Behold my multitudes of writing! Requests are open!
hard nos for writing: grooming. pedophilia. don't fuck with any of that. I will include trigger warnings in my works if needed/they apply. I use non-con/dub-con to work through my own trauma. so if you don't like it, don't read it.
my ao3 | ask away | kinktober 2025
One Piece:
Vinsmoke Sanji
Creature Only
Series Masterlisst (Old) | Teaser for Rewrite | Series Masterlist
You’re a selkie with a rare talent to guide the very water you swim in, stolen from your village nearly two years ago after witnessing the slaughter of your pod. You were Arlong’s greatest prize, someone who could give him an heir with the potential to raze the very foundations the world stands upon, convinced you were unworthy of being loved after what you were forced to do for Arlong.
That was, until you escaped, sending the purple fishman into a rage, willing to dredge the sea to find you, all while you slowly regain your sense of self on the Baratie with your grandfather's old captain and the boy he raised. As you learn about yourself and how to cope with the incredible trauma you'd experienced, you find the unexpected everywhere in your new life.
Things of Note About This Fic: Slow Burn, monthly updates, MC is a selkie, mc has severe PTSD, Past Rape/NonCon, Straw Hats as a family, no use of y/n
Roronoa Zoro-
Disk Florets
Roronoa Zoro is an idiot. That much is obvious, and a well known fact. He is incredibly well versed in battle, able to adapt and think on his toes, one of the finest warriors to ever live, in this life and the next. He is a strategist, through and through, able to turn any losing situation into a win for himself and his crew. He is confident, training day in and day out, a marvel of what pure human strength and determination can conquer.
But he is an idiot. Especially around you
Things of Notes About This Fic: Hanahaki Disease, not actually unrequited love, Zoro is an idiot (lovingly), no use of y/n
Trafalgar D. Water Law-
Foot of the Gallows
Series Masterlist
Trafalgar D. Water Law is a surgeon centuries ahead of his time and is set to be put to death for alleged witchcraft and dark magic, although there’s little evidence besides the fact that his patients all seem to survive, and the pale white splotches that dapple his skin, marking his face with the pattern of a skull. You’re a former childhood friend, now bittered with age and arguments, simply trying to make your living as an apothecary, wanting nothing to do with the man you had once been joined at the hip with.
What happens when his closest friend manages to convince you to save his life by invoking a little-used law, saved only for cases where the justice system has failed?
You marry the man you utterly detest, that’s what happens.
Things of Note About This Fic: Fantasy Setting, Soulmates, Marriage of Convenience, Manipulation (not by Law don't worry), Slow Burn, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, no use of y/n
Updated once a month at least.
Formula 1:
Lando Norris-
My Name is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)
Series Masterlist
The legacy of your grandfather comes with a heavy crown, one partially melted and reformed in flames that should have killed him. Akin to the fire that should have killed you but took your mother instead, leaving you with the same scars that Niki Lauda wouldn’t wish on another, least of all his own grandchild.
Yet here you stand, drawing the ire of McLaren’s golden boy, with a twisted crown of his own to wear as you throw everything he was used to to the flames. You force him to adapt overnight when you join the team suddenly after an unknown incident that sends you sprawling as you try to cope with the sudden change in team.
You terrify him. And he terrifies you. And somewhere, James Hunt is cackling that Niki Lauda’s granddaughter is frighteningly similar to him.
Things of Notes About This Fic: A/B/O au, Alternate 2024 F1 Season, MC will be from the USA (plot reasons), enemies to lovers, No real description of the MC besides scars & having heavily dyed hair (part of the plot), Niki Lauda is still alive here (also part of plot), no use of y/n
Oscar Piastri-
Upheaval
The Upheaval had been unprecedented. It had been the biggest in Australia, with a few little openings in Canada and the French Alps as well. Chasms broken through the very crust of the Earth as though it was nothing but an egg shell. Creatures that much too closely resembled humans clawing their way up the rocky edges, shaped by the heat and waste and hubristic pollution of the earth.
Hellhounds, they’d been called. Mutated humans, of some kind. Immune to the otherwise deadly weaponry that had become so prevalent in your species. Hellhounds, who despite the name, only wanted a chance to live in the sun. With their pointed ears, pitch black eyes, sharp fangs and claws.
Things of Note About This Fic: Mark Webber is a dick in this, I'm sorry, Hellhound! Oscar. Breeding kink. Marking kink. Knotting. Filth with some plot. Public sex. Some violence. might even make some art so it's clear what Hellhounds look like.
Charles Leclerc-
Mon Petit Doudou
It's a constant fight for anonymity in a career like yours. While you want to hide the most intimate parts of your life from the viewers who tune in to watch you fall apart from a toy or your own fingers, letting your little gasps and whines coax the viewers into tipping you.
Your dominant seems uncaring about the idea that someone may recognize him, but Charles has always bordered on aloof when it came to his job and the stigma that surrounded it. But he can get rather protective---especially when some viewers seem to think they have any right to tell him how you should be treated.
Things of Note About This Fic: Sub/Dom dynamics, coworkers to lovers, sub mc, soft dom charles, manipulation (not from charles), smut, angst to fluff, pornstar au, no use of y/n
Alpha! Lando Norris x Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 12 - 5.1k words
(gambit voice) Do you know how long I've been waiting for this???
we're finally at the point where we're gonna be racing in the plot! you guys won't believe what I have cooking up next!
thank you to @papayainsectorone, my glorious german beta reader, and the illuminary @vintaqestar, the best beta reader anyone could ask for!
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February 29th, 2024.
Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, Bahrain
FP1.
“Good move, Norris. It’s smooth driving from here. Go flat out on the straight so we can see what the car is really capable of at top speeds.”
Your voice is neutral. There’s a notebook next to you. He’d seen it as he’d been getting into the car. A nice burnt orange, hard-cover journal, with 2024 MCL debossed into the cover, along with McLaren’s logo beside it. The same thing was on the spine. Something custom ordered. Probably made by hand somewhere in Austria, where you spent most of the off-time (Lando would never admit it to your face that he stalked your entire Instagram and Facebook, even going so far back into your post history, where everything was written in German and he had to Google Translate everything. You’d actually been pretty funny, as a teenager, posting horrible pictures of Max and Carlos that he saved for future use.) if you weren’t in London, working.
“You know, you can use my first name.”
“Nein. Follow my advice. With my suggestions and modifications the team made after the initial testing, the car should be better than you remember. Now, go drive fast, my little guinea pig.”
Ouch. Cold. But yet his heart still fluttered, even if you weren’t even trying to flirt with him. And, just like you predicted, he is flying on the straights. Internally, his alpha preens. He wants to be able to show how skilled he is for you. To puff out his chest and show off a little.
Which, he doesn’t. Lando ends up acting like a school boy trying to flirt while making a sandcastle on the playground.
“How do you say that in German?”
There’s a heavy pause on your end, as if you can’t believe he just asked that. Then you answer.
“... Do you mean the entire sentence?”
“No– no, just guinea pigs” He pauses, focusing on turning a corner. The corners are so slow. McLaren cars have always been slow on corners, no matter how many improvements he’s tried to help the team make. He hopes that with you there, and your engineer-y mind, you’ll improve it.
“Die Meerschweinchen. That is the plural.”
You still sound stiff, but not totally standoffish anymore. More confused about why he’s asking you this. After everything that had happened the day before, you hadn’t even tried to bring it up to him. Bluntly telling him you hadn’t wanted to discuss it at all. Literally walking out of the room at one point, mid conversation, when Zak tried to suggest talking about what happened the day before. Niki had dragged you back in while apologizing to Zak and Andrea about how rude you were being, all with you hiding partially behind your sire, a sour expression on your face.
“And the single, lonely, form?”
“Lonely form— that is certainly a way to describe the singular. It’s ‘das Meerschweinchen.’ and it means little sea pig. I don’t know why.”
There’s an edge of amusement in your tone this time. His heart flutters again and a nervous little laugh slips out.
“So I’m your little sea pig?”
“No. You’re ‘mein Versuchskaninchen’. A testing rabbit. Which is also neuter, so it would be ‘das Versuchskaninchen’. Do you understand?”
“... I think so.”
“You are lucky you are pretty, Norris.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
To be honest, Lando had no idea what he’s saying. Just hoping he didn’t sound like too much of an idiot. He could almost hear the tweets about this conversation happening. Probably a fair amount of people who’d be a bit annoyed he was being so chatty and playful, when he should be focused on driving.
“...You are on lap twenty. We are aiming for twenty five laps. Continue driving. I will provide feedback as you go.” You sound tired. Lando can almost see you rubbing your temples, leaning towards the monitor on the pit lane, back hunched. Fancy, custom notebook probably open with a few pages filled. “....And yes, Norris. You are very… pretty.”
Lando doesn’t think he’s driven that well in a while. He’s preening, as he finishes the last five laps. He’s focused on that singular bit of praise from you. You’d called him pretty! The corners are still slow and he makes sure to tell you in the most professional way possible, so that you can make your notes and get it addressed as soon as possible.
When he’s pulled back into the garage, the screens of his data come down. One has information about the car. Tire degradation, speed on the straights, and how each corner has gotten a little bit better, even if they are slow in comparison to Mercedes and Red Bull.
The second screen is what really matters to him. The times. Who’s on top, who’s done the best, and who needs to get to know the track a bit better. Lando isn’t shocked by Daniel being on top– he’s secretly a bit excited to see his friend and former teammate there– but he’s utterly thrilled that he’s right there in second. 1:32.9!
What a way to start the season! And Oscar right behind him!
There’s whoops and claps around him as the results are reflected up on one of the bigger monitors for everyone to see. He feels a bit dazed, as he pulls himself up and out of the car, hands on the halo, like he’s floating on a cloud. Feet on the ground. Surrounded by his team. He keeps his eyes on the monitor, feeling his mechanics patting him on the back, congratulating him on a good practice, and there are similar sounds from the other side of the garage that lets him know that Oscar’s getting a similar treatment.
He looks around for you in the garage, only to look up into the pit lane, eyes meeting yours. You’re leaning against the pit lane stand, arms folded, head tilted to the side. This small, satisfied smirk on your lips as he realizes you’ve been looking right at him the entire time.
Lando flushes pink, not from the heat, but how you’re staring right into his soul. Like he’s a puzzle for you to solve. You walk into the garage, passing right by the car without a second glance, Eggroll trotting right behind you, wearing a little set of protective headsets on her floppy ears. But you murmur something to him that has him shuddering and turning to follow you with his eyes as you walk away, slipping into a door that leads to the motorhome for the team.
“Well done, mein Versuchskaninchen.”
You disappear then, while strategists and others swarm, starting to discuss what should come back, what should stay, their voices blurring around him as he sees the last trace of yourself and Eggroll fade away as the door closes. And oh. Lando would do just about anything to earn your praise again, still focused on the door you’d left through, lost in a dream, and the memory of your scent.
He is, unfortunately, very rudely awoken from his daydream by Oscar clapping a hand down on his shoulder. The team has dispersed, just a few mechanics here and there, working on the car. Andrea and Zak have gone back to the motorhome. Back to strategizing. Probably to talk to you.
“You seem awfully focused on that door.” Oscar grins, a knowing look in his eyes. They’re both heading towards the motorhome, towards their private rooms to shower and rest, before the next free practice session. “Or… maybe, it was who went through it?”
“Shut up, you muppet,” Lando turns away, keeping his head down. His chin touching his chest from how low he was ducking his head. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinted a traitorous red that reveal his true feelings. “You’re being a dickhead, you are.”
Oscar only laughs, his bunny teeth flashing as he takes a few quick steps ahead of Lando, calling over his shoulder to control his blush or the press will make up rumors about him before the season even gets off to a proper start. Logan is there, waiting for his omega, smiling and listening to Oscar chatter as they walk back towards the pack motorhome.
His teammate seemed to light up around his boyfriend, becoming more open, talking easier. That’s what you got, Lando supposed, when you had known your partner for so long. And Lando hardly knew you, but he would do anything if it meant he’d get the chance to know you better, and not just as your driver, but as a person, too.
Would you open up? Would you get chatty? Or would you be more similar to when he’d attempted to talk to you, just the day before, when you had reached to touch your nose to his? You’d looked so perfect then. Snuggled into one of Lewis’s hoodies. Eggroll had been curled up at your side, head resting on her paws. Though, the little beagle had looked at him cautiously. As if she was waiting for him to do something. Just what was she trained for, that made her so cautious?
Maybe you’d be the same. Lando was okay with that. He liked your wit. He loved to banter with you. You seemed to think it was just for the sake of the camera with him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Lando wanted to simply talk with you. To spend hours sitting next to you, maybe in a little cafe or on a plush couch, just talking about whatever was on your mind.
What if he asked you about your classic cars?
An idea pops into his head, and Lando finally takes another step forward, towards the pack motorhome, before making up his mind to actually enter it. He’d ask about the cars you’d collected, and hopefully get to know you a bit more.
And to his surprise, it’s buzzing with activity. No one even notices he’s there at first until Esteban brushes past him, breaking into a grin, and pulling him into the kitchen to snack on the grazing board Marlene and Fernando had set up.
“Ah! Just in time. Fernando had… lovely words, with the nutritionists of the teams, and then set this up with Marlene,” Carlos grins from where he already has a plate full of fruits, cheese, and meats, gasping when he pulls a little rose of thin meat from the board. “They have jamón!”
“Of course I have jamón,” Fernando snips back, looking at Carlos as though he’d grown another head. “I have pride in being Spanish.”
You’re nowhere to be found. But Lando can see Eggroll trotting around the kitchen, wandering around from pack member to pack member before sitting rather politely at George’s feet, looking up at him and begging for a little bit of salami from the Mercedes driver. If Eggroll was here, you weren’t far.
It makes him smile, seeing how intently Eggroll was watching George.
“You are very focused on my dog.”
Lando swears he jumps about three feet in the air at the sound of your voice. You’re standing behind him. Expression controlled, with that signature little smirk that he now finds irritably charming.
“Your dog is focused on George’s food.” Lando quips right back, after his heart had stopped hammering in his chest. “You, however, scared the shit out of me. Trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Yes. I want to kill my driver. So that I can drive a formula car, when I don’t even have my own license.”
The deadpan delivery and your dry tone almost makes him laugh. Muffling the snort into his hand.
“You can’t drive?”
“No. I’m legally blind. I have told you this, no?” You almost smile, now also watching how Eggroll is standing on her hind legs, pawing at George’s lap.
“Forgot about it, sad to say.” Lando sighs dramatically. The almost smile stays on your face.
“Yes. Likely distracted by my face. You did scream, and then say ‘waaah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?’ when you saw me.”
“Because you were scowling at me. You have a terrifying scowl.”
“I always scowl.”
“Not always.” Lando finds himself speaking before he can think to do anything else. “You smile, pretty often actually. You smiled when Max tripped on wires when we were heading into free practice.”
“That’s because he deserves it.” You grin, and then smooth your face down. “That is… a bad example.”
“Do you want more?”
“You have more?”
“Of course I do. I like your face.” Lando looks at you. It makes your stomach flutter, the way he does. It’s kind. His gaze is… soft, with his mouth quirked into a little smile that shakes you to your core. “I’ve told you that before, though.”
You can’t find your words, opening and closing your mouth. Lando only dips his head, as if he’s bowing to you, before slipping off, snatching Carlos’s plate from his hands and leaving. Your heart hammers in your chest in an unfamiliar staccato that you’ve never felt before. Is this… what flirting was like?
You stay still for a second, and then, annoyingly, you follow after him. You don’t know why, exactly. But you do.
“Norris!”
He seems surprised that you followed, a bit of salami partially in his mouth. Leaning casually against the back of the pack motorhome, like he felt he didn’t belong in the home proper.
“Oh, shit, what did I do now?” He dips his head back just a little, swallowing it and then wiping any grease away with the back of his hand, looking suddenly wary, especially for someone who’d just been flirting with you. “Was it the comment about your face? I was being genuine, y’know, I do like your face without all the that skin-evening makeup—”
“How do you know I wear that?” You interrupt him. A bit incredulous that he even knows that.
“You mentioned it.” Lando sets the plate down. Straightening his posture, but tucking his hands in his hoodie pockets, like he’s just a random 24-year-old man, and not a famous Formula 1 driver, with charm to spare and boyish good looks that make him popular with the fans. “Said it evened out the skin, made your face look… normal?”
“So my face isn’t normal?”
Lando flushes at that, looking at the ground to avoid your gaze.
You want to strangle yourself for saying that. What is happening to you?! You’ve never acted like this. Never, not even when he was being creepy, trying to flirt with you, when all you’d wanted to do was simply work.
“Who cares if it’s normal? People like your face.”
“You. You like my face. You’ve said it twice now.”
Inside, your hindbrain is preening. The omega side that you’ve always loathed, is now screaming at you about Lando and his compliments. How he’s trying to extend courtship! Which you severely doubt, because out of all his options, why would he want you?
And another part of you… hates it. Because clearly, there is someone else who you should try to find. That mysterious scent. It’d been so nice. Whoever the alpha had been, they’d smelled like melting sugar. You’d rubbed noses with them on instinct alone. With the alpha smelling of summer, sugar, and campfires.
According to legend, your mate’s scent would compliment your own. And that mystery alpha matched yours to a tee. The only problem is you didn’t know who exactly that was. And no one you knew smelled like that, not in the pack, at least.
“And… I have a favor to ask.” You look at Lando. Still standing like he’s not one of the more notable drivers on the grid. “You… would consider yourself a gossip, yes?”
“By what standard?” He raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. “But, yes. I’ll take that. I’m a bit of a gossip. Why do you ask?”
“Would you say you know the scents of… members of the grid? Or at least, who were in the pack’s motorhome, yesterday? Aside from ourselves.”
“If you were to give me direct samples and names of the people, absolutely.” Lando seems even more concerned now. “....where is this going?”
“There was… someone, who I need to know the scent of. After. The entire thing yesterday.”
“Oh. So we are going to talk about yesterday, then?” He leans down, just a little, head tilted to the side. An aggravating little smirk on his lips. One hand braces on the wall near your head.
“After you help me.” You don’t waver. You’re a Lauda, damnit! You never waver. “There was a… scent, yesterday. I need to know whose scent it was. For personal reasons.”
“Ooh, is this who Niki brought to meet you?” Lando must find teasing you second nature, with how easily it seems to come to him. “After— y’know, all the chaos.”
Your silence is answer enough.
“So it is about him!”
“How do you know it’s a him,” You hiss, and he has the audacity to laugh.
“The scent. I know who you’re talking about.”
Now that gets your attention. The change is instant, with your head snapping up to look at him. Looking at him in a way you’d never looked at him before, your eyes wide and filled with hope, as if this question had been haunting you.
“Give me his name!”
And suddenly, he looks sheepish, holding up his hands in defense and refusing to meet your eyes. Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“What aren’t you telling me, Norris?”
“Okay, exaggeration. I don’t know who he is, but I know him by his scent.” Lando squeaks out. And when he looks at you, his gaze is soft. Just like it was inside. That same little smile. You give in almost immediately. “But I’ll do my best to find his name, okay?”
“Thank you.” You mutter, looking away, partially to hide the blush, and partially to hide the disappointment you know is written across your face. The pattern thumping in your chest won’t stop. The fluttering in your heart.
It’s not anxiety— you know that rhythm well. And after all of last year, you know it's definitely not fear. But it’s a similar enough pattern to the latter that you brace against the wall, slinking up into your room to hide, and try to identify the rapid beating of your heart.
Lando’s little smile and his gaze won’t leave your mind. Especially when you know they were directed at you and you alone. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your omega preens. Niki looked at Marlene that way. When he thought she couldn’t see him.
You’d asked her, once, what those looks meant.
Marlene's face had crumbled, and then partially rebuilt itself.
“He looks at me… because he loves me, Maus.”
“Do you love him?”
“That is… complicated. I do… but…” She’d closed her eyes then, as if hurt. You’d just hugged her closely, as if that could help ease her pain at all.
You hate that you know exactly what you’re feeling. And you push it down. Refusing to acknowledge it, turning away from Lando, to the sanctuary of your room before needing to leave to get ready for the next free practice, and then qualifying after that.
February 29th, 2024.
Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, Bahrain
Qualifying
There is an energy in the air. You’re sitting at the pit lane stand now. Eggroll at your feet, laying calmly, but always needing to touch you throughout this all. You’re grateful for the touch. That constant grounding. You have your hands folded in front of you, elbows on the desk, eyes closed. This means something. The free practices had gone well enough. FP2 had been a bit rough— Lando had come in dead last, but you didn’t blame him.
You open your eyes again. Looking at the keyboard in front of you. You almost go to push your glasses up, before realizing you’re wearing your contacts.
Despite everything, your hands are shaking a little. Niki and Marlene are back in the motorhome with the pups of the pack. You could call them, and they’d be there for you. They’d drop anything to help you. Mathias and Lucas were probably here by now, too. You could call them. Any single member of your immediate pack. They’d sprint across the paddock to reach you.
You close your eyes again. Eggroll presses up a bit more on your legs. Probably able to tell you’re getting anxious.
Perhaps text Lewis? Or Nico? Not Logan. You didn’t want to get him in trouble. You wanted him to do the best he could, even if you could already see his love for the sport slowly dying when he spoke to you.
The taste of blood fills your mouth and you find yourself frowning, annoyed by your own actions. You’d been gnawing at the inside of your cheek unconsciously, now to the point you’d managed to draw blood. A nasty habit that you’d developed in the past few months. But it was better than when you’d pick at the tips of your fingers. That was visible— that made it so the pack would notice when you did things like this. Lecturing you when they caught you.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You still taste blood on your tongue. But you look up at the screens. Your notebook is open. All your notes on Lando’s performances scrawled on the paper, and reminders to try and be nicer to him.
“We’ll be fine.” You murmur, more to yourself, even as you reach down to scratch Eggroll’s head. “We’ll be alright.”
“Of course you will.”
You turn, looking to see your sire standing there. Stubbornly wearing a red cap that says ‘NIKI’ across the front in big, bold letters. The ones they’d made for the entire grid in 2019, when you’d come so close to losing him.
When you’d given him one of your kidneys, if it meant having him for another year, another month, hell, even just another week with him. Niki hadn’t asked you to do anything. He had been worried you’d blame yourself if the kidney hadn’t worked.
He’d recovered. You’d recovered. The Monaco Grand Prix had gone on.
Now, he’s wearing the hat. Grinning broadly as he comes to stand behind you. You slip easily out of the chair and fold into his outstretched arms.
“Sisi,”
“Hush. Alles gut, alles gut.”
You bury your face in his neck. Near his scent glands, trying to coat yourself in the familiar smell. You need it, the stability it brought. You’re painfully aware that the cameras are trained on you now. Netflix’s crew focused on this rare public interaction between legendary sire and pup. The director is probably already thinking about the episode they can make of this, highlighting the legacy, and passing of the crown to you, the same age he was when he started his career.
“I’m so nervous,” you admit as one of Niki’s hands comes to wipe away a tear you hadn’t even realized was falling. “So, so nervous,”
“Why?” Niki chides, pinching your cheek, knowing it’ll make you laugh. His eyes study your face. “Ah. Keine Brille für dich heute? Kontaktlinsen?”
“Ja, Sisi. Ich möchte mir keine Sorgen um Blendung machen müssen.”
“I don’t want to worry about the glare, she says. My silly pup.” Niki laughs. “You’ll do great. And,”
He lifts the cap off his head. Showing the scars and his lack of hair, before gently placing the cap on your head. Niki barely ever took his hat off, even when in private. It was a way to hide the scarring, and how it had taken parts of his scalp, leaving him with noticeable bald spots, even when he’d been younger with hair to spare.
“There. Perfect fit.” Niki is grinning broadly at you. One hand on top of your head, after pulling the ponytail through the closure. “You’re the boss now, Maus.”
You sniffle, mouth trembling slightly before you press against him to hide your face. Eggroll stands on her back legs, front paws placed on your back, whimpering, clearly wanting to be a part of your hug with Niki.
“Hush— hush, you’re fine,” Niki pulls away first, gently scratching Eggroll’s ears while keeping his hand braced against your shoulder. “This dog. Clingy, just like a certain pup I remember,”
“Sisi!” You flush, and Niki laughs, head tilted back.
“Who said it was you?” Teasing coats every syllable. But there’s no mistaking the pride in his gaze as he looks at you. “It could have been your littermates. You don’t know that.”
There’s a few more seconds of letting yourself huddle against your sire. Of being vulnerable. And then you straighten yourself out. Commanding your emotions and pushing them back down and looking serious. Getting right into work and explaining your thought process to Niki while the camera snaps picture after picture.
f1: A new McLaren legend in the making. @maus.lauda @nikilauda @mclarenf1
liked by lewishamilton, nikilauda, nicorosberg, and 1.2 million others
[The first picture in the carousel shows you, with a serious expression, with a downturned mouth (aside from the one corner of your mouth that is permanently etched upwards by your scars) and cold eyes. It’s a candid shot of you at the pitlane stand, looking up at the computers. Your new ‘NIKI’ cap sat firmly on your head. The second photo is yet another candid, as you seemingly talk last-minute strategy with Niki, who appears to be offering you feedback, pointing at things in your journal with a mirroring, serious expression. The next picture shows Andrea and Zak, listening as Niki and yourself talk about something, both of the men focused on whatever you’re talking about. The final picture has your journal in the focus, while you’re in the background, back turned to the camera, though your hair is visible in the picture, making it clear who the journal belonged to.]
niki.niki.do12: Omg yes Niki getting his McLaren recognition as he deserves!!
L4nd0St4r: @niki.niki.do12 sis this post was about his daughter….
massive.bawlsJH: @L4nd0St4r yeah his illegitimate daughter lmao
niki.niki.12: @massive.bawlsJH silence, you’re literally a James Hunt fan in the year of our lord 2024
mothmanGP: @massive.bawlsJH tf does it matter if our Maus is illegitimate? is it 1309? stfu
mclaren: Genius must run in the family! Happy to have them both on our side 🧡🧡🧡
nikilauda: Always proud, my Maus.
maus.lauda: Excited for the season. Let’s keep pushing.
landonorris: @maus.lauda be gentle with me. I’m delicate. [Content Deleted]
maus.lauda: delicate my ass [Content Deleted]
landonorris: @maus.lauda Well said, Miss Race Engineer Ma’am
Lando sees the posts as he’s doing a final doom scroll before slipping into the car. You look serious. Cold. It’s terrifying to see you in this light. To see you how the rest of the world sees you. How he sees you still. And the caption only reinforces that.
Lando is a fan favorite. He knows that even if he’s never world champion, he’ll be remembered. Just like Daniel, just like David Coulthard, and so many others before him.
But he could do so much more. He could be doing better. He could have had his first win by now, he knows it. Yet he doesn’t. That single achievement that will uplift him into the rare few who had actually achieved victory. He wants it badly. So, so badly, he can imagine the taste of the champagne, sitting on the top step as God Save The King plays, his flag waving behind him.
He looks at your photo, the second one. You’re actually smiling somewhat, while you talk to your sire. Your little smile makes his heart stutter. What he wouldn’t do to have you smile at him like that— not even a big smile, one that would split your face— he wanted just a little grin, maybe from him saying something that would have you laugh, breathing out through your nose.
He takes one last glance before swiping out of the app, and before he swipes out of it totally, his phone buzzes with a notification. It’s not like it matters much— it’s his private account after all, with only about 200 followers of other drivers and personal friends— and he normally never messages people on this account.
But someone’s just reached out to him, which is a bit shocking. Everyone knows not to message him here, if they really need to talk to him, they can text him directly to get an answer.
He needs to get in the car in less than a minute. You’re already approaching him with a hand outstretched for his phone. You liked to take it personally, so he’d know exactly where it was when he had to be focused on the task at hand. But before you take it, he glances at the message.
It’s from Will. It’d been the only way to contact him at this point. People he didn’t follow back couldn’t contact him without Lando allowing it on his official account, and he’d since unfollowed Will after the mess that had been testing.
Will never had his personal number. Only the one to the custom papaya-orange Pixel 8, and when Will was let go from testing early, due to his outburst, Lando had blocked and then deleted the number. Even insisted stubbornly on getting a new number, after he’d had a chance to really talk and get to know you. Or, whatever could be counted from that singular FaceTime.
Lando was a bit desperate to talk, okay?
blondie_wdj sent 2 new messages
He turns off the phone before he can read or even check the messages. You take it wordlessly, nodding at him, before turning on your heel and walking briskly to the pit lane. You don’t react when he comes out of the garage.
What did Will want to say to him that he felt so desperate as to message his private account? It all seemed a bit ridiculous. But he couldn’t think about that now, not with qualifying right before him.
He pulls out of the garage and into the pit lane. Your voice in his ears, urging him forward.
“Welcome to the first real drive of the 2024 season, Mr. Norris. It’s time to fly, ja?”
heeeeey it’s me. ur boy. soooo I might be moving a cross the country again bc there could be a job which is bad for 2 reasons but based for one
bad:
1.) I will be broker than normal for me (but what teacher isn’t in the USA)
2.) it will likely put a hold on anything being published in August (but I will have a part for each of my active stories as well as finishing my Kinktober up to Rossi from last year lmao)
based:
1.) I’ll be back in my home state in my fave city!! which means I can loose my mind over sports even more so!!!
soooo be patient.
next chapter of creature is almost done!
need to finish editing The next chapter of brutus as well as the Alonso Kinktober
oh I’ll release teasers for this years Kinktober as well, they’ll be much longer and posted weekly for every Saturday of October
moved my dad to tears with art I did of his late mother (my sweet sweet Gran who passed around 4 years ago now) and immediately followed by me saying “I mean it kinda looks like ass but I’m glad you like it” and he was BAFFLED that I thought it looked bad when to him, it perfectly captured her and her unwavering love of animals
art will probably always look shit to the artist it self but I kinda realized it doesn’t matter how I see it, it’s more important to the person you made it for, and that if you make it for yourself, well, you made it! You made a whole idea exist in a tangible way!!
ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter
milkfern: the soft, white colored cousin to fox’s tongue. the leaves can be used to help relax and calm wandering minds and thoughts. a very common plant that can be found sprouting up through cobbles and paved paths alike that has been used by countless parents through the millennia to soothe the anxious minds of children awoken by nightmares. in the language of flowers, its bloom is used to represent turning points and new beginnings.
Honestly, this was on you. Things had been going too well, clearly. Life was too easy, it seemed to the gods watching you, and then who decided to throw a curve ball your way, just to spice up your life a little more. As if your life needed anything else added to your plate right now.
You’re staring down at the sending stone. Watching as its soft glow engulfed it, pulsed every two seconds, then faded, before going into the same pattern again, repeating and repeating. Reminding you of all the messages that you’d been sent since you had saved and married Law in the same day. Messages you hadn’t returned or answered in the week and three days since you’d been married.
Speaking of Law, your dear husband was in his room, looking over the blueprints you’d supplied him for the new addition to your shop.
In order to prove that Law was innocent, and that his magic truly was doing no harm, but instead, doing good, you had called in a few favors. One of those favors was the addition of a few new rooms onto your shop.
Law’s new practice was to be a modern medical clinic, with two exam rooms, the larger of the two doubling as a small surgical suite when needed, complete with a small waiting area, a bathroom that also worked as a changing area, and a private office Law could spend his time studying and recording his research in, set to be stocked with the most up-to-date medical textbooks from this continent. The whole building, of course, would be well-lit and maintained with magical crests that he would simply push a bit of mana into to then clean whatever mess had been made. And it even had a whole separate entrance from the rest of the shop! You never had to worry about extra foot traffic again!
It was still wildly expensive, even when you cashed in your favor to the construction mage’s guild, but you didn’t mind. Not if it meant you got your space in the shop back, with no more worries of Law using your paper and your pens and your stool.
You just really liked the idea of having your stuff back, okay?
Dinner today was a baked egg dish, with the ingredients whisked together. Law, it turned out, had a nasty habit of forgetting to feed himself, and couldn’t be bothered to eat an entire plate with separate sides and portions. And anything that resembled bread– forget about it. So, this had turned you to making casseroles and bakes, just to make sure he would get his daily meals.
How he had managed to survive to this point amazed you. He hadn’t been like this at all in childhood— not to your memory of him at least— and had eaten everything set before him heartily, even stealing snacks from you when you’d both go foraging together.
To now. When had he gotten so picky?
The dish was still baking with at least half an hour left until it was done, leaving you to stare at the sending stone. Many of the messages had stopped coming through. But there were still three groups sending you messages repeatedly. Two of whom had stopped within the day, and were currently at your home.
First, which didn’t surprise you at all, was Sanji, who was not at all pleased with your decision to save Law. How did you know this? He had burst into the house about ready to tear your new husband to shreds just two days ago, screaming about how you’d hadn’t answered any of his calls and ready to fight to the bloody death while a very embarrassed Ace walked in behind him, apologizing frantically for his beloved husband’s behavior.
He had since been visiting daily, bringing food and making sure you were alright while also looking down at Law every time he so much as walked by. You also used the time to make sure that the doses for the medication helped his succubus infestation with Ace, checking to make sure it was working.
Sanji was the closest friend you’d had since Law. You couldn’t bear to lose him, not after everything you’d been through with him.
“It’s working?” You watch Sanji from behind as he washes the dishes. The blond is humming happily, hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Ace hums happily, playing checkers with Gertrude. “The infestation is receding?”
“Yes, yes, it’s going away. I don’t even hear the annoying bugger anymore,” Sanji waves away your concern. “Now onto dinner–”
“The light priests are also happy with the fact that it’s not manifesting physically anymore!” Ace interrupts his husband, after it seems Gertrude has solidly beaten him. “I’ve been making sure he takes the pills too, along with the teas. It’s much better than it was a year ago.”
“I’ll say,” You murmur, resting your head on your arms from where you’re sitting. Trying to rest at the counter. “Had he been brought to a priest any later…”
“Let's not talk about that, it didn’t happen.” Sanji turns to look at you over his shoulder, smiling calmly. “I’m almost fully better, thanks to you.”
“I was just able to spot the symptoms and give you a few medications I had on hand,” You mumble, closing your eyes. Trying to ignore the sending stone problem. Even as a rather loud thump shook the building. No doubt, the second group— or really, a person— who had been messaging you, and who had since made himself at home, as he usually did. Because once you had opened the door, Luffy no longer needed to message you.
You stay quiet, even as you hear the footfalls coming up the stairs. Reclaiming the mug on the counter, filled with a sweet, milkfern tea you’d made to help the anxiety you’d been feeling from the sending stone’s final group of people who were still messaging you. And that you hadn’t built up the courage to answer yet.
“Aw, Traffy, don’t be so angry!”
“I am not angry!”
Your dear, unlikely husband’s voice echos, followed by another thud, likely Luffy hitting something with his entire body after Law dodged an attempt at physical affection. You promptly chug the rest of the tea in your mug. Especially after you hear the sound of something breaking, and the shattering of a pot.
“Do not try to hug me, you straw-hatted menace to society!”
“Accurate description of my brother.” Ace smiles, holding the warm mug to his lips, not drinking the milkfern tea you’d had, but a spicier, dried-pepper infused blend. He did so adore the tea blends you made, nodding to the tattooed man as he stood at the top of the stairs now, Luffy groaning behind him and picking himself up off the floor of the small landing. “Law. Good to see you.”
“Ace. Always a pleasure.”
You share a look with Sanji, the two of you rolling your eyes. How stiff! How formal! So polite! The total opposite of Sanji, who would curse Law out if he so much as breathed wrong. Ace and Law always had a bordering-on professional relationship, even after the falling out. Probably due to Ace working with the poor, often advocating for them and providing resources for those who needed it most. He’d often send many people Law’s way, knowing he’d find a way to help them.
“Is dinner–”
“You’ll be served last.” Sanji doesn’t even look up from the dishes. He’s long since finished them by now, but it’s more the principle of ignoring Law that he seems so stubborn to stand by, arms still in the sink, scrubbing away at imaginary scrapers and pans. “So you don’t even need to know when it’s done, your wretched creature.”
“Heh—? I hardly even said anything!”
Law has his hands in the air, annoyed. Ace takes a deep sip from his cup and levels his husband with a pleading glance to at least try to be polite. Luffy groans from where he is still slumped on the landing. You just sigh, going to help the crumbled boy, getting Gertrude to lift him and the now-broken plant pot that had been sitting there, before letting the plant clamber up your arms, the vines and roots tightening around you.
“What did we learn, Lu?”
“Aim.” Luffy mutters, staring at Law with the closest expression to evil plotting you’ve ever seen on his face. “And then get the bastard.”
“No.” You laugh a little, as he sits on the couch like he’s exhausted from some arduous journey. You’re vaguely aware of Law hiding behind you, using you as a shield against Luffy and his planning. “It’s personal space. You should give Law his personal space.”
“Yes. Leave me alone.” Law starts to say from behind you, with his voice dying down the moment you shoot a withering glare at him. “Or. Do whatever. Yeah. Do whatever. She’s the boss.”
“You owe me a new pot.” You cross your arms tightly, frowning. “Luffy broke it.”
“Why do I owe you….?” Law mutters, before shaking his head again, and just nodding along. “Yeah, figures. I’ll get you a new pot for whatever plant he broke up.”
“Just an extension of Gertrude,” You murmur, walking over to the landing, and rubbing your hands together in a circular motion, as if to shape something in your hands. The pot slowly reshaped itself, the clay knitting back together, though thinner than you’d like. “They’ll be okay, won’t you?”
The leaves only rattled a little, stretching to tighten around your arm, before you hear a yelp. Gertrude, or the vines of them that were upstairs, had apparently stolen Luffy’s hat, and were now refusing to give it back until Luffy apologized for breaking their pot, which he was stubbornly refusing to do. You’re happy to have your house so full of life. Sanji bickering with Law as he dishes everything while stopping Luffy from reaching over and snagging something directly from the pan. Ace leaning on a closed fist and watching the entire thing.
All you want is to enjoy this moment. To listen to everything and pretend everything’s okay.
Gertrude tightens around you, as if sensing your anxiety.
The final group that has been blowing up your sending stone. Your parents.
Okay, when you said you hadn’t messaged anyone back, that may have been a small lie. You’d answered them once.
“Please stop trying to call— I’ll answer when I’m ready,”
You’d been pleading with them then. And then you’d dropped the stone back into the basin of water, watching as it glowed and made the water burn hot enough to boil and steam, walking away from the basin of water to lay in your bed, covering your ears, as if you could hear your parents crying out to you from where they’d retired to after you’d taken over the family business.
For just a second, Law looks over at you. Sanji had managed to push him away, focusing more on Luffy rather than trying to continue arguing with him, eventually calling Ace over to help him dish out everything.
You’re hugging Gertrude to your chest. Their vines have wrapped around you, one of the longer ones circling around the top of your head. And, worst of all, even after all this time, Law can tell by your expression alone you’re stressed about something.
He could leave you alone, which would be a good idea. Even with all the improvements of the past week and a half. You could be in the same room again, and had even managed to have a few conversations. Mostly just small talk, nothing very deep. Not trying to delve into what exactly had happened to each of you since your falling out, even if he desperately wanted to tell you everything about why he did what he did. Law would wait until you were ready, he didn’t want to cause any more damage to your already precarious relationship.
Law takes a hesitant step towards you, and when you don’t shy away from him, he speaks quietly.
“Hey, uhm, are you…. Good?”
You look up at him. There are tears in your eyes. And you look about ready to just collapse. Just like when your favorite plant had died when you were ten, and he twelve, and you’d just sobbed into his arms, talking about how you’d done your very best to treat the root rot, and how no matter how carefully you’d tried to treat it. The little philodendron had died regardless.
You sniffled. Gertrude tightened around you before using her vines to pull herself away from you. And you just started to bawl, leaning into him and babbling about a sending stone and a basin of water while he patted your back, surprised by how little prompting it had taken for you to open up.
“I—I haven’t even called my Mom and Dad back, then the pot broke, a-and I’m so tired, Law! I haven’t slept well for nearly two weeks! And they won’t stop calling!”
You’re just sobbing into his chest, hands gripping the back of his tunic. The way his hands drift down to your back, rubbing circles and hushing you, carefully lifting you and taking you to your couch. The kitchen has gone quiet. Sanji stands behind the island, frozen from where a square of the eggbake sits on a spatula. Luffy has stopped trying to shove another square in his mouth, watching with his mouth still open wide around the slice he was eating. And Ace only watched. Face neutral, but his gaze soft.
“Hey,” Law starts, looking over at him. Both of his arms wrapped around you protectively, letting you cry into his chest. “Can you guys get me a cool cloth? I don’t want her eyes to swell, they always do when she cries, it hurts her skin.”
Sanij doesn’t ask why Law knows that still. Ace is the one who actually goes to get a washcloth, while also smacking the back of Luffy’s head to finally get his younger brother to drop the food, returning just a minute later with a cool cloth and a hair clip.
“She’ll want her hair out of her face, too,” Ace says simply, handing both to Law. Your husband doesn’t respond, only gently placing the cloth against your eyes, listening to you whimper against his chest, curling into a ball and making yourself as small as possible, as if you could hide under him somehow.
Your hair is clipped up out of your face, and Law just continues to stroke down your back, not saying anything. Just letting you curl against him. When a few more minutes have passed, Law looks to the kitchen, silently pleading with Sanji to bring over a plate so he could try to feed you. And the blond seems to understand him, bringing over the food with everything already cut into bite-sized pieces.
It’s a labor of love, getting you to eat the first bite. You won’t move your face. Won’t even lift your head, until Gertrude slips a vine under your ear, pulling on it until you turn to scowl at them. You take the food from the fork then, chewing it and then taking the next. Still sniffling pitifully.
The skin around your eyes is already red and puffy. You don’t flinch when he gently holds the cloth to your eyes with one hand, and feeds you with the other.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Law asks. It feels as if the entire house is holding its breath.
“No.” You mumble around a bite of food. Your lips start to quiver again. “Yes. I don’t know!”
“That’s okay,” Law lets you push away if you want to. He’s secretly thrilled when you don’t. “It’s okay. Just eat. And keep this cloth against your eyes. Don’t want another repeat of the dead philodendron incident.”
“It was a cute little philodendron!” You can’t help but laugh wetly, keeping the cloth to your eyes. Law grins, even if you can’t see it.
“I know. It was very cute. But you were in so much pain the next day.”
“I was sad. That’s why it hurt.”
“No, it was because you had rubbed your eyes raw,” Law corrects gently. You laugh again, and his heart flutters at the sound. He made you laugh!“And I don’t want it to happen again when I’m here to treat it before it gets bad.”
“Ugh. Doctor-husband. Knowing how to treat things.”
It’s the first time you’d called him that without loathing and despair when talking to or about him. You’d just used the word husband with him to tease! Acting playful, just after he’d made you laugh! Law really hoped you couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating.
“Yep. You’re stuck with me. But, you don’t have to worry about long waits at the office.” Law murmurs. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands now. Should he keep trying to rub your back, or should he stop altogether? He doesn’t want to let you go at all, really, he’d love to keep holding you like this, but the last thing Law wants to do is make you feel uncomfortable. “... better?”
“No.” You press back into his chest. Law’s face is beet red. Luffy is watching the entire scene with his jaw dropped. Sanji has a hand to his mouth, eyes wide. And Ace is smiling softly, as if this is all going according to plan, coming back from the bathroom with a smother hairbrush as well as a heavier blanket from your bedroom. “Not at all. Like, still so, so bad.”
“What’s so bad?” Law asks, tilting his head. Gently nudging you after he tucks a piece of hair out of your face. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad.”
Ace makes a noise as if he knows, and then raises a hand as if to excuse himself.
“Ace Portgas-Vinsmoke, what do you know?” Sanji’s voice is a low threat, one you’ve heard used too many times when you’re having a wine-night with the blond, and Ace has just blown something up in his workshop.
“Uhm. Well, while I was in the big bathroom, because I wanted to get her a nice washcloth for her eyes, there was this metal basin with water in it. And you know how nosy I can be, so I looked in it! And it had her sending stone in it, it was glowing, and I recognized the runes on it being from her parents—”
“I haven’t called my parents since this entire thing happened. Aside from telling them I wanted space.” You finish miserably, just as the door to the main shop slams open downstairs. Ace winces, taping the tips of his pointer fingers together.
“I— uhm, may have answered… it…”
The entire gathered group is treated to your mother’s heavenly, outraged voice, while your father and uncles try to calm her. Akainu sounds terrified, even as he walks up the stairs and shoots you, and even Law a look that is pleading for future forgiveness. Kizaru has given up on even trying to reason with his sister-in-law, ducks to kiss your forehead, and then promptly steals a slice of the bake from Sanji.
Only your father remains.
“Shakky, beloved, please—“ Rayleigh’s ever calm cadence drifts upwards, as there is the evident pounding of feet on the stairs.
“Where the FUCK,” Shakky screams, just as her head pops over the railing, “IS MY DAUGHTER AND MY NEW SON-IN-LAW?!”
She hooks you with an absolutely withering glare that has you pressing further into Law as if that could protect you. Rayleigh finally makes his own appearance, waving tiredly, with a little smile on his face.
“Hello, darling. Mind if I put the kettle on?”
Faded Journal Entry:
Shakky Terra-Silvers, age 58, Earth/Plant Mage, specialized in growing and foraging various plants, former apothecary, now retired. Married to Rayleigh. Sister to Akainu. (Your mother!)
Sakazuki “Akainu” Terra, age 62. Captain of city guard and an Earth Mage, specializes in physically changing the state of the earth around him into lava and metal. Elder brother of Shakky. Married to Kizaru. (Your uncle!)
Rayleigh Terra-Silvers, age 61. Dad, Earth/Plant Mage, specialized in preparing plants and communicating with plants, former apothecary, now retired. Sworn Brother to the late Roger Gold, father of Ace. (Your father!)
Borsalino “Kizaru” Terra, age 61. Took his husband’s name to cut off his family. Vice-Captain of City Guard and a dual Speed & Light Mage, allowing him to attack swiftly and without mercy. Married to Akainu. (Your Uncle Shiny!)
Law Water D. Trafalger-Terra, age 26. ??? Mage and Doctor. Your former childhood best friend, until a falling out nine years ago due to—[The page is torn past this point, with a small note written in the margins. The handwriting is thin, as though written with… a thread?]
You’re not allowed to know that yet, puppet! Fufufu, how bold to try and find out!
trafalgar d. water law/reader - friends to enemies to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation (not by law)
ao3 link | masterlist | ask away
Trafalgar D. Water Law is a surgeon centuries ahead of his time and is set to be put to death for alleged witchcraft and dark magic, although there’s little evidence besides the fact that his patients all seem to survive, and the pale white splotches that dapple his skin, marking his face with the pattern of a skull. You’re a former childhood friend, now bittered with age and arguments, simply trying to make your living as an apothecary, wanting nothing to do with the man you had once been joined at the hip with. What happens when his closest friend manages to convince you to save his life by invoking a little-used law, saved only for cases where the justice system has failed?
You marry the man you utterly detest, that’s what happens.
Heh. I'm in the Bug Leagues, Kid. No, not the Big Leagues. The Bug Leagues. I'm kind of a Bug Deal, you could say. I'm covered in bugs. I'm covered in bugs
I am large, I contain multitudes @pampushky - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
