

"Behave, sugar."

"But that's no fun."

He couldn't disagree with that. He checked the clock and knew there was only a slim window of time for you both to leave the studio without raising any brows.

"Come on." He slapped your ass. "Let's clean up and cut out."

You slipped into the bathroom, your legs shaky from how hard he'd taken you. You cleaned up, as he'd told you to. Your reflection in the mirror was a sight for sore eyes and you tried your best to look presentable and not freshly fucked.

As you entered the dressing room again and gathered your things. Harry had dressed in his more casual clothes, a pair of mint dress pants and a t-shirt, throwing his fur coat over his shoulders. He noticed the way you slipped on your dress and smoothed out your hair, touching up your lipstick. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in front of the vanity.

"You know I'm just gonna get you all messy again, don't you?"

"I'm counting on it."

He smirked, kissing your neck and fisting the hem of that tiny dress. You pulled away, eyeing the time. You bent over, going to pick up your panties and frowning when he snatched them up before you could.

"Hey, I need those."

"What'd I say, hm? You'll get them back when you earn them." He slipped the blue lace in his pants pocket, straightening his fur coat and holding out his hand.

"Jerk." You walked towards him, nudging his hand away and leaving the dressing room. A showcase that the feisty dynamic between you was here to stay. The lights were off in the studio now, aside from a few dim ones high up on the walls. He scoffed, racing after you. He lagged behind a few steps, wanting to watch your legs as you walked. You turned, throwing him a dubious look and he smiled innocently as he was caught checking you out. "What are you-"

A gleam of a security guard's flashlight lit up the wall next to you. Harry swore, pulling you towards the exit before you were spotted. You wouldn't get in trouble per se, but being sneaky was so much more exciting than sticking around.

"Shit- let's haul ass, sugar. Wanna play with you all night."

The warmth and adoration he felt on stage, under those lights with every pair of eyes set on him. It was a dimmed sensation compared to how he felt with you. His sugar. Saccharine yet equally as fervent, gooey and thrilling and sticking to him as if magnetised to his cells.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles filth #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #smut #hes #anon #hs #hslot

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sweetlittlehoneybun · 26 days ago

Text

Stress + Zoro = little moss head

Zoro gets super stressed and ends up hiding up in the crow's nest of the thousand sunny as he regresses to the age of a toddler to relieve stress. However, he didn't tell the crew about it as Sanji finds him crying leaving Sanji super confused.

Zoro, the 3 sword-style swordsman, stood at the bow of the Thousand Sunny, the cool ocean breeze ruffling his green hair as he stared out at the endless horizon. The ship sailed smoothly on the calm sea, the sails full of wind. It was a rare moment of peace for the Straw Hat Pirates. However, Zoro's mind was anything but calm. The weight of recent battles and the ever-growing list of challenges ahead pressed on him like a heavy iron anchor, each thought a new link in a chain that threatened to drag him under. His brow furrowed, his eyes tightened, and his teeth clenched.

Without a word, Zoro abruptly turned and sprinted to the base of the main mast. He took to the steel ladder in a swift, practiced motion, climbing higher and higher until he reached the crow's nest. The wooden planks creaked under his feet as he settled into his safe haven, his usual stoic expression replaced by one of intense contemplation. The crew below, accustomed to Zoro's sudden spikes of stress, gave him space, knowing he needed to be alone.

Zoro, overwhelmed by stress, silently climbed to the crow's nest of the Thousand Sunny for solace. The crew, used to his stressful episodes(most of the time he just exercises), allowed him his space, unaware that his mental state had regressed to that of a toddler's.

In the quiet solitude of the crow's nest, Zoro felt his thoughts become a whirlwind of childish fears and worries. As he tries to workout, silently hoping that exercising will silence his fuzzy brain. His grip tightened around one of his dumbells as the ship swayed gently, his eye widens as he began to tear up. The stress of the past battles, the pressure of his role as the crew's protector, and the looming shadow of the New World overwhelmed him. In his heart, he was no longer the strong swordsman that the crew relied on, but a scared, overwhelmed child seeking refuge from the world.

Meanwhile, Sanji, the ship's chef, noticed Zoro's erratic behavior from below. Sanji's instincts told him that something was wrong, but he couldn't resist the urge to test Zoro's limits. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he began to climb the ropes to the crow's nest, he feels a burn in his legs, you could tellthathe was itching for a fight. His mind raced with the thrill of an impending confrontation.

As he approached the crow's nest, he could hear faint sniffles and the sound of someone trying to stifle their sobs. Pausing in his climb, Sanji's confusion grew. Zoro, the epitome of stoicism, crying? It was unheard of. But his curiosity and concern outweighed his initial amusement, and he quickened his pace.

Finally reaching the top, Sanji poked his head over the edge, only to find Zoro sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, with tears streaming down his face. The swordsman looked up, his eye red and puffy, and immediately tried to hide his face, but it was too late. Sanji's expression shifted from one of battle-ready excitement to utter bewilderment.

"What's going on, Zoro?" Sanji asked, his voice gentle. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Zoro looked up with a wet, pleading eye. "anji, go 'way," he sniffled, his voice unusually high-pitched and childlike as he also struggled to say Sanji's name right. Zoro holding himself in a hug like fashion.

Sanji's brows shot up in surprise. "What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. He had never seen the swordsman in such a state. He stepped into the crow's nest, his boots making a soft thud on the planks.

"I said go 'way," Zoro repeated, his voice still high-pitched and trembling. He scooted back, trying to put as much space between them as possible in the small space. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and he buried his face in his arms.

Sanji's eyes widened, and he took a step back, holding up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, Zoro. I didn't mean to scare you." He tried to keep his tone light, but the sight of his usually fearless crewmate in such distress was unsettling.

Tentatively, Sanji sat down a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Zoro's huddled form. He studied the swordsman, noticing the way his shoulders heaved with each sob and his fingers gripped his arms with a strength that belied his size and would most definitely bruise. It was clear that this was not a simple case of nerves or exhaustion. Something deeper was troubling Zoro, something that had stripped him of his usual stoic facade.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the rhythmic creaks of the ship and the distant calls of seagulls. Sanji waited patiently, knowing that pushing Zoro would only make things worse. Finally, the swordsman looked up, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "S-anji... I-I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's okay," Sanji assured him, his voice soothing. "Just take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

Zoro sniffled and took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked at Sanji with the wide eye of a lost child. "Everyfing's just... too much," he murmured, his voice still high and trembling. "The fighting, danger, pressure... I just want to be safe agains, like when I was little."

Sanji's heart went out to his friend. He had never seen Zoro so vulnerable. "You don't have to be strong all the time," he said softly, reaching out a hand to pat Zoro's back awkwardly. "We're all here for you."

But Zoro just shook his head, his grip on the himself tightening. "No, no, no," he repeated, his voice growing more insistent. "I need to be strong, for the crew, for Luffy. I can't be a burden."

Sanji sighed, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You're not a burden, Zoro," he said firmly. "We're all in this together, and sometimes, it's okay to lean on your friends."

Zoro looked up at him, his eye filled with a mix of frustration and gratitude. He knew Sanji was right, but the thought of admitting his fears to the rest of the crew was unbearable. "They'lls laughs ats me," he whispered, his bottom lip quivering. "Theys won't take mes ss-ser-eriously anymore." Zoro says struggling with the word seriously.

Sanji frowned, his eyes searching Zoro's. "They're not like that," he said. "They'll understand."

But Zoro was lost in his own world of doubt. His mind was a tumultuous sea of fear and inadequacy, the words of his comrades just distant whispers on the wind. The stress had taken its toll, and his thoughts had regressed to a time when the world was simpler, when the biggest challenge was climbing a tree or catching a fish. He wished he could be that carefree again, if only for a little while, but he had to protect the crew.

Sanji watched as Zoro's body remained taut and tense, despite the childlike whimpers that escaped him. It was a surreal sight, one that made the cook's heart ache for his friend. He knew Zoro was struggling to reconcile his adult responsibilities with the desperate need to be comforted like a little kid.

"You know," Sanji began, his voice gentle, "sometimes, even the strongest people need a break." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When I'm stressed, I just think of the warmth of freshly baked bread or the taste of a perfect steak. It helps me feel a bit more... grounded."

Zoro looked at him with a mix of wonder and despair. "Dat's your way," he said, his voice still high-pitched. "But why dos I have to be like this?" He gestured to himself with a trembling hand. "Why can't I just... I don'ts know, punch somefing or yell and feel better?"

Sanji nodded, his eyes never leaving Zoro's. "Everyone has their own way of coping," he said, his voice gentle. "And maybe, just maybe, your mind is telling you that you need a different kind of comfort."

Zoro wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his eye never leaving Sanji's face. "But why a toddler's?" Zoro whined, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why do I want to cuddle up in a blanket and hold onto a dumb stuffy?"

Sanji chuckled, his expression warm and understanding. "You know, everyone has their quirks," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Zoro looked at him skeptically, his eye still filled with the pain of his inner turmoil. "But why a toddler's?" he repeated, his voice small and lost. "I'm a swordsman, nots a baby."

Sanji gave a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, Zoro, sometimes our minds are like an animal," he said, leaning in slightly. "You've got all these claws, all this strength, but even the toughest animal has a weak spot."

Zoro looked at him, his expression unchanged, but the tightness around his eye eased a fraction.

"But... buts everyone will fink I's gone soft," he said, his voice still high and trembling. "They'll fink I can't handle being a pirate no more."

Sanji leaned back, folding his arms. "You think Luffy's got it easy because he's carefree?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or Usopp, because he runs away from fights?"

Zoro considered this, his brow furrowed. "But they're not likes me," he murmured.

Sanji shrugged. "Luffy finds strength in his childlike wonder, and Usopp in his vivid imagination. Maybe this is just your way of dealing with things, Zoro."

Zoro pondered Sanji's words, his thumb knuckle finding its way to his lips as his mind continued to regress. The gesture was involuntary, a habit from a time when the world was less demanding, and fears could be soothed with the simple comfort of sucking his thumb. The feeling was strange yet oddly comforting. He felt his shoulders relax, and his breathing even out as the stress started to wash away, replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling in his head.

Sanji noticed the change in Zoro's posture and watched with a mix of concern and curiosity as the swordsman's features softened. He could see the cogs turning in Zoro's head as he grappled with the idea that it was okay to seek solace in his childish ways, even if only for a brief escape. The silence between them grew thick, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle from Zoro.

Finally, the swordsman spoke again, his voice still small and tremulous. "anji, promise me you won't tell the others."

Sanji nodded solemnly. "Your secret's safe with me," he assured, his voice low and soothing. "Now, let's get you a nice, warm blanket and something to eat. That always helps me feel better."

Zoro nodded, his thoughts drifting to the idea of a plushie, something soft and comforting to cling to. He remembered the small, one-eyed bear he had as a child, how it had been his constant companion during thunderstorms and nights when the darkness felt too vast. His eye searched the crow's nest, longing for something similar to provide him the comfort he desperately needed.

Sanji watched as Zoro's thoughts seemed to drift away, his eye misting over with longing. The cook couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for his friend. He knew that in their line of work, it was easy to lose sight of the simpler things that brought happiness. The thought of Zoro craving something as innocent as a plush toy was both endearing and heartbreaking.

Zoro's whines grew softer as he remembered the plush bear he had lost long ago. It had been with him through countless nights, the silent guardian that had seen him through his early days as a pirate hunter. He missed the comfort it had provided, the way it had made the vast, unpredictable world feel just a bit less big and less frightening.

His thoughts grew fuzzy, and he found himself wishing for a similar object to cling to. A soft plushie, or a soft blanket, something that could absorb his fears and soothe his frayed nerves. He pictured himself hugging it tightly, his face buried in its fur, feeling the warmth and safety that had been missing for so long.

The memory of his childhood plushie grew more vivid in his mind, the feel of its worn fabric under his tiny fingers, the smell of home that lingered on it despite the years of travel. Zoro felt a pang in his chest, a yearning for that innocent time when battles were just imaginary and friends were never in danger. His eye searched the crow's nest again, desperately seeking something to fill that void.

Finding nothing, Zoro's frustration grew, his toddler mind unable to reconcile the lack of a familiar comfort object. He let out a wail, his fists pounding against the wooden railing. "I want my teddy!" he sobbed, his voice cracking as he dropped the dumbbell he had been gripping and his arms flew up furiously trying to wipe the tears running down his face. The sound of his distress echoed through the ship, reaching the ears of the confused and concerned crew below.

Sanji's eyes widened in surprise at Zoro's sudden outburst, but he remained calm, his hand still resting comfortingly on Zoro's back. "It's okay, Zoro," he murmured, trying to soothe the distressed swordsman. "We'll find something to help you feel better."

But Zoro was beyond consolation. His frustration boiled over into a full-blown tantrum. He kicked his legs out, his feet thumping against the planks of the crow's nest. "No, no, no!" he wailed, his voice reaching a pitch that would put a banshee to shame. "I want my teddy now!"

Sanji's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could serve as a makeshift plushie. Spotting a rolled-up shirt in the corner, he grabbed it and held it out to Zoro. "Here," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "This can be your teddy for now."

Zoro's eye lit up for a moment, but as soon as the fabric of the t-shirt brushed against his skin, his expression crumpled into one of discomfort. "It's scratchy!" he wailed, his voice piercing the air. The realization that his own clothes were also scratchy only added to his distress, and his screaming grew louder, his sobs more intense.

Sanji winced at the sound, his hand hovering over Zoro's shoulder, unsure of what to do next. He had never seen his friend in such a state, and the sight was both heart-wrenching and alarming. The crew below grew more concerned, exchanging confused glances as the swordsman's cries echoed through the ship.

With a sudden idea, Sanji turned to the supplies in the crow's nest, searching for something that might resemble a plush toy. His eyes fell on a rolled-up piece of cloth, likely used to protect the ship's lookout equipment. He unfurled it, revealing a soft, red material that looked surprisingly snuggle-worthy. He approached Zoro cautiously, holding out the cloth with both hands like an offering.

"Here, Zoro," he said softly, "This could be your temporary teddy."

But Zoro was lost in his tantrum, his cries piercing the calm of the sea. He pushed Sanji's hand away, his face a mask of despair. "No, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with emotion. "It not same!"

The chef looked on, his heart in his throat. He had never seen the swordsman so vulnerable, so utterly lost. The usually stoic Zoro was now a tempest of toddler emotions, inconsolable in his distress. Sanji's mind raced for a solution, desperate to provide his friend with the comfort he so clearly needed.

In the midst of Zoro's wails, a new sound reached their ears. It was the thump of hooves on the mast, growing louder with every passing second. Sanji's eyes widened as he recognized the source of the commotion. "Chopper," he murmured, a mix of hope and trepidation coloring his voice.

Chopper, the ship's doctor and a reindeer-human hybrid, poked his head into the crow's nest, his expression one of bewilderment. His eyes grew wide when he saw Zoro's state, his antlered head tilting to the side as he took in the scene before him. "Sanji? What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and worry.

Sanji saw his opportunity and took it. He swiftly scooped Chopper into his arms, despite the latter's protests. "Hold still, you," he murmured, his movements surprisingly gentle given his usual exasperation with the doctor's antics. "You're going to be Zoro's teddy for now."

Chopper squirmed in his grasp, his eyes wide with shock. "Sanji!, what are you doing!?" he squeaked, his voice high with confusion and a hint of fear.

Ignoring the doctor's protests, Sanji held Chopper out to Zoro, who had stopped crying to stare at the bizarre sight before him. "Here," Sanji said with a hopeful smile, "Chopper can be your teddy for now. He's soft and warm, just like the one you used to have."

Zoro's eye lit up with hope, and he reached out tentatively to touch the reindeer's fur. Chopper, still bewildered, allowed Zoro to clutch onto him tightly, his eyes wide with shock. The sudden weight of the swordsman's burly arms was a surprise, but he remained still, sensing the gravity of the situation.

As Zoro buried his face in Chopper's soft fur, his body began to relax. The warmth of the reindeer's body and the comforting texture of his fur calmed the swordsman down a bit. The sobs grew quieter. His breathing evened out, and his body melted into the embrace.

Chopper, still in shock, patted Zoro's back gently, his own heart racing. He had never seen the swordsman so distraught and didn't know how to handle it. But as he felt the tension seep out of the pirate's muscles, he realized that perhaps Sanji's strange solution had worked.

The crow's nest grew quiet, save for the sound of Zoro's muffled sniffles and the occasional squeak from Chopper as he tried to adjust to his new role. The doctor's mind raced, trying to understand what was happening, but he knew better than to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the swordsman.

As Zoro's cries grew softer, he felt his eyelid droop and a yawn slip through his mouth. His eye grew heavy with the weight of exhaustion and the gentle swaying of the ship. He leaned into Chopper, his body feeling boneless with relief. The reindeer's soft fur was surprisingly comforting against his cheek, and the steady beating of the doctor's heart beneath his ear was a lullaby that promised safety.

Sanji watched as Zoro's breathing grew even, his eyes closing as he drifted into a peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his tough comrade holding onto Chopper like a cherished plushie. It was strange, but seeing Zoro find solace in something so innocent was oddly endearing.

Chopper, now accustomed to his role, allowed Zoro to use him as a pillow. He could feel the swordsman's thumb knuckle making its way into his mouth, and his eyes grew wide with surprise. He'd heard of thumb-sucking as a childhood comfort, but he had never seen it in action, especially not from someone as formidable as Zoro.

The sound of Zoro's gentle snores filled the crow's nest, a stark contrast to the fierce battles he usually dominated. The blue-nosed reindeer looked to Sanji for guidance, his gaze questioning. Sanji just shrugged and chuckled, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Let him be," he whispered. "We all need our comforts."

Chopper nodded, his concern for Zoro outweighing his own discomfort. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, feeling the warmth of the swordsman's body seep into his own. The sea breeze picked up, sending a shiver through him. Sanji noticed and pulled out an extra blanket from the supplies, carefully tucking it around them both. "You two take it easy up here," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping pirate.

Sanji descended the ladder, his mind racing with the events of the last few minutes. He knew the commotion had to have alerted the rest of the crew, and they would be worried about what had happened to their comrade. As he reached the deck, he found the Straw Hats gathered in a concerned huddle, their eyes on the crow's nest.

Luffy looked up as Sanji approached, his eyebrow raised in question. "What's wrong with Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. Sanji took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the bizarre situation without causing unnecessary alarm.

"He's just... having a rough time," Sanji replied, his voice carefully measured. "I think the stress is really getting to him." The rest of the crew exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. They had all seen Zoro stressed before, but never like this.

Luffy's eyes widened in concern. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a rare seriousness.

Sanji nodded. "For now, he's just... sleeping," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "But we should keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and doesn't push himself too hard."

The crew murmured in agreement, their faces a mirror of worry. Sanji knew he had to be the one to explain, to prepare them for the changes in Zoro's behavior. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

"Look, guys," Sanji began, his tone serious. "Zoro's been dealing with a lot of pressure lately, and I think he's just reached his breaking point." The pirates looked at each other, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "He's been bottling up his stress, trying to be the stoic swordsman we all know and depend on. If he wakes up he might be a bit different than the swordsman's were use to "

Nami stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'different'?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism. Sanji rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward.

"Well, it seems like... Zoro's mental state has kind of, uh, regressed," Sanji stuttered, searching for the right words. "He's acting like a... a toddler right now."

The Straw Hats gaped at him, their eyes wide with astonishment. Luffy's hat tilts back, revealing his puzzled expression. "What do you mean, Sanji?"

Sanji sighs, running a hand through his hair. "He's... not quite himself," he says, his eyes darting to the crow's nest above. "His mind's kind of gone back to when he was a little kid."

The Straw Hats stare at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Usopp's hand shoots up. "You mean like, he's going to start playing with toys and asking for bedtime stories?"

Sanji nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, something like that. However I'm not completely sure."

The crew exchanges skeptical glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "But why?" Usopp asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "Is he okay?"

Sanji nods firmly. "He's okay," he reassures them. "It's just his way of dealing with stress." He pauses, weighing his words carefully. "You know how Luffy gets all excited and hyper? Or how you get all scared and imagine things?"

The crew nods, understanding the varying ways each of them dealt with their own stress.

"So what do we do?" Nami asks, her eyes never leaving the crow's nest.

Sanji scratches his head, his mind racing. "For now, let him rest," he says finally. "We'll see how he is when he wakes up. Maybe it's just a one time thing."

The girls exchange a look, nodding in understanding. "I've got some plushies in my room," Robin offers, her voice gentle. "I'm sure he can borrow one if it'll help."

Nami nods in agreement, her expression thoughtful. "I'll grab some of my stuff too," she says, already turning to head below deck. "Maybe something from my childhood will work."

Usopp looks at Sanji, his face a mask of confusion. "But, what if he wakes up and starts crying again?" he asks, his voice quivering slightly.

Sanji nods, his eyes serious. "Chopper's with him," he says, his voice firm. "If Zoro needs anything, Chopper will be there."

Luffy, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, suddenly bursts out in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Haha, Zoro's finally cracked!" he says, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It's about time he deals with all that stress he's been hoarding!"

The crew looks at their captain, a mix of shock and concern etched on their faces. Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's innocence sometimes leads to insensitivity. "Luffy, it's not something to laugh about," he says, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Zoro's going through a tough time."

But Luffy's grin doesn't waver. "I know, I know," he says, his eyes sparkling. "But think about it! Zoro's usually so serious and tense. Now we can finally play together!" He claps his hands together, his enthusiasm infectious. "Maybe we can have a game tag, ooooooo I can teach him some of my cool moves!"

Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's intentions are pure. "Keep it down," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the situation's gravity. "We don't want to disturb him."

Luffy nods, his excitement momentarily dampened. The crew stands in silence for a moment, the only sound being the gentle slap of waves against the Thousand Sunny's hull. They all knew Zoro well enough to understand that his stoic exterior was a shield, one that had clearly been breached by the weight of their pirate life's stresses.

Nami breaks the silence, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "You know, it's kind of refreshing to know that even Zoro can't handle everything all the time," she says, a smirk playing on her lips. The tension in the air lightens, and the others chuckle in agreement. It was true; the swordsman's unshakeable demeanor had always made them wonder if he ever felt fear or doubt.

Robin nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is his way of letting us in, of showing us that he's not invincible," she says, her voice soft. The crew exchanges knowing looks. They had all seen the weight Zoro carried, the silent burden of being the crew's protector and Luffy's right-hand man.

#one piece agere #roronoa zoro #littlezoro #black leg sanji #one piece

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ripleylove · 7 months ago

Text

Passion.

requested by @thegalacticnacho091 saying: Hello again💕!!! I absolutely adored your writing of my last req!! I’m sorry if this is too soon you can totally ignore this but I had another idea about this little series where reader is obsessed with clothes and fashion? Again totally cool if you ignore this either way I can’t wait for your next update!!💕🎀

pairing: the judgment day x fem reader.

genre: fluff!

summary: you passion for fashion amazed the judgment day in ways that you can't even imagine.

A/N: getting older on the 14th of june 😦

sorry for making u wait @thegalacticnacho091 <3 hope u liked it!,

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

Besides stuffies and candies,another one of your most loved things was fashion.

Since you were a toddler,you always read some clothing magazines to pass the time(you actually didn't know how to read at the time,but you went through them to see the cool clothes and models.),or you watched a lot of fashion shows,aspiring to be a model or a stylist yourself.

Then,in the first years of adolescence, you started to sketch so e dresses on your free time,and,since then,your passion never saw an end.

Ever since you started working in WWE,you always gave company to the gear stylist named Alena,wanting to learn new things,since she was a professional.

Alena immediately recognised your determination and your talent,and she decided to have you as her assistant, helping her constantly with every new gear.

Of course,the members of the faction you were part of,knew about this passion of yours.

They never judged you for it,instead,they asked you to create some of their gear!

You of course complied without hesitation, and you ran to Alena for some help.

You wanted to design matching gears,in which every component of the group had some references to the faction and its members.

And,they came out stunning.

When your bestfriends saw them,they were completely amazed: the gear was completely the faction's style,but you managed to add some little touches of yours,making it even more perfect.

"So....do you like it?" You asked them with a nervous smile, since they stopped in their tracks when they saw what you and Alena created.

"We don't like it,we love it!" Rhea exclaimed, her wide smile almost reaching her ears.

"Oh hell yeah,we do!" Finn said,and Dom also thanked you for making all of that for them.

Well,you can say that from that moment on,every gear they wore in the next fights was created by you.

taglist: @stellakiddsblog @bibibi-tchx @p-mp @teenagedramaqueenlisa @thegalacticnacho091

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley fluff #rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley oneshot #sole's anons <3 #dominik mysterio imagine #dominik mysterio oneshot #dominik mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio fluff #finn balor fluff #finn balor x reader #finn balor imagine #damian priest oneshot #damian priest imagine #damian priest x reader

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lenoraah · 1 year ago

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𝙥𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨

pairing - dad!oscar piastri x mom!reader

summary - when Oscar and reader decides to bring their daughters to a race, they become the princess of the paddock

a/n - this will be aged up obviously, just another normal day 🤍 ah hem, here we go; Gayle (5), Niamh (3), Lola (1) also i have this idea of matching Owalas with the kids, i don’t know they’re so cuteeee

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Three kids, three water bottles for hydration, three mini bags of their things and entertainment will be; well you know the race and the people.”

“Nice thinking mom,” Avery teases and elbows Y/n in the arm.

“Hey, all I want to do during a race day is relax and let Oscar watch the kids before the actual race begins. Also I just want to be a cool mom who has matching water bottles with her kids.” Y/n shrugs, taking a sip from her Owala.

The two watch as Gayle and Niamh run around Lando, laughing and talking with her. Lola toddles around with Oscar’s help, trying her best to catch up with her sisters.

Y/n and Avery stand in the sunlight with their sunglasses resting on their faces. Y/n holds her water in her hold while Avery has her arms folded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I love the Brazil race. Lovely weather, well most of the time.” Avery shrugs with a smile on her and Y/n laughs.

“Just like every other race destination, unpredictable.” Y/n sighs and she laughs once again watching Lola fall down on her butt as she tries to run after Lando.

The toddler laughs and flailing her arms around energetically. Oscar chuckles as he helps her up and into his arms.

He swings her around and gently rocks her. The girls hover around their dad as they all try to grab his attention. Of course, he can’t help but divide his attention among the three and make all three of them giggle at one of his dad jokes.

Y/n sighs with a content smile on her face and leans against Avery’s shoulder.

“Makes you want to have one right? You know Jefferson is very ready, you’ve seen him with the girls.” Avery rolls her eyes and Y/n gently hits her hip against hers.

“Yes, because having a toddler who looks actually like Jefferson with his green eyes and black curls and pale skin running around while he’s gone in Paris for fashion week and there is a messy house is a great idea. And if I’m like you and end up having three kids because we can’t get rid of each other, then that’s kind of a lot. Three kids with dark green eyes and perfect black curls.” Avery hums and holds onto Y/n’s arm.

“Sounds like you already can see your kids, or you have baby fever.” Y/n teases and Avery shakes her head.

“Jefferson does, not me.”

“Sure, let’s check that out again in five years.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri one shot #f1 imagine #original post #original writing

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murfeelee · 4 months ago

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inZOI - Madzie & Max Lightwood-Bane (Shadowhunters)

After making Magnus Bane, I decided to make his kids to try out the kids for the demo.

IIRC, the TS4 CAS demo didn't let us make kids (did they even effing HAVE kids as a lifestate back then, or was it just zero toddlers & bassinet babies?). So we're already off to a better start than effing EA.

I'm sad that Krafton didn't let us have access to any sliders to really customize kids in the demo. The presets are ok enough, though some of them look like mini adults or something--the eye bags are too much (at least 3 poor kids looked like they'd been huffing a pack of cigarettes a day since the effing womb).

Kids have no nails & accessories, which is bogus. They get all the adult hats--fedora included--which is...interesting. We need some clips & barrettes & scrunchies etc--real 90s Throwback At Claire's.

Even TS3 gave kids earrings & bracelets & watches etc, so Krafton needs to step their game up, this is unacceptable that kids barely have EFF ALL.

The kids' clothes are also woefully low--no SKIRTS or DRESSES?! Just one set of PJs for outfits, why? They're all basically the same choices for adults & kids, which is kinda cool but kinda lazy? Give kids their own unique sense of style & identity--Asia has the cutest stuff, come on, don't be generic like this. U_U More kawaii, less Baby Gap. 4/10.

But it made me realize that I like the shoes options on the kids waaaaay more than I do on the adults. The adults need better shoes; that was my least favorite part; TS4's demo had much better shoes.

General

Two things I realized I'd overlooked on the adult zois:

EYES & TEETH: we need to be able to recolor the eye sclera, and the teeth. Both are just way too yellow for my liking, which I noticed as soon as I made Blueberry, and the blue made his eyes & teeth look like he had jaundice.

CUSTOM PATTERNS/TEXTURES: This is so frikkin cool! It's basically a lightweight version of TSRW's Pattern Tool (without the recolorability, sadly); allowing you to directly import DIY textures onto clothes. You can change the tiling & X/Y axis position, it's great!

I added the constellations & skeleton on Blueberry's tops. We need more GOTH fashion representation, Krafton! \m / (^0^) \m/

One of my favorite features is the hair that you can cut. Max's hair is gorgeous--you can make it really long, or really short. I went with medium-ish. And I LOVE the highlights options, iirc it had like 4 or 5 parts. Again: ALL hairs need AT LEAST the highlight function, if the length feature can't be universally implemented for whatever reason.

(I'm posting links to this & my first "review" on inZOI's Discord, so hopefully someone over there gets this feedback. I bloody doubt it, but yolo.)

#inzoi #simblr #the hype is real #video games #shadowhunters

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ratsoh-writes · 7 days ago

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Welcome to the…

Echo festival!!!

The fall festival of ebott centered all around the final harvest before winter! I will be holding this rp event from today (the 21st) to the 28th whenever I’m online!

All skeletons in the lineup will be available to chat with as well as many side characters that will be revealed as the festival goes on ;). If y’all don’t say who you want to meet when you rp, I’ll roll a wheel for a random encounter. Any anons joining us remember to add your name in each response so I know who I’m talking to 😭😭

Disclaimer: some characters are assholes therefore will act like assholes. This is not a reflection of my personal feelings towards every one. I love u pookie

Activities in this years echo festival will be:

The farmers market!: of course you can’t have a harvest festival without a bustling market filled to the brim with fresh produce and artisan goods! Try many native ebott foods and check out all the cool plants!

The animal contest: this year’s focus is large livestock! Some special catagories wil be cattle, dairy cows, riding boars, horses and raptors! But other larger farm animals will be displayed as well!

The wrestling matches: a Goldenvalley tradition is wrestling matches every echo festival. The monsters and humans are divided by weight (or put in a special class for golems and others of similar strength) and they wrestle the good old fashioned way: no magic, just skill!

A new show, the textiles gallery. The mettas are always looking for new hip colors and patterns to make the next big trend. Hopeful fashionistas are showing off their own homemade fabrics hoping to catch someone’s eye!

The yearly cooking contests theme this year is frozen treats! Aspiring chefs and hobbyists are to bring their best chilled dish, savory and sweet dishes are all accepted!

Due to the success that was the flour fight last year, it’s been decided to continue the tradition this coming year! So sadly while the water fight is no longer happening, it’s been decided that the flour is much safer for every one. Toddlers are recommended to sit this activity out while small children are required to be supervised at all time. The flour fight will be the final activity of the festival!

Of course, the echo festival is all about the echo flowers that give it its name. It’s customary to wear a flour crown of the flowers. However what color crown you wear will have different meanings.

Blue: friendship/platonic

Pale blue: looking for friendship

Pale green: child/youth

White: soulbonded or in a relationship

Purple: romantic interest

Pale purple: looking for love

The venue of the festival this year will be at fair fields in Goldenvalley. The venue has water access for hadal monsters and is mostly a large flat field surrounded by fenced crop patches on the edge of the property.

#Ratsoh events

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honey-flustered · 2 years ago

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Too Quiet (Fluff)

YoungDad!Steve Harrington x YoungMom!Reader

Summary: You and Steve finally get a moment of peace until you’re reminded that you’re parents of two rambunctious toddlers and a puppy. Sometimes, quiet’s never a good sign.

A/N: This fluffy thought came to me because I have a toddler niece and whenever she gets quiet we know she’s never up to any good. This also goes out to the parents who just need a little break from time to time. (Note: this has also been in my drafts for so long)

Word: 1.6k+

You appreciated the mundane. Boring can be good sometimes. Like for instance, neither you or Steve had any work that needed to be done. No errands, no chores, no 8-12-16 hour shifts. It was just a simple day where the two of you got to relax.

You found yourselves so comfortable, in fact, you hadn’t recognized that you were laid on the couch with your back against his chest, scrolling on your phone until he randomly cleared his throat.

You jolt up, looking back at him. “Whoa! When’d you get here?”

He looks up from his book, reading glasses slipping to the bridge of his nose. “I sacrifice my need to get up and pee for like 2 hours just to be your body pillow. My legs are asleep.”

You roll yourself around, facing him and wrapping your arms around his neck, “I’m sorry I’ve ignored you. It’s just so nice having these moments of downtime.”

He kisses your nose. “I understand, love. I’m really glad we don’t always have to talk to enjoy each other’s company. I like the comfortable silence.”

“Me too,” You grin. “Sometimes, I don’t always want to talk. Sometimes, I just want to scroll through my phone or eat a whole pot of mac ‘n’ cheese all by myself without the necessary judgment.”

“Weird way of bringing that up…but I get it.” Steve chuckles. “And you know what—since we’re throwing things out there—I’m so over people believing that being ‘boring’ is synonymous to being ‘old’. I mean, if I prefer staying home over going to parties it doesn’t mean I’m not still King Steve.”

“Exactly! Boring is the new fun! Like vanilla sex…it isn’t so bad.”

“It’s fantastic! We don’t always need the theatrics. It’s just so extra to have freaky sex all the time. Um, waiter, I’d like vanilla sex with a side of missionary please.”

You snort at his dorkiness. “I have to admit that I don’t always care to drink when we go out. I don’t always want to be a tipsy ditz all the time. Sometimes when I’m out with my friends, they make me feel bad about ordering just wine so I just lie and say that I’m drinking vodka when it’s only water in my glass. I’m just really good at pretending I’m drunk.”

“You’re goddamn Meryl Streep and Viola Davis combined when you act drunk, baby. I could use some pointers. I don’t always want to drink either but the boys…” Steve groans. “It’s always ‘Steve, chug down this beer’ and never ‘Steve, would you like some chamomile tea.’ I don’t drink tea but I just might start if someone offers me.”

“I’d offer you since you’re taking interest. Would you like me to make you some now?”

“Maybe later,” Steve curls his arms around you tight. “I like talking about being boring with you.”

“Yeah, I could be boring with you all the time. Like if I decided to crochet some shit for the hell of it, you wouldn’t judge.”

“Course I wouldn’t. I think you’d be the best crocheter ever and that’s saying a lot because there are a lot of great ones out there. I know this because I watched a youtube tutorial of crochet making…in full. I don’t plan to make a not one piece but I watched it anyway because I had time,” Steve shrugs. “And sometimes, even when I have plenty of time, I don’t always feel like styling my hair.”

You gasp, putting a hand to your chest. “Not the hair!”

“I can be too cool for cool.” He smiles smugly.

“I wanna wear a oversized clothes.” You rush out.

“You deserve it! I’ve seen the kind of clothes you’ve had to wear. Super tight. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. I don’t always wanna dress in the latest fashion either.”

“I hate going to the beach nowadays. I get sand in all of my crevices and I end up finding sand around the house even weeks after.”

“I hate driving too fast.”

“I like gardening.”

“I like socks with sandals.”

“I’ve been leaning into buying those portraits with the words on them that say things like “home is where the heart is” or some corny thing like that”

“Eww, you mean the ‘live, laugh, love’ crap,” He laughs. “I’m sorry but we’re not that old.”

“Oh, please, I’m sure you’ve got worse.”

Steve thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ve always wanted to ask an employee if they’re working hard or hardly working.”

“Oh, nooo!” You cringe. “That’s horrible. Do you want them to hate you?”

“Alright, so I’m that kind of old, too.” He admits defeat.

“I think mom jeans aren’t as bad as everyone makes them to be.”

“I think dad jokes are the epitome of comedy and I’ve brushed up on some.”

“Ooo, tell me one!” You beam excitedly.

“Okay. What do you call a nose with no body?”

“What?”

“Nobody knows."

You both join in laughter which soon dies down when the gears in each of your heads began to turn. The two of you stare in space, speechless and reflective of the conversation.

“Although, it is a bit quiet,” You say, breaking the silence. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, too quiet.”

“Not boring, though.”

“No, not boring. It’s a good boring if it is. But it’s like…something’s missing. Like we’re forgetting something important.”

“Or someone important?”

“Some…ones…” Steve says in a reflective tone, then his eyes bug out and so do yours as you come to the same realization.

The two of you exchanged looks and simultaneously yell. “Our babies?!”

The two of you jump up from the couch and heading in any direction the two believed the boys were in. You checked the pantry, he checked in the bottom cabinets. He checked the in the boys closet, you checked underneath the bed.

“How could have forgotten about them for two hours?!” Steve exclaims. “We’re terrible people! They’re literally all the reasons why we’re so old and boring now so how can we have forgotten?!”

“They’ve handled themselves just fine alone, babe.” You say trying to comfort him.

“You and I both know that when it gets quiet it’s never a good sign. They’re like Max from Max and Ruby and you know how sociopathic that bunny could be. Little Baby Blue hasn’t barked in 2 hours either. What could they have possibly done to him?” Steve says while running his hands through his hair.

The sounds of giggling from the master bedroom is enough to shake you and Steve to your core. The boys were for sure in there and possibly doing something that will cost you a lot of money to repair.

“For all we know they’ve just created armagedon in there,” You say, darting your eyes between the bedroom door and Steve. “Whatever happens, whatever we see…we must prepare ourselves. Some things may be damaged beyond repair and most likely there will be a lot of cleaning up to do…but we mustn’t take out our anger on the children. They’re children who are simply practicing their exploration and discovery skills.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who found your game console submerged in a toilet bowl,” He clutches his chest. “You don’t know my pain.”

You groan, hearing more laughter from the boys. “What do think it is this time? Paint on the walls? The forbidden mudpie cake? Fisher Price Guillotine?”

“I don’t know. That’s the terrifying part. They always come up with the darnedest things,” Steve holds out his hand. “Hold it please, I’m not ready for this horror show.”

You swallow hard, taking his hand. Opening the masters bedroom, you see the twins with their thumbs in their mouths watching Saturday cartoons on the large bed. Little Baby Blue is wedged between the boys, relaxing as they both pet him with their free hands. Their eyes immediately dart to the two of you standing in the doorway like you’d just interrupted a nice moment.

“Mommy.” Oslo smiles and runs up to you.

“Daddy!” Bear runs into Steve’s arms.

“My boys,” You say in relief. “Mommy and Daddy are so sorry for not checking on you. We were very, very tired.”

“Das kay, mommy,” Oslo says, snuggling into your tummy. “Blue’s here with us.”

“Blue even gave us some things to eat.” Bear points to one side of the bed which was full of snacks from the pantry.

“I was wonderful where the Oreos went.” Steve says.

You pet Blue. “That’s a good boy! Maybe next time go for the healthier options in the fridge.” The dog huff and you raise your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll cut you some slack. I know how hard it is watching two toddlers.”

“I’m going to whip us up some lunch and then we’ll go to the park for family fun day. How’s that sound, boys?” Steve says.

The boys jump up and down excitedly with Steve hyping up their mood. “Ok, but you have to go and get ready real quick. Think you two can do that like the big boys you are?”

“Yes!” They shout at once.

“Go on then after come down for the famous Harrington men’s sandwich.”

The boys run out of the room, Blur chasing after them.

You lean in to whisper to your husband, still in shock. “Everything’s neat. The boys were actually angels the entire day. Thanks to babysitter Blue.”

“I guess those two were having a relaxed day, too.” Steve quips.

Oslo enters the room, tugging your sweater. “Mommy, can you help me find my favorite sho”

“You mean the light up ones?”

Oslo nods and you take his hand, “Come on, we’ll look together.”

“Then, I’ll help Bear get dressed. We’re going to beat you guys!” Steve teases.

You all laugh enjoying the friendly competition. Although, you enjoyed the times where things get quiet. You couldn’t trade the moments of chaos and fun with your family for the world.

#steve harrington x reader imagine #steve harrington x reader #Steve harrington x you fluff #stranger things fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #dad!steve harrington #mom!reader #Steve harrington x fem!reader #joe keery fanfiction

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auroraiiqht · 9 days ago

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Little Tenma HCs ✨🍼

Saki first!!! 💫

Saki first regressed when she was in the hospital. It was a very scary time and she felt so awful, how could she not? Saki wasn’t exactly used to the sensation, though, so she freaked herself out so much that she cried :(

Saki eventually learned about age regression, mostly from asking a nurse if that was a symptom of her chronic illness. But nope, she just got a new coping mechanism.

I HC her as immunocompromised and with chronic pain as it’s never specified what her condition is ingame

Her age range tends to be 2-4, young but not a baby. Saki’s regression is largely involuntary, but she’s not afraid to voluntarily regress either.

Saki’s motor skills are the most affected by her regression, making her mobility aids a bit difficult to use sometimes.. but for the most part she does okay. If she’s having too much trouble going somewhere, Saki’s caregiver will usually carry her to where she needs to go. Or gets her wheelchair. Depends on how independent she wants to feel— usually it’s the wheelchair though.

Her favorite nicknames include sunshine, sweetie/sweetheart, and buddy!

Her regression is triggered by stress, her pain flare-ups, and other strong negative feelings. Especially anything medical-related, like catching a cold.

Whenever she has a check-up at the doctor’s, or any visit to the hospital really, it’s an instant slip. Saki’s just so scared of that place now, she’s spent more than enough time in there for one lifetime! She doesn’t want to go back, never ever!!

But Saki can also slip from other things, like a lot of excitement!

She discovered that fact after going to the arcade with Ichika one time. Saki got the plushie she really really wanted on her first try, and then suddenly she felt so tiny…

Honami’s voice is also a pretty reliable way to make her slip. It’s not sudden, really, but a soothing “hey, what’s going on, sweetie?” When she’s halfway between headspaces and Saki’s instantly baby

Saki is a pretty energetic toddler, and one of her favorite activities is just talking to her caregiver(s). She has so many stories to tell and so many cool things that happened today!! Look look! Listen!

Her brother loves being her caregiver whenever she regresses at home, but Leo/need are her usual ones.

Saki has a rather large collection of stuffed animals, and she has a name and personality for each one. She also has a lot of doll clothes that she puts on her stuffies like a little fashion show!! Saki adores it. Favorite playtime activity by far. Easy on her body too! She doesn’t even need to go anywhere.

She loves loves loves angel milk too. It’s just so delicious! Also, any juice (or really any liquid) needs to be in a sippy cup because Saki can and will knock it over somehow.

Tsukasa next!!! ⭐️

He was largely unaware of his regression for a very long time. Tsukasa never fully slipped until he was a young teenager, and until then he just thought the brain fog was a result of tiredness or stress.

Even then, he still didn’t know he regressed until Saki mentioned it one time while he was visiting her hospital room. He was happy she found a way to cope, of course! But then the more he thought about it, the more Saki’s description matched up with his experiences..

The Wonderland SEKAI was formed when Tsukasa was a child, that can’t be a coincidence. The place is almost meant for a regressor.

Tsukasa’s age range tends to be young, younger than his sister, even. 1-3 is his usual placement, but if both siblings are little at the same time he’ll slip a little older to take care of Saki. His regression is entirely involuntary.

Tsukasa’s speech is the most affected by his regression. His words come out as mostly babbles or one to two-word sentences. Also, he bites things. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. Tsukasa needs a pacifier basically all the time because of this, or else he’ll end up eating something he’s not supposed to.

His favorite nicknames are little one, kiddo, and starlight ^^

He’s actually a rather calm little. Mostly. His energy reveals itself if his caregiver decides to play pretend or put on a show with him. If that happens, Tsukasa’s just a little ball of energy! Lookie, can’t you see?! This paper crown is the bestest one! And now to make Mr. Unicorn fight off the bad guys..!

Tsukasa’s childhood was very stressful, for everyone involved. Being home alone a lot isn’t a very fun experience, which leads to one of his biggest regression triggers: silence.

He needs to fill the silence with anything, mostly talking or playing with toys. If it’s naptime or bedtime, Tsukasa will outright refuse to go to sleep until his caregiver is there to soothe him, playing white noise and reading a bedtime story. He just needs to hear their voice.

When regressed he hates being in an empty house. If his caregiver needs to go somewhere, Tsukasa will go along with them! No questions asked.

His sister was obviously the first one to figure out that he regressed to, but the first person Tsukasa actually told was Emu. Maybe not who you’d expect, but he figured she’d be fine with it. And she definitely was..

Maybe a bit too fine with it. Because then Emu ran over and told Nene and Rui. Well, at least now Tsukasa doesn’t have to worry about telling the others himself..!

He doesn’t have a set caregiver, just whoever’s available at the time.

Predictably, one of Tsukasa’s favorite things to do when regressed is to play pretend. It’s so much more fun with someone else to play along, isn’t it?!

He also really likes finger painting. Someone just needs to watch him while he does though, otherwise he might end up eating it.

Tsukasa’s honestly just happy doing anything as long as it’s with his caregiver

Dividers: taken from here

[ SFW INTERACTION ONLY! If it's not something you would show to a kid, don't. NSFW strictly prohibited. ]

#sfw agere #pjsk agere #agere community #agere blog #sfw interaction only #project sekai agere #little tenma tsukasa #little tenma saki

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puzzledcretin · 4 months ago

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Sunflower

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @tigerthespahget )

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: Sunflower duo (ROTTMNT Mikey & Miles Morales’ SpiderMan) Word Count: 3,360

Read On AO3

“Needless to say, I’m keeping her in check. She was a bad-bad, nevertheless. Callin’ it quits now, baby. I’m a wreck. Crash at my place, baby, you’re a wreck.”

Mikey sprinted across the rooftops of New York City. Keeping to the shadows, much like he had been taught as a child. His feet stayed light on the half walls, avoiding the patches of gravel. Originally, he had come up to the city to tag some walls downtown. Slowly, Mikey was trying to make a name for himself above ground.

Sure, his art was well known underground. However, he was starting to lose faith in his brother’s opinions. Could you blame him? He loved his brothers, more than anything in the world, but they were his brothers! They did not have to love all of his work, and he was sure there were certain pieces that they didn’t care for, but they were obligated to at least pretend.

But on the surface? On the surface, there was opportunity! People from all walks of life and not the narrow, suffocating view of the sewers. People could see his work and he could get new, fresher opinions.

At first, he wasn’t sure how he was going to do it. Despite everything that happened, being friendly with humans was still somewhat frowned upon by his brothers. It was.. Weird. They had plenty of human or human adjacent friends, but there was something about remaining hidden that seemed so important for their survival. He understood why, but it made making friends one of the most difficult tasks in the entire world.

That is why Mikey got himself a fancy new phone (needed it after dropping it off the empire state building, don’t ask) and signed up for social media! Because that couldn’t go wrong, could it?

AngelofNewYork Lvl 16, Sagittarius I put the razz in razzamatazz! Posts: 140 Followers: 11 Following: 248

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly popping off the way he was hoping it would. But! That was fine! Because on occasion, he will see his graffiti popping off on other accounts. The tag #graffitiofnewyork, #graffitiphotography, and #artistsinnewyork were all some of his favorites to patrol. People didn’t know they were his but he loved seeing other people take pictures of his work.

It wasn’t like.. All good, you know? Yeah, a lot of the time he saw people praising his work. It looked cool, it meant this or that. Everyone had an opinion, but it seemed like lately he was seeing more and more criticism than he was used to.

“Whose toddler stole the paint cans”

“Y r the shit artists anon??”

“F”

“This is fuckign vandelism! Arrest this dejenerat!”

… Yeah. And that was fine, he could get over that. Trolls were not something that typically got under his skin, not really. But what does get under his skin is seeing other artists on the scene. Ones who see his art and criticize it to hell and back.

And he gets it. He gets it! Not everyone is going to like his art. Sometimes, Mikey didn’t even like his own art. But it is a disappointment, it does cause him to drag his feet when it comes to the next project.

Mikey grinned beneath his mask. It was an orange respirator, something to protect his lungs from the paint particles. Raph and Leo mandated it, Donnie built it. Such is most of the equipment that winds up in his hands.

Along his waist, Mikey had an array of colors hooked along a belt. Ah!! Yes, his belt. It matched his respirator, bright orange with a butt ton of colors sprayed over it! It was the best way he found to transport his paints but!! It served a double purpose! Mikey was dipping his toes in the fashion pools, and that meant extravagant fashions and unique pieces!

All of which meant nothing to someone trying to remain incognito. So, unfortunately, Mikey was in dull, dark colors. He was wearing cargo pants and a hoodie. Both of which really were not very fashion forward but they hid the whole turtle thing, so it was working. But, we digress. This is not about fashion, though it could be, it is about art! Not that fashion isn’t art but-

Art. Mikey’s art.

The young turtle leapt down from the rooftop, falling into a roll as his momentum carried him through it. He paused as he stood in front of the midtown tunnel entrance. Cars were passing slowly but at this time of night, they were either too busy trying to get home or onto some of their own seedy business to care about what some kid was doing.

If Mikey were a better kid, he’d investigate more. But right now he wasn’t a hero.

He slowly walked into the tunnel, his hands pushed deep into his pockets as he walked deeper. The lights were a hazy orange-yellow, and Mikey was quietly noting to himself that his beautiful golden spray would not be useful in this light, but in his secret spot it would stand out. As he walked deeper into the tunnel, the sounds became amplified around him. The distant sounds of cars bounced off the walls and soaked into his skin. His walking turned to bouncing as he grew closer to his ideal spot. A maintenance door around a quarter of the way through. Mikey had scoped it out a while ago, it was the perfect place to put up a tag. As he came up on the door, Mikey pulled it open with ease and squeezed his way inside. He made sure to shut the door behind him, looking at the large room that was opened up to him.

Right across from him, a large cement wall stood clear. He’d have to be worried about drippage but other than that? There was a large crack that settled diagonally. It ran from the upper left all the way down to the lower right, it was clear cut.

It was the perfect canvas.

Mikey pulled the first can out of his belt, shaking it violently. The small metal ball clattered against the sides over and over until Mikey felt the pigment within was mixed enough. With a pinch of his fingers, the cap popped off and clattered off to the side of the room, to be forgotten.

Then, he got to work.

Today, Mikey had a personal goal. He was going to paint some of the sickest birds you have ever seen in your entire life. Mikey pulled out his crumpled up sketchbook paper as he got close to the wall, testing a spray or two before he started his outline. He was using a dark gray, something to be covered up later.

And on went the layers, slowly but surely. Mikey loved spray painting, it made his brain go outside the box rather than stay inside its constrictions. He had to really focus on what was going where. But that’s why he was using a template.

Time seemed to stop existing in that room, Mikey didn’t know how long he was down there. But he did know that, eventually, he came to a point where he was pleased with what he had done. He took a huge step back, letting the golden can drop to his side as he observed the scene right before him. Golden doves flying out of the crack in the wall, strong and powerful against the dull concrete. Mikey grinned, his hands moving to his hips.

“Thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip. Screamin' at my face, baby, don't trip. Someone took a big L, don't know how that felt. Lookin' at you sideways, party on tilt.”

Mikey pulled out his phone, angling it as best he could to get the doves all in at once. As his finger hovered over the capture button, light appeared at the corner of his vision.

Something strong was coming, that’s all Mikey knew, but he didn’t have time to react before a dark mass shot out of the light source and crashed into him. His phone went flying off in some distant direction, a flash of its own and the distinct shutter of the camera app were the only indications that it was still functional.

Mikey tumbled to the floor, groaning as his own arm smacked him across the face. Had he been hit with a missile? Is that what happened?

Mikey slowly lifted his head up from the floor when he heard a groan that mirrored his own.

“Leo..?”

“Whose Leo?”

The two figures froze as they stared at each other. Mikey.. Did not recognize this person. Their mask- At least he hoped it was a mask- was black with a spiderweb pattern. Eyes rimmed with a red fabric.

“Who are you??” Mikey questioned, very quick to leap up to his feet. The other figure pushed himself up, holding both his hands up quickly. Mikey felt the itch in his palms, the need to pull his weapon out and defend himself from this stranger. Especially because he could see some kind of device smoking from his wrist.

“It’s okay! I’m Spider-Man!” The stranger shouted, causing Mikey to cock his head to the side.

“Spider-Man?? Who is that??” He questioned.

The figure’s arms seemed to falter for a moment, his own head cocking to the opposite side. “You.. You don’t know who Spider-Man is? You know, webslinging hero of New York? Actually- Are we in New York City? Does New York exist?? Am I in Fallout??”

Mikey blinked slowly at the figure, trying to figure out what this guy was babbling about. A.. A hero? Like in a comic book? He feels like he should be surprised, he really should. But somehow, compared to everything else, this somehow just seemed to make sense to him. Mikey didn’t understand the Fallout bit- but then he remembered his respirator.

“Oh! No! No, no! I was just painting, no nuclear fallout at all!” Mikey shouted as he reached up and pulled his mask off without thinking. “See? Completely normal!”

“... You’re a turtle,” The stranger said slowly, his eyes turning into slits. Mikey looked down at mask then back up at them.

“Okay, so not normal! But everyone else is! .. You aren’t panicking.” Mikey noted, his own eyebrows drawing together.

“Well, no.. I mean, you are pretty weird- No offense! But uh.. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff through my travels..” Their hand moved up to rub at the back of their neck.

“Travels…?”

Their eyes shot open, then they shook their head. “Isn’t it actually your turn to tell me something about you? Like uh, your name?”

“I’m Michelangelo, but everyone just calls me Mikey!” The turtle responded, holding his hand out, “I guess it’s nice to meet you… Spider-Man?”

“Gah- You know what? Call me Miles,”

And just like that, the stranger had a name.

Miles reached out, smacking his hand against Mikey’s. As if the two had done it thousands of times before, their fingers curled around each other in a secret handshake. The two stared at their hands for a long moment before Mikey pulled back first. Had they met somewhere before? Likely not, but Mikey couldn’t help but grin at this immediate connection. Maybe, they could be friends.

“So, um, do you come through portals often?” Mikey questioned, leaning over to the side to look behind Miles. But the area around him was void of any light from before. Miles looked over his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh! No, not really. I mean, I do on occasion, yeah, but usually I try to stay home. You know, not trying to get in trouble. I just uh.. I guess the villain, his name is Electro..? Well, he fried this watch my friend gave me and.. Now I’m here.” Miles said, gesturing to the smoking device on his wrist.

“... Can you get home..?” Mikey questioned, placing his hands on his hips. Miles’ eyes widened and he very quickly pulled the watch before his eyes, tapping at the screen as it flickered rapidly. “No.. No! Come on..” Miles muttered, brushing his hand against his face.

“I.. Well, I can, but also I can’t. Here if I just..” Miles pressed the button on the side of the watch, listening to it chime for a moment. “That should give my location to my friend.. She can come get me, but until then..”

Miles looked around, “You said you were painting?”

Mikey’s grin slowly turned full blast as he saw the golden opportunity. He grabbed Miles’ wrist, pulling him the few feet he needed to just to turn the hero in the right direction to see it.

“Oh, yo!” Miles’ eyes went ride as he crossed the space to come up to the wall. “This is sick, man! I love incorporating the environment around me into the piece, it feels like it really shows love to the canvas, you know?”

Mikey was quick to move up next to him, clapping his hands together, “Yeah! Yeah, ohmigosh, yeah. Wow. I am so glad that you understand, I feel like no one gets it around here!”

“What? How can people not get it! I swear, art is dead,” Miles complained, crossing his arms over his chest. But he looked over to Mikey. He had no mouth but the little artist could see the smile that laid beneath the mask through his eyes alone.

“I don’t think it’s dead, it’s just learning. You gotta respect the process,” Mikey noted as he pulled one of the cans from his belt, tossing it over to Mile, “Do you paint?”

Miles caught the can, looking it over for a moment. Ruby red, how appropriate. “Do I paint? All the time. Sometimes when you’re patrolling the streets, you have way too much free time on your hands. Mind if I tag a wall?”

Mikey mulled it over, looking at the space around him- He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have this entire room planned out head to toe. But then he let out a small hum. “Actually, please do. Then I have something to remember you by when you inevitably have to go home,”

Miles seemed to light up at that, shaking his can as he extended his arm out. With a sharp THWIP! A web shot out from his wrist and connected to the ceiling. Miles pulled himself up with it, finding a spot up by the ceiling. “I figure I’ll take over this spot up here where a land turtle like you can’t reach,” Miles teased, looking over his shoulder smugly as he started to spray the wall.

“Don’t be too sure about that, spider! I may look grounded but I am as free as they come!” Mikey called back, but he refrained from showing off. Instead, he grabbed his own golden can of paint from the ground and moved to stand below Miles. In sync, the two started to paint.

Mikey put his name in tag, sharp curves but sharper points. Large and proud! With it, he placed one of his signatures. A golden turtle shell- Kind of on the nose, he knows. But at this point, being subtle has not gotten him the results he has wanted.

Alternatively, Miles did much the same. In a bright red, he wrote “Miles” onto the wall. But he was less controlled- No, not less controlled at all. He was deliberate in where he let the paint build up. The drips of the paint rolled down the cement with practiced ease. Mikey admired that. While he was trying so hard to control his paints to make them look nice and proper, but this style was fun and unique!

The two chatted as they worked, Miles talked about his life- Apparently he was a student and a hero at the same time. Mikey didn’t understand how he did it, Mikey could barely be a hero some days! But Mikey got to talk about his brothers some, he learned that Miles didn’t have any. That was wild! But April didn’t have siblings either so it wasn’t too wild.

Instead, Miles had an infinite amount of himself out there to bond with. Mikey remembered listening to Donnie once upon a time, how the multiverse would allow for anything to be possible as long as it could be conceived. That meant, there were infinite versions of Miles. That also meant there were infinite versions of himself out there as well.

But! That’s why Miles was here! Because he was able to travel to these universes. That’s how he met his friend Gwen!

“Yeah! And my friend, Peter, he showed me how to do all this cool stuff! He’s kind of like.. Well, you said your dad was your sensei? He’s kind of like mine,” Miles explained.

Mikey grinned, “Oh yeah? That’s pretty cool! Maybe one day a version of me will come out of a portal and teach me how to be a cool hero,” he pondered, tapping his chin.

“Yeah? Well if he does, figure out how to come visit me.” Miles grinned.

Mikey went to open his mouth, but as he did, that light came back. Mikey got a good look at it now. It was bright with various boxes glitching in and out of it. Like a comic tearing apart at the seams! It was cool!

But, that also means that Miles has to go.

Miles sighs, dropping down to the ground before the portal, turning to face Mikey. “This is my ride..”

Mikey sighed, holding his hand out, “Come visit again, you here? We have an entire room to fill.”

Miles’ hand smacked into his, but instead of leaving it at a handshake, he pulled Mikey in for a hug. “I’ll be back before you know it, promise.” Miles smirked, stepping back from the hug. “Good luck, Mikey.”

Miles stepped through the portal, and Mikey stared at it until it disappeared. He stopped, looking around. There were so many cans everywhere. With a sigh, he gathered them all up. It was nearing morning, he needed to go home. Mikey almost left without his phone! Almost, of course. Because he did hear his text tone right as he was about to leave the room. He rushed over to the side of the room to pick it up.

Delightfully, the screen wasn’t cracked at all. Donnie had said it could survive a 50 foot drop, and the small ten feet it flew was only a fraction of that. He moved to the center of the room, framing his golden doves once again in the middle of the screen. Mikey stuck his tongue out as he focused in and.. Snap!

Mikey grinned, tapping the small photo icon to view his masterpiece.

He paused, however, as he looked down at the small photo that was next up in the preview. He swiped his finger to the right and he couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into laughter.

On his phone screen, a photo of Miles and him both falling to the ground. Miles was flying with a bit more momentum than Mikey was, but both of their eyes were comically wide. He didn’t even realize his phone had captured this moment.

He left it alone, tucking his phone into his pocket as he once again left for the door.

A week later, Mikey would come back. An image wouldn’t leave his mind, something that felt important enough to brand the room with. On the wall of that maintenance room in the tunnel, he recreated the portal where Miles disappeared. He made the comic boxes, the Ben-Day dots, he even tossed in a spider emblem or two. He didn’t know if Miles would come back, he certainly hoped so. Mikey needed more friends who could understand the things he like.

Miles didn’t have to come back, he had left enough of an impression on the young artist, but if he did? Mikey had a spray can with his name on it waiting.

“Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya. You're the sunflower.

You're the sunflower.”

#tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #miles morales #spiderverse #tmnt write fight

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