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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 month ago

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Christmas Showdown

In which you and Lando run into an ex-boyfriend while you're home for the holidays.

Warnings: talk of abusive relationship (no details though). Established relationship. Protective Lando. This could probably be better and it's pretty short buttttttt I needed to get this out of my head, so enjoy! Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

It had been several years since you spent the holidays in your small Midwestern hometown. Usually, your family flew out to London or Monaco to spend the holiday’s with you there, much preferring to leave Michigan’s several feet of snow that was typically on the ground during Christmas. This year was different thought. Your grandmother had been too ill to make the long flight so instead, you came to them. Which was fine with you, you had missed seeing friends that were home for the holidays and missed the nostalgic nights spent around the Christmas tree with your family. The one person who was not fine with it, however, was your boyfriend.

Lando Norris simply hated the cold. He hated being cold. Hated thinking about the cold. Hated the snow. Anytime the temperature dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit ( which also a fight you two had often was how he refused to learn the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius while also simultaneously refusing to do the same for him.) So you knew he must really be down bad for you when he had agreed (albeit a bit sluggishly) to spend the Christmas holiday with you in your (freezing) hometown.

There was minimal complaining for the first few days you were at home, mostly because it the weather was fair enough to not be something comparable to the North Pole, but trouble arose the day of your Aunt and Uncle’s infamous Christmas party. The first sign of trouble was your brother’s insistence on a family outing to the sledding hill that was a few miles from your house. Of course Lando had packed several parkas but when he had seen the Canada Goose store in the mall the day before, he had bought the thickest, best cold rated puffer jacket he could find. Despite that and several layers of long johns and sweaters, by the time you reached the sledding hill your poor boyfriend was shivering like your grandma’s ancient chihuahua.

To his credit though, there was not one single utterance of a complaint or plea to go back to your parents house for a cup of hot chocolate then entire time. Lando happily chased your nieces and nephews around the sledding hill and even went down the hill a few times with you.

“Okay, folks!” Your dad calls out as the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. “I think it’s time we all head home and get ready for Judy and Steve’s party tonight. I expect everyone to be at their house by 7pm sharp!” The ‘this reminder is for your benefit’ look that your dad sends you has your already wind chapped face turning even more red.

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me! I’m always on time!” You shout, grabbing for Lando’s hand. “We’ll see you guys tonight!”

Once you get in the Range Rover that Lando had rented for the two week visit, he immediately turns the heated seats on full power and cranks up the heat.

“Do you want to swing by Starbucks and get something warm before going home?” You ask as Lando pulls out of the park and onto the snowy street. “I feel like I might need to just get you an IV of hot chocolate at this point.”

Lando gives you a sidelong glare. “I think I have icicles in my nose hairs.”

Laughter tumbles out of you, quick and light, sending a thrill of pleasure down Lando’s spine. You two had been dating for a few years now and there were still times he’d look over at you and think ‘how the fuck did I convince this girl to be my girlfriend?’. You had come into his life at a particularly challenging time and had been his rock since day one.

“Starbucks it is, my poor little snowman. There’s one up here in this strip mall. Turn left at this light and then it’s on the right.”

The parking lot, which is a shared lot with several other big box stores, is an absolute zoo and you can see the line snaking around the inside of the Starbucks before you even go in. To save some time, Lando drops you off at the front door while he goes and finds a spot for the large SUV.

The line is long when you get inside but you’re thankful to at least be out of the bitter cold. While you wait in line, you mindlessly scroll on your Instagram, which is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Going private on all socials and not being featured heavily on Lando’s had been one of the things you two had agreed upon when things started getting serious nearly two years ago now. People who were huge Lando fans knew who you were but the casual F1 fan probably wouldn’t have been able to pick you out of a lineup.

Your casually scrolling, minding your own business, when a deep voice calling your name jolts you out of your little social media bubble.

“Jeff?” You sputter, surprised to see your college boyfriend standing in front of you in line, huge smile on his face.

Jeff had been one of the guys you and your best friends had drooled over in high school, having been nearly two years ahead of you when you were teens. You didn’t start dating him until your freshman year of college, when he was already a junior. To say the man was toxic was an understatement. In fact, now that you had a few years distance between the now and the end of the relationship, you could confidently say Jeff had been pretty abusive.

“Hey, stranger!” He says, leaning in for a hug. You go completely still, totally unprepared to be faced with the man who had caused you so much trauma in the two years you had dated. “I have’t seen you in ages, visiting your family for the holidays?”

You toss a look over your shoulder, desperately wishing for Lando to come walking in the door. “Uh, yeah. First time in a few years. I usually fly them over to London or Monaco for the holidays.”

A dark shadow passes over Jeff’s face at the mention of where you live now. “Monaco, huh? You always thought you were too good for us here, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twists painfully at the look in his eyes and you briefly consider just turning around and walking right out of the Starbucks without your drinks.

Before you can stutter out a response, a strong pair of large hands wraps around your waist as Lando drops his head onto your shoulder. “Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life." Lando croons in your ear, not yet picking up on your body language. "I adore you but why the fuck did you have to be born in a place where the air hurts your face?”

You laugh stiffly despite yourself. “Talk to my parents about that one, love.”

Lando drops a kiss on your cheek before looking over at the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.”

Across from you, Jeff had been watching this exchange between Lando and you with an increasing amount of annoyance. Who the fuck was this and why was he calling you the love of his life?

“Lando, this is Jeff.” You turn slightly, giving Lando a knowing look which he catches onto immediately. “Jeff, this is my boyfriend, Lando.”

“That’s an interesting name. Only heard that name twice before, once in Star Wars and…” Jeff’s voice drops off as he finally makes the connection. “Wait. Lando…as in Lando Norris?”

The smug grin that stretches across Lando’s face nearly has you giggling. “That’s me. And you’re Jeff, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you. None of it good.”

Lando remembered the first time you had ever opened up to him a few months into dating about how you had been in an abusive relationship in college and how much work it had taken to recover from it. He had been your first serious relationship after leaving Jeff, having left the country just to get away from him. Internally, Lando raged at the man standing in front of you two, the protective instinct in him screaming to just lay the guy out right here.

Jeff’s already ruddy face turns red with incandescent rage. You had totally forgotten he was a big Formula One fan and when you remember the fact that not only is he an F1 fan, but a huge McLaren fan, the urge to giggle hits you again. Oh, this was just too good.

“How’d you…” Jeff stutters. “How’d you manage to bag yourself a Formula 1 driver?”

The question is a pathetic attempt to rile you up and insult you but both you and Lando see that question for exactly what it is.

Lando plants another kiss on your cheek and you know he’s doing it to be an asshole. “I was actually the one who pursued her. She turned me down left and right for nearly a year, didn’t you baby?”

You nod, remembering the way Lando had come into your office at the McLaren Tech Center day after day just to make small talk at first but finally had worked up the nerve to ask you out. You were one of the newer people on the comms team back then and you hand’t wanted to jeopardize the career you had worked so hard for so you had turned him down for nearly a year, insisting that you wanted nothing more than a friendship with the driver.

“But eventually, he wore me down. He flew me to Monaco and took me out on his yacht for our first date, it was all very romantic.” It had actually been Max’s yacht, but Jeff didn’t need to know that bit.

You can see Jeff practically seething at this point, knowing that you’re doing so well and he’s still apparently stuck in your hometown.

“And how are you doing, Jeff? Still working at your dad’s law firm? How is Vance doing? And Laura?” You know it’s killing him, asking about his parents by their first name.

Jeff just blinks at you for a few moments, realizing you weren’t the little girl he used to push around and take advantage of in college anymore. “Made partner last year, actually.”

“That must be easy to do when your dad owns the practice, huh?” Lando says, voice nothing but light innocence.

Jeff’s eyes bounce between you and Lando for several moments before he suddenly reaches into his pocket. “If you’d excuse me, it looks like the office is calling me.”

“A call from the office the day before Christmas! Gosh, you must be very important, Jeffery.” Lando’s low blow to Jeff’s big ego hits true and without another word, the man scampers out of the Starbucks without a second glance in your direction.

Once he’s gone, both you and Lando dissolve into giggles, your head finding it’s favorite spot on Lando’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t try to deck you there are the end.”

“And mess up his pretty lawyer hands? Honey, I doubt he even knows how to throw a punch.”

tag list @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic

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p0orbaby · 20 days ago

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leah pretending to be good at ice skating but turns out she’s shit at it

but at least she gets to clinge onto reader for stability, and ofc reader teasing her good heartedly

The rink is colder than you expect—sharper, too, like the kind of cold that belongs in empty bus stops at 3 a.m., or the grim aisles of a butcher’s shop. The ice looks almost perfect, a pale and glossy mirror broken only by a constellation of skate marks and a single, flattened candy wrapper in the far corner. You think briefly about the janitor who’ll have to scrape it off later, the way it will peel away like skin.

Leah stands beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her navy Canada Goose parka, which she insisted wasn’t too expensive because “it’s an investment piece.” The hem of the coat brushes her knees. Underneath, her legs are clad in Lululemon Align leggings, and her skates—brand new, glaringly white—look like something you’d find in a Bond Street window display. She’s ready. Or at least she looks it.

“You’ve done this before?” you ask, leaning against the barrier as you lace up your own scuffed rentals.

“Yeah, loads,” she says breezily, flicking a blonde strand of hair out of her face. “We used to go every Christmas when I was a kid. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

“Hm”

She grins, sharp and cocky, and pushes away from the barrier. The first three seconds are beautiful. Graceful, even. Leah glides forward confidently, her arms outstretched like she’s orchestrating a symphony. And then, quite suddenly, the symphony collapses into an out-of-tune kazoo as one of her skates wobbles and her knees buckle.

“Fuck—”

She clings to the barrier like a drowning man clutching a life ring. Her eyes are wide and wild, and she lets out a half-laugh, half-gasp that sounds more like a threat than anything else.

You can’t help yourself. “Loads, you said?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, breathless. Her cheeks are already turning pink from embarrassment, the colour rising like a tide.

“Like riding a bike, you said”

“Shut up”

She’s clinging so tightly to the barrier that you worry it might splinter. Her skates slip and scrape against the ice, fighting for traction. For a moment, she just stands there, frozen in more ways than one. It reminds you of the time she tried to reverse parallel park in front of a crowded pub and ended up getting out of the car entirely, muttering something about pressure before forcing you to swap seats.

“I think you might be lying to me,” you say, stepping out onto the ice with ease. Your skates are steady, practised. It’s the confidence of someone who spent every January birthday at run-down rinks like this one, drinking lukewarm hot chocolate with a scum of film on the surface. You do a slow lap around her for emphasis. “You’re shit at this, aren’t you?”

Leah’s jaw clenches, but her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh. “I just need a minute”

“You need a helmet”

“Oh, piss off”

She pushes away from the barrier again, slower this time, her knees bent like she’s bracing for impact. You skate backwards in front of her, matching her tentative pace, watching the way her face contorts with concentration. It’s endearing, really—the same determination you see when she’s watching a replay of her own game footage, looking for flaws that don’t exist.

“You look like Bambi”

“I do not”

“You do. That scene where he’s trying to walk on the ice? That’s you”

Leah glares at you, her hands now gripping the front of your coat for stability. “I don’t know why I brought you here”

“I don’t know why you lied about being good at this,” you retort, but you rest your hands lightly on her waist, holding her steady. The layers of her coat are thick, but you can still feel the tension in her body, the way she’s gripping your jacket like her life depends on it.

For a moment, you both stand there in the middle of the rink, surrounded by other skaters who weave past effortlessly: teenage girls in puffer jackets, couples holding hands, kids so small their skates look like they belong to someone else. A little boy skates by holding a penguin-shaped stabiliser, and Leah watches him with envy.

You follow her gaze. “Do you want one of those?”

“No”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she grits out, though you can feel her swaying again.

“Because I could go ask—”

“Don’t you dare”

You laugh, tightening your grip on her waist as she starts to slip. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your coat, and she mutters a long string of curses under her breath, half in frustration and half in self-deprecation. It’s the same tone she uses when she loses a game of Uno.

“Alright, come on, Bambi,” you say gently, beginning to skate backwards again, pulling her along with you. “I’ll teach you”

“I don’t need to be taught”

“You do”

“I—”

“You do, Leah”

She falls quiet, letting you guide her slowly across the rink. Her movements are stilted, her feet awkward, but she’s starting to trust you, loosening her death grip on your coat. The flush on her cheeks has deepened, and you can’t tell if it’s from exertion or embarrassment.

“You’re doing great,” you say, your tone mockingly earnest.

“Don’t patronise me”

“I’m not”

“You are”

“Fine,” you concede, smirking. “You’re terrible, but you look cute.”

Leah groans, shaking her head, but there’s a reluctant smile on her face now. She looks down at her feet, watching the way her skates carve clumsy paths into the ice.

“You’re supposed to look ahead,” you tell her.

“I’m supposed to not fall on my arse”

“Both are important”

She exhales sharply, half a laugh, and looks up at you, her grip on your coat relaxing entirely. For a few seconds, she lets herself glide—unsteady but determined, her blonde hair catching the light, her expression softening. You think she’s about to say something—something sarcastic, probably—but then her skate catches an uneven groove in the ice, and she lurches forward, grabbing your arm in a panic.

You catch her easily, steadying her with a hand on her back. She looks up at you, wide-eyed and breathless, and you grin.

“I’ve got you,” you say softly.

Leah rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t let go. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“More than you could ever know”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader

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allthecanadianpolitics · 9 months ago

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When Canada Goose employees received an email on Monday, March 25, telling them not to come into the office the following day, they feared the worst.

The last time they received a directive like that was in August and it preceded a round of layoffs.

This time around there were terminations too, but with one key difference: people were informed of their layoff from the luxury parka maker via email.

The decision to approach terminations this way was described as “inhumane,” and “disheartening” by three former employees who spoke with Global News and shared some of the email communications they received on condition of anonymity.

Global is protecting their identities as they fear repercussions for speaking with the media and worry it may harm their future employment prospects. [...]

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#cdnpoli #Canada Goose #workers' rights #capitalism

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quicktimeeventfull · 1 year ago

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ok here's the essential lawlight dichotomy actually. light wears one of those north face ski jackets with ten million pockets and parts that zip on and off whereas L swears by his streamlined canada goose parka. light uses the zippered phone pocket and every time he enters a store snow falls off of him from the thousand divots where it has collected. L refuses to wear a toque because it messes up his hair but insists he's warm because his jacket cost $1000. light keeps extra mittens for him in his pockets.

#death note #im tagging this. bc i am correct.#light yagami #l lawliet

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irisbleufic · 3 months ago

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Part 19 of Caldera; 3 out of 5 chapters posted. Daniel and Armand oversee a handful of first kills; where’s the line between letting a fledgling play with their food and letting them form bad habits?

Narcissist (2024-10-11)

Trespasser (2024-10-12)

Ventriloquist (NEW, 2024-10-13)

TEASER:

“I find something about the target that infuriates me even if I’m not actively angry at them,” Armand explains. “Even irritation will do in a pinch.” He waves his hand vaguely at the athletic, scruffy white twentysomething in an expensive Canada Goose parka slumped in one of their dining chairs. “He reminds me of one of the most tasteless clients Louis and I ever had. The man even accused us of selling him a forgery.”

“You never mentioned the method to your madness,” Daniel says. “Were you actively pissed at me from the second you walked in on Louis draining me that night in seventy-three, or did you find a stopgap before you sat down and really started to dig around in my head?”

Armand side-eyes him. “I didn’t like your shirt. Couldn’t you tell back at the bar?”

“Ouch,” Daniel drawls. “No wonder you overhauled my entire wardrobe after that.”

Jesse raises their hand, impatient. “So you do…what with the fury or the irritation?”

Armand shrugs, and then fidgets with his rings. “Aim it at them for all you’re worth.”

#devil's minion #armand x daniel #armandaniel #devils minion #armand #daniel molloy #iwtv fanfiction #iwtv fic #iwtv fanfic #iwtv #iwtv s2 #interview with the vampire

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workingforitallthetime · 6 months ago

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something in the group chat just reminded me of rutger mcgroarty's canonical stars and stripes swim trunks, and i remembered they are referenced (rule 63 style) in the next section of my adam/rutger WIP, so here's an installment in honor of our nation's birthday. (first installment here)

“Can I ask…” Brendan perches on the arm of the battered chair where Rutger’s sitting and thinking about prying off her cowboy boots. She’s been on her feet all day: dancing, running between different house parties, sinking winning ping pong balls into keg cups. 12 hours of cowboy boots is a long time. Real cowboys must be tough.

“Sure, yeah.” Rutger stretches her legs out and props the heels of her boots on the floor, trying to take her weight off the soles. She’s not sure about going barefoot on the floors of the senior house, and she’s also not sure about going upstairs to find her slides. Who knows what’s going on in the bedrooms in the middle of this party.

Brendan’s eyes cut over to Adam, who’s weaving through the crowd with a keg cup held over his head, on his way through the kitchen for a refill. “What’s up with you guys?”

Rutger manages not to roll her eyes, because she’s a team player and she wants to get along with all her teammates, even the annoying ones. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.” Brendan makes it sound like yeah right.

Rutger lets herself have an eyeroll this time. “Sorry we kick ass at Corners.” Maybe their celly was a little extreme, but nothing feels better than winning. Adam’s the same way. If – when, Rutger corrects herself – they score together this season, it’s going to be phenomenal.

“He literally has thirst traps of you on his instagram.” Brendan slides off the arm of the chair and into the too-narrow space next to Rutger, wiggling in like she’s ready for girl talk time. As if Rutger’s in need of a girl to have this conversation with, the same conversation she’s had with all her girlfriends ever.

“No he doesn’t,” she says automatically. She scoots over and swishes her ponytail away from Brendan. “Did you ride the mechanical bull earlier?” That was one of the sickest parties today.

“You’re in a bikini,” Brendan accuses. Brendan sucks at girl talk.

“Oh, in California?” That’s not a thirst trap. She and Adam were both awake before everyone else, ready to get the day going, and so they ran down the beach and jumped into the Pacific.

Rutger still remembers surfacing with a whoop, blowing chilly salt water out of her mouth, the exhilarating feeling that the entire clean morning world belonged to them. Someone took a picture of them as they walked back up the sand, hotel towels over their shoulders and broad grins on their faces. Rutger didn’t put it on her own insta because her hair was already starting to dry into salty clumps. It was so not a thirst trap.

Brendan rolls her eyes. “No, the other one.”

Rutger shrugs. “Okay, you got me.” Brendan leans into Rutger so she can pull her phone out of the part of her yoga pants that’s supposedly a pocket but is not a place anybody should ever actually keep their phone.

Some drunk guy Rutger doesn’t know yet almost trips over her cowboy boots. Rutger throws up an arm in a futile attempt to catch him as he stumbles. “Oh no, are you okay?”

Drunk Guy finds his feet and hits a gymnastics pose like he stuck the landing. “Trip me anytime, babe.”

Rutger giggles and angles herself to look at Brendan’s phone so she can ignore Drunk Guy. Saved by girl talk, ha ha. Brendan’s thumbing through Adam’s saved stories. Rutger should have figured Brendan’s the type to go through everyone’s instagram. Well, obviously Rutger did that too, but Brendan doesn’t understand that you’re not supposed to let everybody know.

Brendan’s insta was boring. She didn’t even have any cool photos of Alaska. If Rutger played in Alaska, she’d be posing in front of glaciers in a big Canada Goose parka with a furry hood. She’d be staging epic snowball fights. Going dogsledding or something.

“Got it!” Brendan holds up her phone to Rutger like she’s a cop questioning a suspect. It’s a picture Adam took a couple of summers ago of Rutger floating on a raft in his pool in Toronto, wearing the American flag bikini she packed because it was the Fourth of July and it’s fun to be a little extra about it in Canada.

“Oh,” Rutger sighs. “I miss those sunglasses.” She lost them the next day at the Jays game.

“So, yeah.” Brendan gives her a look.

Rutger rolls her eyes. “We’re friends,” she repeats.

“Boys and girls can’t be friends,” Brendan decrees.

“What, there’s like a law?” Rutger’s heard this before. Maybe other girls can’t be friends with boys, but she’s never had that problem. She’s always played hockey with boys. Boys are funny. They think of the best pranks. They’re always doing fun stuff. Like when there was a crazy downpour in Plymouth last spring, none of her girlfriends on the team wanted to go to the park by Rutger’s billet and slide in the mud, but the boys did. It was so much fun, and Rutger couldn’t even take any pictures of all of them covered in mud head to toe because her hands were too filthy to touch her phone. She’d never pass up on something like that to hang out with girls.

“It just always ends with somebody falling in love.” Brendan says it like she’s the world’s foremost 20-year-old authority on friendship, when she probably just got burned by some loser she slept with in the NAHL. “If you’re the one who thinks you’re friends, it means the other person’s in love with you.”

“That’s…” Rutger almost says so dumb. Like, it’s universally dumb, because it’s so narrow-minded to rule out half the entire world as friends, but also really specifically dumb about Rutger and Adam. “...really not it,” she edits. “I have a boyfriend. He has a girlfriend.”

Rutger’s never met Maddie, but they follow each other. She was posting photos from sorority rush at DePaul this morning. Or maybe Loyola? Somewhere in Chicago. Rutger always gets them confused, which Adam says makes her a bad Catholic. Rutger says Adam’s a worse Catholic for convincing Rutger to decommit from Notre Dame and join him at Michigan.

“Okay.” Brendan gives it the yeah right tone again. Which is so unfair to Cutter. Cutter exists, and if she calls him right now she can get out of this dumb conversation with Brendan.

She’s opening FaceTime when Adam hollers at her from the beer pong room. “We’re up!” Seamus beckons at her from the opposite side of the table. Next to Seamus, Gavin bounces a ping pong ball and catches it, testing the surface.

“I’m in!” Rutger pops up from the chair, tucking her phone in the back pocket of her skirt and waving a good-bye to Brendan behind her as she weaves across the room through the party crowd. Her feet feel better after a rest. “Gotta defend home court!”

“Technically it’s our house too.” Seamus lines up across from Rutger. The knots in her bandana top are starting to slacken. No imminent disaster, but they’ve done a hard day’s work holding up Shea’s rack. “At least this week.”

“Gavo!” Rutger stretches out a hand, signaling for him to bounce the ball to her for her first shot. He looks up from the place where the curly end of Seamus’s braid trails into the bandana gap that’s opening over her cleavage and snaps the ball her way.

Rutger takes aim. “This one’s for Moyle’s floor tonight.” That’s where Seamus slept last night while Rutger took the couch. Jacob offered a spot in her room next door, but Adam and Luca and Gavin are all staying at this house, and Rutger can’t stand to be away from all the fun. She bounces on her toes as she lines up her shot. “Maybe some year it’ll be all of our place, for real.” That will be the best thing, living with her best friends in a hockey house. College is already so much fun, and it’s only going to get even better.

#rip to adam's saved insta stories but especially to that one #boys and girls can't be friends #by the time i finally finish this thing everyone is going to have forgotten about b. miles and this character will make no sense 😭😭😭

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