#Cliveden House

[livesunique]

Cliveden House, Taplow, Berkshire, United Kingdom

[zilabee]

Alf Bicknell on the relay race at Cliveden:

“One day, during this particular shoot, I remember one of the film crew made a comment about the fitness of the Fab Four to George,” says Alf. “It was a sort of jokey remark but very much a come-on to the boys, suggesting they were out of shape. These jibes and come-ons continued, and over lunch it was suggested we have a relay race. So it was all set up. We were on a huge great lawn in front of Cliveden House - 150 yards long, or thereabouts, with a privet hedge round it.

“The team was the four boys, plus Neil and I. The six of us. I was to be on the last leg of this relay race against the cream of the film crew. I guess we each had 70 or 80 yards to race against the electricians, the photographer, transport and so on. Four or five teams. There was a baton - a small truncheon. The first racer would run, pass it on and the next would sprint off and so on.

“Remember, I'm 35 years of age. I looked at the guy I was racing against and he looked very confident. I remember I was running barefoot, whereas he had a smart pair of sports shoes on. That didn't help my confidence.”

The constant touring had obviously had a positive effect on the band physically, who proved to be superfit. The four group members were to run before Alf and Neil, and they certainly gave their employees an incredible advantage over the opposition. John, Paul, George and Ringo trounced the other teams during their leg of the race, leaving their opponents breathless in their wake.

“Neil was to pass the baton to me. To be fair, the five of them had given me a tremendous start. The Beatles team were WAY out in front. Towards the end of my sprint, the last part of the race, as I reached a sort of steep banking slope at the end of the lawn, I could hear this guy behind me - he'd made up all this lead the boys had given me!”

But the chauffeur was determined not to let the band down. He threw himself over the last few metres and stumbled over the finishing line, seconds before the other racer.

“We'd won! The band were soon all round me basking in their victory. It was only then that I thought of what would have happened if I'd lost after all this space they'd given me. I'd never have heard the end of it.”

Ticket to Ride, by Alasdair Ferguson and Alf Bicknell

[corallapis]

Henry ‘Chips’ Channon: The Diaries (Vol. 1), 1918-38, entry for 31st January 1923

—

Wednesday 31st January

An enormous crowd fighting for admission was outside St Margaret’s¹ this afternoon at Joan Poynder’s² marriage to Sir Edward Grigg.³ Joan seem ecstatic, I cannot understand exactly why, as he is middle-aged and almost bald. He is of course the rising young statesman etc, but ugly to look upon and Joan has been in love so often before … she is such a high-spirited, inspired radiant creature …. a fashionable Joan of Arc. First it was Blandford,⁴ and Lady Islington,⁵ ever the most amusing and treacherous lying woman of her age, did her best to encourage the match, as she has all the old-fashioned Victorian ideas about marriage with eldest sons, etc. — and what mother has not??

Lady Islington [had] sent a secret message, which I intercepted, to Gage that if he did not proposed [to Joan Dickson-Poynder] within a fortnight she was convinced Grigg would be accepted …. All the Round-Table milieu with its headquarters at Cliveden⁶ are delighted as this wedding is their handiwork. Joan will make a glorious wife … most of the young men found her attractive but too Amazonian … A letter from Elizabeth [Bowes-Lyon] who is at Sandringham thanking me for my congratulatory letter … she is the thorn in Lady Islington’s flesh.

—

1.  St Margaret’s Church, Westminster, parish church of the Houses of Parliament, and venue of many society weddings – including Channon’s own.

2.  Joan Dickson-Poynder (1897–1987), daughter of the 1st Baron Islington, had volunteered as a nurse in France during the Great War.

3.  Edward William Macleay Grigg (1879–1955) was Liberal MP for Oldham from 1922 to 1925 and for Altrincham from 1933 to 1945. He had been private secretary to Lloyd George. He was raised to the peerage as 1st Baron Altrincham in 1945.

4.  John Albert William ‘Bert’ Spencer-Churchill (1897–1972), by courtesy Marquess of Blandford until 1934, when he succeeded his father as 10th Duke of Marlborough.

5.  Anne Beauclerk Dundas (1869–1958), married in 1896 Sir John Poynder Dickson-Poynder, 6th Bt (1866–1936). He was raised to the peerage as Baron Islington on assuming the Governor-Generalship of New Zealand in 1910.

6.  Home of the 2nd Viscount Astor and his wife Nancy, given to them as a wedding present in 1906 by the 1st Viscount. Waldorf Astor (1879–1952) was born in New York but attended Eton and New College, Oxford, his family having settled in Britain in 1889. He was Conservative MP for seats in Plymouth from 1910 to 1919, when he succeeded his father as 2nd Viscount Astor. Lady Astor (1879–1964) was born Nancy Witcher Langhorne and in 1906 married Waldorf Astor as his second wife. She was the first woman to sit in the House of Commons, in 1919, when succeeding her husband as MP for Plymouth Sutton following his elevation to the House of Lords. She held the seat until 1945. Cliveden became Britain’s leading political salon in the 1920s and 1930s, and Channon clearly already had the notion that the political establishment settled its affairs there.

[brian-in-finance]

Instagram 29 December 2022

[thefollyflaneuse]

The Obelisk, Woolverstone Park, Suffolk

On the banks of the river Orwell in Suffolk there once stood a lofty obelisk. It proclaimed to all the filial piety of Charles Berners, who erected it in 1793 in memory of his father, William. At 96 feet tall, and topped with a golden sun, it was a prominent landmark but sadly it came to a sorry end when it was damaged by fire and then demolished in the middle of the 20th century. But as the…

[ceofjohnlennon]

Debunking some John Lennon's photos:

FAKE PHOTO: Edited photo of John Lennon wearing a David Bowie t-shirt.

THE REAL PHOTO: John Lennon wearing a t-shirt with the name of a group of his fans, The Greeting Committee, on September 6, 1973.

FAKE PHOTO: Chema Ríos from a band called La Coruña. THE REAL PHOTO: The real John Lennon with The Quarrymen, on July 6, 1957.

FAKE PHOTO: John Lennon's look-alike Adam Hastings from the cover band The Fab Four. THE REAL PHOTO: John Lennon in a similar picture while rehearsing for the Thank Your Lucky Stars, on November 24, 1964.

FAKE PHOTO: Denny Laine upside down in the studio. THE REAL PHOTO: John Lennon lying on the floor, recording The White Album, 1968.

FAKE PHOTO: John Lennon loved flowers and there are other real photos with him holding some but this one is edited. THE REAL PHOTO: John Lennon holding a stone during the filming of Help! at Cliveden House in Buckinghamshire, May of 1965.

[hephaestn]

remember that one time i wrote about backpacker billy and posh steve meeting on a train?

well backpacker billy and posh steve’s train breaks and billy is like ‘whatever i’m getting out of here im sure there’s a town nearby, you coming pretty boy?’ and he hadn’t talked to steve in the entirety of the travel and steve is like ‘excuse me what?’ but he’s posh and ‘ugh! i do not wanna be stranded i have to be at cliveden house by the morning!’ and so he ends up joining billy but they never reach anywhere bc it starts pouring down and they seek shelter in an abandoned barn and well, you know sexy things happen etc

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-eight // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this fic: 6.7k warnings for this chapter: p in v, fingering, dirty talk

a million boops to my beta reader banners by @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Eight:

Cliveden’s gardens at night in the winter are beautiful. They’re vast and eerily empty, though that could just be the stillness of the night. Victorian lamp posts light the way and with the gently falling snow, kinda gives me Narnia vibes.

 I wander around, careful to stick to the crunchy gravel paths and keep the main house in sight. This isn’t the first time I’ve had such an opportunity for escape. Yeah, I could Apparate anywhere, but why? Now that a plan will be in place, what’s the point? It’s exactly what I wanted. 

Movement draws my eye and I catch Diana’s head above the shrubbery, heading in my direction. I’m not ready to go inside yet, so I sit on a nearby bench and wait for her to join me.

“Did they send you to make sure I was still here?” I ask, mostly teasing.

“Kyle did,” she admits as she sits next to me. She’s all bundled up in a stylish thick wool coat while I’m just fine in my Ilvermorny sweater and Thomus’ scarf. “But that’s alright, I’d much rather talk to you.”

Instantly my guard's up. “About what?”

She hesitates for a moment, but I give her my best encouraging expression, despite my raging nerves. 

“Well, I wanted to ask how you feel about Thomus.”

I blink, my eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, um, well, I -”

“It’s just that Jake seems to think you genuinely care about him because of how adamant you are about his safety,” she says. “Now that I’ve met you and I’ve seen you two together, I think he’s right, but I wonder if it’s more than that.”

I think about my answer for a few moments, but respond with a question instead. “Is this because you two used to date?”

She immediately shakes her head and chuckles. “Definitely not. It didn’t last longer than a month or two and it was a long time ago.”

“Did-did he break up with you?” I ask with some hesitation.

“I dumped him actually,” she says. “He just… When we hung out or went on dates, his mind always seemed like it was elsewhere.  The only time he seemed fully present and invested was when we…” she trails off. 

“When what?” I prompt.

She gives me a sheepish expression. “Sorry, it might be a bit TMI.”

I shrug and shake my head. “Don’t worry. There’s no such thing as TMI for me. I need everything.” Even if that information guts me. I’d always rather know.

“When we were sleeping together,” she says all in one breath.

I don’t say anything, waiting to hear more. “Oh, is that it?”

Her eyebrows tilt up in sympathy. “I suppose if I were in your situation I wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking down. “I can see that. Do you know what he was so focused on?”

“Well, I know his mother had passed away a few months before and then there was… her .”

“Bellatrix,” I sigh knowingly.

“He visited her every couple weeks - no matter what. I didn’t even know he was still going after we started dating. When I confronted him, he insisted there was nothing physical going on between them, but I… had my doubts. He told me he stopped going after that, but I know he went back after it ended,” she explains. “Does he still see her often?”

“I… have no idea honestly.”

“Have you not asked?”

I shake my head. “Why would I?”

“Because you two are…” she sighs. “It’s complicated, I know.”

“There’s a massive power imbalance between us and I’m not going to let myself forget that, regardless of how I feel.”

“What about how he feels?” she asks gently.

“If anything he feels is real, then why am I still his prisoner?” I answer a little too quickly. “He doesn’t see me as his equal. I don’t want to belong to him like I’m some kind of possession. I want a partner willing to rely on me as I want to rely on them in return. How can anyone be devoted to an object?” I finish by inhaling sharply, having taken short breaths during my lament. 

Her lips press together as she regards me with a cautious look. “The world has really changed since Harry Potter died,” she says. “No one is doing well - especially muggleborns. No one has been able to fly under the radar since they started implementing some kind of forced registry.” She pauses and then chuckles. “And you would not be able to go unnoticed.”

I sigh. “It’s the hair isn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” she says. “You’d be surprised how popular some of these articles about you have been.”

Now this, I’m taken aback. "Articles? As in more than one?"

"I'm afraid so. The best one is from the New York Ghost , but Witch Weekly's was pretty nice. Does someone have it out for you at The Daily Prophet , by any chance?"

"Probably Rita Skeeter," I grumble. I want to know what they've been saying about me. "Though I'm surprised I was interesting enough for one article, let alone multiple."

"I disagree," she says. "I think what you're doing is very brave. You haven't given up despite all these odds stacked against you. Honestly, I was really excited to meet you when I heard you were coming."

I blush, laughing awkwardly. "I, um, I'm sorry, I definitely had no idea you existed until tonight. Thank you for inviting me to that thing on New Years Eve, even though I can't go. It reminded me of what being normal was like."

"No problem!" she smiles. "I would've been glad to have you. You’re super cool and totally normal.” She winks at me and quietly laughs to herself. “But seriously, you should consider thinking that he might just want to keep you safe, where he can protect you.”

“But I can protect myself ,” I gently protest. “It’s because I’ve been under his ‘care’ that I’ve been vulnerable! He has to realize that.”

Her eyes soften with sympathy. “I think he does, because there was one weekend Jake told me about. He’d just met you and Thomus in Edinburgh and you’d been… assaulted while they’d all just been standing there, unknowing. He said he’d never seen Thomus be that violent before - violent without using magic that is.”

I stare at her eye-wided, enthralled with this story. This change in perspective. 

“And then the next night, there’d been this party Thomus got drunk at and Jake said he could tell something was really bothering him. Apparently, he was really reluctant to talk about it, too.”

I scoff. “I hope he got over himself and opened up so you can share this information with me now.”

“Yeah, so he finally said he blamed himself for being an idiot and not paying better attention. Like, it really hit him that your safety was in his hands.”

I… don’t know what I’m allowed to feel. My heart wants to swoon and my mind wants to roll its eyes. Except, if he’s not as terrible as I thought, am I allowed to hope? 

“I think I remember when he came home,” I admit. “We continued drinking and he asked me how I felt - which was very new for us at the time.”

Diana smiles ruefully. “Does he get points for trying, at least?”

“We’ll see,” I say. “I’m definitely nervous that it could all just be a… fling to him.”

Diana startles me by releasing a loud cackle.

“A fling?!” she bellows, struggling to catch her breath. “Oh honey, you’re delusional.”

“What? No!” I protest. “I’m being realistic.”

“Oh Lady Morgana,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes and standing. “Come on, let’s go inside before my fingers fall off.”

~*~

By the early hours of the morning, I’m utterly exhausted. 

Kyle had changed his mind and decided to tell me his roughly outlined plan. It’s not terrible, but luckily the rough bits still have time to be hammered out. I should have plenty of notice before I have to leave, plenty of time for contingencies.

Thomus is out like a light, still snoring softly, when I return. I try to be as quiet as possible as I strip down to my undies and crawl into the massive four-poster bed with him. 

It must not be massive enough, though, because just me softly rolling into position beneath the covers is enough to rouse a few sleepy words from him.

“Darling?” he rasps and I feel his hands reach for me in the dark.

“Hi,” I whisper. “Sorry I woke you.”

He hums and pulls himself closer, resting his head on my chest. “How did we get back to the cottage?” he says sleepily, curling himself against me.

“We didn’t,” I say, running a hand through his hair and the other over his shoulders. “We’re still at Cliveden.”

“Hm, I don’t remember getting here.”

His tone isn’t setting off any alarm bells. It’s low and gravelly, like he’s not entirely awake yet.  He’s just mindlessly chatting and I just have to be casual.

“Well, you were very drunk,” I say. “You passed out playing Exploding Snap. Jake had to levitate you up here.”

His arm around my waist tightens, pulling me tighter against him. “You didn’t leave.”

I don’t say anything, panic instantly spiking my heart rate, and I hope he’s not awake enough to pay attention.

“You could have, but you didn’t,” he continues. “Not that I’d blame you if you did.”

I stay silent, trying to convince myself that his calm demeanor is because whatever he’s talking about, couldn’t be about the drama of the night. There's no way he was awake enough to hear what we said. 

“No,” I murmur. “I didn’t.”

“What room did he put us in?” he murmurs.

I let out a sudden strained laugh. “You’d never guess.”

~*~

On New Year’s Eve, Thomus leaves again. He says it’s to finish last minute tasks for the Gala and whatnot and I feel… depressed… again. I’m mostly uninterested in eating - I ate a bologna and cheese sandwich for dinner. I’m not in the mood to read, listen to music or watch any movies, but I’ve had The Nanny on all day - just to make the house less quiet.

So I just go to bed at the blessed hour of 8pm. 

I’ve barely been in bed for longer than fifteen minutes when the easily recognizable sound of the Floo roaring to life drifts up the stairs. I’ve sat up by the time Thomus finds me.

“In bed already?” he asks, surprised. “On New Year's Eve?”

I shrug, holding the blanket up to my naked chest. “It’s not the easiest holiday to spend by yourself.”

Thomus sits on the edge of the bed, swiftly leaning in to kiss my cheek. “And I don’t intend for you to, I agree completely.” He jumps up, taking long strides through the bathroom to my room, where I hear him opening the wardrobe. I sigh, scooting to the edge to throw my legs over it. It’s just my luck I was already in bed.

“A little warning might have been nice,” I say when he returns, arm cradling a black hoodie and black leggings. 

He takes one look at me and the next moment he’s tossing my clothes on the bed and crowding into my space. His large hands cradle my head as he braces me for his lips on mine. He leans in and I have to prop my arms behind me so we don’t fall backward. Of course this causes the blanket to fall and his hand swoops down to cup and grope my chest, the attention causing my nipples to harden. 

His kisses take my breath away and my thighs are quick to part for him. His hips slide right into the space provided, grinding his hard-on against me. My kisses slacken because all of my attention goes right to my throbbing clit and I desperately whimper.  

His hips rock against me one more time before he pulls away, both of us breathless. His eyes trail down my body as he speaks. “We don’t have much time,” he says. “I will have to savor you later.”

When he steps completely away from me, I’m left cold, so I quickly slide on the oversized hoodie as he adjusts himself in his pants.

“Savor me?” I ask when I stand, stepping into the pants one leg at a time.

He chuckles, watching me wiggle the waistband up over my hips and stomach. “I thought it was a bit more romantic than fuck.”

Ping . There goes the tiniest fracture in my heart for him. I scramble for something clever or funny to say. 

“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” I say, popping in a British accent for the last word. “You could’ve said shag .”

“Cute,” he smirks.

I follow him downstairs, sliding on my socks before I stop at the door for my sneakers and turn for the fireplace.

He clicks his tongue. “Not that way.”

I narrow my eyes and follow him out the door. He takes me to the spot beyond the fence and touches the tattoo before Apparating us to the Manor. The front gates are open and he swiftly takes hold of my tattoo again to get me over the barrier. 

We walk down the entrance path, under gilded arches and golden fairy lights crossing overhead from the tall hedges. Holding my hand, he pulls me around the building along the back toward a door being held open by an elf.

“Miss,” Remmy says to me in a disinterested greeting and drops his voice to a whisper. “Master Thomus, Mistress expects you in fifteen minutes. Master isn’t even dressed -”

“Don’t worry, Remmy, I will be there,” Thomus reassures them as we pass. “Mums the word about Miss Alder, remember?”

“Yes, yes, Remmy remembers,” the elf dismisses. 

Thomus leads me to his room, making sure to use hallways noticeably absent of chatty portraits. A familiar route because of the many times I'd avoided them myself. The moment we’re in his room, he heads for the bathroom, already stripping. There’s a black robed suit hanging from a hook on the door. 

“Please tell me you're not gonna surprise me with a ball gown, are you?” I ask, hopping up onto the bed and toeing my shoes off. 

“I value my neck, thanks,” he remarks, pulling on first his suit pants, then the black button up shirt. “Would you grab me a pair of cufflinks from the closet?”

“Does it matter which one?” I ask, knowing he's got a variety. 

“No.”

By the time I emerge from the closet, elegant silver M stamped cufflinks in hand, he’s already dressed. He smiles at me as I pass him the tiny pieces of metal. 

“All you have to do is wait for a few hours,” he says, his mood curiously… cheerful? “Go back to sleep if you'd like - just don't leave this room. Only Remmy knows you're here.” 

“Why all the fuss?” I ask, my eyes greedily taking his suited form in. I suppress the desire to pull him close by his silk tie for a kiss. He looks too suave and sophisticated and… way out of my league.

“For the simple reason that I don’t want certain guests to know you’re here,” he explains, stepping into the bathroom once again. I hear him spritz a bottle of something.

“And why is that again?” 

He glides out of the bathroom, passing me by with a quick peck to my cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I completely ignore the fact he didn’t answer my question, because I’m way too distracted by his suddenly fragrant cologne. I breathe in lung-fulls of cedar and pine, trying not to swoon in his wake as he pulls out his wand to light the fireplace. 

Then he’s gone, the door audibly locking behind him.

~*~

Well, I definitely try to sleep. Except I wasn’t even tired when I climbed into bed the first time.

First I change into a purple wispy nightgown with a deep vee in the neck that stops at my thighs. Then I change out of it when the frills around the short sleeves become too itchy under the covers, opting instead for a simpler one with long sleeves and a hem that falls around my ankles. 

All this, just to be uncomfortable in every position I try. Nevermind the fact my mind keeps doing laps of worrying, wondering who exactly Thomus doesn’t want to know I’m here. Rodolphus? Bellatrix? Is he dancing and flirting with her while her husband tracks me down this very moment? 

Finally I give up and decide to grab a handful of Thomus’ old Daily Prophets and settle on the cushioned bench in the alcove of one of his windows. I sit sideways on it, my back against the wall with the door in my line of sight. 

I’m about to cast a subtle illumination spell to help my poor eyesight in this dim lighting when movement out the window catches my eye. It’s the curtains billowing out of the open doors to the ball room - or the large drawing room as Narcissa calls it. Golden light spills from windows and the doorway  as the guests' shadows and silhouettes move within. Some are moving swiftly as if dancing while some are mingling. Before I can think better of it, I’m pushing open the French window closest to me.

I hear boisterous laughter and the low hum of chatter, and best of all, music drifts up to me like a leaf in the breeze. It’s the exact kind of music I’d imagine would play at a ball like this, and I can’t help but picture myself down there, in some pretty dress twirling around the room with Thomus.

I sit there, content to listen to the string quartet and people watch. Some come outside for the cool air, others to have a private word alone with each other. 

Hermione is relatively easy to spot. Her black gown is ridiculously puffy around the skirt, but synched skin-tight in the bodice, and even from here I can see the jewels glittering on her chest. I’m surprised to see Draco by her side, dressed head to toe in white. They linger by the door, always surrounded by ladies vying for his attention. I can’t help but notice how his hand slowly caresses her back, almost… lovingly from her waist up to her shoulders and nape when he thinks no one is watching.

Thankfully, I don’t see Bellatrix, but I also don’t see Thomus, either. An inconsequential fact I try not to linger on.

I don’t know how long I sit like that, but eventually Thomus returns, quietly stepping into the room with two empty champagne glasses and a bottle.

“I kinda feel like Cinderella wanting to go to the ball,” I say softly as he approaches. He looks politely puzzled and before he can ask, I explain, “It’s just a No-Maj fairytale.”

“Ah,” he hums. He takes hold of the forgotten newspapers on the other side of the bench and raises an eyebrow.

I feel a blush creep up my throat and try to keep my tone nonchalant. “I… maybe like to read your articles,” I say. “It’s crazy to think we both spent time at The Daily Prophet , but at different times so we never ran into each other.”

I feel like I’m rambling, but how could I not? He looks and smells far too dashing for me to think clearly. 

“It is a bit ironic,” he says, replacing his papers where I’d gotten them from before returning. He takes up the rest of the bench, his back to the window, and places the glasses and bottle on the floor next to him.

“Do you think things might’ve been different if we’d met there instead?” I ask hesitantly, knowing all too well his opinions on ‘what if’s. “Before?”

Thomus sighs heavily and the air puffs out his cheeks. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a sideways look. “Honestly?”

I nod. “Yeah, always.”

“Hm, I think…” his mouth downturns as he speaks, his voice betraying his amusement. “I’d find you the most annoying person on the planet.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out. “What?!”

He nods, completely solemn. “Oh yeah, always asking questions, always bothering me.”

“Oh no, I’d have to talk to you about our job ,” I say with dramatic sarcasm, trying and failing to keep the smile off my face. “Oh no, what a nightmare.”

Thomus grabs my ankle, lifting my foot so he can shift closer, until my calf rests on his opposite thigh. That hand slides from my ankle all the way up my leg, and I’m disappointed it’s not under my nightgown. “It would have been an absolute nightmare to have you prance into my office every bloody day,” he continues as his fingers meet the crease at my hip and wedge themselves in. Then they keep traveling and grip all the plentiful flesh there. “I’d never be able to get any work done because I’d constantly be thinking about bending you over my desk.”

My eyes run laps over the sharp lines of his face, trying to determine if he’s serious. “Is that so?”

Thomus’ eyes drop to my mouth, his free hand brings his thumb to brush my lower lip. “These would be the worst. With every meddlesome question you ask, I’d only be able to think about how they’d taste.”

I’m holding my breath - my heart thudding, my ears burning. I’m suddenly very unnecessarily conscious of how far my glasses have slipped down my nose, the cool breeze from the window across my chest, and how heavy I’m breathing over his thumb. And for some reason his accent is doing funny things to my insides right now, of all times. 

His voice is low, husky, and oh, so hot. “I’d be thinking about how you’d sound when I touched you. And yes, I say when . I could only endure such torture for so long before I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

I snort, a disbelieving smile breaking out under his thumb. “You make me sound like some kind of irresistible vixen.” A chuckle rumbles out of his chest, but I keep going. “Well, I have good news for you - I wouldn’t object to any of that.”

“Is that so?” His hand caresses from my jaw to my neck. 

I bite my lip to control my grin. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I’d be bothering you so much in the first place?”

Thomus lets out a breathy chuckle and sits back, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I can only stare, mesmerized by seeing genuine happiness on his face.

“So,” I say brightly. “Are you enjoying this party you put so much effort into preparing?”

His smile fades. “Not as much as I ought to, I suppose.”

“Oh, why not?” I ask, placing my hand over his one on my neck, feeling along the lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“The people down there…” he starts, eyes gazing out the window, “the only thing I’ve ever been to them is a source for gossip and scandal. And then the few who look past all that see the Malfoy name and nothing else.”

I let that process. “So what you’re saying is you’re a real catch?”

He bursts out laughing, the hand from my hip reaching up to scratch his chin. “Yeah, for those desperate to social climb.”

“So you’re a desperately eligible bachelor ?” I tease with a bit more drama to my tone. “How interesting. All the finest debutantes must be lining up down there, so what ever are you doing up here with me?”

“I’m a little old for debutantes.” He settles toward me into a more relaxing position, pulling his knee up and pressing his calf onto the bench under my thighs. With his face closer to mine now, his softly spoken words are loud and clear. “And besides, your company is vastly preferable over theirs.”

My face floods with heat and I crumble under his direct eye contact. My mouth suddenly feels as dry as the desert while I’m forced to figure out some kind of intelligent reply. “Quite shocking, really,” I say, my voice a whisper until I clear my throat, swallowing down some nerves. “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with the wizarding world’s most crankiest?”

He laughs again. “Are you talking about me or them?”

I’m about to answer, but a dull tapping sound coming from the party draws my attention. The guests are returning inside, tapping their wands against their champagne glasses. 

“Ten minutes to midnight,” Thomus explains. “Lucius and Narcissa are about to make their toast.”

I slip my other hand around the one he has at my neck, both of mine cradling it near my chest as I glance at the clock on his mantle. “I guess that means you have to go?”

“Probably,” he admits slowly. “But I’m here.”

“Hold on, speaking of being here, isn’t Draco supposed to be in Switzerland?” I jut in, my eyes easily finding him and Hermione on the edge of the crowd. 

“He is and Lucius is absolutely furious,” he sighs. “I can’t believe he’d be so foolish.”

“Well, it's obvious, right?” I ask, side-eying him, unsure if this is something I could even talk about. “He’s like, really into Hermione.”

A few moments tick by in silence as I stare at the crowd below. I glance at him to see his eyes had been on me the whole time, his expression pensive. When our eyes meet, he holds them for a moment before his gaze follows his hand as both of his gently hold mine instead. He pulls back my left sleeve, his fingers lightly tracing his name inked on my skin. Then he goes further, tracing the white puckered lines of the scar Bellatrix left me. 

“What’re you thinking about?” I whisper.

His lips curl ruefully. “I’m thinking about how much of a hypocrite I am. I’ve called him foolish when here I am,” he says. “Unable to stay away.”

“From what?” I breathe, feeling stupid the moment I finish. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if he can feel my pulse where he holds my arm.

Thomus’ eyes hold on my arm, avoidant of my own. His voice is soft like he's telling me a secret. “I snuck you in tonight because I couldn’t bear not spending it with you.”

My eyebrows come together and I feel my head shake. “It’s just another year.”

“No,” he says, his eyes flashing up to mine, adamant. “Moments like these are important, to spend with those who are important. That’s why they’re all gathered down there, isn’t it? To go into the New Year praising the Dark Lord’s reign, congratulating themselves for their accomplishments this year.” He looks back down at our hands, at his name. “I know I don’t have much to celebrate in that regard, but I do know that you’re important to me… and frankly I'm tired of pretending otherwise.”

I can only stare at him. Unable to think, unable to breathe . How could he say something like that? 

When I finally have to draw breath after what feels like an eternity, I only get to say his name. “Thomus -”

The loud popping of fireworks bursts from below, along with some cheer that has me turning my gaze away only briefly. I turn back and Thomus’ mouth descends on mine. 

The kiss is full and wonderful, but short. He pulls back inches away to search into my gaze, like he’s asking for permission, like he’s making sure what he just said was okay. 

It was more than okay. It’s exactly what my heart wants to hear, even though my own stubborn insecurities push doubt into my mind. 

I can’t say anything back. I can’t tell him how I feel.

But I can show him.

Our lips meet again in a rush. At least it feels like that to me, like we just can’t bare being apart anymore. I pour my heart and soul into this kiss. My hands find their way into his hair, his caress and grip every part of my body he can reach. 

Soon I’m pushing him back so I can climb onto his lap. He’s pulled up my nightgown and the cool air feels amazing on my bare legs. I’ve got one foot on the floor and the other is bent at the knee, helping control my balance while I’m grinding on him. 

He keeps pulling me to him, my weight rocking into him, and I brace a hand on the wall in the bay window as he falls further back, keeping me upright. His hands slip under my nightgown, roaming my thighs. I adjust my hips, feeling brave enough to put both hands on his chest to steady me. His suit pants can’t hide how hard he is. I try to use that as a reminder he’s genuinely into me. No matter how many times I’m in his lap, it’s still hard to believe he wants me here. 

“How long till you have to go back?” I ask with controlled breaths. 

He growls. “Just fuck me, baby.” His fingers painfully dig into my hips as he pulls me down, undulating his hips against me. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

There are things I want to blurt out, simple little words swelling in my chest that threaten to ruin everything. 

But if I confess how I feel, it wouldn’t change anything. I’ll still be his prisoner. His possession.

I don’t wanna be an object. I long to be more .

My hands slide up his chest to meet at his neckline, shoving my fingers into the knot on his tie. I don’t bother pulling it all the way off before I go at his buttons, not stopping until his muscled chest and abdomen are revealed. My hips rock, rubbing my pussy over his cock straining to be let free. 

Then I jump up, standing to shimmy my undies to the floor. Thomus sits up and shrugs off his suit jacket, pulling off his tie completely. I pause, waiting to return to my seat, but then he looks at me, his eyes raking me up and down. 

“I want that off,” he says, referring to the only article of clothing I have left. 

I struggle not to make a face, because I still have a hard time being completely naked in front of him. If we were in bed, that would be different. This just feels too exposed.

I grip the material around my hips and step toward him. “Take it off for me?” I ask.

Lust-filled eyes lock on mine and his hands go to my thighs, sliding them up my sides, taking the gown with them. I raise my arms to help him pull it off the rest of the way and a blast of cool air from the window makes goosebumps rise all over me. It sends a shiver through my body and my nipples harden.

When my arms are free, I step even closer and cup his face, pressing my lips to his. I kiss him softly, from one corner of his mouth to the other. While I distract his mouth with sweet kisses, one hand takes off my glasses and the other goes to his belt.

Of course, I can only use one brain cell at a time, so my mouth becomes distracted when I struggle with undoing his belt. I just pull my mouth away all together so I can get a visual on my hands. I glance up at Thomus’ face to find his heated gaze focused on mine. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the matter at hand. “Not very sexy, I know.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” he says and inhales sharply when my hands finally wrap around his swollen cock. My palms glide up and down gently before giving it a firm squeeze. My thumb circles his head, spreading a bead of pre-cum, and he leans forward, lips and tongue tracing a path from my neck to my breasts. One of his big hands cups my breast and when he immediately bites down on my nipple, I gasp and whimper. His tongue soothes away the pain, swirling around the stiff peak. 

His other hand slides down my thigh, fingers feeling the dimples and divots until they hook behind my knee. My hands go to his shoulders for balance as he lifts my foot until it’s on the bench. His fingers quickly glide back up my thigh, this time underneath it to where it’s most sensitive and softest. 

Thomus’ lips release my nipple and he pulls back enough to see my face. “I think you’re very sexy,” he murmurs. “From this pretty little pussy of yours” - his fingers glide through my folds, teasingly spreading the slipperiness from the center to my clit - “to those lips I just can’t seem to get enough of.”

His thumb presses in on my clit and my train of thought struggles to stay on track. “You’re pretty hot too,” I say breathily. “You’ve got these shoulders and thighs and hands that just -” My words are cut off by a moan when he slips two fingers inside me.

“That just what?” he teases, unmistakably smug. 

It takes me a moment to answer because his thumb in combination with his fingers curling against my g-spot have my hips rocking and my brain turning to mush. My breaths come in short pants and my eyes are pinched closed, focused on riding the pleasurable waves his fingers are orchestrating. 

“Concentrate, darling,” he presses. “Answer me.”

“Hands,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, “hands that do terrible… awful things to me.”

His fingers turn aggressive, pressing harder and rhythmic as he hums in approval. “That’s a good girl.”

His lips return to my nipple and that pushes me past the point of no return. A stream of curses and Thomus’ name tumble from my mouth. My toes curl and my body goes stiff as my orgasm washes over me. Thomus slows his long fingers, but still presses in hard on my g-spot as my pussy pulses around him.

When I can finally breathe again, I push at Thomus’ shoulders and he leans back, bringing his drenched digits up to his mouth. He groans at my taste and resituates himself on the bench, pushing his pants and briefs past his thighs. I’m still dazed from my orgasm when Thomus pulls me on top of him. He holds his cock at the base and guides me until he’s sliding home, deep inside my pussy. 

“Oh fuck,” I moan, my eyes closing. This position never fails to put him as deep inside as possible, and if I really sit on his lap, he’s hitting my cervix. But that would be painful, so instead I move my hips around slowly, figuring out what angle works best and won’t kill my thighs. One particular move makes him groan and my eyes flutter open to find his locked intently on me, watching my body move. I definitely found the right one.

I start to go a little faster, a little harder. I have a hand on a window pane and the other grasping his shoulder to stabilize me. My thighs are burning, but the pain isn’t enough to make me stop. He’s inside me, and I love being connected like this. What I feel for him never feels more real than it does in moments like this. When I can’t be in denial.

With the increasing intensity of my hips, little whimpers start to tumble from my mouth alongside my panting. My bottom lip is nailed between my teeth and as I can feel my orgasm hurtling towards me, fuck is the only word coming out of my mouth. 

Whenever he feels they could use more attention, his hands never fail to stray to my breasts. Supporting them as they bounce and sway, leaning forward to kiss and nibble at my nipples. 

“So fucking beautiful,” I hear him grind out above the steady and erotic sound of our bodies joining. 

My orgasm is close - so, so close. I’m starting to go crazed, desperate to cum again. Thomus is, too. I can hear it in his voice as he groans.

“Baby, I need you to cum on me.” His voice is strained like he’s in utter agony. 

I let out a frustrated whimper as I pause to grind on his lap, hoping for an angle that hits my clit. 

“I need - can you - ?” I gasp out. 

I don’t even have to finish my sentence before his fingers wiggle in under my belly. My pussy’s so slippery, the pads of his fingers find the hood of my clit and press in, rubbing it in circles. My hips jerk, bouncing up and down on his cock, continuing even as my orgasm finally crashes over my body. I throw my head back as my back arches. His body stiffens below me as he cums, groaning out his pleasure.

“Beautiful darling, well done,” he pants with praise after we both have a chance to breathe, his voice shaking. “I lov-”

Thomus is abruptly cut off by loud banging on his door.

We both jump like we’ve been hit. There’s a moment where our eyes meet and I see panic cross his face just as it does on mine. 

“Thomus!” a familiar man’s voice calls from beyond the door. 

Thomus blinks, his expression hardening. He brings a finger up to his lips, warning me to be quiet. “Closet,” he whispers. “Go. Now.”

Nodding, my legs are like jelly as I push myself off of him. He’s hastily throwing on his suit as I bend to scoop up my nightgown and undies. I dash for the closet. It’s dark enough I can just hide behind the open door. Instead of the nightgown though, I opt for my pants and hoodie. Plus a pair of Thomus’ socks while I’m at it because mine are lost in the sheets somewhere.

While I’m desperately dressing, the man at the door calls for Thomus again. “Where have you been, Thomus? I’ve been sent to fetch your ungrateful ass.”

I squeeze behind the closet door to peek through the crack between the hinges just as Thomus strides to the door. He’s fully dressed and smoothing back his hair with his fingers. He pauses to take a deep breath before opening the door. 

It’s Rodolphus. 

“What do you want,” Thomus demands, sounding amazingly composed.

Rodolphus leans a hand on the doorframe. “You missed your brother’s toast,” he says, a mocking lilt to his tone. His hair is disheveled, the tie to his tux hangs loose around his neck. “How could you have missed this moment to show support for the Dark Lord? Your family? ”

“I don’t answer to you,” Thomus says. He keeps his back straight and his chin up.

Rodolphus puts a finger to his chin, tapping it. “And then I remembered a few other times you’ve mysteriously disappeared from similar events,” Rodolphus continues before abruptly shoving past Thomus into the room. Thomus tries grabbing his coat tails, but he somehow avoids him.

Rodolphus stops in the middle of the room, eyeing it while slowly turning back to Thomus. He inhales heavily through his nose and steps back towards the window with the bench. “A moment ago, I was convinced you were up here fucking my wife,” he says casually. He reaches for something on it and my anxiety explodes in my chest the moment I see him pick up my glasses. “Of course, I was only half-right. This room reeks of sex, but my wife has never hid.”

Rodolphus drops my glasses and stomps on them with his shoe, crushing my lenses under his sole. The glass crunches as he turns, backing up towards the closet. Thomus watches him with furious eyes. His hands are empty, but I know in the blink of an eye he’d have his wand.

“I’m surprised you can still get it up for her since her… accident ,” Rodolphus taunts. “She’s utterly repulsing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Thomus bites.

He’s so close to the closet. My fingers feel for anything on the shelf behind me and immediately feel the unmistakable smooth metal of Thomus’ shoehorn, the very one I tried to pummel him with. 

Maybe New Year’s Eve kisses are good luck.

I raise it over my head as he steps to the doorway.

“Your silence is very telling,” Rodolphus chuckles as he slowly steps into the closet. I hear his footsteps on the wood floor as he disappears on the other side of the door.

I’ve shoved my anxiety down enough so I don’t panic as he reappears, wand scanning the room.

Just as he turns to me, I transfigure the shoehorn into a dagger, and hold it up to his throat.

[gracehosborn]

What's the itinerary? 👀

Hi, Anon! Happy to share.

My dream American Revolution trip itinerary, just including my must-sees, and a rough idea of transportation (still working on food stops and slipping in other points of interest):

Day 1:

Early morning flight to Boston, MA

Stay in Boston for 3 nights, 4 days

Rental car for Day 2 and 3

Boston Massacre Site

Boston Tea Party Ships & Museum

Bunker Hill Museum and Monument

Old North Church & Historic Site

Day 2:

Paul Revere House

Lexington Battle Green Tour, Lexington MA

Drive from Boston

Old North Bridge, Concord MA

Drive from Lexington

Day 3:

Adams National Historic Park, Quincy MA

Drive from Boston

General Nathaniel Greene Homestead, Coventry RI

Drive from Adams NHP

Day 4:

Early morning train/bus to Albany, NY

Stay in Albany 2 nights, 3 days

Rental car for Day 4 and 5

Saratoga National Historical Park, Stillwater NY

Drive from Albany

Fort Ticonderoga, Ticonderoga NY

Drive from Saratoga NHP

Day 5:

Schuyler Mansion tour

Washington’s Headquarters State Historic Site, Newbrugh NY

Drive from Albany

John Jay Homestead, Katonah NY

Drive from Washington Headquarters Newbrugh

Day 6:

Early morning train from Albany to New York City, NY

Stay in New York City for 4 nights, 5 days

Hamilton Grange National Memorial

Morris-Jumel Mansion

Day 7:

City Hall Park

Federal Hall

Fraunces Tavern Museum

Trinity Church & Cemetary

Day 8:

Museum of the City of New York

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Day 9:

Van Cortlandt House Museum

Central Park

New York Historical Society Museum & Library

Weehawken Dueling Grounds/Hamilton Park, Weehawken, NJ

Take ferry to and from

Day 10:

Train/bus to Princeton, NJ

Stay in Princeton 2 nights, 3 days

Rental car for Day 11

Princeton Battlefield State Park

Day 11:

Monmouth Battlefield State Park, Manalapan, NJ

Drive from Princeton

Morristown National Historical Park, Morristown NJ (Includes: Ford Mansion/Washington’s Headquarters, Schuyler-Hamilton House, Jockey Hollow)

Drive from Monmouth Battlefield Park

Day 12:

Early train/bus to Trenton, NJ

Old Barracks Museum

Washington Crossing Park, Washington Crossing, PA

Train/bus from Trenton

Train/Bus from Washington Crossing to Philadelphia PA

Stay in Philadelphia 3 nights, 4 days

Rental car for Day 15 and 16

Day 13:

Independence Hall

Liberty Bell Center

First Bank of the United States

Carpenter’s Hall

Day 14:

Museum of the American Revolution

Elfreth’s Alley Museum

Day 15:

Valley Forge National Historical Park

Drive from Philadelphia

Moland House (Washington Headquarters), Warwick Township PA

Drive from Valley Forge NHP

Peter Wentz Farmstead (Washington Headquarters), Lansdale PA

Drive from Moland House

Day 16:

Cliveden of the National Trust (Chew House)

Drive from Philadelphia

Brandywine Battlefield (park), Chadds Ford PA

Drive from Cliveden

Afternoon or evening train from Philadelphia to Alexandria, VA

Stay in Alexandria for 2 nights, 3 days

Rental car for Day 18

Day 17:

George Washington’s Mount Vernon

Train/bus from Alexandria, VA

National Archives Museum, Washington DC

Train/bus from Alexandria, VA

Day 18:

James Madison’s Montpelier, Montpelier Station, VA

Drive from Alexandria, VA

Evening train from Alexandria to Williamsburg, VA

Stay in Williamsburg 2 nights

Day 19:

Colonial Williamsburg

Day 20:

Yorktown Battlefield

American Revolution Museum at Yorktown

Train/bus/taxi from Williamsburg

Day 21:

Fly from Williamsburg to Charleston, SC

Stay in Charleston for 4 nights, 5 days

Rental car for Days 22-24

South Carolina Historical Society Museum

Day 22:

Savannah History Museum, Savannah GA

Battlefield Park Heritage Center, Savannah GA

Drive from Charleston

Day 23:

Cowpens National Battlefield, Cowpens SC

Drive from Charleston

Eutaw Springs Battlefield Park, Eutawville SC

Drive from Cowpens

Day 24:

Magnolia Plantation and Gardens

Mempkin Abbey (site of Laurens family graves)

Day 25:

Fly home from Charleston SC

[luhafraser]

Hey Audi Anon... You were right!!! 🤣

📍Cliveden House

Interesting review...

https://www.mummytravels.com/fujifilm-review-cliveden-national-trust/

[livesunique]

Cliveden House, Taplow, Berkshire, United Kingdom

Varna Studios Photography

[tallmadgeandtea]

Some little things I didn’t have space to mention in my post:

Some of the 2nd Dragoons also served as General Washington’s Life Guard.

An eventual commander in the 3rd Dragoons was George Washington’s nephew, William Washington

General “Light Horse” Harry Lee was one of the most accomplished cavalryman of the revolution, and his son was…General Robert E. Lee

I actually got Colonel Baylor’s diary on an inter library loan, but he barely wrote ANYTHING about the actual battles. Instead he’d write about the dinners he attended. Virginians gonna Virginian, I guess.

At Germantown, when the British turned the country house- Cliveden, owned by Philadelphian Judge named Benjamin Chew- into a fortress, Washington and his officers had a discussion on whether they should abandon the house and try to defeat the British some other way. Brigadier General Henry Knox, commander of the artillery, suggested to Washington that they keep the action at Cliveden and bring in the cannons.

Washington agreed with Knox’s decision, and this decision led to the army’s loss at Germantown. Tallmadge had his own thoughts on this matter, too good not to share:

“All attempts to dislodge them were ineffectual and although they would have been harmless in a few minutes if we had passed them by, yet through the importunity of Gen. Knox (which I distinctly heard), Gen. Washington permitted him to bring his field artillery to bear upon it without effect.”

So yes, Benjamin did not talk about his spy ring, but he did share some of his opinions, the petty bastard.

(And probably more, but this is what came to mind.)

[siennamillerstyle]

Mango Perkins-Neck Ribbed Dress

Worn with: By Malene Birger coat, Gucci sneakers

| With family at Cliveden House, October 2023 |

[jonsaremembers]

Reading Tag Game!

Thanks @the-lincyclopedia this is my jam!! I tag @thatgirlnevershutsup @castrotophic @infiniteseriesofhalfways @notsosaucystuff and @whatsitcalledfromthingy - if you wanna play, of course!

Last book I read: Becoming Ella Fitzgerald by Judith Tick. It was...sort of dry and boring. I was hoping for something more personal. But honestly it was so eye opening, in that sometimes there are gaps in the history of her life and they have to assemble a timeline piecemeal from venue records and such, which is...I wonder about it

A book I recommend: Fellowship Point by Alice Elliott Dark. Her prose is unbelievable. Some of the best writing I have ever read, ever - wry and witty and so so heartfelt. It was in the running for my favorite book of the year until I read Babel. 

Book I couldn't put down: One by One by Ruth Ware. I don't love EVERY Ruth Ware title, but I consider myself a connoisseur of Thrillers for Scaredy Cats, and this is an absolute masterpiece in that arena. 

Book I've read twice: I reread ALL the time, but how about I mention (again) the fact that I have read my least favorite book of all time twice, just to be sure. (It's Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray. I loathe that book.)

A book on my TBR: My Goodreads TBR is legit in the four figures, but the latest one I added is called The Mistresses of Cliveden and it was rec'd to me by my sister, with whom I share a love of intimate accounts of historical women's lives. 

A book I have put down: I assume this means I DNFed. This list is pretty short! I have a different shelf for "books I didn't finish but want to try again someday" than for "giving up bc I hate it." The most recent one was The Montessori Baby by Simone Davies, which I picked up when my kid was about 8 months old and promptly began to internalize a TON of guilt about everything I wasn't doing, so I said NOPE. 

A book on my wish list: I Didn't Do the Thing Today by Madeline Dore, which was basically written for me, personally, and may indeed change your life as well. Completely changed how I see my life and productivity and creativity and and and.

A favorite book from childhood: Oh God, all of them. But somehow I have not yet mentioned my favorite author of all time, Madeleine L'Engle, so I will mention her now, and shout out A Wrinkle In Time and A House Like a Lotus. 

A book I would give a friend: The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo. I love this book so so so much. It's about sisterhood, and parenting, and how we can hurt the people we love without doing anything wrong per se. I actually did force a copy on my mother in law because I happened to visit a bookstore the same day she and I had been chatting about it. 

A book of poetry or lyrics I own: I have a collection of C. S. Lewis' poems I bought in Sweden.

A non-fiction book I own: Upstairs at the White House by J. B. West, who served as Chief Usher at the White House from the tail end of the FDR presidency to the beginning of Nixon. It's absolutely fascinating. I've read this like five times. 

Currently reading: Anna Karenina on audio. I've been slogging through it since the beginning of this year. I really want to finish it this time (I've started and stalled on AK at least twice, maybe 3 times?!).

Planning on reading next: My hold on The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot just came through!

[thefollyflaneuse]

Pentillie Mausoleum, Saltash, Cornwall

Pentillie Mausoleum, Saltash, Cornwall

In the early years of the 18th century Sir James Tillie updated his will and included a rather mysterious instruction about his last resting place. He was to be interred ‘in such a place at Pentillie Castle as I have acquainted my dearest Wife the Lady Elizabeth Tillie with.’ (more…)

[deadhumourist]

Hospital Pass

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI.

Word count: 3800+

Warnings: No physical description of reader, no use of Y/N, hospitals, nudity, condoms, mention of bras, mention of drugs and a dead person, crying, inappropriate use of hospital property, non-explicit m/m action, reader given nickname. No Muppets were harmed during the writing of the fic.

A/N: This is a sort-of-sequel to the crackfic Bravo Juliett - the interviewer mentioned is the one from that story. And the Reader character is the PR person managing the interviews, so we see Bravo Juliett going down from an outsider perspective. The warnings sound hectic but the fic is basically crack comedy and fluff.

A huge thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment who beta'd and provided valuable input <3

Author Masterlist | Taglist in my bio

--------

You eye the entrance to the balcony, seeing interviewers in various states of boredom. How were there still so many? You'd been filing them in like sardines since 9am and it feels like malicious compliance from the AI of a video game. It just keeps spawning new ones. 

As the PR assistant, your job is to pluck ‘em out, sit' em down and kick ‘em out once their ten minutes are up. It’s pretty much rote at this point, on day three of interviews.  

If you have to stand around like glorified furniture you are glad it’s on the balcony of Cliveden House. The sprawling estate’s U shape embraces a perfectly manicured lawn that stretches to the very edge of a forest. You imagine some poor soul needing to take to the greenery with tweezers, plucking unruly blades of grass out so that everything is just so. 

For the duration of the film and its promotion, the cast, crew and external support (so, you) are housed at the estate. You would be lying if you said you don’t enjoy the impeccable breakfasts and crisp heel-click style hospitality of the staff. 

The late afternoon sun casts a very flattering glow on Dieter as he sits in the comfortable chair. He’s tanned and every time he turns his head slightly the sunlight catches his curls. Even the douchebag way his sunglasses are perched low on his nose can’t make him look bad. 

With him looking at the interviewer, you have a chance to let your eyes rest on his features for a few more minutes. Apart from being incredibly attractive, he has a good command of charm offensives for when he needs them. His eyes say “bedroom” but his earring says “you’ll regret this the second you roll off my dick and you won’t talk to anyone about it until years later.” 

His voice drifts over to where you’re sitting some distance away with your colleague Tanya.

“There are cliffs…..and there are beasts….for the 6th time.” 

You turn your head to her.

“This is a great example of being technically correct but…fuuuck he’s insufferable.” you sighed.

She rolls her eyes. 

“Wouldn’t you be sick of the same questions after seven hours? Give the guy a break.”

Your eyes move back to him. 

“No, I refuse. He…I mean….who dresses like that? My god, with that gross coat he has, it looks like he’s wearing Rowlf the Muppet.” you quip drily. 

Tanya snorts into her cappuccino, sending a little foam over the rim of the paper cup. 

Dieter suddenly sits upright, studying the reporter in front of him with renewed interest. You know that look. 

You walk over and motion to her, tapping an imaginary watch on your wrist. 

She nervously gets up, never taking her eyes off him, and he pulls his assistant closer to whisper something in their ear. You turn to the doorway of infinite interviewers and don’t follow her as she slinks out of sight. The assistant catches up with her and the smile the dazzling smile that spreads across her face as he delivers his message is telling.  

Like clockwork, another interviewer minion spawns and you wave them through. After that you lose track, but it must be almost forty minutes later that Dieter gets up out of his chair, spectacularly fake-yawns and declares the day of interviews over. 

Seeing as it’s already after 4pm, you tend to agree with him, but you would rather be waterboarded than be nice to him in public. 

He shoots finger guns at you and your colleague, before winking and strolling off, earning a scowl from you both. 

You walk into the lounge where a handful of interviewers are still waiting for their turn.

“Time’s up, kids. Mr Bravo needs some rest, but Tanya will be in shortly to schedule you in for tomorrow. That sound good?”

When you only hear groans from the group, you clap your hands together and summon your best cheery smile, then proceed to railroad over their dismayed moans with. “Alright then, see you in the morning, thanks for coming!” and exit the stately room. 

As soon as you’re in the hallway, you toe off your heels. The sensation of finally being free of the prim footwear is akin to taking off your bra, that most fantastical of female joys. You’re well on your way to doing just that - it’s a short walk to your room. 

As you walk down the corridor you hear faint murmuring. You can’t make out the words but the deep baritone is awfully familiar. You try to listen in, to figure out where he is, until you hear a female voice with him. Ah. Okay. Definitely time to move along.

You reach the door of your suite and mercifully press it shut behind you. Now to enjoy some downtime. 

Two hours later you’re in your pajamas on the plush bed, and the tear tracks down your face are gleaming in the flickering light of the TV. “Me Before You” is a real tear-jerker, and just as you’re about to reach for a Kleenex, your phone’s loud ringing jerks you out of your romantic reverie. 

Immediately you’re pissed at being interrupted, but when you reach over you’re more confused than anything.

“Bravo? How’d you get my number?” you sniffle. 

An agonizing groan comes from the other side of the line. 

“Help…I need help.” then the line goes dead. 

It takes your movie-addled brain a moment to catch up, but when it does, you hastily pull on your work skirt and a sweater over your pajama top and race down the corridor to Dieter’s suite. 

You knock on the door and call out to him.

“Hey, open up! You okay in there?”

Nothing.

You rush to reception, imploring the receptionist for access to Dieter’s room. Luckily the staff have been briefed on cast and crew and she issues you an additional keycard, which you pluck from her fingers with a forced little smile before you dart back down the hallway. 

A quick swipe later, you’re pushing his door shut behind you. 

“Dieter?” you call into the low light of the suite. The bathroom light is on so you walk there, hoping he hasn’t done something drastic like hard drugs. You don’t think you could handle finding a dead person, even if you didn’t like the person in question. 

As you walk closer to the entrance, you see his foot come into view, then his leg….he’s sprawled on the tiles, head back with his eyes closed. Oh fuck. 

Swearing under your breath you get on your knees next to him, and grab his head, trying to revive him.

His eyes pop open, and he looks at you like he’s annoyed.

“Finally…took you long enough.” 

You let go of his head and retract your hands like your touched fire. 

“Motherfu…what the FUCK Bravo? I thought you were unconscious!” 

“I was unconscious. From fucking boredom. I call you for help and you show up like an hour late? I’m INJURED” he roars, dramatically motioning to his other leg by way of an open palm. 

“And you’re naked!” you shout at him.

“Yes, that’s how people fucking shower!” he shouts back. “Look at my ankle!” 

Your eyes travel down his tapered torso, not missing the soft swell of a little belly dusted with a trail of coarse hair that leads right into a small hand towel that he had draped over himself to preserve his modesty. Like he has any, you grump inwardly. 

Shaking your head to rid yourself of these intrusive thoughts, you follow a toned leg down until you see an ankle that definitely does not normally look that swollen. 

“Oh.” you say, feeling a little dumb. 

“Yeah, oh is right. I’m dying of pain, I need an ambulance.” 

Your head whips back to him.

“Why did you call me? You have a personal assistant.”

“She quit this afternoon. Saw me leaving a fan after um…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose with one hand and waved at him with the other in a vague attempt to get him to stop talking.

“No, no…no, I’m nope-ing out of this conversation. I don’t actually need to know.” 

He goes quiet, serious. Studies your face for a second, then reaches out and cups it gently. 

You’re surprised enough to let it happen, feeling the warm, large palm pressed against your cold cheek. 

“Did you cry because you were worried about me?” he whispers. 

You almost growl at him, swat his hand away and get up. You completely forgot that it looks like you just came from a funeral - your eyes are puffy and red and you must have looked a sight in the bright light of the reception area.

“Hi, yeah, I need a town car rental please.” you say into the phone receiver after you dial.

“I need an ambulance,” Dieter whines from the floor. You avoid looking at him, spread out like a sexy trash panda Greek god on the bathroom tiles.

You close the receiver with your palm.

“This is not an emergency, and it will attract press if we wheel you out of here into an ambulance. We’ll get you to the hospital either way.”

An hour after that, Dieter hobbles through the doors of A and E, his sunglasses and hat firmly in place. 

—----

After the doctor took a look at him and dispensed some pain meds, he was admitted for observation. So you sat down with a magazine while he slept. Now you’ve finished the magazine and he's still snoring away.  

He looks so peaceful that you can’t help but stare. His normally animated face is soft in sleep, he almost looks younger. More innocent. A sudden inexplicable urge comes over you to slide your hand underneath his. Right now he’s just a normal man, no frills and no bullshit. And he’s hurt. 

You shouldn't. 

But you run your finger gently along the top side of his pointer finger. His hand reflexively opens and envelops yours. You hurriedly search his face, looking for some mischievous grin but he’s still sound asleep. His thumb slowly strokes along the length of your hand, a seemingly self-soothing gesture. 

You extract your hand painfully slowly, almost missing the warmth and grip. In an attempt to distract yourself and hopefully slow down your heart rate, you fiddle with the TV remote, accidentally dropping it on the linoleum floor.

Dieter issues a drawn-out groan behind you.

"I can't even get rest when I'm on the brink of death"

You whip around to face him. 

"You're not on the brink of death, you sprained an ankle. Big difference."

"I'm thirsty, I need something to drink" he whines.

Not even awake for a full minute and already making demands. Typical. 

"I'll get a nurse" you huff and walk out. 

At the nurses’ station you make your request then go to find a cup of coffee. It’s close to midnight and you feel like you’re running on fumes. It’s definitely one of the most eventful nights you’ve had in a long time, and not in a good way. The weak but warm brew does perk you up a little and feeling a bit more human, you make your way to his private hospital room. 

Reaching the door, you suddenly lose your pace. The curtain around his bed is drawn. He's not due for any tests, so you're not sure what's happening. 

In your confusion it takes you a minute to identify little huffs and breathy whimpers from Dieter. Panicking that he might be in pain again, you rip the curtain open with more force than it really needs.

A nurse is standing pressed close to Dieter's bed. Both men's heads snap to you, and it takes a moment for your eyes to drift down, where the nurse's arm has disappeared into the very obvious tented bed covers. 

"Get…out" you hiss. The man quickly removes his hand, flashes Dieter a shy smile and leaves. The latter throws his hands up in exasperation. "What was that for? I was close."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I hope this is the first and last time I'm going to have to explain this to you, but you cannot fuck hospital staff while they're attending to you. This isn't Grey's Anatomy."

"We weren't fucking. He’s a hot nurse with very soft hands. And he said I was handsome like an old-school movie star.” he mopes.  

He turns his body to you, seemingly gearing up for an argument. 

"When was the last time you had a good fuck? Eyes-roll-back-in-your-head, can’t-feel-your-legs kinda shit."

"None of your business, that's when." you bite off. 

"That's what I thought."

A long beat passes, that seems even longer as your cheeks heat up. 

"I bet I could do that for you"

Jolted from your thoughts, you look at him. He looks equally startled, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

“Do what?” 

Dieter studies you for a moment. What he says next catches you completely off guard. 

“Make you come around my cock. Hard. Give you a nice dose of those good brain chemicals to relax you.”

Your jaw drops. That isn’t just a bold statement, it also seems that he is…offering? 

Not taking him seriously, you scoff, but you can feel your cheeks burning at the prospect, however ridiculous, of this gorgeous man even being that close to you. Even if he is annoying under every single other circumstance. 

Dieter looks down at his hands that are folded up in his lap. His voice is quieter than you’d ever heard it. 

“Do you know why I called you?”

He squints into the overhead light, pretending to study it intensely. 

“No, I really don’t.”

“I knew that even though you can’t stand the sight of me, you would still help me. Even though you don't have to. That’s more than I can say for most people in my life.” 

Oh.

Several different responses swirl in your brain and as soon as you catch one, it flits away again. Your tongue feels like lead at the heartbreaking admission and you are rooted to the spot. Dieter’s voice finally breaks you out of your holding pattern. 

“So…I’d like to give you this. It’s…I’ve been told I’m good. Let me be good for you.” he says in a soft voice. 

You look down at your feet for a long time until your eyes meet his again. 

“I’m not a charity case, Bravo.” 

He nods, closing his eyes for a moment to emphasise his words. 

“I know. This is not a charity offer. I’d like to make a friend feel good.”

"We're not friends either." You hold your ground but even to your ears it comes across as needlessly stubborn. 

"But we could be," he replied, head tilted slightly. 

Then to lighten the mood, he adds, a crooked smile playing across his lips. 

“And you kinda cockblocked me a few minutes ago so I’m dying over here. You’d be doing me a favour.” 

You smile at him, the first genuine smile and you feel your heart leap as he returns it. This seems too honest a conversation to be one of his usual charming overtures. A small part of you dares to hope. 

“Now come closer, sexy, I can’t touch you if you’re all the way over there.” 

You huff a laugh, close the door and go to stand next to his bed. 

“You’re an idiot, Bravo.”

“And you’re a fox when you smile, who knew?” 

He keeps his eyes level with yours, mischief sparkling in them, challenging you to play the game with him. His right hand drops from the bed and you suddenly feel his fingertips trailing up your leg, barely grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh. There is a ghost of a smile as he says - 

"You pretend you don’t like me but you’re burning up under here.” 

As his hand skims up and comes dangerously close to your ass and around to the apex of your thighs, you struggle not to let a moan escape from you. He trails a line of fire to where you need him most. 

“It’s hot outside, has nothing to do with you.” you quip. 

To your utter surprise, he guffaws a loud laugh, like you had just told the best punchline. A cute little dimple appears in his cheek as the laughter dies down and he just smiles fondly at you. 

Then his wrist twists and you feel his knuckles skim the front of your panties, now soaked.

He dips inside the material, and his smile deepens at what he finds there, making the heat in his eyes flame even higher. He extends his fingers and deftly rubs over your clit, silken and heated, until you feel like you’re going to preen up against his hand like a cat. 

“Why don’t you get up here and take me for a ride - there should be a condom in my pants pocket” and with that, he holds out his arms to help you onto the bed. 

Slipping off your shoes, sweater and underwear, you clamber onto the bed, feeling a bit unsure. 

But you should have known that you’re in experienced hands. Dieter appraises you for a moment before curling his strong fingers behind your neck and gently bringing you down for a kiss. The moment his plush lips touch yours you feel an involuntary moan escape your throat. He smiles around the kiss and delves deeper, feasting on you like he’s been waiting for you all week. 

His other hand travels downward, pushing the covers down over his body. You break the kiss briefly to pull the covers the rest of the way down to the bottom edge of the bed. Smirking, you take in the ridiculous sight of him in a stupid hospital gown…for a sprained ankle. 

Your smirk dies a quick death when you see the outline of his thick cock tenting the gown, and he reaches down to pull the material up to his middle so nothingl separates the two of you. He takes the foil square from you and makes quick work of getting protection on. 

Your pulse thrums in anticipation; you can't believe this is happening. He motions for you to lift yourself a little, and then steadies himself beneath you. You sink onto his firm cock, the wide head catching on your folds. The delicious stretch makes you feel so full -  he hasn’t even started moving and you already feel the fuzzy edges of an orgasm in your periphery. 

Once he gives you a moment to adjust, punctuated with another delicious kiss, he slaps your butt with a  “Go on, Fox, take what you need.”

You slowly start to ride him, building up to a steady pace, and after a few thrusts, he pushes himself up from his lying position, pulls down your pajama top and takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking. It feels heavenly, and as you look down at him, his eyes are closed like he’s lost in the feel of your soft skin. 

A loud beeping pulls you back into the room, and your head lolls up to look at the vitals monitor next to his head. You can’t help the smirk that rests on your lips. 

“Hmmm, looks like I’m making your heart rate skyrocket.” 

He shifts his head, trying to see what you’re seeing, and irritatedly, he pulls the vitals monitor off his finger. He reaches forward and clamps it to your nipple. You gasp, the sudden jolt of pain sparring with the delicious stretch of him in your cunt.

“Oh god Dieter.” you huff out while you start riding him in earnest. 

“Call me Big D”

“No"

“Go on Fox” he cajoles. Tell Big D how good this feels”

“I’m not fucking doing that…d..did you just refer to yourself in the third person?”

He flashes you another smirk as his thumb finds your clit and he starts to rub deft circles on it like he’s been doing it for years. 

It pulls another throaty moan from you and he can’t help but smile again as he teases you. 

“Hmm? What was that?” 

But your eyes close and you lose yourself in the overwhelming sensation of being filled over and over again. His lips map the sensitive skin of your collarbone, the curve of your neck slowly, like he’s taking his time. 

Then suddenly he slows you down, his large hand splayed across your belly to temper your movements. 

“Lie down next to me.” 

You do as you’re told, and he removes the vitals monitor from you. As soon as you’re on your side, facing him in the bed, he brings your free thigh up high around his hip and fills you again. 

This angle feels much more intense, because suddenly he’s face to face with you, his strong nose running over your cheek before he claims your mouth again. He starts thrusting in earnest, and you feel the moment pull taut and snap. 

Utterly exhausted, you slump down into the mattress. Your brain is empty and you can’t even conceive of the risk that someone might catch you like this. Dieter seems even less bothered, and just holds you to him until you come down from your high. 

You clench around his length, earning a soft moan from him, delivered into the hollow of your throat, while he works you through it. He follows you soon after.

Then he whispers to you: “How do you feel?” 

Dreamily, you mumble back to him “Yeah, good. Really good.”

He hums appreciatively and pulls your pajama top back up so it covers your breasts. He briefly sits upright so he can remove the condom, tie it up and dispose of it in the small trash can next to his bed. Then he shifts you to his side and grabs the blanket to throw over the both of you. In your blissed-out state you just feel him shifting next to you, making space in the spartan hospital bed so you can be comfortable. 

The last thing you hear before you drift off is “Get some sleep, Fox.”