Has Everyone Seen Those Bts Photos Of Tom Cruise's Ass In Dead Reckoning Floating Around On Twitter Because

charles leclerc core

something something night changes

Lando jst have my kids so you can dance with them ffs

written with lando norris as a girl dad PLEASEE !! maybe him teaching her how to dance with her little feet on his feet

⭑ DADDY DAUGHTER DANCE ⭑

masterlist / rules / request & talk with me!

SUMMARY ─⭑ helping your daughter dance was the best thing. until emotions overcome the moment.

A/N ─⭑ this is more of a imagine rather than a full fic 🩷 i hope you still like it!! I ALSO SAID THIS IN A PREVIOUS RESPONSE TO MY THIRST OVER F1 DRIVERS AS DADS THAT LANDO WOULD DO THIS!! i’d like to say this is way more in the future but the imagination is all up to you!!

“Daddy, can we dance?”

It’s been over a month since you and Lando attended Kika and Pierre’s wedding with Eva being the flower girl. Needless to say, she was absolutely enamoured with her surroundings the entire night. Whether it be the arrangement of flowers, the eye catching fashion, or even the harmonious music. But more specifically, when the music started and the flowing of the bride’s dress caught her eye.

Ever since, she’s been obsessed. Everytime you take her to the store? She has to look at the princess dresses or ballerina tutus. Except one rule, they have to be white so she can look like the bride.

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

"Eva, are you sure you don't want a change in closet? The pink tutu looks so cute, my dear!"

"Nu-uh, Mummy! Brides wear white! Not pink!" Eva argues before she runs off not to far away to reach out to a white tutu on her tippy-toes.

Arguing with you daughter that has Lando's genes, was pointless. Both stubborn and honest. You give a sigh as you add take she smallest size to fit her.

"Alright little lady. You win this one."

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

“Us..? Dance?” Lando asked, raising his head up from his phone to respond to some emails for promotional work. “What do you mean by dance, lovely? You dance perfectly fine by yourself.”

Eva tilted her head to the side, her curls bouncing with the movement. “Not by myself, Daddy. I want to dance with you.” She pulled at his hand, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Lando couldn’t help but smile at her earnest expression. He set aside his phone, got up from the couch, and made his way over to where Eva was standing, a little bundle of excitement in her white tutu. He crouched down to her level, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, then. Show me how you want to dance.”

Eva grabbed his hands and led him to the center of the living room, where sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the space. She looked up at him, a mixture of excitement and shyness on her face. “We can dance like Kika and her daddy!”

“Evie, you’re too little to do that dance.” Lando explained patting her head, ruffling her curls.

Eva's face fell slightly, “Oh.” But she quickly brightened up with an idea. “But Daddy, I can stand on your feet! Like this!” She stepped onto his feet, her little hands clutching his for balance.

Lando chuckled, his heart melting at her determination. “Alright, let’s do it.”

He gently held her hands and started to move, guiding her tiny feet on his. They swayed slowly, Lando making sure to keep the movements gentle and steady. Eva’s giggles filled the room as she looked up at him with pure joy.

“You’re doing great, Evie,” Lando praised, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Just like a real bride? One that’s ready for marriage?” Eva questioned innocently.

God. Marriage. His little girl? That was Lando’s nightmare.

“Marriage? You’re too way young for that Evie.” Lando covered up his sour expression with a small smirk.

"Nuh-uh! I’m getting married on… on Tuesday at school! I need to practice!” Eva replied, a bright smile on her face as she looked up at her dad. Before Lando had the chance to respond from his bewilderment, the sound of the door interrupted them making Eva step off his feet and run towards the door.

“Mummy is home!” She chanted as you went through the door.

“Hello, Evie!” You said happily hugging her and picking her up before you looked over to Lando to see his baffled expression. “What happened to you?”

“Evie, say what you told me to your Mum.”

“I’m getting married!” She said happily, practicality bouncing on her feet.

“Oh really?” you smirked, “to who, Evie?”

“Jack from school!”

“And did ack from school ask for permission? Did Jack give you a ring? Did he-“ Lando butted in interrogating a bitter expression evident.

“No.. but-“

“It’s settled this Jack isn’t marrying my little girl.” Lando stated, taking Evie from you arms to his, hugging her close.

“Oh please Lando, you treating this as if she is getting married! They are just having fun… besides, what would you be like if the was?” You raised a brow, a small grin tugging at your lips as you watched Lando give a shiver at the mere thought of it.

“I don’t want to even think about that yet…”

last christmas.

ln x fem!reader

hello. i got whamageddoned early this year and i’m okay with it bc ‘last christmas’ is a bop. felt inspired to write some sad shit. mixed feelings on this one but we move - no smut for once (who am i?). not much else to say really. lemme know what you think and happy holidays <3

warnings: ANGST! language, alcohol, bad boyfriend behaviour

3.8k words

based loosely on ‘last christmas’ by wham! (normal text = present) (bold & italics = song lyrics) (italics = flashback)

a crowded room, friends with tired eyes

i’m hiding from you and your soul of ice

it had to be one of the coldest winters to date, utterly freezing. the chill had sunk into your bones in early november and you hadn’t been able to shake it since. it was bitter, bordering on painful, left you shaking, but it didn’t compare to the plummeting temperature in the room when he walked in.

it was christmas eve and old traditions were dying hard. the norris household had always been decorated beautifully, warm and cosy and inviting, a highlight of your childhood. cisca and adam knew how to throw a party, your parents and your brothers attending their annual christmas parties since the very first one. your parents were close with the norris’s, as were you, sort of. well, you used to be.

you’d known lando since you were seven years old, when you’d weakly kicked his kart with all the strength you had. he’d beaten you in a race and his smug little face had pissed you off more than the loss. he’d just stood there, grimacing and narrowing his eyes in search of damage. there wasn’t any.

disdain grew into a close friendship as you both continued to compete, weekends spent dotted about the english countryside, moving from track to track. you gave it up, losing interest and seeing a different path for yourself. he never gave up and that’s why he was where he was now, sitting pretty in f1, and not with you.

things used to be fine. you stopped karting and he didn’t, but nothing changed. he was still your best friend and you were still his, but you were just kids. what did you know? nothing, apparently, because as the years went on and life got more complicated, the worst happened. feelings.

it was hard to judge who fell first, but you both fell, tumbling uncontrollably off the cliff and into the rocks below. it was torturous, your late teenage years spent wallowing in internalised angst and self pity, sharing longing glances that you both ignored afterwards.

looking back, it was better that way. the pain had been worth it, because at least you had him in your life. now, you had nothing, while the whole world and the prettiest woman you’d ever seen seemed to rest in the palm of his hand.

it felt a bit silly to be stood there watching him walk in, tugging the sleeve of your tight red dress anxiously. he looked so good that you felt a bit sick, suddenly flushed. the crisp, white dress shirt he wore seemed to wrap around his lean body perfectly, his tanned skin glowing. and her. god, her. she was perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world, or that’s how it felt in the moment, her hand wrapped around his bicep. they were the centre of attention, the happy couple, perfect together. you’d seen her on instagram, shamelessly stalking her page, pictures of them together in dubai, on yachts, in the paddock, making you cry alone in your apartment a million miles away. what the fuck were you doing here?

you turned your back to them quickly, the glass of red wine in your hand being quickly raised to your lips. it had been made for sipping, and so you gagged as you gulped it down in mouthfuls. you ignored the way your eyes stung and took a deep breath, searching for anyone in the crowd that would be able to distract you.

your parents were chatting away with lando’s and the last thing you needed was a grilling on romantic partners and your job from that group, especially since they all knew what you’d turned down last year. your brothers were talking animatedly with oli and savannah, little mila perched on your brothers hip. you wondered why no one could ever focus on his love life instead, he was clearly better suited to having one, the little girl taking to him so naturally. you quickly realised you were out of lifelines, not fancying striking up conversation with a stranger. you knew that you shouldn’t have come, avidly against attending until your mother practically dragged you kicking and screaming. you should have stayed in london, cold and alone and wallowing, because nothing could have been worse than this.

between shaky breaths, you made it to the drinks table, abandoning the stained wineglass in exchange of some far too expensive champagne, seeking comfort in the fact that it would do the job. you felt a familiar presence beside you, tensing up as you said a prayer. anyone but him, you begged. i’ll take her over him, anything. just not him. your shoulders slumped as you relaxed, the sight of max fewtrell doing everything to ease you. as soon as you clocked the sympathy in his eyes, you wondered if his arrival was the worst of them all.

“hey, you.” he spoke fondly, ruffling your hair.

“don’t be a prick, max.” you mumbled, smoothing out the mess he’d made. it didn’t matter really, there was no one here to look good for.

“someone’s in a mood.” he teased, opening his arms for a hug. you glared at him for a second before succumbing, having missed your friend.

max looked tired, the drive from london wearing him out. he was busy these days, everyone seemed to be. you were too, but it was different; you were miserable. you asked him how he’d been, watching as he spoke happily. new opportunities, new girlfriend, new scenery. you couldn’t even be jealous of him, because you knew that he deserved a bit of happiness.

“what about you? how’s it, uh, going?” his head tilted, the returns of that stupid sympathetic look dimming the spark in his eyes. you shrugged in response.

“oh, you know me. i’m muddling through.” you brushed the question off. “being back home is-“

“awful?” he cut you off, deadpan. you scoffed out a laugh. max always knew.

“you know how it is.” you smiled sadly, breaking eye contact.

“have you spoken to him?” max’s voice was gentle, but inquisitive nonetheless. you shook your head so strongly that you could practically feel your brain rattling around. “you should, you know. he misses you.”

you almost fell off your high heels at the laugh you let out, full body shaking with incredulity at max’s statement. he looked borderline uncomfortable as he plastered on a fake smile, as to not make you look quite so peculiar when people turned to see what was so funny.

“are you having a fucking laugh?” you gasped out, voice laced with the unhinged rage that you tried so hard to hide from everyone else.

“you and i both know i’m not.” max was firm, eyebrow raised. “you know how bad last year hurt him. it didn’t need to be like this.” max murmured, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. it felt like you were being told off. maybe you deserved it.

“i did what i had to do. for both our sakes.” you reasoned, hating how desperate you sounded. desperate to prove that you’d made the right decision, to prove everyone else wrong.

max turned his back, opting to stand beside you instead of before you, the both of you now looking out across the room, instead of at each other. there they were, her pressed against his chest, laughing together as they danced. you felt bile rising in the back of your throat.

“and how’s that working out for you?” max’s question sent you straight back to hell.

-

a face on a lover with a fire in his heart

a man under cover, but you tore me apart

lando couldn’t help but stare, the gorgeous green dress you were wearing doing nothing to ease his heart rate as he watched you from across the room. you’d been driving him insane since he was fifteen, and at twenty one, the man could barely breathe in your presence.

you’d been there in abu dhabi, watched him finish off his best season yet, wrapping him a hug when the race didn’t exactly go his way and affirming that you’d never been so proud of him. he knew he was in love with you, but in that moment, he knew he had to tell you, because your pride in him was what made it all seem real. the years fighting for a place, the blood, sweat and tears, the different countries that kept you both apart. you made every accomplishment seem real, because your affection was what he craved more than anything at all.

he gave you as much of himself as he could when he was home, often failing to coax you out to attend races, so when christmas eve rolled around, he knew he had to take the biggest risk of his life so far. liquid courage seemed effective, so the champagne in his glass quickly disappeared, even though the taste made him ill. it was a small price to pay to be able to finally, finally tell you that all of his lucky stars resided in your eyes.

the first problem arose when he couldn’t stop throwing back glasses of champagne. his palms were sweating, anxiety wracking him and all his nerves, the glass being raised to his lips all too easily. the second problem arose when he couldn’t actually see you anymore, eyes scanning the room in panic. the panic overtook any other sense of fear that he felt; he had to find you. the third problem arose when he eventually did.

you were sat in the back garden on the patio, giggling to yourself, as wasted as he was. you smiled goofily when you saw him watching, arms outstretched. he moved to sit beside you in the cold air, and you leaned into him instantly. he froze, thawing out as soon as you looked up at him. all too easily, his arm was around your shoulder, keeping you close, warm.

“what are you laughing about, hmm?” lando asked, words sloshing together, subtlety enough that you didn’t notice. you let out another giggle in response.

“max gave me this. said we should,” you paused briefly, as if you were trying to carefully consider your words, your inebriation getting in the way. “said we should use it.” you pursed your lips, doe eyes boring into his. lando gulped.

twirling between your fingers was a sprig of mistletoe. max is a fucking bastard, lando thought. he stared down at your hands, watching the way you dropped the plant into your lap.

“and what did you tell him?” lando murmured, meeting your eyes again. his eyes were glossy, just like yours were, and he found himself strangely comfortable, at ease. more at ease than he’d been in years.

“told him that you probably don’t want to kiss me underneath the mistletoe.” your smile faltered ever so slightly but you kept up your teasing facade. he knew he had to go for it, now or never.

“you’re right, i don’t.” lando started, watching your eyebrows narrow, a flash of hurt striking your features that was invisible to the untrained eye. way to be blunt. “i don’t want our first kiss to be part of some tacky christmas tradition.”

he dipped his forehead down against yours, the alcohol leading the way as he waited for you to process his words, your lips parting in an ‘oh’ as it dawned on you.

“lando-“ you sounded panicked. he ignored it.

“can i?” he whispered, begging.

you broke free from under his arm, standing to your feet, wobbling as you scurried across the patio to create some distance.

“you can’t just- lando, we can’t. you can’t do that to me.” you were flustered, genuinely distraught.

“do what? let you know how i feel about you?” he tried to mask his the hurt in his voice but it was impossible.

“no. no! you can’t do that.”

“and why not? why can’t i?”

“because it’s not fair!”

-

once bitten, and twice shy

i keep my distance, but you still catch my eye

“because it’s not fair!”

your words from last year stabbed him through the heart as he walked in the room. her tight grip on his arm did nothing to stop his eyes from finding you instantly in the crowded room. he told himself that he hated you, sometimes, just to make it easier. it wasn’t true, no matter how much he wished it was, a fact made glaringly clear by the way his eyes hooked onto you in that dangerous red dress. how dare you turn up here like that? how dare you make him think about you when he was here with her?

lando was certain that you didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fair’.

it was like a sickness, the way he constantly had an eye on you all evening. it was bittersweet, having you here. he was furious that you’d dare to come, but also the sight of you, a whole year on, seemed to take the weight off of his chest.

he watched you talk to max, curiosity taking over, but he barely had time to process the sight, a hand slipping into his.

“dance with me, baby.” he couldn’t say no to her, so he pulled her close and went along with it. he didn’t let you out of his sight, watching you from the corner of his eye as he swayed with her.

lando could feel your eyes on him, burning holes in his relationship. he felt undeniably uncomfortable, fake smile on his face while she whispered in his ear. the guilt wracked him. she’d been a distraction, a welcome one, and now it was serious. too serious. but at least it was easy, and he felt like he deserved easy, after what you’d put him through.

he didn’t get to watch you for long, your red dress trailing behind you as you stormed away from max, disappearing from lando’s view, empty glass discarded.

lando dropped her hands.

-

you hunched over the sink, letting the sobs ricochet off the walls. you’d tried to be quiet, breathe your way through it, but that seemed futile and you just let the tears take over, numbing you.

max was right. how was this working out for you? it wasn’t, not one bit. you had nothing, no one, and lando had it all, with someone that wasn’t you. you couldn’t blame him for moving on from you, you couldn’t blame him for your unhappiness, not when it was your own doing. you could have had everything with him that she did, and you’d thrown it down the drain.

a long, hard look in the mirror told you that your makeup was somewhat still in tact, the tears finally agreeing to a ceasefire. you were smart to have worn waterproof mascara, you knew it would come in handy. you ran your fingers through your hair, tidying yourself up, hands dragging down your sides to smooth out your dress. once you were sure you didn’t look like a train wreck, you took a deep breath, unlocking the door and peering into the hallway. you wished you’d stayed weeping in the small room.

there she fucking was. her.

her eyes locked on yours in the empty corridor, anxiety pooling in the pit of your stomach. her face softened, an audible gulp signalling from the other woman. except she wasn’t the other woman, she was his only woman.

“i’m sorry, i can find another bathroom.” she murmured, her voice sugar and spice, angelic. she seemed nice. for fuck sake.

there was no way she didn’t know who you were, the way she seemed on edge, fiddling with the silver bracelet on her wrist. i bet he gave her that. you shook your head of the thought, stepping out into the hallway.

“oh, no, no. that’s fine, uh, sorry, here, um, i’ll just go.” you rambled, heels clacking awkwardly on the hardwood floor as you floundered your escape.

“wait! um, i hope that this isn’t hard for you.” she was sincere, so, so sincere, and it made you sick. why couldn’t she be the bitch you’d painted her out to be in your head?

“does he make you happy? is he happy?” you rushed the words out, embarrassed. say no. say no!

she just looked at you, head tilted. more fucking sympathy. it told you everything you needed to know. you nodded your head in forced understanding and turned on your heel.

-

now i know what a fool i’ve been,

but if you kiss me now i know you’d fool me again

“thought i might find you here.” he sounded the same. his voice warmed you up, but the deja vu hit and suddenly you were ice cold again. you were back on that damn patio and he’d found you once again.

“well, here i am.” you replied, sinking into the silence. you wrung your hands nervously, avoiding eye contact.

“didn’t think you’d come.” he was blunt, straightforward. it was better like that.

“you and me, both.” you laughed humourlessly, watching the way his shoulders slumped.

“how are you?” he asked softly, awkwardly. “you look beautiful.” he blurted.

“oh, just fantastic. heard you tried to grow a beard.” you bit back, as sarcastic as ever, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush spreading across your cheeks. it was nostalgic for him, and he would have smiled if it wasn’t for the sadness in your voice.

he couldn’t help but scoff, and you finally met his eyes at the sound, your own narrowing.

“if you’ve got something to say, then say it, lando.”

“it didn’t need to be like this.”

“don’t say that when your girlfriends on the other side of that wall.” you stood from the bench, gesturing at the house.

“it’s true, though. you know it is.” he didn’t take his eyes off of you, his entire focus honed in on you. you deserved it, this onslaught from him. the wound you’d caused clearly hadn’t healed.

“of course i do. it’s all my fault, i know it is.” you spoke desperately, voice breaking, laced with shame.

“do you miss me?” he stepped towards you, closing in.

“do you miss me?” you echoed. both questions were equally as unfair.

“i try not to. every day. but i know i shouldn’t, it’s pathetic.” his voice was raw with emotion, the very same way it had been last year, and your heart thudded inside its cage.

“why is it pathetic?” you whispered. he was close enough to hear you perfectly, now. your breath hitched.

“because you didn’t want me.”

-

“it’s not fair?” lando felt his eyebrows furrow, confused. what wasn’t fair?

“no it’s not.” you said quietly, voice wavering.

“what? what’s not fair?” he was confused, the alcohol and your caginess being a deadly combination.

“you being gone, me being here. c’mon, lando, it wouldn’t work.” you explained, eyes welling up with tears as you spoke. he had never imagined this conversation going so horribly wrong. he’d replayed what this moment would be like over and over and over again, and now that it was here, it was gut wrenching. it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“yes it could. if you want me, this, it could work.” he reasoned. he was firm, this was his only chance. he had to get you to listen to him.

you were quiet, unmoving in your spot across from him. he took another risk. what more was there to lose at this point? he closed the gap between you both slowly, inching closer and closer until your toes touched, and your chests bumped with every breath.

“stop me. if you don’t want me to do this, then stop me.” lando was clear, searching your eyes for any hesitation. your soft nod was enough to convince him to close the gap.

kissing you was relief. it was getting out of the car after a long race, coming home, winning a round of golf. it was sunshine, ethereal, something he’d happily do for the rest of his life. you kissed him back with the same enthusiasm, your hands in his hair, raking through the soft strands. one of his cupped your jaw, deepening the kiss, while the other rested comfortably on your waist.

your hands slid from his hair down his neck and to his chest. he sighed in content, lost in you, until a soft force pressed against his chest. you’d broken away, stumbling backwards, away from him.

“lando…”

“don’t do it.” he looked down, feeling his own eyes begin to water. he’d blame it on the bitter, bitter cold.

“it won’t work. i don’t,” you inhaled shakily. “i don’t want this.”

“you don’t want me?” lando practically whimpered, the same way a puppy would if you kicked it.

“i don’t want this.”

-

now I've found a real love

you'll never fool me again

“go back inside. go on. go back to her.” it had started to snow, frozen rain falling in chilling globs.

“is that what you really want?”

“god, lando. no. are you happy now? no, i don’t want that. i don’t want to watch you walk away. it fucking hurts.” you were crying now, the tears flowing freely.

“then don’t let me.” he looked like he would cry too, and you wouldn’t blame him. your entire relationship had built up to this moment.

“this is ridiculous. you’re with her. and i can’t watch you leave me every week. call me selfish but i can’t. i won’t.”

“then come with me. you could have always just come with me!” his voice was raised now, getting progressively higher in his aggravation.

“and uproot everything, my whole life, to follow you? lando, you don’t get it. i’ll hate you if i have to leave my life behind, and i can’t face that.”

“what do you want from me? i’ve given you options, i’ve told you what i want, something i know you want too, and yet you continue with this deflective bullshit.”

“just go back inside.” you were prepared to get on your hands and knees and beg him to go.

“i’m not doing this again. i’m not having this conversation with you ever again.” his eyes began to water and you squeezed your eyes shut. he looked broken, disheveled, pristine shirt wrinkled.

“good.” it came out emotionless.

“do us both a favour and don’t come next year.”

and with that, he left, just like you’d begged him to, your body turning into ice, veins burning as you froze. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he walked away, forever, as the snow buried you in his back garden.

you grieved him, right there, stood in the very spot that he’d kissed you the year prior. you’d never really be gone and neither would he, too intertwined and hopeless. you gasped out a sob, a cry of heartbreak, your very own christmas carol ringing out into the darkness.

-

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This clip is so funny, he was FIFTEEN at the moment, winning in F4 and he couldn’t reach the podium

Jealous biker lando being over protective of waitress reader 👀

Dangerous Territory ── biker!lando x waitress!reader ✧.*

The diner hums with its usual late-night rhythm. The faint clatter of cutlery, the buzz of conversation, and the smell of frying bacon and coffee fill the air. You’re moving from table to table, a practiced smile on your lips as you top off mugs and serve plates. It’s late, and your shift is dragging, but it’s familiar, comforting in a way. The neon lights from the diner’s sign outside cast a soft glow over the checkered floors, painting everything in a warm, nostalgic light.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Lando in his usual booth, sitting with his back to the wall, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He’s always there at the end of your shifts, watching you, not in an overbearing way but in a protective, silent kind of presence. His leather jacket creaks as he leans back, his dark eyes tracking your movements with a kind of lazy interest. The dim lighting throws shadows across his sharp jawline, making him look even more dangerous than usual. He doesn’t need to say much; just his being there is enough to let everyone know you’re not alone.

You try not to focus on him too much, knowing that whenever your eyes meet, something sparks in the air between you. But it’s hard not to notice him, sitting there like a storm waiting to break, his motorcycle parked just outside, ready to whisk you away once you’ve clocked out.

As you move back to the counter, you feel someone’s eyes on you—a different kind of stare. A guy at the counter, someone you haven’t seen before, grins at you as you set a plate of food down in front of him. His smile is too wide, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than you’d like as you bring him his food. “Another burger and chips,” you say politely, sliding the plate in front of him, already moving to step back when he decides to lean in.

“You work here every night, darling?” His words are slurred but sharp enough to make your stomach turn. His eyes rake over you, from your waist up to your face, and the sleazy grin spreading across his lips sends a chill through you.

You force a smile, trying to keep things professional. “Most nights,” you reply curtly, turning away to tend to the next table, but his voice follows you, dripping with entitlement.

“You’re too pretty for a place like this,” he says, louder now, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. “How about you finish up here and I take you somewhere nice, eh? Bet you’ve never been treated right.” His voice greasy, oozing with an unwanted familiarity.

You freeze, fingers tightening around the coffee pot in your hand, trying to keep calm. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say through gritted teeth, praying he’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

But, of course, he doesn’t. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly. How about I get your number?” He leans further over the counter, and now you can feel his breath on your skin, the stench of beer making your stomach churn.

You’re about to respond when you feel a shift in the air, a prickle of tension that’s unmistakable. Lando’s watching. And this time, he’s not staying in his booth.

From where you stand, you can see the change in everyone else—the way conversations pause, forks freeze mid-bite, and even the jukebox seems to fade into the background.

Lando’s not rushing. He never does. He walks with purpose, slow and steady, his boots thudding against the tiled floor with a deliberate weight. His leather jacket is half-zipped, the collar up, his eyes locked on the bloke at the counter with a look that could kill.

You’re caught between wanting to stop him and knowing better. Lando’s never been one to start trouble, but he doesn’t shy away from it either, especially not when it comes to you.

The guy at the counter seems blissfully unaware of the impending storm, too caught up in his own delusions of charm. “What d’you say, love? You can do better than this place, yeah?”

Before you can open your mouth, Lando steps up behind you, his chest almost brushing your back as he positions himself between you and the counter. His presence feels like a shield, his hand lightly grazing your waist, a silent gesture that says, I’ve got this.

“You’ve got about three seconds to leave,” Lando says quietly, his voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine. The kind of tone that promises hell if the bloke doesn’t listen.

The man’s smile falters for the first time, but he tries to laugh it off. “Oi, mate, no need to get all worked up. We’re just having a bit of fun, yeah?” His eyes flick between you and Lando, clearly trying to assess if this is worth pushing.

Lando doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “I’m not your mate,” he growls, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “And she’s not interested. So, unless you want to be picking up your teeth from the floor, I suggest you leave.”

There’s a pause, thick with tension. Lando’s arm brushes against yours, a small but significant reminder that you’re not alone in this. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to do more, but his presence alone is enough to make the guy back down, finally clocking just how dangerous Lando is. He mutters something under his breath—something about not wanting trouble—and then fumbles to grab his jacket, to throw some money on the counter before practically tripping over his stool in his haste to leave. The bell jingles as it swings shut behind him, and the quiet that follows is almost deafening.

You exhale slowly, the knot in your stomach finally loosening. Lando’s hand lingers on your waist for a moment longer before he turns slightly, looking down at you. His jaw is still tight, his eyes softer now but still flickering with the remnants of protective rage.

“You alright?” His voice is gentler now, his thumb brushing your side.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, thanks”

Lando’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the intensity melting away now that the guy is gone. His hand moves to your waist, fingers brushing gently over your hip in a way that feels more like a reassurance than anything else. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with protectiveness. “Bloke’s lucky I didn’t deck him.”

You laugh softly, though there’s a hint of truth in his words that makes you shiver. “You didn’t have to get up, I could’ve handled it.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, but why let you when I’m right here?” he teases lightly, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t deny the flutter in your chest at how easily he steps in when you need him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says with a grin, tugging you just a little closer before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His hand lingers on your waist as if he can’t bring himself to let go, even as you pull away to get back to work.

As you return to your shift, you can still feel Lando’s eyes on you, that quiet, protective presence watching over you from his booth. And though the diner’s back to its usual buzz, you feel safer, knowing Lando’s never far, ready to step in the moment you need him.

—

read After Hours here

It’s always “evil Superman!!!!” this, or “villain justice league!!!” that.

I want an AU of villain! Bruce who’s absolutely dog-shit at being evil.

Firstly: The worst thing he can think of doing is not donating to animal shelters or charities . immediately feels so guilty he throws up.

Secondly: The second a child cries because of him, he’d freeze up. Stand like a statue, unmoving and petrified. No more evil, but just today.

He ends up helping the city by accident more often than not, and to his immortal disappointment, Gotham loves both the Bat and Bruce Wayne.

“alfred come look at my evil plan”

“Yes, sir, “ Alfred is very indulgent. He does his best to pretend it’s actually good. “ ‘Don’t say please to the barista’. Getting bold, are we?”

EVERYTIME He and Clark meet and Bruce monologues about pulverizing him to dust, Clark (and the League) looks at him like this:

“I can make him worse,” GOOD FOR YOU!!! Clark can make him into his malewife and adopt his 7 evil sidekicks who actually know how to villain. Especially the little one.

i feel the very feminine urge to reblog this

“Bring back cunty F1”

Y’all can’t even handle Max Verstappen

FERAL

HUGH JACKMAN as LOGAN HOWLETT/WOLVERINE X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) dir. Gavin Hood