#sometimes just tiny tiny tiny little details

[rainrot4me]

i love your stuff so, so much! i always forget that creepypasta is a dead fandom so going to look for content on it is a literal fight

with that said, everyone always forgets about clockwork being an artist... do you have anything on her being an artist? i don't even care what at this point

AHHHHAHHAAH YES. These are copied straight my my headcannons doc I’ve had open on Nat, forgive if there are typos.

── .✦

Mixed media queen. Clockwork isn’t loyal to just one art form. She has a sketchbook filled with everything—graphite sketches, inky anatomy diagrams, charcoal-streaked pages, bits of pressed flowers taped next to journal entries. She’ll get fixated on embroidery one week and blood-red watercolor the next.

Uses art to process. She doesn’t talk much about what she went through—being tortured, changed, reborn into violence—but you can see it in her work. Shaky hands rendered in ink. A self-portrait where one eye is normal and the other is an open wound with gears blooming out of it. A girl floating underwater, peaceful, and alone.

Paints on her walls. Her room in the Mansion isn’t cutesy or edgy—it’s hauntingly beautiful. Splashes of oil paint across the wall. Tall figures with blurred-out faces. A whole corner is filled with clocks she’s half-painted and never finished, like time is melting there.

Surprisingly delicate with fine detail. Her hands may be stained with violence, but she’s so careful with a brush it’s almost reverent. Fine linework. Gentle shading. She loses herself in the tiny motions. You’d never think the same fingers that can crush a windpipe could also thread a needle or paint eyelashes.

Art is her version of crying. Nat doesn’t break down or rant or scream when things get bad. She sits down, turns off the world, and draws something with shaking fingers until it hurts less. Headphones turned all the way up, too.

Tried realism, hated it. She doesn’t want things to look “real.” She wants them to feel true. That means strange perspectives, dreamy colors, disjointed anatomy, like how memories look when they’ve been replayed too many times. The realest her art gets is in sketches of scenery or random anatomy studies she does of Toby. She has dozens of blurry, smudged sketches of Toby aiming her shotgun or asleep in the back of her truck.

Embroidery on leather jackets. Sometimes she gets hyperfixated on textiles. She’ll sew into the sleeves of her clothes: anatomical hearts, broken hourglasses, hands reaching toward each other but never touching. The texture calms her, the needle in and out. A rhythm she can control. Any excuse to patch up the tears in her jeans with pretty colors.

Art with violence woven into it. Not in a creepy edge-lord way, but in the way that says: I have seen pain. I am made of it. Let me show you, safely, on paper. There’s a sacred honesty to her darkest pieces. They say what she can’t.

Would 1000% give a handmade sketchbook as a gift. She binds it herself. Stitches the spine. Maybe even adds little doodles or notes in the margins:

“Sketched some while I was away. You can look if you want.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[kings-highway]

Hi! Re the prompts - kagehina - #1 (imagining it’s Hinata’s palm). Tsukkiyama - #58 (thinking about this in context of the situation you described in another post where yamaguchi has finally recovered from pining for Yachi). 💜

AAAAA!!! Such cute prompts for both 🤍🤍 they're all so so silly I LOVE them. Also love the excuse to play with the little Yamaguchi headcanon :D

--- #1 -Kagehina 1

They play well. (They always play well.)

They’re tired after the game. Kageyama struggles to coordinate arms that now feel like noodles to pull his sweatshirt over his head, blinking sleepy eyes and reminding himself over and over again that he just needs to make it through an hour or so, and then he can go to bed. 

Hinata still, somehow, has energy. But he’ll crash in ten minutes, when he sits down. Kageyama follows him out, listening to him chatter about the game, and their plays. They drop into a seats beside each other on the bus, and listen to the coach shouting praise and good work at them. Hinata’s crash begins to hit him, and he half closes his eyes as he looks at Kageyama. 

“You never compliment me,” he complains. “I played amazing and you never even compliment me.”

“I’ll compliment you when you do something worth complimenting,” Kageyama replies, which makes Hinata scoff and hit at him. Kageyama almost smiles, getting whacked, before snapping a hand out and catching Hinata’s wrist to stop the assault. 

“It’s no fair! You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, aren’t you? I deserve a boyfriend who sometimes supports me, don’t I?” 

“You’re so whiny,” Kageyama mutters, before turning Hinata’s hand over, to lift up and gently kiss his palm. “Good job. You played well.” 

Hinata stares at him, making an odd little noise of alarm as if suddenly overwhelmed by even the smallest affections. Kageyama lifts his eyes to watch Hinata’s face slowly turn first pink, and then hot red, eyes widening. 

“You asked,” Kageyama says, at the same time Hinata yanks his hand away and turns around to hide under his school jacket.

“You’re not supposed to do it like that!” Hinata complains. 

--- #2 -Tsukkiyama 58

They’re trying to throw a surprise birthday party for Kageyama, which Yamaguchi realizes is going to be a terrible idea way too late, so they’re stuck in it now. Whatever. He tries not to know that Kageyama will hate a surprise party, and commits to decorating a living room he doesn’t live in. 

“Okay, okay, he’s coming back!” Yachi shouts, hurrying in from the other room. “Miwa just texted me… okay, everyone, hide! Hide! Someone hit the lights! Go go go-”

The team and participating surprises panic and run around. Hinata dives behind a couch, Yachi slips behind a curtain, a handful of the first years panic and lay flat on the floor. Before Yamaguchi can panic and forget to make a decision, Tsukki has grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him into a tiny linen closet. 

For a minute, everything is okay. Tsukki hisses and complains about the metal shelves digging into his back, and Yamaguchi agrees it’s a really terribly small closet, and they both, at the same time, move forward to escape the shelves, and-

Yamaguchi finds himself pressed up against Tsukki, one of his knees finding a place between his own, warm and solid and now all Yamaguchi is thinking about is body pressure and heat. 

Tsukki puts a hand on his arm, and it feels like electricity. 

“Should have picked a better spot - sorry,” Tsukki mumbles. All Yamaguchi can do is make a strangled noise of agreement, face slowly burning hotter as he wraps his mind around how much he liked being pressed against Tsukki like this. 

He makes the mistake of looking up, and finds Tsukki is already looking down at him. It’s dark, and Yamaguchi can barely make out the details of his face, but he realizes he could probably rise up onto his toes and kiss him. It would be really easy - their lips are barely a few inches apart. Kissing Tsukki would probably be weird, but… his lips might be soft. And he might respond by putting his hands on Yamaguchi’s back, which… pressed against each other as they were, would feel… really good.

He feels his breath catch in his throat, overwhelmed now with a series of fantasies of lips against his own, hands on his body. Eighteen year old hormones are raging in the tight confines of his closet, and he things for a second that he’s going to light on fire if he doesn’t have Tsukki on him right now.

And then Yamaguchi realizes what he’s thinking about. 

Tsukishima Kei. 

His best friend. 

Yamaguchi wanted to be ravished in this closet by Kei.

Oh fuck.

His face burns hot immediately, he tries to back up but those stupid metal shelves try and stab his spine and make him wince, forcing him back in tight proximity. Fuck. 

No, no, no, this is awful -

Yamaguchi had just had his heartbroken 365 days of the previous year trying to help Yachi feel confident with being who she was, he’d tried to be a good friend, he’d tried to be the best friend, she’d deserved that much, and now-

Now his stupid, cursed romantic brain was going to have him fantasizing about stripping his best friend and kissing him stupid? Now he was going to fall in love with the one person who had the power to break his heart as badly as Yachi had? 

Falling in love with Kageyama would have been more tolerable than this!

He makes an audible groaning noise, and Tsukishima shushes him. 

He tries to ignore all the body pressure. He tries to ignore the heat, and the proximity, and how badly he wanted him, and… well… how natural it felt. 

When he’s brave enough, he glances up at Tsukki again, though he’s peering through the slates in the closet door, waiting to see Kageyama enter. 

Tsukki. His best friend. 

In some ways, it… felt sort of right. After all, Tsukki was the only person Yamaguchi had never needed a break from. The person he felt safest around. He’d been the first person he told about his crush on Yachi, the only person who’d really cared about how badly he was heartbroken over her. 

He just… wished it wasn’t Kei.

There’s a key in the locked door. Tsukki smiles slightly, glancing down at Yamaguchi and, this time, it’s not quite as suddenly terrifying, and he kind of likes indulging in the closeness. The familiarity. It is, after all, still his best friend.

“I hope we scare him so badly he screams,” Tsukki says, and it makes Yamaguchi snicker, and nod, smiling back at him. 

“I bet we will,” he assures him, before Tsukki looks away again to put a hand out and get ready to push open the door. 

Okay. Well, maybe it being Kei wouldn’t be so bad. 

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

if you do requests at all, could we see some mimic!stan and ford just hangin' out? :D

Sure :)

EDIT: I just realized I forgot to draw his lapel teeth and pocket mouth. IGNORE THAT.

[ladykyriaa]

Oh my gosh i never realized this. And it's actually such a small detail also but

I LOVE how they made her look so. Idk. Raggedy?? Like her dirty feet, her torn up clothes, the seemingly old bandage?

They don't shy away from the fact that this is a poor girl and with an odd stroke of luck that somehow managed to climb her way to where she currently is now

[likesdoodling]

Got into Witch Hat Atelier last year sometime and yesterday finally got around to drawing Qifrey. And we've got some pictures of Coco too :D

(I'd forgotten my pencil so this was just inked straight without sketching first which is not what I typically do, but I don't think it went tooooooo badly...)

My favourite is definitely the top right one of Qifrey. I was using the manga for reference (hanging out at the public library with a friend so there were books right there), and I really like how it turned out tbh.

[lizardmagus]

also finished pathologic 2. feeling normal about it

[icewindandboringhorror]

I can't do much productively during the heat wave/health issue flare up/etc. like work on my games or anything where I have to sit at the computer/type for long periods of time, BUT.. I did passively sculpt a few tiny foods lol. I wanted to do one of my bigger usual sculptures, but those take so much more time and concentration, I thought something small just to keep my hands busy would be better.. close up photos look kind of weird and blurry from my camera settings or something, but overall they came out okay, especially in person.. Nearly the only reason I ever wanted to buy dolls as a kid was to get my hands on the miniature foods and plates and stuff that came with them, I've always just been obsessed with small versions of things like that, so.. why not make some! lol

[anemicjellyfish]

Animation error resulted in an AU Blitzø (maybe he goes by Blitzo), who was never burned in the fire.

[luis-serra-kennedy]

well, I was working on what's supposed to be the final chapter and realized I'm probably going to have to split it up... there's not 9k words of stuff that will actually be posted because it's a rough draft document that includes some duplicate scenes written in different ways and a few scenes that happen offscreen but that I needed to write out just for me to reference, but still, I think even with all that cut it'll be a longer chapter than I wanted for this particular fic. I've done 10k word chapters before, but for a very different fic which felt more suited to long chapters than this one.

my bad because I strayed from my outline and made one subplot way more important and focused on. the final chapter was supposed to mostly be Krauser finally getting some consequences with a tiny bit of domestic Serrennedy, but now it's shaping up to be a lot more domestic stuff. like probably won't be more of the fluff than of the Krauser stuff, but it'll be a lot closer to a 50:50 mix than I had planned.

the Krauser stuff does tie into everything else too, it's not all completely unrelated

[chasani]

tempted to rewrite miraculous because do i love marionette and adrien and the rest of the cast yes do i hate the plot holes and weird plot justification also yes

[kitteninabunker]

the house was quiet today.

it wasn't rare, but this kind of quiet was different. still. heavy. soft in a way that made your chest ache.

sukuna sat on the couch, one arm curled protectively around your newborn daughter, her tiny body pressed against his chest. she wore the tiny knitted hat you picked out—white with kitten ears—and strands of her soft pink hair peeked out from beneath it, sticking up since they refused to behave.

his other hand held a crumpled piece of paper, gifted with pride by the small artist on a sugar-high right now, bouncing around the living room. your son, still learning how to pronounce his "r"s, had grinned wide with his toothless mouth and yelled, "i drew us!" before dashing off to play again.

sukuna stared at the drawing, red eyes darting around the paper like he was analyzing every detail. or trying to make sense of whatever a four-year-old could manage to draw.

three stick figures, one labeled "me," with messy hair, a big open mouth, and two teeth missing from the middle. another labeled as "mommy," in a giant, triangular pink dress with stars and hearts all over, holding a little pink scribble labeled as "sister," and "daddy"— huge, lopsided, four arms, fangs, and "ROAR" scrawled next to his head in red crayon.

you sat down beside him, resting your chin on his shoulder. "he's so proud of it."

"...i look like a demon," he muttered, eyes still locked on the page.

"you are one, sometimes." you teased gently, "but he still thinks you're the coolest."

he went quiet again, then exhaled. something unsteady in his breath. "i didn't want this," he admitted quietly, his voice low like he confessed to something awful. "didn't think i had it in me. didn't think i'd be any good."

you glanced down at the way he was holding your daughter. soft. careful. his thumb brushing over the rim of her hat, her pink hair catching the light.

"you're better than good, su. they adore you." you said, your own expression softening as you ran your fingers through his hair.

you kissed his arm, right above where your daughter's tiny hand was curled in his skin.

"you're doing good, daddy," you whispered. "even if you do look like a monster in crayon."

he chuckled, and the sound was raw. honest. he pressed the drawing to his daughter's back like a shield and held her just a little tighter.

"she's never gonna draw me like that," he muttered. "right?"

you smiled. "nope. she'll make you a princess."

"...i'd frame it."

[thespianinthebackcorner]

Hey hey hey writers!!! Especially y'alls who are struggling to develop character or have white room/still character syndrome!!!

Look into Uta Hagen's acting techniques, specifically her 9 questions. I'm not kidding. She built off Stanislavski's techniques to help actors develop their characters and roles & bring that to the stage- specifically, and this is why I'm pushing Hagen specifically and not anyone else, their relationship with the set, props, other characters, setting (yes that's different from set), history and the play's plot, and how that changes how they act and speak. I have my textbook open I'll take some pictures.

If you need a transcript/image description I'll put it under the cut, they're a little blurry cause I'm bad at holding my phone... I know alt text is a thing but I don't want y'alls to have to scroll through a tiny box lmao.

[Image 1 alt text]

The lower part of a textbook page. The text reads:

Uta Hagen's acting exercises

[Out-of-transcript note: Most of these, with the exception of Three Entrances, are less useful in terms of writers, but you could make it work, especially for roleplay.]

Basic Object Exercise: Sometimes called "two minutes of daily life," this exercise requires the actor to replicate activities from their own daily routine in specific detail (think making breakfast or getting ready to go out). The goal of this exercise is to increase the actor's awareness of their un-observed behaviour.

Three Entrances: Starting offstage, the actor enters the environment of the scene. The actor's performance should answer three questions: What did I just do? What am I going to do? What is the first thing I want?

Immediacy: Hagen asked actors to search for a small object that they need. You can perform the exercise on a set or in your home. As you search, you should observe the behaviour and thoughts that arise as you authentically try to find something. The objective is to identify the thoughts, behaviours, and sensations you experience when you genuinely don't know the outcome, so you can use them on stage.

Fourth Side: This exercise starts with a phone call to a person you know. You should call them with a specific objective in mind. During the convention, Hagen wants you to focus on your surroundings and the specific objects that your eyes rest on. The purpose is to help actors observe how they interact with all dimensions of an enclosed physical space so they can recreate privacy on stage.

Endowment: this exercise is designed to help actors apply their observed behaviours to endow props with qualities that they cannot safely have on stage. Hot irons and sharp knives are typical examples. The Endowment excercise asks actors to believably treat objects on stage as though they have the qualities the actor needs in a scene.

Uta Hagen's exercises are her greatest gift to actors working today. She developed them between Broadway jobs to solve some acting problems she had never seen anyone tackle to her satisfaction. The result is that Hagen's exercises give actors a way to observe human behaviours and catalogue it so they can recall it onstage when useful in a role.

[Image 1 alt text end]

[Image 2 alt text]

Most of a textbook page. The image cuts off about 3 quarters of the way down the page. The text reads:

Uta Hagen's 9 Questions

Who am I? This question's answer includes all relevant details from name and age to physical traits, education, and beliefs.

What time is it? Depending on the scene, the most relevant measure of time can be the era, the season, the day, or even the specific minute.

Where am I? This answer covers the country, town, neighbourhood, room, or even the specific part of the room.

What surrounds me? Characters can be surrounded by anything from weather to furnishings, landscape or people.

What are the given circumstances? Given circumstances include what has happened, what is happening and what will happen to a character.

What are my relationships? Relationships can be with the other characters in the play, inanimate objects, or even recent events.

What do I want? Wants can be what the character desires in the moment, or in the overall course of the play. [Out-of-transcript note: I recommend figuring out both for writing, the former multiple times for whenever it changes! Outside of Hagen's technique, we call it objective and superobjective.]

What is in my way? This is the actor's chance to understand the obstacles the character must react to and overcome.

What do I do to get what I want? In Hagen's teaching, "do" means physical action.

Uta Hagen's nine questions help actors develop the granular details of their character's backstory. The questions come from Hagen's first book, "Respect for Acting," though in her later book, "A Challenge for the Actor," she condensed her original nine questions into six steps.

Uta Hagen's revised six steps to building a character are:

Who am I?

What are the circumstances?

What are my relationships?

What do I want?

What is my obstacle?

What do I do to get what I want?

Later in her life, Hagen distances herself from her first book and encouraged her students to rely on her second book, which she felt was clearer about her concepts. Both books are popular with acting teachers and students today, however. Hagen's questions and steps are the foundation for all of her acting exercises. Whether you rely on the nine questions or the six steps depends on personal preference.

[Image 2 alt text end]

Personally I like the 9 questions more, but like the book says, personal preference! So yeah, if you're a writer, try some of these out for your characters. :]

[maskedbyghost]

You always find Simon in the same spot—sitting on his couch with a mug of tea in one hand, the TV on but the volume low, like he’s watching it just for background noise. He barely moves when you come in, just shifts his head a little like he was expecting you, even though you never text to say you're coming.

“And then she rolled her eyes at me,” you say as you drop down next to him, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Like I was the one being unreasonable for asking her to hold the door.”

Simon doesn’t react right away, which isn’t unusual. He lets a second or two pass, like he’s thinking it through, even though he probably made up his mind as soon as he heard your tone. Finally, he hums quietly and says, “She’s not worth your breath,” while reaching over to pat the top of your head in that way he always does.

You don’t even bother hiding how much you like that. You lean into his hand just a little, and for a moment you let the annoyance melt off your face.

It’s always like this between you and Simon. You walk in, already mid-rant about something that annoyed you during training or some dumb argument someone had in the mess, and he just listens. Or, well—he sits there while you go off, mostly quiet, only chiming in with a few words here and there.

But he always makes it clear he’s paying attention. The way his eyes shift to look at you when your voice tightens. The way he’ll hand you a blanket or a snack before you even ask. The way he remembers the tiny details you forget you even told him.

You joke sometimes that you adopted him. That you took in this emotionally unavailable soldier who barely likes people and decided that he’s your best friend now, whether he wanted that or not. He never complains. He never tells you to leave. Even when you steal his cookies or fall asleep on his couch, he just lets you stay.

He’s quiet, sure, but he’s also dependable in a way that makes everything feel easier when you’re around him. You can talk to him for hours and he won’t interrupt, won’t judge, won’t try to fix it unless it’s something he can fix. And when it is, he usually does—without making a big deal out of it.

So when you started seeing that guy from base, Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he just didn’t care, or that he wasn’t the type to get involved in stuff like that. He didn’t ask many questions. Just nodded and said, “He treatin’ you right?” in that low voice of his that didn’t give much away.

You smiled and said yes, because at the time, it felt like the right answer.

He stayed the same after that. Still your go-to person for venting. Still the only one who ever made you feel like you could talk without holding back.

But every now and then, you noticed something shift. He wouldn’t look at you as much when you brought up your boyfriend. He’d change the subject quicker. And when you said something like, “he forgot our plans again,” Simon would just sigh and hand you tea or cookies or whatever he had nearby, like he didn’t want to say what was really on his mind.

You remember one night clearly, when you showed up outside Simon’s door after a long shift. You were quiet, which was rare, and you didn’t even try to hide the frustration in your eyes.

“He forgot again,” you mumbled, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “Said he’d pick me up, and then just... nothing. Not even a text.”

Simon didn’t say much in response. He just handed you the remote and tapped your shoulder once, like that was his way of saying you deserved better without actually having to say the words out loud.

But the breaking point came later. One night, you showed up to his room without even thinking, your eyes red and puffy, your hands trembling a little as you wiped at your face. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to. He just stepped aside and let you walk in, like he’d been expecting you again, like he knew this was coming.

“He cheated,” you said, and the words felt so bitter and small in your mouth that you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

Simon pulled you into a hug before you could even finish the sentence. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer advice or tell you what you should’ve done. He just held you, solid and quiet, with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other smoothing over your hair. You didn’t realize you were crying until your face was already buried in his shirt.

At some point, he moved you to his bed. You weren’t even sure how, but you ended up under his blanket, wrapped in warmth that didn’t come from the sheets, and you felt safer than you had in weeks. His voice was low when he whispered, “Don’t worry about it,” like he was promising to carry the weight of it for you.

You didn’t know it then, but he didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up until you were out cold, then got up quietly, left his room, and came back a few hours later like nothing happened. What you also didn’t know—what he would never admit unless you asked him directly—was that he had counted every single tear that rolled down your face. Every shaky breath, every time your chest stuttered with a sob. He remembered the number. Kept it in his head. Then found your ex and hit him that many times. One punch for every tear you cried.

A few days passed, and word started going around base that your ex hadn’t been seen. Missed duty. No one could get ahold of him. You didn’t ask Simon anything. You just looked at him across the mess hall, saw the way he was nursing a cup of tea with a blank expression and fresh tape wrapped around his hand, and something in your chest clicked into place.

You didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, and he looked back, and that was enough.

Later, after things calmed down, you found yourself back in his room. Same spot on the couch. Same blanket. Same you and Simon. But this time, out of nowhere, he said, “I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or emotional. He said it like it was just a fact—like he was finally telling the truth after hiding it for too long.

You blinked at him, not even sure you heard him right. “What?”

He shrugged a little, like it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. “Figured you should know.”

You didn’t know what to say right then. There was too much in your head. But a few days later, he took you somewhere quiet, away from base, with a folded blanket under his arm and your favorite cookies packed in a tin. He made tea and handed you the mug like he always did, and when you sipped it, it was just the way you liked it—strong, with that little bit of honey he adds even when you don’t ask.

You sat next to him, legs stretched out on the grass, shoulder pressed against his. After a while, you turned to look at him and said, “You’ve been looking at me like that for a long time, haven’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m your whole world.”

Simon didn’t answer right away, but the look on his face said more than words ever could. Then he reached over, patted your head like he always did, and said, “Yeah. That’s about right.”

--------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212

[p1astr81]

second dad zone - op81

synopsis: you have to go into work unexpectedly on a Saturday. The only person who could watch your daughter on short notice is your boyfriend, Oscar, and your little girl almost kills him (not literally).

an: sorry ik I have a lot of reqs I’m just in a bit of a block so I was hoping this would help me out of that😭

It was mid morning. The birds were chirping and light poured into the flat. Isla emerged from the hallway. Her tiny fist rubbed at her eye, trying to wipe the sleep away with unmatched ferocity.

She skipped the stretching this morning, hopping right out of bed when she smelt bacon and eggs. Her favorite.

But she paused when she entered the kitchen. Her mum wasn’t the one cooking, but her mum’s good friend. “Oscah?” Her little voice called, breaking from the remnants of sleep. “Where’s my mummy?” Her beady eyes searched the flat, but couldn’t find what she was looking for.

Oscar turned to respond, but the words died on his tongue as his eyes focused on what she was wearing.

Too many sizes too large, her little feet tripped over the hem of his home race hoodie.

His heart wanted to burst. He knew she probably thought nothing of it, but it meant everything to him.

He agreed with you when you suggested that your relationship be kept from Isla. ‘She’s young and her dad still visits sometimes, I just don’t want to confuse her or make her feel like I’m trying to… i don’t know.’ He recalled you explaining. It made sense, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see her as his daughter. He’d known her since before she could walk, and now she can tell stories with incredible details. It was only natural that he developed such a connection.

So when he saw her wearing his name, he felt loved by her. Like it was her way of accepting him into her life.

It was silly, but that didn’t change how he felt.

“She’s at work, but I made you breakfast if you want to eat.” He offered.

She took a couple steps towards him before she paused again. “But she said she didn’t have work today.”

“Something came up. It’s okay, it happens. She shouldn’t be long.”

Her big brown eyes blinked up at him. “Mummy usually takes me to daycare.”

He frowned. “I know, but you can’t go to daycare today.”

“Why?” She asked.

He shrugged. “It’s not open.”

“Why?”

“Well, many parents don’t work on Saturdays, so they don’t need to be open.”

“Why?”

“Do you want breakfast?” He interjected before it got out of hand. She could ask ‘why?’ all day if you’d let her.

She nodded pointedly, then wrapped her arms around herself, the excess sleeves hanging off her hands. “I’m cold.” Her little feet stepped closer to Oscar.

“Okay, I can-“ he stopped short seeing her little hands reach up for him, asking to be picked up. So he did, setting her on his hip—or at least trying to. She eased into him, her head on his shoulder while she watched him cook.

“You’re warm.” She muttered, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Oscar swore he could cry, or die, or spontaneously combust right there on the spot. Genuinely, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

And after breakfast, when she voluntarily joined him on the couch and curled into his side saying, “you’re a good dad.” He thought he actually felt his heart stop beating.

Because he was making his way out of the ‘Oscar, just mum’s friend’ zone to ‘Oscar, Isla’s second dad’ zone.

[p1girlfriend]

five ways he loves you – OP81

cw: pure fluff, established relationship, lots of cuddly boyfriend energy

✦

Oscar Piastri is not a loud lover. He doesn’t yell it to the world or post a million photos of you online (unless you’re both drunk and giggling in the back of a golf cart). But the boy loves hard. Quietly. Consistently. In ways that make you melt from the inside out.

1. Words of Affirmation. He says “I’m proud of you” so often it’s like punctuation to him. You burn toast? “Still proud of you.” You get a raise? “I knew they’d notice how amazing you are.” You get sad for no reason and cry on the couch in his hoodie? “I’m proud of you for feeling things and letting it out. That’s hard.” And sometimes, when you least expect it, he slips in a low, sleepy “I love you more than anything,” like he’s letting you in on a secret he’s kept since the first time he saw you.

2. Quality Time. Oscar’s version of quality time is not extravagant. It’s the way he sits beside you in comfortable silence, sharing a blanket, each of you doing your own thing but still touching. It’s post-race nights in hotel rooms, where you lie on his chest and watch trashy TV while he absentmindedly plays with your fingers. It’s road trips where he lets you DJ, even when you add questionable 2000s pop hits, and he just laughs, shaking his head like he’s doomed and in love.

3. Acts of Service. You don’t even notice half the things he does. Until one day you realize your car has a full tank, your favorite snacks are stocked, your charger was untangled and neatly placed on the nightstand. He’ll stay up to double-check your flight details, or fix that annoying kitchen cabinet that creaks without a word. His version of “I love you” is “already took care of it.” And it’s never about being thanked — he just wants to make life easier for you.

4. Gifts. Oscar isn’t flashy, but he’s thoughtful. A tiny koala keychain when he comes back from Melbourne. A limited-edition notebook because you mentioned needing a new one (once). A necklace with your birthstone, given so casually over breakfast that it takes you a full minute to register what just happened. He never says why he bought it. But the way he looks at you when you open it — that little proud smile and soft eyes — says everything.

5. Physical Touch. This is his weakness. Oscar is so touch-starved when it comes to you, it’s embarrassing (to him, not to you). He’ll pretend to stretch, then wrap an arm around you. He’ll pull you close during interviews when you’re just off-camera. He’ll come home, drop his bag, and immediately bury his face in your neck. He rubs circles on your thigh when you’re anxious, kisses your forehead when you’re sleepy, laces his fingers with yours under tables. He’d spend hours like that if you let him. And you do.

✦

Oscar doesn’t love in loud, chaotic ways. He loves like a steady hum — the kind you don’t notice until it’s gone. But with him? It’s never going anywhere.

He’s all five love languages. And somehow, all five belong to you.

©p1girlfriend

[kekewrites]

Tw. Bimbo reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, corruption kink, coercion, creampie, size kink, magic sex toy/onahole/fleshlight, loss of virginity, not proof read

***

Thinking about being a childhood friend of a yandere duo.

You were just so friendly and cute, approaching them with candies in your tiny hands and offering it to them. So kind as you always play with them, and sometimes they would argue who'd be your husband when playing house. They often fought whenever they wanted to play with you but in the end, it always results to sharing you.

Middle school was a little different than Kindergarten. They get more protective when boys try to get close to you, painting them as insufferable brats that only want clout. Being neighbors with the wealthy kids, got you too much attention much to their liking, often getting bullied whenever you finally have some alone time, but this didn't get unnoticed as you wonder why that kid who pushed you on your locker, suddenly have bandage wrapped around his head and his reputation down.

Highschool is where the shift started. You wanted to explore more, finding new friends, and hanging out with other people, and they did not like that. You were just too dumb, they said. Too dumb to realize people manipulating you so that they can get close to them. Do you even realize that the girl from your class only talks to you about them? Dumb girl.

Safe to say, you never had a genuine friend in high school, not like you even had chance to form a deep level of friendship (by people who genuinely wanna be friends with you) by the way they hog all your attention and time.

College is where it gets difficult for them to spend time with you. Different schedules, classes, course. They even insisted you go to the same university as them. It's frustrating how little time you spend together, always with your stupid excuse of "working on an assignment".

Without you around, they definitely have a hard time relieving some tension. They couldn't just walt into your room and steal some panties scoot free without getting into trouble, even though they were star students and had plenty influence over the school. No, no, they won't put their reputation to ruin, they're your perfect best friends.

Despite them being a duo, they were quite different in terms of personality. One is patient and mature, thinking logical and more on the rational side. While the other is playful, outgoing and rash. Both have their charms that got everyone around their fingers. However, they wouldn't sleep with just anyone, no. It's hard to get their dick hard, always imagining your cute face whenever they try to fuck a desperate bitch to finally release some tension.

But your impatient friend had enough of some random girl, high pitch moans that's not yours annoying his ears. It's miserable to even hump his own hand, so hard and cold, different to what he imagine your tight warm cunt to be. This just won't cut it. He needs more, to finally feel your wet insides without you knowing.

So what's a good way to relieve tension?

Some good ol' fleshlight.

The moment it arrived at his doorstep, he straight up bolted to his door. Slamming the door close as he finally gets his hands on the toy after days of waiting. Fuck, he can't wait to use this thing.

It's like the half body sex toy he used to watch in porns. He was quite impressed by the details it had, he gotta give props for that, but that's not what he's after for. After reading the instructions, more like skimming and skipping most of the words. He use lubricant, using plenty of it and spreading it around the artificial pussy lips. Rubbing and feeling the flaps, like how he usually does. It's kinda weird that he's doing this for a toy, but he could just imagine it being your cunt, practicing his moves. After a few moments did he slide his thick finger inside the walls of the toy... How weird, the texture was oddly real, like it was alive. Well, that's probably some mechanic shit that the factory put there or something. This is his first time using a fleshlight and it cost a fortune through some sketchy website so it better be worth it.

***

You jolted in your sit in class, listening to your professor's discussion about physics until you suddenly feel something brushing on your thighs. Your head panning around the room before looking ahead, brushing it off. It was probably the wind.

You yelp when something began rubbing your cunt, earning a few concern looks for you and your professor glancing at you before going back to his discussion. You shrink in your sit, head hanging low as you pressed your lips together. Confused and scared by the phantom touch assaulting your nether region. Clutching your skirt, you try to maintain confused whimpers as the touches didn't stop.

You're scared.

The moment something pushed inside you, you stand up and excuse yourself, running to the nearest restroom. Your feet quick as you open a random stall and sit on the toilet. Your breathing heavy as you shakily lifts your skirt, looking at the wet patch on your panty.

What's happening? Why are you wet? How can something touching you there? You're not imagining this, right?

Your mind raced as you become more terrified. Is a ghost haunting you? Tears pool on your eyes, sniffling as the assault become more aggressive.

***

Fuck, this fleshlight was the best thing he ever bought. How was this even made? Whatever. He continues to pump his thick finger, inserting another one and he jump a bit as he felt the walls suck on his fingers. Damn, it can even do that? Just how realistic can this toy be? He's not complaining though.

He decided to touch the clit earning another tight squeeze. What a sensitive toy. He continues to play, eventually adding another finger. It was weird how the warm walls didn't run out of lube, if this were any normal toy it'd need to be lubricated after few minutes but this toy seems to produce it on its on.

He pulls out his fingers as he inspects the inside, it's undeniable that it's fake but the way it pulsates around nothing makes it a bit questionable on how it works.

Would your cunt also look like that? He could imagine your wrecked heaving face after fingering you. Poor little you never had something inside, let alone this thick fingers. He couldn't wait for the moment he'll ruin you.

***

You're straight up crying as an additional thick sensation pumped your insides. Squeezing your thighs shut, like it's gonna do something to stop the phantom. Everything inside you screams to remove the intrusion but you didn't know how. Opening your legs slightly, your shaky fingers removing your panty to see what's happening inside your cunt... but nothing was there. Only a gape.

Your fingers shifts towards the gape, gasping as the invincible touch was able to touch you yet you couldn't even see or feel it. Squirming uncomfortably, as you open your legs more to try and get "it" out with your fingers. Uselessly grabbing air, whimpering and sobbing as you fail to interrupt with its continuous pumping. Your stomach twisting and an unfamiliar coil was starting to unravel, your breath hitching and legs shaking.

But it's abruptly stop as the phantom pulled away.

Finally, relief and a little bit of disappointment fills your chest. Slumping on the toilet, panting like you run a marathon. You shift a bit as you sit upright, freezing as something thick pokes your entrance.

No way...

Your brain panics, your gaze staring at the way your hole widens and your legs subconsciously spreading more to prepare yourself for the inevitable. You clutch the wall of the stall, each hand gripping the surface. Tears streaming down your face and your cheeks getting hot.

This can't be happening.

You felt the thick thing stretch you open.

***

Something about fucking a fleshlight should embarrass him. But nah, with you in his mind there's nothing to be ashamed. This is just practice to him after all, he'll do this things eventually.

With his heavy cock around his fingers, he taps the opening of the fleshlight. His other hand grips the hip. Rubbing along the slit, he collects lube running on the head of his cock, catching the clit in the process. He lets out a breath, as he finally starts pushing his cock inside.

He's quite big, so he's a bit worried if he'll fit in some shady toy but he's sure he'll fit in you just right, even if he had to force himself in your tiny cunt.

But there's no need for consideration when it comes to a toy.

He sheath inside in one thrust.

Hissing at the way the walls clings to him, tightly wrapping around his cock and pulsating as if rejecting a foreign object. Shit, why does it feel like a virgin?

Warm, wet, and tight. The perfect toy pussy for him, this could even rival a real pussy if he were being honest. No time for adjusting as he starts to thrust. Pounding the onahole, roughly gripping the hips and fucking hard. Shit shit shit why does this feel so good? This stupid toy feels a whole lot better compare to a random slut.

His hips going hard and the way he feels the inside pulsating, sucking all his worth making him groan. Such a tight fake cunt.

He wonder if he can break the toy.

***

With a silent scream, your head jerk up as the big stretch was too sudden for your body to take. Legs wide open as you try to create space for the large object. You sob as quiet as possible, as the phantom starts pounding hard at your sensitive cunt. You want to scream but held back, tears blurring your vision as you pray for it to end.

Whimpering and sobbing was the only thing you can do. Waiting for the thrusting to stop, you teeth bite your lip to stop noise from escaping. It doesn't sound like you at all, it's weird, you're scared and confused.

Your mind tries to think of a distraction, to think of anything but the mysterious assault. How is this even happening? What did you do to deserve this? Why you?

Your breath hitched as you feel the tight coil in your stomach again. Moaning a little as you feel pleasure rising though you. Your hands clasp over your mouth, muffling your noise. You shake your head as the coil gets tighter and tighter, your legs shaking as you stutter words of apology to whoever's doing this.

And it snaps.

Your vision going white, body stiffening and eyes going into the back of your head.

Ah. You never felt this... good before.

It takes you a few minutes to recover. Your limbs feel like jelly, your chest rising up and down in a slow manner, and you greedily gulp air.

You were tired and exhausted but you were glad the assault has stop after that. You groggily starts to lift you panty's up however you felt something dripping down your hole.

... you wonder what it was.

***

After that day, the mysterious phantom would touch you at random times, when you're showering, classes, or even in bed late at night. It was torturous, you were becoming paranoid and it didn't go unnoticed by one of your best friend.

He's helping you study in the library as you'd ask him for his guidance in physics. You would've asked your other friend, but you can just imagine him play with your hair or something along of not really helping you study.

You're breathe hitch as you feel the phantom ghost rubbing your cunt. Shrinking on your sit, uncomfortably rubbing your legs.

"Something bothering you?" He ask, looking a bit concern of your shiftiness.

"O-oh, it's nothing. Just a little tired lately," You reassured, smiling as you pretend to be fine.

His sharp gaze examined your face before dropping the subject, deciding to just help you study.

"If you need something to talk to. I'm right here, ok?"

You smiled forcefully, "I-I will... Thank you."

***

You could never bring yourself to tell someone about it. No one would ever believe you.

You're laying in bed waiting for the phantom, already memorizing the way it'll touch you. You brace for the touch as you can't help but feel helpless. Are you going to live like this your entire life? You don't want to...

But would someone be willing to listen to you? To believe you? You don't wanna bother your best friend, you knew how busy he's gotten the recent days and you're doubtful that he'll even listen to your story when he's the rational one. That means...

Your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion as you clutch your pillow and close your eyes. You're panting as the phantom starts its routine.

You're scared... You're scared that it's starting to feel good.

No. You don't want to be alone anymore on this.

You need help. Badly.

You shakily gets up from bed, putting some jacket on as you heads towards someone who can help you... At least you believe who will do.

***

"Oh? What's my little darling doing here at this late of night?" He grins as he opened the door with the sight of you.

You fidget with your jacket as you feel small under his gaze, "P-Please help me."

He raised his eyebrow, his grin replacing with a thin line. Yeah, he's playful but he'll never joke around when you're having a problem, "Come inside, we'll talk there, sweetie."

Sitting on his couch, you took a deep breath as you prepare to tell someone about this problem of yours. He won't make fun of you right? He won't be weirded out, right? He's a reliable person and your best friend.

He sits beside you, a serious and concerned expression on his face. It was rare to see him like this, which encourage you to finally tell him.

By the end, you were crying and hiccuping in your hands about the experiences you encounter with that phantom. Feeling his hand rub your back, cooing at you in comfort. He pulls your head to rest on his chest, telling you that everything's going to be fine.

You sob out a thank you, finding relief to finally get it out of your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, the man was smiling.

***

He didn't know if God was on his side. But, he didn't expect this would happen.

Who would've thought that the toy he was playing with was connected with cute lil you?

He didn't believe it at first but the way you described the timing was too much of a coincidence. Sweet little thing, don't worry you won't experience any scary thing from now on.

"Sweetie, do you want me to chase that scary invisible phantom away?" He cups your cheeks in his hands, locking gaze with you.

You sniffle before nodding, "Y-Yes, please..."

He gave you a toothy smile before gently pushing you down on his couch. His fingers swiping away your tears, "Listen to me, ok? I need you to trust me on this." His nose touching with yours as he leans close.

"O-ok... I trust you."

Dumb little girl.

You shouldn't have said that.

Now you've sealed your fate.

***

He wonders what was going on with you back when he helped you study in the library. Something was very off about you, and you were clearly uncomfortable to brought it up.

He thinks of you very often even when he's busy and swarmed with school works. Sometimes, getting frustrated to even continue and wants to just go to your place. He massages his aching temple, resting on his chair before a box caught his attention.

Oh yeah, that stupid guy gave him that a few weeks ago.

He recalls their conversation about it, saying that it'll help him release some stress. Well, he's plenty stressed now so why don't he test it out now?

He saunters to the box, sitting on the floor to unravel it. Only to be surprised by the object inside it.

An onahole...

If he was his usual self he would've flung this across the room and throw it to the garbage bin. But sometimes he needs to be relieve as well, plus he's a man too,

He's not that picky too.

This'll do for him.

A temporary replacement while thinking of your cunt.