#london hen night

[londonhenpartyideas]

Hen party ideas in London and Brighton

Hen dance party ideas in London www.facebook.com/londonbellydancer

www.BellydanceParty.com

[londonsopranoactress]

London Samba dancer in London

Available in London, Buckinghamshire and Berkshire.

Hen party ideas. See website.

www.bellydanceparty.com

www.facebook.com/londonbellydancer

[londonbellydancersandrine]

Free bellydance classes

South London belly dance classes

[oceantornadoo]

ch4 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: some mild dubcon groping but reader is into it she just hates him. (or does she????)

masterlist | next

Your mother doesn’t come to your wedding, understandably so. Her lack of presence makes the day seem less real. However, one Johnny MacTavish decides to become the Scottish mother hen you’ve been missing.

“Everyone decent in ‘ere?” A chorus of yeses ring out. Johnny opens the door to the bridal dressing room with a smile, looking suave in his tuxedo. “Shite, was hopin’ to sneak a look.” He winks at your nearest cousin and she flutters her eyes. Even as a married man, Johnny likes to flirt and fluster women. It helps hide his marriage to Simon and provides you with much entertainment.

“How’s the blushin’ bride?”

He walks over to your vanity, taking in your bridal makeup and hairdo. Johnny whistles low, reaching out to ruffle your hair, which you stop by smacking him. “The bride is hungover and not in the mood.” He shrugs, then takes a sip of your champagne on the vanity desk. “Y’r fault fer doin’ a hen do the night before. Nice job slippin’ the hag, though.” It’s your codename for Aunt Riley. She’s always been suspicious of him and Simon, making little comments here and there that have put her on his shitlist over the years.

“Thanks. I can say, the London nightlife didn’t disappoint. I might throw up at the altar though.” He snorts and takes a seat in the empty chair next to you. “Price was pissed last night. Called Simon while we were mid-” You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t finish that sentence. As far as I’m concerned, you guys haven’t even kissed.” Johnny licks your hand, making you squeal. “Can’t believe he called Simon like I’m a little kid and not a grown woman.”

Johnny doesn’t answer, instead popping a chocolate-covered strawberry offered by a passing waitress into his mouth. She’s been the one supplying you with Gatorade until you switched the champagne half an hour ago. Can’t believe the bridal suite has a waitress. John Price is too rich for his own good.

“The Shepherd family’s gettin’ bolder. Can’t blame ‘im fer not wantin’ ya to die before the weddin’. Would be bad publicity.” You scoff. It might be true, but John has never seemed too concerned about your health. Except that night in the park, when- never mind.

“Ya nervous?” Johnny asks. You shake your head. “Trying not to think about it. I’m more focused on not tripping in front of multiple mafia families. I’d never live it down.” He smiles, then squeezes your knee over your white dressing gown. The look he gives you is too knowing and you hate it. Instead of holding his gaze, you turn to the mirror and will any stray tears away. “You probably need to go soon. I think they’re putting me in my dress in a few minutes.” He nods, dark eyes full of understanding.

“Ya look real bonnie, doe. Gonna make a beautiful bride.” You nod, swallowing down the thickness in your throat. “Thanks, Johnny. You look handsome in your pink bowtie.” It’s the same color as the bridesmaid dresses, a horrid shade your aunt insisted on. He winks, then rises out of his chair. Johnny squeezes your shoulder, then kisses the crown of your hair like Tommy used to do. “Simon’ll walk ya down the aisle. I’ll see ya on the other side.” And just like that, he’s gone.

-

“You know you’ve turned my life upside down in only a week, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know a small part of me will always blame you for it?”

“I know.” Simon sighs.

It’s five minutes before the ceremony. You’re all dolled up in your poofy dress with perfect makeup and a bouquet in hand. A phantom weight is heavy on your left finger, waiting for the ring you tried on only a few days ago.

“Ya know I’ll always be sorry yer father is mine.” Simon murmurs. You nod stiffly, swallowing down any emotion as you look at the closed church doors in front of you. The ones that will open in a few minutes, leading your path down the aisle and to your new husband.

“I didn’t have to come back. I could have hung up on you all those years ago.”

“I know.”

“I think a small part of me wishes I had.” You whisper, like a confession. He takes your free hand and wraps it in his own. “But I think a bigger part would do it all over again.” Simon squeezes your interlaced fingers.

“Best thing tha’ ever happened t’ me, ya know that?” Your smile is weak, eyes watery as you catch his gaze. “What about Johnny?” He smiles under the mask. “Tha’s a different category, love.” You laugh, small and hollow. 

This feels like goodbye. You know it’s not, you’ll only be 200 miles away, but you’re both aware of the new boundaries around this marriage. London will be your home now, and any visit to Manchester will have to be approved, and probably accompanied, by John. That’s all it’ll be - a visit. A few days at most, doing the rounds and seeing friends and family. You’ll never live there again, never run your bookshop, never chat with regulars, never- you stop that line of thinking before you ruin your makeup.

“If he hurts ya, you call me.” You nod, but that’s not enough for Simon. A gloved hand tips your chin in his direction, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll call me. An’ Johnny if I don’t answer.” You nod again, firmly, which finally satisfies Simon.

“C’mere.” You hug your big brother with all your might. He’s careful, turning your face to the side so you don’t ruin your makeup. His hands tighten around your shoulders while yours can barely wrap around his torso. He’s always wearing suits but this one feels different, more structured and finely woven.

“Simon, are you wearing designer?” He stiffens, pushing you off him as you start laughing. “‘M alway wearin’ designer, comes with the job.” You shake your head vehemently. “No, you’re always wearing Fred Perry. This fabric is fancy, it’s like Dolce and Gabbana.” Your brother decidedly does not answer.

“Simon! Are you wearing Dolce to my wedding? Are you trying to upstage the bride?!” Only you, his all-knowing sister, would be able to tell he’s blushing under his mask. In an uncharacteristic move, he scratches the nape of his neck, looking off to the side like he’s suddenly interested in church architecture. “Johnny picked it out.” You slap his arm and he moves to ruffle your hair, before remembering it’s in a fancy wedding do. “You’re an absolute git, this is completely unfair. I demand you go to the nearest mall and pick something off the rack.” That comment finally dismisses the dark cloud that’s been hanging over you, sending you two into a laughing fit. 

“I wish Tommy was here. He’dve torched that suit.” His eyes crinkle in a sad smile. “I know, love. I know.” Simon kisses your forehead and you lean into his shoulder, wishing the moment would never end.

But all good things must.

A frazzled assistant, one of your Aunt Riley’s minions, practically sprints over to you. “Doors,” he wheezes, “doors opening in thirty seconds.” And just like that, he’s gone. Probably a cake emergency or something of the sort.

“Do I look okay?” You take one last glimpse in a nearby mirror. You’re wearing a traditional veil, something Simon turns up over your head to hide your face. Despite the hideous dress, the rest of your look turned out quite nice. The flowers are decent, your makeup looks great, and you were even allowed to pick out your own jewelry. A win is a win.

“Most beautiful bride th’ church’s ever seen.” Simon puts out his arm like a gentleman, letting you wrap your own around it. “I love you, Si.” He takes a second, and you swear he’s holding back tears. “Love ya too, kid.”

-

Most of the ceremony passes in a blur.

Lots of flowery words, preaching about commitments you’d rather not think about. Some scripture or Latin thrown in there, but you’re really not paying attention. You’re more concerned with the man in front of you.

Your veil is a little sheer, allowing you to see him in all his groom glory. His eyes are dark, fixated on yours, and you’d be an idiot not to notice how handsome he looks. His tuxedo is sharp, and he’s got a flower tucked into the pocket. A heliotrope, a purple that matches well with the pink bridesmaid dresses. A half memory comes to you, something about heliotropes and eternal devotion, but you tuck that away under your might be mad box.

Finally, it comes to the vows. You haven’t written any and neither has John, instead deciding to use the olden ones. It frightens you, to have this surly man swear you such promises.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

He takes off your veil and you swear his breath hitches. It’s just a split second, but the muscle of his throat freezes and you’re captivated by how manly he looks. All bitter thoughts of enemies can be paused for a moment, you reason.

“You may now kiss the bride.” And he does.

It is not a polite kiss. You don’t know why you thought it would be.

He’s hungry. He catches the small of your back in one hand and your waist in the other, dipping you back in a picture perfect moment. His lips devour yours, delivering small bites and licks before pulling back so suddenly you think you’ve imagined it. You blink and you’re standing, your hand wrapped in John’s, as you look out at the cheering crowd. Mr. and Mrs. John Price.

-

You try to avoid John during the reception, which takes place in the backyard of the local country club. It’s hard to do when you’re supposed to thank everyone as a couple. You greet mafia and community leaders and business owners and politicians, all with the same sweet smile and John’s hand on your back. Do they know this was arranged? It’s hard to tell from the venomous sincerity dripping from their foaming mouths, eyes scanning the four-carat rock on your hand like it’s a prize to be won.

At least you’ve been allowed to change into a lighter dress. The reception dress is shorter, falling respectably right above your knees with long sleeves and a low back. Not low enough to show off the temporary tramp stamp smudged on your back. You keep the veil in, a cute detail that the inner little girl in you adores. If only this was a wedding you wanted.

Thankfully, champagne is in constant supply. You must have drunk at least four flutes now. That, plus your lack of food due to your hangover, makes you sway. John, who has not spoken to you directly at all since maiming your lips at the altar, notices. He tugs you away from the crowd, finding a secluded bench tucked away behind a tree. It reminds you of the garden you met him in a few nights ago.

“Thank god. One more sweaty handshake and I would have keeled over.” You murmur, mostly to yourself. He grunts, taking a seat next to you on the bench and loosening his tie.

“Who said you could sit next to me?” Uh oh. Drunk you is talking.

“‘S gonna be like that? We’re barely five minutes in, sweetheart.” He drags a hand down his face in an exhausted and adorable manner. No. This is the enemy. You must remind the both of you of that fact.

“You’re the enemy.” You poke him sternly in the shoulder, which sort of ruins the effortless effect you were going for. “You finally gonna tell me wha’ I did t’ you? Or is this our next ten years?” You frown at his words, crossing your hands over your chest. He’s acting like you did something wrong, not him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see John avert his gaze as you inevitably (and accidentally) push up your tits. Interesting.

“You ruined my life.” He barks out a laugh. “‘Ve ruined a lot of people’s lives. Need ya t’ be more specific.” Instead of answering, you slide down awkwardly into the grass beneath you, leaning your head back on the bench. It’s nighttime now and the only thing in the sky is the North Star. John’s star.

“You told my father I was a weakness and,” you hiccup, “and you told him to send me away. And lookwherethatgotme…” You trail off, eyes fluttering. Your eyes feel a thousand times heavier than normal, and everything hits you at once. Your lack of sleep from your night out, the stress of the day, the emotional conversations - they all boil over like a pot on the stove. “Think I’m gonna sleep now…” John hums, still next to you, and you drift off to the sound.

-

When you wake up, your head is throbbing. Why are you sitting on grass? There’s a suit jacket covering your front, keeping you warm from the night’s chill. Your neck throbs from laying back on the stone bench. There’s a stink in the air, a nasty smell, and when you turn to your right, you see your new husband smoking. Jacketless.

“Nice nap?” You nod, embarrassment coursing through your veins like a drug. “How long was I out?” He flicks the ash of his cigar onto the grass. “Long ‘nough people thought we were consummatin’ the marriage.” Oh. That was…not something you needed to think about.

“You feelin’ sober? Remember anythin’ you said?” You shake your head. Unbeknownst to you, John is frowning. The last few hours are a blur, a black spot in your memory. There’s still alcohol in your body, but a headache is starting to form as well. 

“Let’s get some food in ya. Can’t have my new wife droppin’ dead at the weddin’.” You let him help you up, slipping on his jacket to cover the grass stains on your dress. That’s the only reason you don’t take it off.

-

The rest of the night gets easier. Dinner saves you, but then Johnny’s putting drinks in your hands and your cousins are pulling you to the dance floor. You have an emotional dance with Simon, a not-so emotional one with John, and then you’re passed to a slew of people to make nice with. 

It’s 2am when the party finally settles down. People have gone home, thankfully including your aunt, and you say your goodbyes. John takes you back to the Ritz, a silent, quick car ride. You’re thankful for the quiet but confused all the same. The air is charged, like you just had an argument and lost. Is he mad? Regretting this? You don’t know him enough to tell, and that irks you.

The elevator takes you to the penthouse this time. Only the best for the king of London. John stands beside you, no hand on your back. It’s entirely businesslike: the walk to the room, shutting yourself in the bathroom, donning pajamas and a dressing gown. You would shower, but you need to finish your routine at the vanity.

If this were a real wedding, maybe he would have carried you in his arms over the threshold. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off you, ravishing you in the entryway. Maybe he’d whisper in your ear, “Mrs. Price”.

Instead of that fantasy, you’re tipsy and angry about the fact that you are now Mrs. Price. Maybe that’s why you say it.

“I’m not a virgin.” You’re at the vanity, taking out the mountains of jewelry that pour out of every crevice of your body. It’s the last thing to remove before the weight of your wedding is off your shoulders. The mirror is giant, big enough so you can see John stop unbuttoning his shirt when you say the words. “You’re not?” You shake your head. He frowns. “Might as well send ya back now, get my money, and-,” he stops. Maybe it’s because you’re staring hard at his reflection. You don’t even like him, but the champagne and sting of rejection cut deep.

“Was jokin’, sweetheart. Didn’t expect you t’ be a virgin. Too much pressure, honestly.” Oh. Oh. He’s always called you sweetheart, spit it out like poison designed to kill. This is the first time he’s said it kindly and your heart curls around the word like a sleepy cat. Which will absolutely not do.

“Will make it easier, I reckon. ‘S a tight fit.” He winks jokingly and you scoff at his insinuation. He’s being oddly jovial, a 180 from the car ride, and you need to ruin this truce before it becomes permanent. 

“Sure, that’s probably what your exes have said. It was probably a ‘tight fit’ because they weren’t wet, John. Ever heard of foreplay? F-o-r-e-p-l-a-y, look it up. I expect-”, except you don’t get to tell him your expectations because he’s shut you up with a calloused hand around your throat. It’s not violent and you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but the shock factor hits its target.

“Yer used t’ yer brother an’ his men, crude jokes an’ the like. I get it. But I demand respect an’ you’ll respect your husband now. Got it?” He isn’t blocking your airway, just holding your throat with his hand like a collar around it. He stands behind you with his unbuttoned shirt, giving you a glimpse of his hairy torso, hard with muscle. “The same way you respect me?” You mutter. He straightens in the mirror, his hand loose. A thumb caresses your jawbone, one stroke then two, before he pulls it away completely like it never happened. “I’m tryin’ to. Let’s agree on that, yeah?” You nod stiffly, sobered and treading with cautious feet. Is this how he’ll be? Acting like a military captain, an all-consuming force?

“And, sweetheart.” He grabs your free hand, the one lying on the desk. His large paw engulfs your own, bringing it to the outline of his cock in his boxers. You can feel the weight of him and, against your will, you squeeze. He’s thick, no, girthy. The fabric is thin, allowing you to feel the ridges of his cock, the veins, and its shape. Your hand acts of its own accord, sliding down until your thumb brushes the mushroomed tip. His cock twitches in your hand and you jump in your seat, snatching your hand away like it’s on fire. His chuckle is low and bruising, a damning caress. 

“Thought so.” And your new husband walks away. 

When you toss your silk dressing gown into the hamper for housekeeping, neither of you comment on the wet spot that’s soaked through. That’s the closest you get to consummating your marriage tonight.

-

i dont care if this is in london, im using miles. deal with it

-

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[clarkeyhill]

☁️Stag Do | George Clarke

[ George is on his stag do with the boys, you're at home as your hen do isn't until next week, as the night goes on the alcohol hits George and he starts to miss you, wishing you were with him; one comment from his friend results in him leaving early to come home to you]

It's around 7pm and you're on the sofa watching your favourite film once again, cuddled up with a hot water bottle and snacks when you receive a text from George.

Geo🩵: "miss you x"

You let out a small smile as you read his text message, no matter where he is, who he's with or what he's doing, you always know there's a thought of you lingering in his mind.

You: "miss you too cutie, having fun x?" You reply

Geo🩵: "yeah but it'd be better if you were here x"

You: "you'll be home soon, enjoy your night, you've got me for the rest of your life remember x"

Geo🩵: "I'm the luckiest guy alive x" he replies

You heart react his message, leaving him to enjoy his night. Flicking through Netflix as you await his return home. As the night progresses George can't help but think about you, feeling a tinge of sadness wash over him as there's nobody in the world he'd rather be with than you right now. He nurses his pint as he stares into space, zoning out sounding out the noise from the bar. Chris notices his absence to the group and decides to say something "hey mate you okay?" He says looking at George with furrowed brows "yeah mate, just missing y/n you know? She just completes everything" he says with a small smile on his face, Chris laughs "mate this is your last night of freedom, focus on something else" he says, George's face scrunches in disbelief of Chris' words. "Why would I want to focus on something else? You're all talking to girls and I'm sat here missing MY girl because you lot wanted to fetch me to a stupid bar in London, I'm off home" he scoffs necking his drink and grabbing his jacket.

"Are you serious? We're all out here for you, leave her at home for a change it won't hurt" Chris retorts, George clocks the comment "it might not hurt her, but it's hurting me, SHE has persisted I stay out and enjoy my night, it's ME that wants to go and see her, I'd rather spend my days at home with her than snake my way around girls in sweaty London bar, talk to me when you're sober" George hisses and with that he leaves, calling an Uber to your flat.

You head to the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate before ending your film, the clock strikes 9pm and you feel your eyes getting a little tired. You stir your cup when you hear the front door creak open, it's George. You peek round the corner confused hot chocolate in clutch "George?" You call out, his face appears around the corner "hey baby, got one of those for me?" He says with a smile on his face shuffling over. You set your cup down on the counter and look at him confused "why are you home so early?" You say as he snakes his arms around your waist. "I missed you too much" he says planting a kiss onto your lips with a sweet smile attatched "but it's your night you should be-" he cuts you off "enjoying myself? Yeah, I did and now I'm coming home to enjoy myself with you, cuddled in bed with a film on, I don't need the nightlife anymore y/n, you're my nightlife" he says to you looking at you with doe eyes, smitten for you.

You let out a smile as you hand him your hot chocolate you'd just made "here have this, I'll make another are you hungry?" You ask him shuffling over to the kitchen counter "I could eat" he says walking over to the sofa "it's a good job I've just ordered pizza then isn't it" you say chuckling to yourself as you boil the kettle, admiring George as he picks out a film to watch. You couldn't help but feel a sense of safety develop inside of you, a feeling you've never felt in a relationship before; the way George prioritises you in every aspect, his kindness and caring manner towards you.

"I can't wait to marry you" you say sitting down next to him as you rest your head on his shoulder. "I can't wait either" he says kissing the side of your head.

-

🫶🏻

@arthurhillmastermind

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

JOHN BUCKLAND WRIGHT

This week we present the four wood engravings by the New Zealander/English painter and printmaker John Buckland Wright (1897–1954) for the Golden Cockerel Press 1936-1943 bibliography, Pertelote, A Sequel to Chanticleer, printed in London by the Press's co-owners at the time Christopher Sandford and Owen Rutter.

The Golden Cockerel Press issued four bibliographies of its publications, titling them after cockerel-related things: Chanticleer in 1936; Pertelote in 1943; Cockalorum in 1948; Cock-a-Hoop in 1961. Chanticleer, or Chauntecleer, is the name of the proud rooster in "The Nun's Priest's Tale" from Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, who "like the burned gold was his colour." This bibliography covered the Press's first 112 publications from 1921-1936. Pertelote covers 43 more books published during the war years 1936-1943 and named after the favorite of Chanticleer's seven hen-wives, Pertelote, whom Chanticleer "loved her so that well was him therewith."

John Buckland Wright was one of the most frequent illustrators of Golden Cockerel works from 1936 until his death in 1954. The figure on the title page in the first image shown here is the Golden Cockerel pressmark from The Vigil of Venus: Pervigilium Veneris printed in 1939. The border on the title page, plus the next two prints, are from Love Night. A Laotian Gallantry by E. Powys Mathers, printed in 1936 with 15 wood engravings by Buckland Wright. The final engraving of a cockerel in a WWII gas mask reading a Golden Cockerel Press book is the pressmark cut by Buckland Wright specifically for this bibliography.

Our copy of Pertelote is another donation from our late friend Jerry Buff (1931-2025).

View posts of other works illustrated by John Buckland Wright.

View more posts on Golden Cockerel Press editions.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[holllandtrash]

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 4)

pariring: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 4 in the 6 to 1 series (read part 3 here)

you and lando have gotten so used to each other in such a short amount of time that a few days apart feels unnatural. there are still lines you're scared to cross, but lando will do anything to prove he's not going anywhere

word count: 6.2k tags/warnings: social media au aspects, alcohol consumption

You jumped when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders as you stood outside the hotel lobby doors. Usually it was Carlos finding any reason to scare you, but when you didn’t hear his laughter following your panicked inhale, you turned around and came face to face with Lando.

“Morning,” he smiled, eyeing the suitcase at your feet. “What time’s your flight?”

You were a little surprised he didn’t call you out for leaving without saying goodbye, but you both knew you didn’t owe him that. Whatever happened last night, the kiss you shared, it wasn’t supposed to turn into anything bigger.

You glanced at your phone, “In a few hours, I’m just waiting for the uber.”

“You’re not flying with Charles?”

The question confused you, but then you remembered that Lando was probably expecting you to attend all of the races. You had only missed a few since the start of the season and Lando had gotten used to your presence over the weekends.

“I’m going to London,” you told him. “I’m not going to the next race.”

Lando’s smile dropped, his eyes widened and was in resemblance to a puppy as we waited for you to make a joke and tell him you were only kidding.

But you were being serious and when neither of you said anything for a few seconds, it sunk in for Lando that he wouldn’t see you at all this week. 

“Why?” He swallowed. “I mean, at the risk of sounding needy, can I ask why?”

Lando thought he had done something. 

Seeing you standing with your luggage, Lando drew his own conclusion that he had done something wrong last night. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you, maybe he shouldn’t have asked about why you didn’t date drivers, maybe he shouldn’t have put you in the position you now found yourself in. 

You needed to ease his nerves, and the second you reached for his face, lightly brushing your thumb over his cheek, Lando started to think that maybe he was overreacting. 

“My friend is getting married,” you answered. “Her hen party is this weekend. The wedding takes place next. And then I’m probably just going to stay in London until Silverstone because it’s the weekend after anyway.”

Lando nodded and you could see him working through the dates in his mind, wondering when he’d get to see you next. It would be almost three weeks. 

But it wasn’t like he had a say in the matter. He would miss you, just like you would find yourself missing him, but you didn’t have any sort of commitment to him or the races. Lando almost felt as though he didn’t have the right to tell you that he wanted you to be there. 

“Where are you staying?” He asked, instead of saying what he really wanted to say. “In London?”

“Oh I don’t know yet,” your phone chimed, letting you know the uber was nearby. “I’ll call one of my friends when I land or I’ll get an airbnb. I’ll figure it out.”

Lando was taken aback by how unprepared you were, but if you were being honest, most of your travel plans were usually booked by someone else. Charles’ assistant made sure you had a room booked and transportation sorted out when you attended the races. If you ever travelled for modelling jobs, the agency would plan ahead. This was one of the few times when you were in charge of your own trip.

And clearly, that stressed Lando out a bit.

“You’re just going to land in Heathrow and hope that someone has a spare room for you?” Lando repeated back what you had told him, but making it sound more preposterous than it actually was. 

You shrugged, “I mean, yeah. Someone’s bound to. Or I’ll get an airbnb.”

“A last minute rental in the heart of London?” Again, he was wording it in a way that was making you second guess your decision. “That’s available for the next three weeks?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Lando rolled his eyes, rubbing his hand over his face. He was in very visible distress and when his sigh was loud enough for people nearby to turn and look at what was going on, you pushed on his shoulder.

“Lando, I’ll be fine,” you assured him with a laugh. 

But he only shook his head and pulled out his phone, “I know somewhere you can stay. I’ll send you the address and key code and everything.”

“In London?”

“Redcliffe Square,” he clarified. You didn’t spend a lot of time in London, but you were familiar with that borough, nestled between Kensington and Chelsea, two of the most expensive areas in the entire city.

“Who’s place is it?” You asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t, don’t worry.”

“But whose place is it?” You asked again. Your phone vibrated in your hands and you glanced at the screen to see that Lando had sent you all of the information you needed to access the flat. 

“A friend’s,” he glanced over your shoulder when a black SUV pulled up along the curb. “He isn’t even in London. You can use the place for the next few weeks, okay?”

You weren’t fully sold on the idea, but with your uber arriving, there wasn’t much time to argue. The look you gave Lando told him you’d think about it and that’s all he could ask for. He took the luggage from you and wheeled it to the trunk of the car. 

Lando, for whatever reason, was determined to help you in any way he could. And you weren’t someone who ever needed help, but Lando did little things here and there that you hadn’t stopped to think about until now.

Like how he opened the door for you whenever he could. Taking your suitcase from you so you didn’t have to lift it. Sorting out your temporary living situation so you didn’t have to worry about it. Lando liked being able to take care of you, as much as he was allowed given the fact that you two weren’t actually together.

He shut the trunk again and returned to you, shoulders slummed as he took in a heavy breath. He looked at you as if he was trying to remember every detail of your face, seeing as he wouldn’t be able to just wait outside the Ferrari motorhome to see you or even show up outside your flat. 

Lando would be heading straight to Austria, in fact he had to finish packing because he too needed to go to the airport soon. 

“How am I supposed to move up your driver ranking if you’re not even watching the race?” He asked. 

“That’s on you to figure out.”

“Who’s next on your list?”

“Danny Ric.”

Lando’s eye roll could not have been bigger. It didn’t help that you were also wearing an oversized shirt from Daniels’ 2022 Ric Rodeo collection, finding it to be comfortable enough for an overseas flight. 

“Danny’s not even driving!” Lando exclaimed. “And the next race is at the Red Bull Ring. He’s going to be there!”

As a Daniel Ricciardo fan, you were looking forward to all of the content that would be coming up in preparation for the race. You were also looking forward to seeing what Lando had in mind to pass the reserve driver. With surpassing in points out of the question, Lando had to get creative.

“You’re smart, you’ll think of something.”

“You can’t just call me an oyster and then call me smart, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Fine, I’ll stick with oyster.”

“You little-” he clenched his teeth, cutting his words off. You could see him actively trying to mask his smile as his lips pressed together tightly. 

“I have a flight to catch,” you said, taking a moment to reach for his hand. You gave his fingers a squeeze, it was supposed to be a friendly gesture but one that held more meaning than just saying goodbye. 

And then Lando didn’t allow you to let go. The second he felt you pulling away, his grip tightened and he pulled you closer. Your heart started to race when his other hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t use my last 12 seconds right now?” He whispered.

You had an answer. You had about three answers, three good reasons why he shouldn’t kiss you outside the doors of the hotel. For starters, there were people that you both knew in the lobby right now and if they just looked outside they would be left with questions neither of you could answer.

Neither of you could trust employees, within Formula 1 or at the hotel, to not say anything and you didn’t need this getting back to your brothers. 

But most importantly, you didn’t want to share these moments with the world. 

If Lando kissed you again, you wanted to be able to get lost in it. You didn’t want to worry about prying eyes or being interrupted or the media finding out and spinning a story into something that it’s not. 

“Save them,” you said quietly, feeling your heart sink deeper into your chest when he nodded and dropped his arm back to his side. He let go of your hand and reached for the door to the backseat to pull it open for you. 

Lando leaned against the frame of the door, watching as you made sure you had everything that you needed for a full day of airline travel. You opened the belt bag around your waist to confirm your passport, charger and wallet was safely in there. He chuckled when it took you an extra second to find your airpods, but even if you were panicked about missing something, the way Lando looked at you was enough to ease your nerves, momentarily. 

“No daisies?” He asked, referring to the bouquet he had gotten for you last night.

“I can’t bring flowers on a plane, Lando.”

He wasn’t content with that response, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you retorted. “I guess you’ll just have to get me some more when I see you in SIlverstone.”

“Shouldn’t you be bringing me flowers? I’m the one who got a podium.” 

Lando was stalling now, he didn’t want to watch you drive off. He didn’t want to go these next few weeks knowing you weren’t anywhere nearby. You would be in two completely different countries.

“Do it again and I’ll think about it,” you flashed him a smile, the last one he’d see from you in a while, before he reluctantly shut the car door. 

You fought the urge to look out the back window and wave at him, just like he fought the urge to send you a text saying ‘have a safe flight’. Those little meaningful actions weren’t something either of you did and you knew that the second one of you crossed that line, it would be so much harder to return to where you were before. 

——————

Two flights, three naps and eight hours of podcasts later, you landed in London. You were exhausted, starving and making a mental note to call Lando and thank him for hooking you up with a place to stay because the absolute last thing you wanted to do right now was to find somewhere to sleep.

You texted Thea, your friend who was getting married and told her you landed. She responded almost immediately asking if you wanted to grab drinks but you were ready to call it a night and assured her you’d call her tomorrow. 

You were half asleep in the uber, not even caring to look out the window to make sure you were headed in the right direction. You confirmed the address that Lando sent you and closed your eyes until the driver quietly woke you up when he stopped in front of the white period building. 

The flat was stunning, you could tell that much when you stepped outside. Even with the night sky casting over it, this home was elegant and not something you could ever afford. 

Rolling your suitcase up to the front steps, you pulled your phone out to double check the numbers that Lando had sent you. You typed in a six-digit code and waited only a second for the mechanism to unlock. You pushed the door open and jumped when an alarm started going off.

It took you a moment to get your bearings and find the next text that shared the code to disarm the system, but when the house finally quieted down and you were certain there were no other codes you needed to enter, you let yourself relax.

The flat had high ceilings with period features throughout, including a beautiful marble fireplace in the living room, large windows that led out to a stunning garden view and a huge semi-open kitchen floor plan that you couldn’t wait to use when you weren’t tired.

You left the suitcase at the end of the hallway and flipped a light switch on. It wasn’t that you were trying to pry, but you scanned the general area for any photos or memorabilia that would hint at whose place this was.

Unfortunately for you, nothing stood out.

Except for the vase of daisies in the middle of the dining room table. 

You walked over to the table, thinking that they were fake and for decor only, but the second you reached for one of the stems, you knew instantly they were real, and freshly cut.

Which meant someone had been here before you showed up.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you headed towards the fridge, thinking that if someone was staying here, there would be groceries put away. You yanked the door open and found your assumptions to be correct. There was food in there.

And by the looks of a lot of the expiry dates, this food was purchased today.

You needed answers and you needed to know if Lando was incorrect about the homeowner being away.

You wiped your eyes as you scrolled to find Lando’s contact name in your phone. There was a really good chance you were delusional and there was in fact no food in the fridge and you were hallucinating the flowers because of how exhausted you were, but it all seemed real.

Lando answered on the first ring. 

“Hey,” his voice chimed through the receiver, you could practically hear his smile. “How was your flight?”

“Yeah, good,” but when your 'good' 'was cut off by a very audible yawn, you heard Lando chuckle into the phone.

“Tired?”

“Very,” you laughed as well, leaning against the counter as you eyed the flowers again. “Hey, are you sure there’s no one staying here?”

“At the flat?” You heard a bit of shuffling on his end, like he was moving to a different location to talk to you. “No, no ones there. Just you.”

“So why am I staring at a vase of freshly picked daisies and why is the fridge stocked?”

He laughed again, what you would have given to actually be with him and hear it. You weren’t even sure what country he was currently in, or if he was somewhere in an airport waiting for a layover, but you knew you would have much rather preferred he was with you in London.

Not because you had feelings for him or whatever, it was just easier to talk face to face than over the phone.

“Well,” Lando took a breath. “Daisies are your favourite flower and you need to food to survive so-”

“You did this?” 

“You sound surprised.”

“I just-” you opened the fridge again. “When did you-” you picked up a head of lettuce and then opened up the drawer filled with an assortment of meat and cheese. “How did you-”

“I asked a friend to pick up some things,” Lando finally cleared things up. “Ria lives in the area, she went grocery shopping and picked up the flowers. I just didn’t want you to walk into an empty flat.”

“You’re so sweet,” you tucked the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you walked back over to the flowers. Another yawn passed through your lips and Lando laughed yet again, but you didn’t want your fatigue to be the reason why you had to hang up. “I’m going to get used to seeing the flowers, you know?”

“I know,” Lando agreed. “I’ll just have to keep buying them for you.”

“Or just plant your own,” you suggested. “Have a nice shrub of them in your yard. I’m sure they can grow in Monaco.”

“I’ll think about that- oh, hang on a second, yeah?” 

Before you could answer, Lando muted himself on his end. You wouldn’t have blamed him if when he came back he abruptly needed to go, he had a long travel day as well. 

While you waited for his return, you grabbed your suitcase and wheeled it down the hall, on the search for a bedroom. The first door on the right was a bathroom, the one across from it was an office and it wasn’t until you reached the last door on the left did you find the master bedroom.

Flipping on the light, an abstract painting of a vintage car hanging above the bed took you by surprise. It was a bright blue painting and it stood out, not in a good way, amongst a lot of the neutral decor. 

But again, there were no personal mementos. 

You checked out the ensuite, making sure the hot water actually worked, before heading to the closet. The racks were lined with a variety of jackets and jumpers, you assumed belonging to a guy given the size and styles. 

You really shouldn’t have been snooping, this wasn’t your flat, you were simply a guest, but the light blue hoodie called to you and you tugged on the sleeve to check out the design on the front.

“Sorry about that, had another call,” Lando’s voice made you flinch, not expecting him to come back so soon.

But your attention wasn’t on the phone call. It was on the jumper with a white logo in the top right corner, a logo that held the initials LN.

You tugged down the collar to confirm that this was in fact one of Lando’s merch items and not just fan made. LN4 was printed on the dark tag.

You cleared your throat, “Lando.”

“Yes?”

“Who’s flat am I in right now?”

A bit of silence followed by a faint hum, “Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“A friend’s.”

“Whose friend?”

Another pause and then a very hesitant and uncertain, “Yours?”

You let go of the sleeve and walked back into the bedroom, “Do you live here? Is this your flat?”

His silence was enough of an answer. You scoffed and you knew that Lando could hear your eye roll through the phone.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to stay there if I told you it was my place,” you quickly explained, his voice raising with humour before you could think about arguing with him. “I just thought the offer would scare you off because, I mean- it’s a little weird.”

“It’s very weird,” you corrected, eyes darting all over the room. He lived here. “Lando I can’t sleep in your bed.”

“I haven’t had sex in it with anyone, if you’re wondering.”

“Well I wasn’t, but thank you for clearing that up.”

Lando laughed, “Come on, Y/N. It’s better than a hotel or an airbnb or crashing on someone’s couch.”

But you still weren’t sure how you felt now that you knew this was Lando’s place. He might not have lived here full time, you were fully aware of his home in Monaco, but this was his flat. He handed over the keys to one of his homes like it was nothing, like the thought of you staying anywhere else was absurd. 

You had visited Milan dozens of times and Pierre never once suggested that you stay at his place. Carlos was the same, never thinking of offering up his home if he knew you were travelling to Madrid. 

You were friends with both of those guys, Pierre was on thin ice, but regardless, you considered them to be the two drivers you knew the most, that you were the closest to.

And Lando texted you his address in seconds, not giving you any other option.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the palm of your hand curving over the luxurious duvet. If you closed your eyes and fell backwards on top of the mattress, you’d be out in seconds. 

“Hey,” Lando’s tone grew quiet, knowing he had lost you for a moment as you got sucked into your own thoughts. “Have I dropped down the driver ranking again?”

“No, you idiot,” you rubbed the corner of your eye. “I’m just thinking about how this is definitely a bit weird, but also really sweet and if Charles knew where I was staying right now, he’d run you off the track next race.”

“I can handle Charles,” there was a false arrogance to him. Driver Charles was a lot different compared to Older Brother Charles. “Just enjoy these next few weeks, okay? I know it’ll be a little boring without me there to annoy you, but try, yeah?”

“I’m going to rack up your electricity bill,” you decided, a devious sort of smile playing on your lips. You glanced towards his closet, “I’m also going to burn all of your merch.”

Lando sighed loudly, “You know what, I’ll pick my battles. This isn’t one of them.”

“So you don’t care if I set all of your LN4 hoodies to flames?”

“Well you don’t wear them anywhere so you might as well.”

“You’ve never asked me to,” you pointed out, but then couldn’t remember if that was actually true or not. There might have been a time when he offered you a hoodie or a shirt and you probably rolled your eyes at the mere thought of putting it on because that would mean you couldn’t rep DR3. 

“I shouldn’t have to ask,” Lando scoffed. “You wear Danny’s merch.”

“Well yeah I love him.”

Lando grumbled quietly into the receiver, something about Daniel not even driving, followed by a few more seconds of loud rustling. He started saying something else but his voice was muffled so you only assumed he had pulled the phone away from his face to talk to someone nearby.

This time when he came back, his tone shifted. 

“Hey, so I-”

“Have to catch your flight?” You asked, trying not to let the disappointment seep through into your words. 

“Yeah it appears so,” Lando sounded just about as annoyed as you felt.

You didn’t want to draw out this goodbye, “Good luck this weekend.”

“Thank you, I’ll, uh- I’ll talk to you later, I guess?” He sounded unsure. “I mean, I won’t call you because you’ll be asleep but yeah I’ll text you or you can text me if you want, but you don’t-”

“Lando,” you cut off his nonsensical rambling. He hummed and you could just picture his wide eyes and boyish features in your mind. “I’ll talk to you later. Have a safe flight."

ynleclerc

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 14,302 others

ynleclerc thea's getting married and we're about to make it everyone's problem

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theaa_coleman i love you !!!

carlossainz55 when are you getting married

ynleclerc is this a proposal? carlossainz55 you wish

userrnorris i would give anything to see lando or carlos as her date to the wedding PLEASE

smooth_operator55 wait this explains why she wasn't at the race this weekend!!

paddockgf oh phew i thought it was bc charles banned her from hanging around w the drivers💀💀

You told Lando you’d talk to him later but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

You didn’t text him when you woke up, being bombarded with calls from your friends and he didn’t call you when he landed, exhausted himself from his travel days.

And then the week went on. 

The Hen party for Thea was chaotic. You were drunk for nearly 48 hours and hungover for the next 24. You didn’t leave Lando’s flat for a few days, needing to recuperate and it wasn’t until Tuesday afternoon did you finally feel like yourself again. 

You wanted to watch the races live, but your weekend was packed so you weren’t able to actually see what happened until days later when you curled up on the couch and turned on F1TV. 

Just like you expected, a lot of Daniel Ricciardo content at the Red Bull Ring, but even his presence wasn’t enough to distract you from a certain McLaren driver. 

Lando ended up qualifying eighth, not his best but also not his worst. If you had watched live there would have been a sort of obligation to text him saying ‘good job’ but you also weren’t sure if that was something you could do. It wasn’t as though you wanted to text Carlos and congratulate him on his P4 starting position. 

The race, for better or for worse, was a pretty dull one. No major incidents, nothing that caused you any concern. Charles started from fifth and worked his way up to a third place podium. Carlos started fourth and stayed there. And somewhere during those 71 laps, Lando dropped back through the grid and finished eleventh, unable to claim any points for that weekend.

Again, if you had watched it live you might have even called him. You might have said he still had a good weekend and that it could have been worse, but you were watching it two, almost three, days later. 

The worst part was you had been so disconnected from the outside world these last few days that you weren’t even aware of the driver standings until right now. You had stayed off Instagram except to share a few photos and aside from that, your phone died a lot throughout the chaos that was this weekend. 

You didn’t see anything. You didn’t see Lando’s race results. You didn’t see his post-race interviews where he sounded defeated over the lack of pace from the McLaren. You didn’t see the tweets from fans saying that Lando was missing his good luck charm (you). 

There was a lot you missed, but there was also a lot you were completely oblivious to.

You didn’t know that Lando thought about calling you after the race because he knew that hearing your voice would make his day a little better after that run. You weren’t aware that Lando paced back and forth in his hotel room, asking himself if you really were his good luck charm. And you didn’t know he changed his flights so he could leave Austria early and head to the next country the race was being hosted in.

Which just so happened to be England. 

He told his team it was because he wanted to visit some family before the race weekend. There was a decent sized gap between the Austrian Grand Prix and Silverstone, so no one thought anything of it, and it wasn’t necessarily a lie, he would go see his family, but it just wasn’t the whole truth.

So he landed in London Wednesday night.

It had been over a week now since you two last talked and it wasn’t that you were ignoring him, you just didn’t know what to say.

Days had passed since the race and you just assumed it was too late to say anything about it. Would he have even wanted a pity ‘hey I still think you did pretty good’ sort of text? He knew you weren’t planning on watching the race live, so that kind of message held the risk of sounding insincere. 

And Lando hadn’t reached out either, assuming you were enjoying your time with your friends, which you were. But you missed his voice, you missed his laugh, you missed talking to him. 

But there would be no calls or texts exchanged for the rest of the week. 

Again, you didn’t know what to say and then all of a sudden it was Saturday, Thea’s wedding and then you really weren’t on your phone. You were at the brides’ beck and call since dawn, you needed to be there to take the champagne away when she tried to pour another glass before noon. 

If you had been on your phone, you would have noticed Lando posted a handful of photos on his story and on his photography account, showcasing that he was in London. After spending the last few days with friends and family in nearby towns, he arrived in the city.

And he wanted you to know it. 

He didn’t want to come across as needy or annoying and come straight out tell you he was in London, so he teased the city on his social media, hoping that you’d see it and call or text him. It was an immature move, but Lando wasn’t sure where the two of you stood so it was all he could come up with.

But of course you had no idea what Lando’s whereabouts were. Your priority was the bride and then after the wedding, your priority was getting drunk with your friends at the reception. 

Lando was the last thing on your mind. 

Until he grew impatient that you hadn't reached out, so he was left with no choice but to leave a comment on your most recent instagram post.

ynleclerc

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 18,204 others

ynleclerc need my friends to stop getting married, im tired of crying in pretty dresses (so much love for you 2 tho)

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theaa_coleman i love you i love you thank you for holding my tissues all day

charles_leclerc congrats to the happy couple !!

arthur_leclerc always the bridesmaid never the bride?

yn/leclerc im 21 leave me alone

landonorris orange suits you

Orange suits you. 

Was that him telling you that you looked good in orange or was he being sly and using orange as a euphemism and he was in fact saying that he suited you? Or maybe this was him hinting at wanting to see you in the McLaren garage or maybe Lando didn’t think before leaving that comment and it was unintentionally causing you to spin out. 

It didn’t help that you were drunk and to you, the room seemed to quite literally be spinning. Was it actually? You could be easily convinced it was.

As you sat on the bench outside of the hall, your heeled foot tapped against the carpeted floor. God your feet were killing you. This dress had rough seams that made your skin feel like it was on fire. Your earrings kept getting stuck on your hair but none of that was bothering you as much as Lando’s comment was.

What the fuck did it mean?

You don’t talk for a week and a half and that’s the first thing he says? 

You blinked a few times as you focused on his name on the app, clicking it to lead to his own profile and then clicking his photo to see what he had been up to within the last 24 hours.

It took you a second to piece together the photos you were looking at, but that fucker was in London. 

He was in London and he didn’t tell you? You’re staying at his flat. What was going to happen? You’d go back there after the wedding ended and run into him just sitting on the couch? 

Next thing you knew, you were calling him. 

You lost count of how many rings you heard before he finally answered. 

“Hey,” he sounded arrogant, like he was expecting your call. Or maybe you were just reading into it because you didn’t know what was going on and you had one too many shots with the bridal party and Lando said that orange suited you.

“Orange.”

He laughed, “Excuse me?”

You didn’t mean to say that out loud. Your intention was to call and ask if he was in London but for some reason you couldn’t get his comment out of your mind, so you rolled with it. 

“You think orange suits me?”

He paused. Or maybe he didn’t. The seconds were blurring together and you didn’t have a good concept of time.

“You’re drunk.”

Did you sound drunk? You didn’t think you sounded drunk. You diverted the conversation.

“You’re in London.”

“Are we just stating the obvious?”

“Why did you-” you hiccuped, you definitely sounded a little drunk now. A breath passed your lips as you regained a coherent thought. “You think orange suits me?”

“I do,” there was no hesitancy on his part. “I think you look beautiful in anything, but orange is definitely your colour.”

That’s all it took. A few words, a simple compliment, his smile that could be heard through the phone, and your heart was sinking into your chest. You missed him, you missed his voice. A week and a half wasn’t even that long but it was also driving you insane. 

“I didn’t-” you inhaled a breath as your words jumbled together. 

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t watch the race live and you also wanted to apologise for not saying good job and you were still stuck on the fact that he was in London so the next sentence out your mouth wasn’t understandable in the slightest. 

“I didn’t mean to say sorry, in the-” you dragged your hand over your face, trying to think of a word. “In the race, you were- you did last weekend.”

Lando’s laughter was music to your fucking ears. When something was really funny he always inhaled as he laughed and with it came a sort of squeal that was terribly contagious and you found yourself wanting to laugh along, even if you didn’t know what was funny.

Like right now, you didn’t know why he was laughing but you were laughing with him. Was it something you said? You couldn’t even remember what you said. 

When you both finally caught your breath after a minute, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying what was on the forefront of your mind.

“I think I miss you.”

“You think?” Lando repeated. “I know I miss you.”

He missed you.

“Where are you tonight?”

The question wasn’t properly worded, but Lando pieced together what you were asking. Him being able to understand drunk you was weirdly attractive. You didn’t want it to be a recurring thing, but you loved that he wasn’t asking you to repeat yourself or making you feel bad for not making any sense. 

“I’m staying at a friend's place, I didn’t want to bother you at the flat.”

“What if I want you to bother me?”

Lando cleared his throat, “Then I’d get in my car right now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Get in your car…” you sat up a bit straighter, glancing towards the room where the reception was taking place. You had spent all day with everyone in there and now there was only one person you wanted to see, “...and come pick me up.”

You could hear the sound of car keys being thrown and caught, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Send me your location.”

And you did, accidentally hanging up on him in the process. Lando sent a string of laughing emojis before telling you he’d be there in about fifteen minutes. 

That was enough time for you to chug a few glasses of water and find the bridge and groom to say goodbye. Thea tried to pour another shot down your throat but if anymore alcohol entered your system, you’d start making some really questionable decisions. 

She was content with a hug when you lied and said you would puke on her dress. You wished them well and told them to be safe on their honeymoon. Next you found a few other members of the wedding party and said bye to them before grabbing your clutch and making your way to the front doors of the venue. 

Just in time for Lando to pull up in a sleek black McLaren.

You were so captivated by him just getting out of the car that you froze in place, your heels scraping against the cobblestone beneath you. He wasn’t in a Quadrant sweater, surprisingly, instead opting for a white t-shirt and a pair of dark grey sweats. 

There was already something about a man in grey sweats that had you, and many people, forgetting how to breathe. But Lando in that attire was otherworldly. He looked so good but it was well past midnight so you didn’t how know it was possible for someone to look that good. 

You weren’t even sure how you looked. There was a strong chance your eye makeup was smudged and your face was oily after having product seep into your pores all day. One of the straps of the dress slipped from your shoulder and you quickly adjusted it as Lando approached you, taking in your appearance like he was breathing in fresh air for the first time in months.

“Hi,” you whispered. 

“Hi,” he smiled. He raised his eyebrows when your knee buckled slightly, an indicator that you were in fact drunk but you played it off like nothing happened. “Did you have fun?”

You nodded, looking very uncharacteristically childlike, “I want to go home.”

You didn’t mean for the word home to slip out. You knew Lando’s place wasn’t home, you were only staying there for a few weeks and then you’d be travelling again. 

But even without him there, you felt so comfortable in that flat. You loved cozying up in the bed, you liked having the open kitchen to experiment with, you liked knowing that Lando wanted you there.

So no, it wasn’t home, but it was close enough for the time being and that wasn’t something you could often say, especially with your schedule consisting of trip after trip, hotel after hotel.

Lando reached for your hand. Hearing you refer to his flat as home, even in your drunken state, had his heart skipping a beat. He knew you didn’t mean it, he knew you just wanted to leave the party, but it meant more to him than you’d ever realise. This was something he would hold onto for as long as you’d allow him to. 

“Okay Little Leclerc, let's get you home.”

masterlist here

taglist: @moneymasnn@thotd-f1 @masonspulisic @mcmuppet@f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @themisric @happydazzz123 @moonxblossom @norrisleclercf1 @scarlettisconfused @sbgal @e-lisa-bettan @harrysdimple05 @ophcelia if i missed someone im so sorry

[donovankinard]

that's right, that's right, 911 fic recs are back! its been a pretty light month for reading for me; i travelled quite a bit earlier in the month and then school started back up, so i don't have a huge amount to link, but i wanted to share what i have read anyway! this month we've got buddie, bucktommy, tarlos, buck&chris, saltommy, teddie and louliver! a very mlm heavy month, but with hen wilson week coming up that should change for feb.

🔥 Back to Us || @kumiokosposts evan buckley/eddie diaz || 95k Buck, struggling with abandonment and feelings of being unworthy, is shaken when Chris calls, asking if he can live with Buck now that he’s no longer with Tommy. Still hurt and angry with Eddie, Chris refuses to tell his dad about wanting to live with Buck, leaving Buck caught in the middle, torn between protecting Chris and his loyalty to Eddie. Yet as Buck promises to help, he feels something shift—beneath all the self-doubt and pain, a quiet hope emerges. For the first time in what feels like forever, someone chose him, and maybe, just maybe, he’s not as unworthy of love as he’s always believed.

🔥 Time in a Bottle || @cjlouwho evan buckley/tommy kinard || 16.7k (so far) His heart began to race as the doors swung open and out. No light shined in, letting Tommy know it was still night. Then, a heavy step started down the staircase. Thud, thud, thud. Fifteen steps. Tommy counted each one. And suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore.

🔥 white shoe, black shoe || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.5k Tommy and Buck get married and somehow let Maddie and Eddie come up with the wedding games. Or: The wedding shoe game that ends with Eddie Diaz being a menace to society (really just Buck and Tommy)

🔥 You're Not Gone (You Can't Be Gone) || @theredrenard & @buck-up-buck evan buckley/eddie diaz || 5.2k “Eddie…?” Buck sways slightly, eyes wide. He’s paler than he should be and his voice sounds so, so fragile. His hand twitches at his side like he’s trying to reach for Eddie, but he can’t quite get his arm to move. In the time it takes Eddie to glance down, then back up to Buck’s face with dawning horror painted on his features, Buck’s legs give out and he collapses onto the concrete in slow motion.

🔥 a hundred times over || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 7.7k (so far) A collection of BuckTommy drabbles for the 118 Daily Drabble Challenge.

🔥 To Share, A little, A lot || DracaUponTheWings carlos reyes/tk strand, evan buckley/tommy kinard || 4.7k In Which the Author seized on the possible similarities in our couples and forced them to talk.

🔥 when fate cries || @theghostofashton carlos reyes/tk strand || 67.8k An ACL tear, the statement posted a couple days later had read. Carlos would need immediate surgery, and obviously – he would not compete for the USA in London. TK, still coming off the thrill of being named to the team himself, hadn’t been sure how to feel. Carlos had always trained in Texas, and he in New York, so they rarely crossed paths outside of competitions. That’s why he was looking forward to being on the team with him, so sure it was guaranteed. It was practically a given among every coach he talked to. Carlos was a lock. It felt weird to celebrate. Wrong, almost. Carlos should have been with him. They’d both been working for this their entire lives. three years later, the road to rio brings with it far more than redemption

🔥 Come Back... Be Here || @911varietyposts evan buckley & christopher diaz || 1.1k Buck still hadn’t gone back to work, even though Maddie was pushing him to just so he could have something to distract his mind from everything going on around him. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back yet; not to the job that had claimed the love of his life. OR: Buck and Chris navigate the emotions after Eddie's death

🔥 just give hope a chance to float up || @judymarch15 sal deluca/tommy kinard || 23.4k Sal Deluca's marriage falls apart on national television. He and his daughter Sophia move back to his hometown of Smithville, Texas to live with his mom Loretta. He works on picking up the pieces of his life, grows closer to his family, and reconnects with old classmate and football teammate Tommy Kinard.

🔥 Louliver Road Trip || @writerdot lou ferrigno jr/oliver stark || 2.5k Oliver isn't alone on his road trip.

🔥 sonnet || @athenaeumsfic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 30.5k It wasn’t supposed to still feel this raw after so long. Every time Tommy passes him by, his cologne lingers in the air for a moment and Buck is transported back to this time last year when they were getting to the stage of really, properly knowing each other. He’d never been happier. A few times, Tommy swipes his back as he moves around him – the garden is crowded with three separate firehouses hanging around – and it feels like an electric shock every time. All he wants is to reach behind him, grab his hand and pull Tommy close. aka the one where Buck and Tommy have broken up but agree to a weekend in Vegas with Eddie and Chimney. Chaos ensues.

🔥 i'm broken (tell you i'm fine) || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Two weeks after the breakup, Buck misses Tommy. He also loves him, did you know?

🔥 Tiny Heartbeats || @sunnywithachanceofbi evan buckley/tommy kinard || 9.9k Tommy and Buck's daughter, Edie, faces a life-threatening heart surgery at two weeks old, pushing them to confront their deepest fears while waiting in the hospital.

🔥 There's Gotta Be Some Butterflies Somewhere || Tea_gremlin evan buckley/eddie diaz || 34.7k Eddie joins the 118 after Buck is permanently disabled by an explosion at a call. Despite initial tensions, they learn just how important they can be to one another.

🔥 say what you wanna say (and let the words fall out) || @nephilimeq evan buckley/tommy kinard || 6.3k “You all saw me sad and upset over Tommy breaking up with me—but instead of asking me what went wrong or what you could do to help, all of you stopped me from reaching out to him!” Buck spat out, feeling his irritation rise at seeing his friends looking confused, but he didn’t care. Instead, he kept on talking, saying, “You kept me from reaching out to him by playing ‘keep away’ with my phone like a bunch of middle schoolers! Did it ever occur to any of you that I didn’t want the breakup to happen?” (...aka, the story where Buck and Tommy secretly get back together and then Buck finally stands up for himself against his 118 family, finally saying what he's been wanting to say for a long while, dragging all the dirt out into the open)

🔥 playing (playing with the boy) || @thatmexisaurusrex eddie diaz/tommy kinard || 5.2k Tommy. Snorted. Cute. Why was that cute?

🔥 shelter (feels like home) || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Tommy wakes with a start to the sound of ringing and it takes him a few bleary eyed moments to realise it's his phone, loud even over the pounding of the rain outside. He frowns at the bright light as he picks it up, worry immediately catching in his throat when he sees Evan's name on the screen; it's close to 3am and from experience he knows that's rarely when people call with good news. "Hey babe, are you okay?" he says as he answers, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. "The storm," Evan says, and Tommy's heart wrenches in his chest when he realises he's crying. "There wasn't supposed to be a storm."

🔥 John Doe|| @thatmexisaurusrex evan buckley/tommy kinard || 5.8k He was tanned. Not too tanned, but he definitely tanned more than burned in the sun. He had an aquiline nose, distinct cheekbones, and a cleft. He had curly hair; curly, chestnut brown hair. He was banged up from the hit and run. Cuts and bruises, though, the swelling was going down and the fresh red-purple was seeping into a yellow. Had three casts and almost lost his spleen. Dry lips from a week and a half asleep. He was breathing, though. Breathing steadily. He was Tara Kaplan’s first John Doe. And no one was sure if they would ever figure out who he was before he woke up.

🔥 want you more than a melody || @alchemistc evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.5k “What are you looking for?” Tommy asks, and doesn’t linger at all on how at home Evan looks, just rifling through his things. He’d caught him sorting Tommy’s mail, last weekend, nothing overly curious, just piles of junk mail sorted away from the bills and the single postcard from his nephew, fingers drifting over the stocky block letters of Tommy’s name before he realized he’d been caught out, lips squeezing in like a kid tasting his first lemon. “The key to your china cabinet,” Evan tells him, still sorting, keys chiming merrily against each other. “Second drawer to the left of the fridge, little brass thing. It’s where I keep my ring cutter,” Tommy tells him, expanding heart and weak joints and all, as Evan grins at the joke and stalks halfway across the room in two wide, long-legged steps.

STATS: # of fics: 19 # of authors: 16 # of words read: 306.3k

[slutty-transformation-stories]

Night Life

In the bustling heart of London, a quaint little café tucked away on a side street was the regular haunt of five friends. Their laughter echoed against the walls, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the occasional clink of porcelain. Among them was Rachel, a young woman with a shy smile and a penchant for vintage dresses that often made her feel like an out-of-place blossom in a concrete jungle. Her friends knew her as the reliable one, the anchor that kept their group from floating too far into the wild currents of the city's nightlife.

Tonight, however, was different. Rachel's eyes danced with excitement as she twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger. The chatter grew louder as they all gathered around a table, their faces flushed with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. It was Rachel's turn to be the center of attention, as they were all there for her hen party, a night she had promised to be wild and unforgettable.

The café grew dimmer as the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the transformation from day to night. The five friends finished their drinks, trading knowing glances, and decided it was time to head to the club they had heard so much about. It was called "The Crimson Kiss," a place known for its vibrant energy and the promise of letting go of inhibitions. As they stepped out onto the cobblestone street, the café's warm embrace was replaced by the cool evening air, carrying with it the distant throb of bass and the scent of potential adventure.

The club was a maelstrom of flashing lights and pulsating rhythms, a stark contrast to the quiet life Rachel and her friends usually led. The line to get in was long, but their excitement only grew with each beat of the music that seeped out into the night. When they finally made it through the velvet ropes, they were greeted by a sea of bodies, all moving as one to the rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very walls of the building. Rachel felt a thrill of something she couldn't quite name as she looked around, her heart racing faster than the tempo of the songs that filled the air.

The first sip of their drinks brought a taste of sweet rebellion to their lips, and Rachel watched as her friends' eyes lit up with excitement. They had all agreed to step out of their comfort zones tonight, to shed their usual personas and become someone new, even if just for a few hours. The music grew louder, the lights more intense, and Rachel felt the first stirrings of the change that was about to sweep over them. Little did they know that "The Crimson Kiss" had a secret, a seductive power that could redefine the very essence of who they were.

As the night progressed, Rachel found herself drawn to the bar, her body moving almost of its own accord. The bartender, a tall, dark-haired man with a smirk that promised trouble, took her order, his eyes lingering on her in a way that made her feel both thrilled and a little scared. He handed her a drink, and as she took a sip, Rachel felt something strange happen. The lights grew brighter, the music louder, and suddenly, she was behind the bar, dressed in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination. The customers around her were not the usual mix of tourists and locals; they were a sea of hungry eyes and lustful smiles. Rachel's heart raced, but she felt an odd sense of belonging, a feeling that this was where she was meant to be.

Her friends Laura and Emma had returned from the bathroom, their cheeks flushed and their eyes sparkling with mischief. Rachel noticed that they too had transformed, their conservative attire replaced with tight bikinis that hugged their bodies in a way that screamed for attention. They grabbed her hands and led her to the dance floor, where they began to pole dance with an ease that belied their innocent facades. Rachel stared, transfixed, as their bodies moved in sensual waves around the gleaming metal. The crowd gathered around them, and Rachel felt a thrill of exhilaration as she realized that her friends had also been swept up in the club's seductive embrace.

Their other two friends, Jenny and Sam, had gone missing. Rachel's heart fluttered with worry, but the concern was quickly forgotten as Laura whispered in her ear about the club's infamous backroom. Rachel felt a tingle of curiosity and a thrill of danger, and before she knew it, she was being led down a dimly lit hallway, the thump of the bass growing more intense with each step. The door to the bathroom swung open, and Rachel gasped as she saw Jenny, kneeling in front of a wall with a series of glory holes, her mouth full and her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but Rachel's thoughts of her were cut short as Laura grabbed her and pulled her into a private booth, where two men waited, their eyes full of hunger and anticipation. Rachel felt a shiver run down her spine as the reality of their situation set in, but she also felt something else, something dark and delicious. It was as if the club had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed.

The men were tall, muscular, and dressed in black leather, and Rachel could feel their eyes devouring her as she stumbled into the booth. Laura gave her a wink, her own eyes sparkling with excitement, and Rachel knew that she was about to experience something she had only ever read about in her secret fantasies. The men didn't waste any time, one of them grabbing her roughly by the hips and pushing her onto the sticky vinyl couch. Rachel felt a rush of heat as she was filled, her body stretching to accommodate the stranger's thick cock. Laura was already straddling the other man, her bikini top abandoned on the floor, her breasts bouncing as she rode him with wild abandon. Rachel watched, her mouth watering as she felt the second man's hands on her, guiding her into a spit-roasting position she had only ever seen in the most explicit of porn videos.

The sensation of being filled from both ends was overwhelming, and Rachel's moans grew louder with each thrust. Laura's cries of pleasure spurred her on, and Rachel found herself moving in sync with her friend, their bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat. Rachel's mind was a whirlwind of sensation, each stroke of the men's cocks sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She had never felt so alive, so free, so utterly consumed by desire. The walls of the booth seemed to close in around them, the music outside becoming nothing more than a distant echo as Rachel lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies.

When Rachel finally emerged from the booth, panting and glowing with satisfaction, she found that the club had changed again. The once-familiar faces of her friends were now a blur of smiling, eager strangers, all dressed in the same slutty attire, all eager to serve the needs of the club's patrons. Rachel looked down at herself, her new body on display for all to see, and felt a strange sense of pride. This was who she was now, a creature of the night, a living embodiment of the club's decadent spirit. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the dance floor, ready to embrace her new life, her heart racing with excitement for what the rest of the night would bring. The Crimson Kiss had claimed her, and Rachel had never felt more alive.

[londonhenpartyideas]

Belly dance hen party ideas in London www.BellydanceParty.com www.facebook.com/londonbellydancer

[londonsopranoactress]

Brazilian dancer in London and Brighton. www.bellydanceparty.com

[londonbellydancersandrine]

Belly dance selfies

www.BellydanceParty.com

www.facebook.com/londonbellydancer

Hen parties and wedding shows

[tundrafloe]

Julian: ''The thing is that we don't actually write a script. Everything we do has evolved out of weekly nights together at a comedy club in an upstairs room at a London pub, the Hen and Chickens at Highbury Corner. We each improvise individual sketches there, using theatrical techniques that we generally stumble across in our own shambolic fashion, and then we gradually cobble all the pieces together.

(Herald Scotland 2000)

[anincompletelist]

⭑ happy kinktober! ⭑

here's everything I have to offer skjhdfgkjshgf <3

(all fics within this category will be rated E unless stated otherwise! fics are arranged in order of length)

the kinktober '24 collection

any fics/ficlets posted throughout october 2024, in one place for easier navigation.

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like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind | 3k

Alex is stuck in his own head and stressed with Henry being gone to the UK for the last week or so. He reaches his breaking point, and Henry comes home to catch him... in a rather creative and wet way.

kinks: coming untouched, the shower head fic, dom henry/sub alex

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more than just the nine to five | 5k

The intersection of a spiteful ex boyfriend, a holiday party, a vibrating anal plug, and the man he's been pining over for years isn't exactly what Henry expects of his Friday night. It's what he gets anyway.

kinks: toys/vibrators, forced (but consensual) orgasm, overstim

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someone to seek, someone to soothe | 5k

He was sweetheart at first, be it sarcastic or a hint of something more. Then he was baby, all those times when they were sneaking around, breathy and desperate on Alex’s lips. He’s been a handful of sweet endearments in Spanish, from cariño to mi tesoro to amor and many others in the heat of passion or just day to day. What’s one more to the list then, really? Hen, H, sweetheart, baby, cariño… Daddy.

kinks: daddy kink, daddy dom henry, kink exploration

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keep me in the moment (don't it feel so real?) | 8k

Henry makes erotic audios. Alex is his best friend. He probably shouldn't listen to them. He does anyway.

kinks: audio porn, friends to lovers, masturbation, dirty talk

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make it five | M | 8k

Alex works at a sex toy shop. it's usually a pretty easy job — if he could just stop daydreaming about the blonde guy that keeps coming in to buy literally all of Alex's favorite sex toys.

note: not explicit but still deals heavily with sex toys and kink ;)

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rush | 9k

Alex isn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten to this point. They’re in London for the week, knocking out a few of Henry’s dwindling royal appearances in the meantime amidst some sightseeing Alex is making Henry take him on (Henry hates coming back here now that they’re settled in New York, and Alex will be damned if he doesn’t do literally everything in his power to keep him distracted and happy). Which, apparently, seems like it’s going to include pissing himself.

kinks: watersports, desperation, kink exploration, dom/sub

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you can waltz right in, I won't pick or choose (I was made for you) | 12k

Henry gives Alex the last stubborn pieces of himself that he's been trying to keep locked away. It only takes seven orgasms to do it.

kinks: overstimulation/multiple orgasms, subspace, dom alex/sub henry, rimming, frottage, slight somnophilia

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it's like I told you, the water's warmer underneath (I know you find it hard to breathe) | 14k

Alex has a complicated relationship with submission. Henry always makes sure he has a safe space to explore it.

kinks: soft dom henry, subspace, prostate massage, kink exploration

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ain't got a problem with provocative (I wanna be close to you) | 22k

Alex has somehow made it into the most elite sex club on this side of the city, and so far he’s gawked at one (1) naked man—a downright gorgeous man, in his defense—from a distance and gone non-verbal and introspective on a couch by himself. Truly riveting stuff.

kinks: free use, sub top alex, d/s elements, sex club

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find me when the party's over, ride home with your head on my shoulder | 24k

Five times Henry kind-of sort-of doms Alex on accident and one time he definitely does it on purpose.

kinks: friends to lovers, dom henry/sub alex, bondage, toys/vibrators, kink exploration, subspace

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somehow I'd get by | 30k

Henry is an accountant for a local sex club. Accidentally. He takes a keen interest in Alex's presentations and often daydreams about what it'd be like to be with the dom, even though surely it's nothing more than a fantasy. Right?

kinks: dom alex/sub henry, sex club, kink exploration, bondage, leather, barebacking, submission introspection

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playing to win (you're in my head again) | 37k

Henry and Alex are practically perfect for each other. Once they get past the years long animosity and hate-pining, of course.

kinks: dom henry/sub alex, enemies to friends to lovers, kink negotiation and exploration, spanking, subspace, aftercare, sensation play

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everybody needs someone (the sex curse series) | 3/3 | 37k

Henry is afflicted with a curse-gone-wrong that stipulates that only his sworn enemy, Alex Claremont-Diaz, can touch him.

kinks: sex pollen/fuck or die-esque, dom/sub elements, magic and magical realism, overstim, some mild humiliation/degradation

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I want you to have me like I've never been had, you get all my wild parts | 37k

Henry's always struggled to get past the inevitable road bump of his classification when it comes to finding a partner. In an ideal world, that sort of thing wouldn't matter. He'd be able to walk into a bar and find someone to take home, wouldn't have to bother with anything aside from just good, casual sex between two people— status aside. He's not really expecting to find that sort of thing at all, but he's certainly not expecting Alex Claremont-Diaz to be the one that makes all of his wildest dreams come true.

kinks: alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non-traditional a/b/o, dom/sub dynamics, kink exploration and negotiation, rimming, barebacking, knotting, bondage/restraints

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pull me out of the fire, from my lowest take me higher | 44k

Henry finds unexpected solace in the thrill of an underground haven, where status—and who he shares a bed with—doesn't really seem to matter. But the deeper he goes, the harder it is to pull away, and Henry's shocked to discover so much of himself where he'd least expected to find it. He's not the one inside the ring, but he's only just finding out what it truly means to fight

kinks: boxer alex, piercings/tattoos, spanking, spit kink, light feminization, lingerie, phone sex, multiple orgasms, impact play, rimming

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hate to be lame (but I might love you) | 45k

Newly out as bi, Alex decides the best way to commemorate the occasion is to sleep with the biggest guy on campus. Henry thinks he might be insane, and isn't quite sure what that says about him for being the one to catch feelings when this whole thing was just supposed to be practice in the first place. It all works out. Eventually.

kinks: first times/experienced henry, sex toys, phone sex, deepthroating, masturbation, belly bulging, barebacking

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(these fics might not necessarily be rated E, but they all have some sort of scary and/or supernatural aspect to them!)

won't you live for me (or could I live for you?) | T+ | 5k

Henry stumbles upon Nora's lycan-only medical clinic when he's at the end of his rope, reeling from a rejection and ironically closer to death than he's been in all of his years already being undead. Alex knows what it feels like to be alone. He's almost mastered it, even, after his own brutal rejection years ago. So he absolutely should not, under any circumstances, risk his own life attempting to save a stranger with a plan that may or may not even work. He decides to try it out anyway.

tags: vampire henry/lycan alex

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how to get blood stains out of your linen (and other ways to fall in love) | M | 5k

Henry is a vampire who admittedly makes a bit of a mess with his partners. The 80 year old woman that works the overnight shift at his favorite dry cleaning place doesn't seem to care. The guy that starts filling in the shift when she takes some time off definitely does.

tags: vampire henry/human alex

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livin' in the violet sounds | E | 12k

When Alex gets himself stabbed with a blade laced with a venom that only a vampire can extract, Henry's forced to help the hunter and clandestine object of his desires narrowly avoid death, even when Alex tends to threaten his life on the regular. Henry jumps first and asks questions later, but that's nothing new when it comes to Alex.

tags: vampire henry/vampire hunter alex

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l'échappatoire | M | 22k

Henry fixes anomalies in other people's timelines. It's quite predictable and impersonal work for the most part. (Save for when it seems intent on unraveling his own, of course.)

tags: time loops, time traveler henry

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honorable mention:

who ya gonna call? | M | 7k

Henry is a ghostwriter. Alex is a little confused on what exactly that means.

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if you like these, you can check out the rest of my fics here!

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[agendabymooner]

london bridge ! daniel r. x måneskin member!ofc (wedding special - 1)

"drinks start pourin' and my speech start slurrin'."

summary: the alessandro-ricciardo wedding week begins when most of the grid travels to a remote island in italy. OR the stag/hen do had done a full 180 when the party turned wild.

content warning: use of explicit language, lando norris finding new besties (aka måneskin members), a wild sebastian vettel in a frat party /j, the drivers shaming each other's late night performances (lewis, carlos, george), reference to lewis' previous relationship (nothing personal)

note: i've been saving a lot of photos and occupying too much storage because of it. it's only right to post this now. enjoy xx

masterlist

landonorris posted a story !

danielricciardo and loressandro posted a story !

ykaaar posted a story !

landonorris posted a story

pierregasly posted a story !

tagged danielricciardo, loressandro, fernandoalo_oficial

liked by thetrishalonso, lewishamilton, estebanocon

the comments have been limited

thetrishalonso so that's where nando went after reading the kids their bedtime story?

alexalbon yes ma'am.

thetrishalonso so you guys are responsible for the awful gruffalo voicing tonight?🧐

georgerussell63 yes ma'am. i take full responsibility to such crime and i will be making it up for fernando. 🙂

lewishamilton your performance of m.i.a was really good last night bro 🔥🥶

georgerussell63 thanks lad. maybe you should do a pussycat doll next time 🧐🤠

landonorris georgerussell63 😟 girl...

carlossainzjr live fast die young bad girls do it well 🥵😈

georgerussell63 didn't you argue with lester in spanish?

carlossainzjr i was drunk and she was speaking italian 😭

landonorris carlossainzjr nah lad, you really took an L last night.

carlossainzjr landonorris i will take the fresh salmon from the sushi bar and throw it to you.

tagged loressandro, danielricciardo, lance_stroll, lewishamilton and 15 others

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, yukitsunoda0511, mickschumacher

comments have been limited

user1 where's the poor groom lad 😭

user2 IS THAT SEBASTIAN VETTEL????

pierregasly we literally said "hey lando, daniel needs to go the front he needs to be in the centre of the picture"

mickschumacher lando, lewis was married last valentine's. this is daniel's week

alexalbon you're the flower boy too. smh. can't even fulfill your role.

charles_leclerc i can't see the groom

maxverstappen1 did you lose a sense of direction after your long island iced tea?

estebanocon where's daniel

carlossainzjr when you can see lando and not the groom. the levels 💀

lando.jpg STOP COMING AFTER ME WE WERE ALL PISS DRUNK 🤡

[roseofithaca]

This was what I originally thought was going to happen as I was watching the exorcist scene. Had planned to write this as a fic but don't think I've got the energy.

-

Everything is the same up until the exorcism. Only when Alison gets down there, she sees the ghosts all stood in front of the Vicar, frozen as he speaks. They shout at her that they can't move. Alison tries to tell him to stop but Betty encourages it to continue. Alison slaps the Bible out of his hands but its too late - a bright light shines down on the ghosts, blinding Alison for a few seconds, then when she opens her eyes they're gone.

Panicking, she begins running around the house, calling their names, begging them to show themselves so she knows they're OK. But nothing. Eventually Betty finds her collapsed in tears. She asks why she could be upset and Alison explodes at her about how she had no right to do that, how the ghosts were her family and she's just sent them away. Betty is shocked and then feels awful once the truth settles but also berates Alison for not being honest. Mike finds Alison and holds her, telling his mum it's best she goes.

Alison doesn't sleep all night, having waited for the ghosts to come back if they could. The next morning Mike suggests they take a walk with Mia. They walk towards the lake and a bereft Alison is promising Mia she's going to hear all about her aunts and uncles who loved her so much. Like how sweet Auntie Kitty was, how naughty Uncle Julian was-

"And how handsome Uncle Thomas was?"

And Alison replies: "Yes how handsome Uncle Thom..."

She pauses. Then turns her head.

The ghosts are stood there, on the other side of the fence, smiling at her. She screams in shock and relief and Mike is confused but also relieved once Alison confirms they're all there and all safe. She asks what happened and they say they saw the same light but then woke up outside the grounds.

And now they can't get back in.

The exorcism didn't make them get sucked off; it banished them from the grounds. Alison asks if that means they're stuck in Maddox's place now. But Cap has already done a run and found he could go farther then Maddox. There doesn't seem to be any boundaries for them anymore.

Kitty begs Alison to call the Vicar back so he can undo it. Julian suggests perhaps a Satanic priest might be better. Alison hesitates and then asks; "Is that what you guys really want? You're free now. You can go wherever."

That hasn't really sank in for them, they're more concerned with being separated from Alison. But Alison tells them she's not interested in staying in the house either; not without them. If they're gone then she and Mike might as well take the golf resorts offer and buy a new place - once which the ghosts are more than happy to visit. However; they're also free to go where they want in the world, without restrictions.

It takes some sorting out as Alison sells the place and the guys stay on Maddox's land for the meanwhile until the moving vans are there. But this time as they drive out, the car and van stops, Alison beeps the horn once they exit the gates and all the ghosts pile in to either the backseat of the car or the van. Then they drive off together.

Cut to a few Christmas' later, the now loaded Coopers are setting the table and the ghosts start to arrive but in different orders. Alison welcomes them back happily, Mia can't see them anymore but she still waves to them when her mum says they're there. As they sit, Alison asks what they've all been up to in their various travels - except for Julian, the others aren't able to call or text her. Fanny finally snuck onto a luxury cruise but didn't seem as good as the Titanic. Thomas went to Venice to see if much had changed ("still nice"). Cap has been visiting WWII memorials and trying to find information on Havers. Pat visits his grandson. Humphrey has visited Paris. Kitty had discovered nightclubbing in London and joined in many hen parties. Julian goes to the House of Commons to watch Rachel speak out (he also does other stuff not suitable for Mia's ears). Robin says he went to the moon - everyone gasps- but he's only joking, he went to NASA but wasn't stupid enough to try to climb aboard any launched satellites- maybe next manned mission though.

Alison reminds them that they're all free to stay over Christmas as long as they want, but they say how they wouldn't impose for too long as they wouldn't want to be too in the way - though there are spare rooms for them to share when they need. They are all happy to spend time with the Coopers, coming back whenever they can, but always promising to spend Christmas together.