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[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | And Miss Out on Mum Meeting the Girl You Married Without Telling Her? Not a Chance

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly finally gets to meet Luke and they try to convince him that this marriage is not some elaborate plot to manipulate the press.  And Tom makes a critical error.  We learn more about Molly and her past. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Tom regretted drinking two cups of espresso the next morning before heading to Luke’s. He definitely regretted not eating anything more than a piece of toast with butter and marmalade. Even after Molly offered to make something for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you eggs, an omelette? I could probably manage some French toast before we have to leave.” Molly sipped her tea as she ate some oatmeal. 

French toast sounded divine at the moment as Tom’s stomach did somersaults. Molly’s knee bounced in the passenger seat on the way to the Prosper office. 

“Do you think Luke will yell at me?” Molly asked. “I don’t do well when people yell at me.”

Tom’s head snapped over at her. She sighed. 

“Foster parents are not always kind. Bio parents can be worse.” She wrung her hands. 

He reached over and squeezed Molly’s knee. “I promise I won’t let him yell at you.” 

“Thank you, Tom. Are we telling him the truth?” 

“Only if necessary.” 

“Then what are we telling him?” 

“That I went to Vegas, and I fell madly in love with you and on a whim we got married.”

“A fanciful tale.” Her head dropped to her chest. 

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. You sell yourself short. You’re bright, funny, caring and dare I even say easy on the eyes.”

Molly blushed. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself. Although I seriously question your dietary habits.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ll work on it. And I hope after all of this we will be good friends.”

“Me too.” 

“Looks like we are here.” Tom parked the car on the street. He hustled around to open Molly’s door and help her out. “Time to face the firing squad.” Her eyes widened. “Kidding!”

By the time the meeting was done, Molly wished it had been a firing squad. 

-

“Luke, this is Molly Bishop, now Hiddleston.” Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “My wife.” 

“My condolences.” Luke shook Molly’s hand. 

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I…” 

“Of all the stupid shit you have ever fucking done—” Luke started in on Tom. 

“Luke, watch your tone.” Tom jabbed a finger in his publicist’s face. “You are not to yell at Molly.” His bright blue eyes flashed and his fists clenched. 

Luke took a step back. “Right. Take a seat and let’s see if we can straighten this out.” 

They sat next to each other. Molly reached for Tom’s hand and he took it. Luke sat down behind his desk, staring at the two of them. Luke pinched his nose hard and took several deep breaths. Before speaking, he poured a glass of water and dropped two Alka-Seltzer into the water. Molly stared at the whole thing. Tom leaned over. 

“For later. Luke says I give him indigestion.” he whispered.

“And headaches.” Luke added.

“I can understand the feeling.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom twisted around to face Molly. “Et tu. Is this about the vegetables?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat one every so often. You’re not 21 anymore.”

Tom gritted his teeth. “I said I would work on it. Can we not talk about this right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I was just making a comment.”

Luke’s head bounced back and forth like watching a tennis match, a smirk growing on his face.

“You two are good. Really good. Damn Tom, the lengths you will go to… hiring an actress to pretend to be your wife, that’s—”

“We got married, Luke. In Vegas.” Tom retorted. “Darling, do you have the copy of the license?”

Molly grumbled. “I do, but we are not done with the whole diet thing.” She rummaged through her purse and produced the folded piece of paper. “Show him the photos.” She whispered to Tom as she handed over the license. 

“I’m not showing him the photos unless I have to.” Tom hissed.

“Show me the photos, Tom.” Luke beckoned him. 

Tom side eyed Molly and handed over the license and his phone. Luke glanced at the license and then scrolled through the photos, eyes growing wider. He zoomed in on one and squinted. 

“Is that a spider ring?” he asked.

“His name is Clive.” Tom deadpanned.

Luke cuts his eyes at Tom. “Of course, you named it. You wouldn’t happen to have the ring, would you?” He turned to Molly.

She let loose a breath, exasperated. “Honestly,” she jabbed a finger at Tom and then Luke. “I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.” She dug through her purse again. “You are both lucky that I planned ahead.” Molly slammed the two Tiffany boxes on the desk. “There, here is your pound of flesh.”

Luke opened the boxes and found the spider ring and plastic gem ring. His eyes went to their proper rings and then ran his hands through his hair. 

“Holy shit, you got married.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I have been saying that for the last 24 hours, mate. Can we move on?”

Molly giggled. 

“I… I… apologize. Sorry.” He sputtered, he turned to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You have no idea the things this man has put me through.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey! I—”

“Not talking to you, Tom.” Luke held up a hand. “I am talking to your bride. Clearly the reasonable one. Although she did marry you, so…”

Tom slumped in the chair. “Two of you. I thought you were on my side.”

Molly reached over and rubbed his arm. “I’m always on your side, honey.”

Tom smiled and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, darling. Do you believe me now, Luke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” He slammed his hand on his desk, rattling his water. “Now let’s talk about these.” He held up several newspapers.

Forty-five minutes later, they finally ended the meeting. Tom was starving. Luke grilled Molly about her background. By the end of everything, Tom now knew that Molly spent the ages of 12-18 in foster care, went to college where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, and has no contact with her younger brother who was adopted. Tom felt a twinge of guilt listening to Molly tell her life story. He never really bothered to ask. 

Luke led them to the door but stopped short. 

“How did your mom take the news, Tom?” Luke asked. Tom froze and paled. Luke leaned in. “You did tell her?”

Molly glanced between them. “I thought you called her when we got home.”

Tom ran his hands through his hair. Little bits stuck up. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “I forgot. I was distracted by someone yelling at me.”

“You haven’t told your mother about us?!” Molly screeched. 

Luke chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. “You are so dead, Tom.” Molly gasped. “You will be fine, Molly, but pray for your husband. There is nothing scarier in this world than Diana Hiddleston mad at her only son.” 

Molly gulped. “I will keep that in mind. Now if you excuse us, we have some calls to make.” 

Tom nodded, still reeling from the fact he didn’t tell his mum, or his sisters, that he got married. Fake or not. He hoped she hadn’t seen any of the photos yet. But knowing Emma and Sarah, they sent her the links. “Right, calls.” 

Molly pushed Tom out of the office and towards the elevator. She waved bye to Luke as the doors closed. 

“That went better than expected.” Molly shifted her weight from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tom blinked and came back to reality. “You were brilliant. What made you think to bring the rings?”

“People have the tendency to believe you when you can present physical evidence. That, coupled with the photos, lends credibility. I mean, who gets married with a plastic spider ring?” She laughed and Tom joined in. 

“Genius, really. Luke would have never—” Tom’s stomach rumbled. He blushed. “You were right I should have eaten something.” 

Molly stretched to reach his cheek and gave him a quick peck. “You will soon learn I am always right. Let’s find you some food and then you call your mother.”

“Fine.”

-

They found a place for Tom to grab a sandwich since it was too late for breakfast and not quite time for lunch. Molly stared on as Tom inhaled the sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of water. 

“Did you taste any of that?”

Tom glanced up at her as he poked the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth. “Yes.” 

She shoved a napkin towards him. “You have crumbs on your face.”

Tom swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Call your mother.” 

Tom slouched. “Can’t we wait until we get home?” 

“No.” She stared him down. “If you don’t do it, I will.” Molly lunged for his phone, but Tom was too fast and grabbed it first.

“I’m calling her right now.” He held the phone to his ear, praying it would go to voicemail.

“Tom!” Diana’s warm voice filled his ear. “How are you doing, love?”

“Doing good. A bit of jet lag, I was in Vegas over the weekend.”

Diana hummed. “And how is Luke?”

Tom chuckled. “Angry at me as always.”

“If you would just listen to him…”

“I like her.” Molly popped in.

Tom waved her off. 

“I know, Mother. Listen,” He fidgeted with his hair again. Molly realized it was an absolute tell when Tom was nervous. “I was wondering if you might like to grab some lunch this week. We can catch up. So much as happened since I last saw you.”

“I would be delighted, Thomas. Why don’t you come up to the house? Does Wednesday work for you?”

Tom mouthed “Wednesday” to Molly, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Like I’m doing anything? You and Luke are the only people I know here.”

“Right.” He returned to the call. “Wednesday is perfect, mum. Noon?”

“It’s a date. Don’t forget to bring that wife of yours, Thomas. I am quite keen on meeting her.”

All the blood drained from Tom’s face. “I… I… can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. On Wednesday. I have to go, love. It was good to chat.” The line went dead.

Tom stared at the phone. “I’m so dead. She knows about you.”

“Oh, she knows. You are her son. And didn’t you mention having sisters? They totally ratted you out.” Molly smiled at him.

-

Tom had some appointments on Tuesday which kept his mind occupied from seeing his mother the next day. Molly took some time to figure out how to change her name, get a new passport, and figure out how to maneuver life in a foreign country. Tom took her to get a phone that would work. 

“Here you go.” 

The first thing she did was snap Tom to add to his contact list. He was laughing in the photo.

“Don’t use that one!” Tom pouted. “Let me pose.”

“But I like this one. It captures your essence.”

But now it is Wednesday morning. Tom woke up early to go for a run. Molly was already up, sipping tea in the living room.

“Can I join you?” she asked upon seeing Tom in workout gear.

“I run about three miles…”

“Sounds perfect. Give me two minutes.” She bounded off the couch towards her bedroom. 

Tom fiddled with his headphones until Molly emerged in sneakers and workout leggings. Over the ear headphones around her neck. 

“Ready to go.” She tucked her phone into a pocket. “I will just follow you.”

“Let me know if you need to turn around.” Tom winked as they set off.

They returned home about thirty minutes later.

“Sure you don’t want to go another mile?” Molly bounced on her feet. 

Tom breathed hard. “Maybe another time. I’m a bit out of shape. You run?”

Molly nodded. “Most days I run. If I get up in time. I miss the gym.”

Tom chuckled. “We need to get you a membership. And I need to ..get into shape myself. Can’t let my wife show me up in paparazzi photos.” he half-joked. 

Molly coughed. “They take photos of you running?!”

“Sometimes.” He took a sip of water, his heart rate going back to normal. “Definitely now with you in the picture.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, stepping towards him, grabbing the water bottle from him. “Think they are out there right now?” 

Tom glanced around and sure enough, he spied a few cameras with zoom lenses down the street.

“Yup.” 

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should give them a more scandalous photo.” 

Tom leaned down. “What did you have in mind?” he smirked as Molly tugged his head towards her and her lips crashed against his. She sighed and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth. Molly did the same. As he fisted the back of her shirt, Tom noticed one of Molly’s arms moving. 

“AH!!” He screamed as the cold water poured down on his head and Molly jumped back laughing.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off.” she laughed.

Tom lunged for her with a smile on his face, droplets of water falling from his hair. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Tom gave chase, while Molly dashed into the house, screaming and laughing.

She made it as far as the living room before Tom’s long legs caught up with her.

“Got you!” 

Tom grabbed her by the waist to pull her towards him, but their feet slipped and they ended up on the couch. Tom on top of her. Their eyes locked for a moment before Tom scrambled to his feet. 

“I’ll get you all wet.” he commented nervously. “I should…”

“Right.” Molly nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make some breakfast. Eggs and toast. I don’t know what your mother is planning on for lunch.”

“A light breakfast would be best.” Tom shook out his now soaked t-shirt and Molly caught a glimpse of his abs. 

“No problem.” She smiled. 

They both headed off in different directions. When it was time to leave for Diana’s house, Molly fidgeted with her casual dress and knee-high boots.

“Do I look okay?” she glanced at Tom in jeans and a sweater. “I’m overdressed. Look at you, casually gorgeous. I’m going to change. I have nothing to wear. Nothing to wear…” Molly’s face broke down.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. “What’s going on, darling?” She buried her head in his sweater. “You didn’t freak out like this when we went to go see Luke.”

“That was business. This is your mother. I don’t do well with families, particularly mothers. What if she hates me?” 

He kissed the top of her head. “First off, you look beautiful. Second, if my mum hates anyone between the two of us, it will be me. She is going to love you, darling.” 

Molly sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Really?”

“I am 100% certain. Now let’s get on the road.”

Molly smiled and nodded. The fear wasn’t gone, but she felt better knowing Tom would be there with her. That fear came rushing back as they stood on the front step of the house of Diana Hiddleston. Tom reached for Molly first. 

“I’ve got you, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek right as the door opened.

“Gross, Tom. And at Mum’s house no less.” Emma gagged.

Tom’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “Emma! I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What a surprise.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And miss out on Mum meeting the girl you married without telling her, not a chance.” Emma turned to Molly. “Emma.”

“Molly B… Hiddleston.” She smiled and extended her hand. Emma shook it with a firm grip.

“The papers didn’t give a name. She seems nice, Tom. Clearly she doesn’t know the real you.”

Tom continued to blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. Can we come in or are we eating on the front step?”

Emma held the door open wide and stepped aside. They stepped inside. “Mum’s in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Diana’s voice rang out. “Is that them, Emma?” 

“They just got here!” she yelled before turning back to them. “She’s been cooking all day.” 

Molly gulped. Tom squeezed her hand. An older woman with grey white shoulder length hair. She came up to Tom's shoulder, if that.

“You were supposed to tell me when they got here.” she scolded Emma.

“I was on my way to tell you.” 

“Go take the food out of the oven.”

“But…” Emma protested.

“Go, child. You’ll have the entire meal to listen to me yell. Right now I need a word with your brother.”

Emma pursed her lips as she walked into the kitchen but made a slashing throat gesture, mouthing the words “you’re so dead” at Tom before disappearing. 

Diana wiped her hands on her apron. “Now where is my new daughter-in-law?” 

Molly raised her hand. “That would be me. Molly, ma’am.”

Diana held open her arms and wrapped them around Molly tight. She realized where Tom got his hugging skills. 

“You are just a doll. Is my son treating you well?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“So polite and much shorter than the last one. Right at eye height for me.”

“Mother…”

Diana waved Tom off. “And please call me Diana or Mum or Mom. I promise I don’t bite.”

Molly giggled. “Yes, ma.. Diana.”

Diana hugged her again before spinning to face her son.

“Tom.” She crossed her arms.

“Mum.” Tom grew very interested in the rug on the floor. 

“Do I get a hug?” Diana smiled. 

Tom looked up and grinned. “Always.” The two of them hugged tight, Tom bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Diana pulled back.

Her hand reached out and smacked Tom right upside the head. Tom cowered, covering his head.

“Mum!” he howled.

“You got married and didn’t tell me!”

“I was getting around to it. Luke distracted me!” Tom explained. 

Diana smacked his arm. “Do not blame Luke for this, he is a saint! You were keeping this lovely girl away from me.”

Molly beamed as Diana smacked Tom one more time. 

“You think I’m lovely?” she asked.

Diana turned to Molly. “Oh dear. You are perfectly charming. Unlike my wretch of a son.” Another smack to the chest.

“Really, Mum? In front of our guest?” Tom flinched.

“Molly is family.” Diana stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now with that sorted, let’s go eat.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. 

Tom hooked his arm with Molly’s. “My mother.”

“I like her.” 

-

Emma and Diane pumped the two of them for every detail about this abbreviated courtship.

“A chapel in Vegas, Tom? Romantic.” Emma sneered.

“I thought so.” Molly added.

“Thank you, darling.” Tom leaned against her. 

“Awww.” Emma commented.

Diana stood to clear the dishes as Emma examined Molly’s ring.

“Let me help you.” Tom rose to help, taking the rest of the dishes. Diana grabbed his arm when they reached the sink.

“I really like her, Thomas. You did well.”

“Thank you. She is something.” Tom smiled.

“Much better than the last girl you brought home.”

Tom frowned. “Mum, I…”

Diana held up her hand. “I know. Don’t mention her. But I will say this. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me.” 

“You never said anything to me.”

Diana smiled softly and cupped Tom’s cheek. “You seemed so in love and happy. And all I have ever wanted for all my kids is to be happy.”

“Oh.”

“But none of that matters. You have Molly now and the two of you have years of happiness ahead.” 

Tom glanced over to where Emma and Molly hunched over Emma’s phone. Tom’s heart twinged with guilt. 

“Right. Of course.” He smiled.

Molly burst out in laughter.

“What is so funny over there?” Tom called out, heading over to the table.

Emma giggled. “Just some old pictures.”

Tom’s face fell. “No, you didn’t…”

Molly giggled. “You were so skinny and that hair!” 

The two girls fell into a fit of giggles as Diane placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I like her very much.” she whispered. “Why don’t we pull out the old picture albums?”

Tom groaned. 

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

[accioromione]

I loved the fic where Hermione was jealous, can you plz do something similar with Ron? There's my idea. Ron finds out that a colleague of Hermione is flirting with her(maybe Harry told him😉) and like that's not bad enough the guy is handsome, wealthy, top of his class(head boy) at hogwarts and now has a very successful career in the ministry. Rons insecurities start coming back and he is afraid he is going to lose her😱.... do you best! 👍

“Harry I’ve told you countless times that-” Hermione began in the ministry elevator as the doors closed , but she was interrupted by the elevators opening once again due to somebody stopping the closing doors with their briefcase. 

“Sorry,” said a tall handsome man walking in, “didn’t want to wait for the next.... oh wow it’s Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, what are the odds,” he said. “Albert Wildsmith,” The man added, holding out to shake Harry’s hand and then Hermione. 

“Wildsmith?” Hermione asked, as she shook his hand. “As in Ignatia Wildsmith? She invented Floo Powder.” 

The handsome man chuckled, “it is true what they say about you then” Hermione blushed, “the one and only, I don’t take credit for her work though- the gold she left behind is more than enough.”

“Well nice to meet you,” said Harry, looking at him suspiciously. 

“What floor?” Hermione asked, going to reach to press a button. 

“Six,” said the man, 

“oh that’s my floor too, are you new then?” said Hermione. 

“Oh yeah, well here, after graduating I got a placement in France because I can speak it fluently, but I got offered the assistant head position, and it’s quite nice to be back in England. I missed it.” said Albert. 

“So you went to Hogwarts then?” asked Harry. 

“Yeah, I graduated in 1993.” 

“Yeah that would have been our third year-” said Hermione thoughtfully. 

“What house were you in?” Harry interjected. 

“Ravenclaw” said Albert, 

“Oh, you were head boy weren’t you? I remember an Albert who was a Ravenclaw head-boy!” Hermione said excitedly, Albert smiled. 

“That was me,” said Albert smiling, “impressive how you can remember, looks and brains you’ve got” Hermione blushed. 

“So you’ve been in France since?” Harry asked. 

Albert nodded sadly, “yes... I wish I could have been there...for you know.. the war.” 

“Well France didn’t ban you from coming back did it?” Harry asked. 

“Harry!” Hermione said. 

Albert smiled sadly, “I had ministry restrictions, France wasn’t prepared for me to leave.” 

“How lucky,” said Harry. “We know a girl from France, she came to England, married Hermione’s FIANCEE’S brother, she helped out even being from France and all.” 

“Harry!” Hermione said again. 

Albert smiled at her, “it’s okay- I understand, I would be that way as well. Fiancee eh? Lucky bloke.” 

Hermione’s face flushed. 

“Yeah Ron Weasley, sure you’ve heard of him if you’ve heard of us,” said Harry annoyed. 

“Oh...I have heard of him... well... lucky guy anyways,” said Albert. 

“Floor six” a lady’s voice said coolly. 

“Well that’s us I guess,” said Albert, “it was nice meeting you Harry,” 

“Oh I’m coming, Hermione and I have to talk about....ministry matters.” said Harry, Hermione looked at him confused.

“What?” Hermione asked. 

“Yes Hermione I have to discuss something of great importance with you,” said Harry puffing out his chest. 

“O-okay?” Hermione said. 

The doors opened and the three of them walked out. 

“Well, nice meeting you Albert,” said Hermione walking to her office. “Let me know if you need anything,” 

“Will do,” Albert said smiling at her  “pleasure again Harry,” 

Harry followed Hermione to her office and turned at her at once. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, annoyed. 

“What?” asked Hermione confused. 

“He was flirting with you!” said Harry. 

“Oh Harry stop...no he wasn’t.” said Hermione absentmindedly. “That’s seriously what you wanted to talk to me about?” 

 “You’re not going to cheat on Ron are you?” Harry asked sternly. 

“Cheat on.... are you crazy Harry? I would never.” said Hermione. 

“Good,” said Harry crossing his arms, “because once he hears about-” 

“What? Oh don’t tell me you’re going to tell him!” Hermione said. 

“Well why not? Since you don’t think its a problem!” said Harry angrily. 

“I don’t,” said Hermione, “but you know how Ron get’s... he’ll be jealous for no reason, don’t tell him Harry. It will cause trouble for no reason.” 

“Fine,” said Harry walking off, “he seems like a pompous git anyways.” Hermione rolled his eyes and Harry walked away. 

“Harry I’m serious, don’t tell Ron!” Hermione called back as he walked away. 

“I won’t!” said Harry, leaving. 

xxxxxx

“What’s his name again?” Ron asked. 

“Albert,” said Harry. 

“Sounds like a git,” said Ron. 

“That’s what I said.” said Harry. 

“Bragging about being in France during a war, Fleur’s from France, she helped.” said Ron angrily. 

“That’s what I said!” said Harry. 

“Well I reckon I need to place a visit to Hermione’s office today,” said Ron sternly. 

“Er-” said Harry. 

“What?” asked Ron. 

“I kind of told Hermione I wouldn’t tell you, she didn’t think much of it,” said Harry. 

“Right,” said Ron getting to his feet, “well, I’ll just pay a visit, make sure the bloke see’s me, and if I happen to injure him accidentally well, so be it.” 

“How tall is he again?” Ron asked looking back before leaving the room. 

“Still shorter than you,” Harry responded. 

“Right.” said Ron, “Well thanks mate, can always count on you.” 

Ron left the Auror department and headed for floor six. 

“Oh hi Ron!” said the secretary, 

“Hi Janice,” said Ron, “Hermione’s in her office right?” he said loudly. 

“Um, yes?” Janice responded, confused at the loudness in his tone.

Ron leaned into whisper, “do you know an Albert?” he asked, Janice giggled, “yes” she whispered back. 

“Do you mind telling me where his office is?” he whispered again. 

“609,” Janice whispered, giggling. 

“Right, thanks loads.” Ron said, he figured he’d ‘accidentally’ knock on room 609. 

He knocked the door to room 609, no response, he sighed, just his luck. 

He figured he’d go see Hermione to remind her that she was in fact engaged to him. He knocked Hermione's office door and opened it, “Hermione love?” Ron said entering the room. His mouth gaped open as he saw her sitting down at her desk, laughing, with another handsome man seated right across from her. 

“Ron!” Hermione said nervously. 

The man turned to face Ron. Ron was boiling with anger. 

“A-Albert this is my fiancee, Ron Weasley,” said Hermione. 

“Pleasure,” said Albert getting to his feet and reaching to shake Rons’ hand. Ron did not shake Albert’s hand back. 

“R-Ron this is Albert Wildsmith,” Hermione said, “he’s new to the department, just transferred from France.” 

Ron looked at him, “You’re fluent then?” 

“What?” asked Albert. 

“Oh you sure know how to pick them Hermione, fluent in French..what else?” Hermione glared at him and Albert’s face flushed. 

“Oh-oh yes.” 

“Nice, real impressive” said Ron, “I’ve learned a few phrases myself,” 

“Oh really?” asked Albert intrigued, Ron nodded his head. 

“Yes..let’s see...I’m a a bit rusty....umm oh yes!” Ron said snapping his fingers, “tu misérable petite baise” 

Albert’s eyes widened, “I er...” 

“A veela taught me that one,” Ron said proudly. “Funnily enough Hermione doesn’t like it when I talk to French Veelas, looks like she has no problems talking to French ... how do you say .... wankers in French?” 

“Ron!” said Hermione. 

“I-I’ll just go,” said Albert. 

“Oh no stay Albert, Alberto, Big Al, Al the pal!” Ron said, helping him sit back down

Albert looked at him awkwardly. 

“I um...” Albert began, 

“Oh let it all out Albert, heard you had lots to say with my fiancé over here, why you were just laughing five minutes ago,” Ron said. 

“Ron seriously you’re over-” Hermione began and Ron lifted her hand to silence her. 

“Listen pal,” said Ron loudly, “you may think you’re some big shot because you lived in France and you’re handsome and your great ancestor invented Floo Powder, but let’s make three  things clear.” said Ron now holding up his three middle fingers. 

“One,” Ron said, “I hate baguettes,” putting down his pointer finger

“Two,” Ron continued, putting down his ring finger so that only his middle finger was stuck up. “The Floo Network is a right MESS, and most people apparate or use portkey’s now.” 

“And THREE” he said touching Albert’s nose with his middle finger, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not afraid to fight any French pansies and ruin their handsome faces, GOT IT?” Albert gulped and nodded. 

Hermione put her head in her hands, 

“Now you’re off with a warning but if I hear you come near my fiancee again we’re going to have some major issues. Got it Napoleon? AU REVIOUR.” Ron said and Albert got out of the seat and ran out of the office. 

“Ron,” Hermione said shaking her head, “he was signing documents,”  

Ron looked at Hermione angrily, “must have been some funny documents,” he said snatching the paper from her desk, “ah yes policy eighty five, HILARIOUS” 

Hermione shook her head, “Why are you like this?” she asked desperately. 

Ron looked at her in disbelief, “You’re flirting with some random bloke! You expect me to be over the moon about it? YOU SET BIRDS ON ME WHEN I TALKED TO ANOTHER WOMAN.” 

“That is not the same thing, I wasn’t flirting,” said Hermione. 

Ron rolled his eyes. 

“first of all, who trusts a brit who willingly moves to France?” Ron asked. 

“Ron this is not the hundred years war- I should have never told you about muggle history” Hermione said. 

Ron looked at her furiously. 

“Fine, I’m sorry,” said Hermione “but you really have nothing to be worried about.” 

Ron crossed her arms and Hermione approached him slowly. 

“seriously,” she breathed, “that-that doesn’t even cross my mind,” 

“well letting him flirt with you is just as bad,” said Ron, slowly melting at her touch. 

She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, “what do you expect me to do? Be mean to him? He works in my department.” 

“Yes,” said Ron. 

Hermione laughed, “ugh you’re so annoying... but endearing at the same time,” she said as she placed a kiss on his lips. 

“He’s handsome,” muttered Ron. 

“So are you,” said Hermione, Ron’s ears turned red. 

“He’s rich,” said Ron. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “yes because I definitely am looking to get more money,” Ron laughed despite his anger. Him and Hermione had gotten so many promotions that they were making well above average income alone let alone together. 

“So I have nothing to worry about?” said Ron. 

“No you jealous idiot,” said Hermione, Ron grinned. 

“I will punch him you know,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “I know,” she said, “but no punching is permitted, we all know how brave you are,” 

“He was scared wasn’t he?” Ron said, “ran out like a pansy,” 

Hermione crossed her arms. “I told Harry not to tell you because I knew you’d be like this,” 

“Well I for one am thankful someone has my back in this god forsaken place,” Ron said, Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Why must you be so dramatic?” she asked “now he’s scarred and will be too scared to talk to me again,” 

“Good” said Ron. 

Hermione looked at him, “fine, I’ll be nicer... but if he flirts with you again, it’s my fist he’s getting in his face.” 

“Noted.” said Hermione 

“And tonight... I’m reminding you of why it’s me you’re with.” Ron said sternly, Hermione’s face turned pink. 

“Oh?” she asked. 

Ron nodded angrily, Hermione bit her lip. 

“S-so like...y-you’re going to be l-like that other time?” Hermione asked, her breath hitching. 

Ron nodded angrily, “yes like that time Harry told me when you talked to... wait a second,” Ron said with a look of realization hitting his face. 

“What?” Hermione asked innocently. 

“You sneaky witch!” Ron said, “you did it in front of Harry on purpose because you knew he’d tell me because you... you... wanted me to... like last time!” 

Hermione’s face flushed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. 

Ron grinned, “you’re sick.”  

“A-and what are you going to do about that?” she breathed. 

“Oh you’ll find out tonight... don’t overwork yourself... you’re going to need some energy when you get home.” Ron said, Hermione bit her lip. Ron shook his head angrily. 

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself exiting the office, Hermione smiled as he walked away, excited for what tonight had in store for her. 

#romione #my fic #honestly proud of this one

[beels-burger-babe]

I Love Him - Chapter Three (DRAFT)

***I still haven't gotten around to writing anything because I've been crazy distracted today, but here is chapter three my book that I am attempting to write. Hope you like it, and sorry for the lack of content. So if you will, allow me to tell you more about my gay son Arthur and his adventures in 1958 London.***

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Geneviève Blanchard was a fascinating woman. She was a talented seamstress and businesswoman who had attracted Arthur’s father to her establishment, Coutures et Fils/ Seams and Threads when Arthur was just a child. She was a spirited woman whose loud antics and thick French accent would intimidate anyone at first, but her soul was as warm as her coloured skin, and soon enough she’d wormed her way into the cold hearts of the Howell family.

Just standing in front of the lavender boutique now, Arthur could feel a familiar warmth resonate in him. This boutique had become more than just a store to him; much like Gen had become more than just a seamstress. It was a second home, and the seamstress inside of it had become his second family.

Arthur entered the shop with no hesitation. “Geneviève?”

He heard a sharp yelp come from a curtained room behind the front counter, followed by a string of rapid french. “Pardon! J'ai été pris par surprise!” There was some shuffling of fabric he heard shouted back. “You know better than to come in shouting for me, Arthur! You will wait your turn.” and then some more muffled apologies, presumably to her client.

Arthur chuckled and looked at the suits and dresses that Gen had on display. He always admired the passion and craftsmanship she put in every piece.

Somedays, when she’d work on a project as they conversed, he couldn’t help but wish that he could pursue work that was as fulfilling and personal as tailoring was to Geneviève.

He was torn from his thoughts as Gen, with her dark greying hair perfectly coiffed as always, entered the room with a soft, redhead woman behind her. She placed a dark purple bag onto the counter and worked the cash register. “That will be £3.00, mademoiselle.” The woman quickly fetched the money and paid before gathering her things. As she left the store, she eyed Arthur standing near the suit display and huffed before leaving.

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he turned towards Geneviève and was met by a cold glare. He awkwardly smiled at her and waved a hand. “Hi Geneviève.”

The woman sighed and made her way over to him. “Arthur, you know you are always welcome here, but you are also aware that I run a business. You cannot just...just…” She looked down at her hands frustratingly as she tried to think of the word. “Comment dit-on éclater?”

“Burst?” Arthur provided, smiling slightly.

“Oui! Burst! You cannot just burst into here calling for me. This is a high-class establishment.” She trailed off of her rant as she noticed something on Arthur’s shirt. She huffed and brushed the lingering muffin crumbs off of his chest. “And to do so looking like that! What is this?” She asked, holding up a particularly large crumb for Arthur to see. “I thought you did not eat desserts? You refused mon pain d’épices the last time you visited because you said it was not healthy.” Geneviève narrowed her eyes at him as she took in his face, and her expression softened, “Tu t’en sors, mon chou?”

Arthur groaned, opened a door to his right and entered with the seamstress following close behind. Arthur took a seat on one of the purple velvet consultation couches while Geneviève made tea. “I’m fine, Gen. It’s grocery day, after all, so what do I have to complain about?”

She glanced up at him suspiciously. “Then why are you eating desserts and coming to me?”

He flashed her a charming smile and leaned forward, “Can’t I visit my favourite woman in all of London, without a reason?”

She placed a teacup on the coffee table in front of him and sat down beside him. “Always, but this visit is not without reason. We’ve already juggled your secret. I’m sure that whatever this is will be much easier.”

That much was true. Geneviève was the only person who knew Arthur was gay. It was 1953, and Arthur had been eighteen when he told her; he had picked up a paper in her consultation room only to see the headline declaring Sir John Nott-Bower’s mission to weed out the homosexual population of Britain and just started shaking. Gen had asked him if he was alright, and it all came slipping out. After ten years of keeping that secret, he was bound to break down eventually. The seamstress was incredibly supportive. She had closed the shop for the day and let Arthur talk honestly about everything he was feeling for one of the first times in his life. Committing homosexual acts had been decriminalized in France since 1791. It still wasn’t very socially accepted, but neither, Gen had explained, were independent black women such as herself.

Five years had passed since then, and Gen was still his biggest and only ally.

Arthur sighed and took a sip of the tea. “I just wanted to buy some bread.”

Geneviève tilted her head at him as she took a drink of her own tea. “Oh, and you weren’t able to get some? You get your bread from Wilson’s bakery, correct? I heard they had to close for a while, since Mrs. Wilson finally gave birth to her baby.”

Barely paying the words any mind Arthur nodded along. “Right. Which meant I had to find a new bakery. Which I did. So there’s no problem.” He heatedly took a larger gulp of his tea only to hiss at the temperature of it and immediately set the teacup down.

The seamstress analyzed him with a questioning glance. “I do not understand. You are still upset. Was the bread not good?”

“No!” Arthur quickly shouted, sitting up and turning directly to the seamstress. She gave him an unimpressed look, causing the man to fluster at his own actions. “I mean, yes. I-I don’t know, I haven’t tried it yet. But the muffin-”

“So you did eat a dessert!” Geneviève proclaimed in an accusing, but amused, tone.

Arthur whined in frustration, his hands now being thrown in every direction as he tried to express himself. “Yes! But only because that bloody baker wouldn’t stop smiling at me and talking about food like it was his best mate. I couldn’t say no!”

As the outburst ended, the two went quiet for several beats as Gen slowly began to grin at Arthur over the rim of her teacup. “I imagine he had curly hair then? You seem to like the ones with curls.”

The man fixed the older woman with a glare as she began to cackle. Arthur shook his head, muttering to himself about crazy women while he sulked. Geneviève calmed down eventually and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I am teasing, mon chèr. I guess I do not fully understand the problem. So you looked a little silly in front of a cute boy? It is not as if you have to see him again, right?”

Arthur huffed and picked up his tea for another sip. “Or so you’d think. That bakery, Gen. It’s like it’s untouched by all the gloom and change of England. Everyone in there was so relaxed and the food was just...brilliant.” He relaxed at just the memory of the place. “There isn’t another place like Blooming Confections in the world. Cute cashier or not, I know I’ll be returning.”

Geneviève smiled tenderly at him. “I’ve never heard of it. Perhaps you can take me some time, or just bring me some macaroons if they have any. I can’t make them, and I haven’t had any good ones since I’ve left France.” She sighed and stood up as she wiped her hands on her work apron. “But in the meantime, if you really do want to go back, at least this time you’ll know that he is there and won’t be as surprised.”

Arthur stood and pulled Geneviève in for a small hug. “If they don’t have macaroons, I’ll pay extra for them to make a custom batch. You’re the best, Gen.”

The seamstress chuckled and patted his back and she pulled away. “Yes, I know. And you are a helpless fool, but at least you are a handsome one.” She reached forward to wiggle his nose teasingly as she spoke, before pulling back and clapping. “Well. I have dresses to make, and you should head out.” She glanced at the clock and frowned. “It’s just about twelve now. Don’t want to keep your father waiting for too long.”

Arthur followed her eyes to the clock and tensed. “No, I suppose not.”

#I Love Him #my novel #my writing #original writing #romance #gay love #writing #draft #b talks #🐝 talks #the hive

[your-angle-of-music]

Let Me Sleep Here

Angsty canon-era Enjoltaire conversation, although neither of them quite know it.

Keep reading under the cut or on AO3 :)

Grantaire is a careless man. He is careless with his money, especially on those nights when he can feel his father’s fingerprints on every sou. He is careless with his life, especially on those nights when he rediscovers that absinthe kills quicker than air. He is careless with his canvases (when he can get them), especially on those nights when he dares to believe he is capable of making something beautiful. He is careless with his words, his sticky, staining words, which seem to flow from him like blood from a wound.

But the one thing that Grantaire is very, very careful about, though, is not getting caught sneaking into the Cafe Musain every night, just after one. 

So it is to his utmost surprise, indeed, indignation, that when he enters the familiar back room, he finds Enjolras sitting at the table, writing by candlelight.

“Grantaire?” The other man looks up sharply from the array of papers in front of him. “What are you doing here at this hour?” His tone is neutral, but Grantaire still flinches at the reminder that he is the only member of Les Amis de l’ABC whom Enjolras addresses as vous.

He arranges his features into something resembling a smile. “Late night wanderings are good for the constitution, don’t you think? Besides, we shall all be ghosts someday, perhaps some of us sooner than others, and I do believe it serves me well to practice haunting familiar places at unfamiliar hours. And I am not so presumptuous as other ghosts. Hector’s ghost asked Aeneas to start a city, the King of Denmark’s ghost asked the Prince to end a life, but all I ask is that I be allowed to stay where a while, and bring a little chill to the air. Come now, am I such a great bother? Truly, I shall be as silent as the gra—”

“Grantaire.”

“What are you doing here, then?” Tu, of course. Always tu.

“I am drawing up plans to deliver food and clothes to the poor of Paris. If the government will not give aid, we will. Winter is coming on fast, and I’m calculating all the supplies we can afford, only, finances have been tight this month, and Combeferre is usually the man who does the numbers, but he has been ill all this week, and so very tired. Madame Hucheloup was generous enough to let me work here tonight, instead of our flat, so that I don’t wake Combeferre with my scribbling. ” Enjolras gestures towards the spare key lying on the table. “Oh, and I must remember to lock it up afterwards. It seems she never does.”

Before he can stop himself, Grantaire blurts out, “Please don’t.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Don’t lock up tonight.” 

“Why not?” 

A pause. 

“What, do you plan to pillage Madame Hucheloup’s wine cellar? Is harassing her waitstaff not enough for you?”

“No, I don’t,” says Grantaire, very quietly, and he sinks into the chair across from Enjolras.

“What’s going on, Grantaire?” 

He means to say something funny, something false, something cruel. But as he looks into that face, those cheeks brushed by angel-wing lashes, that marble brow carved in shadow, that hair haloed in candlelight, all he can say is, “Let me sleep here.”

“What’s wrong with your own rooms?”

Grantaire stares at him, and Enjolras’ eyes widen. 

“Oh. Oh! I am so, so sorry. Please forgive—”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire cuts in, too sharply. 

Enjolras nods once, with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “How long?”

“More than long enough to decide that the streets of Paris are not worth the effort of saving, and that I am bored and tired and dying and dead and—”

“But can you not stay with Joly?”

“Ah, but to stay with Joly would be to stay with his Eagle of Meaux and their pretty little nightingale, too, and by God, you should hear their mating calls at night! No, I wouldn’t sleep a wink.” He doesn’t mention that last time he stayed with them, Joly tried to stop him from downing a bottle of brandy before breakfast and Musichietta smacked him when he did anyway.

“And so you sleep here,” says Enjolras.

“And so I sleep here,” says Grantaire, and then he has to look away from the strange gentleness in Enjolras’ eyes. Under the table, he squeezes his hands into fists that he wishes could smash the whole world.

“Grantaire?” 

God, he hates himself for the warmth that blooms inside him when Enjolras says his name. He refuses to glance up at him.

“You…” Enjolras swallows audibly. “You may stay with Combeferre and me. If you please. Until you save enough to pay your rent again.”

Grantaire’s nails are digging so hard into his palms that he feels the slick wetness of blood upon them, mingling with the paint stains in the creases of his hands. He imagines it — a clean and ordered room, a mattress on a bone-cold floor, Enjolras’ soft late-night whisperings with Combeferre. Books and bullets and not a bottle in sight.

 The winter sunlight on Enjolras’ face. The imprint of his hands on the door. The washbasin water sparkling like dew on his rose petal mouth. The space between a floor-banished mattress and a golden-haired man on a bed.

“No, Enjolras,” he says, in a voice that he prays isn’t shaking with the weight of the other man’s name. “There are so many things I want, but your lofty pity isn’t one of them.”

“As you wish,” says Enjolras. If he is offended, he doesn’t show it. He pushes his spread of papers into a neat stack with one hand. With the other, he slides the Cafe Musain key towards Grantaire.

Grantaire snatches it up wordlessly as Enjolras stands and tucks his documents into a satchel. In a handful of heartbeats, Enjolras has disappeared out the door.

The next morning, Madame Hucheloup finds Grantaire curled up in the back room, with an empty wine bottle from her own Cafe’s cellar clutched to his chest. When she wakes him with a kick to the ribs, he barely stirs, but manages a slappable smirk. 

Gone is his sense of sneaking propriety. Let them see. Let them all see him. 

Grantaire is a careless man, and there shall be no exceptions.

#angle o speak #les miserables #les mis #les miserables fanfiction #les mis fanfic #enjoltaire #enjoltaire fanfic #exr #e x r #enjolras #grantaire

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Day 2 - F/O February

Day 2 - Weddings or other celebrations with your F/O - Can be your wedding/celebration or just a wedding/celebration in general! 

I chose to do their couple anniversary. On February 20th it will actually make 2 years since I started Across the Stars, so this will fit 💜

For all week she had been acting strange.

Always sitting close, yet out of reach, whenever he’d be working. Writing things down on a piece of paper as she kept looking at the terrapin with a tiny smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you drawing me?”

“Can I see?”

Any questions he would ask would always lead him to failure regarding the discovery of her activity. She always kept shooing him, keeping the paper close to her so he wouldn’t take a peak.

“You will see when the time is right!” she would simply answer.

And that time came one morning, on February 20th to be exact. That date would forever be engraved in Donnie’s mind as this was when they finally decided to become a couple. No it wasn’t because it was easier to remember as her birthday was 5 days prior to this one, ... but it still helped.

Seeing that Vee was still asleep as he woke up, he prefered to get out of bed in order to get a cup of coffee to boot his brain back to life. After grabbing a mug, he proceeded to his computer desk and sat down in his chair. His free hand was aiming for the keyboard, but his fingers met a piece of paper neatly folded with his name written on top.

A faint frown colored his traits, but then he could recognize Vee’s writing... Promptly leaving his cup down, he brought the paper toward him and open it, revealing it to be a letter. He remained silent, his eyes patiently trailing each words.

“Where to begin? Our meeting was unexpected, yet much needed. ... A cry from our hearts that demanded for our paths to cross and to keep following one another. Fate never intended for me to be a passionate, clingy lover. Yet, when I see you, that's all I want to be... When I look at you, happiness makes sense. All my worries fade away. For once, I feel at peace. Your confidence and love gives me strength, a will to be the best of myself and achieve so many good things. I have found my missing piece, your heart filling the hole in mine. How could I survive this long with half a heart? Gosh, I'll never know. You brought me out from a dark place, teaching me to love myself and to never be afraid of what I cherish and love. It's still hard at times, but it keeps on getting better with time. When I'm alone with you, I wish it could forever be that way. Your presence reassures and calms me. I love your arms around me and the way we kiss. I love when you say that I'm cute, even when I don't try at all! I love when you say "I love you", I love when you call me "baby", "love", or even "honey". Tu es mon amour. Love of my life. My eternal soul mate; the brightest star in my sky. An explosion of love that clings to my flesh, giving me shivers and hooking me to this bliss. Two years have now passed since you're in my life, and I'll dare hope that it will go on for many more to come. I've never felt this way with anyone else before. I love that we can learn things together and inspire one another. I can't have this feeling with anyone else, and for that I cherish every moments we spend together. You're beautiful. Inside and out. A masterpiece which I will never tire to look upon. I feel so lucky that you're in my life and that you love me so. I'm not perfect and I wonder often what you see in me, but then again I feel all this love you're giving me and I know it's real. I wouldn't trade you for anyone else in this whole world and, finally, I can say that I've found my "forever" person: the one I truly want to be with. Forever. Yours for all eternity, Vee -xxx-”

He had to admit, it was hard to read towards the end, his hands slightly shaking and his eyes getting teary. He tried to smile, but it was so hard...

He could only get up, making his way back to his room. He didn’t care about his coffee getting cold back on his desk. ... Right this moment he needed to be with her.

Carefully getting back in bed, he didn’t wait to wrap his arms around her form, clinging to her gently as a sob or two escaped him. Vee slightly jumped, waking up, but her concerns were rapidly aimed towards Donnie, noticing his state.

“What’s wrong-...” she started, her tone faint, still trying to wake up.

“You have no right to be this cute,” cut the mutant with a shaky voice, nuzzling the top of her head.

He felt her hands against his scales, lovingly trailing the tip of her fingers.

“... You read the letter?” she asked, her tone getting emotional.

“Yes and I- I love it. I love you so much. I-”

“I love you too, n’amour,” added Vee lovingly, some tears escaping her in turn.

They were smiling and crying; two actual messes. But they didn’t care; they were in love and that’s all that mattered. One of Donnie’s hands cupped the woman’s cheek, his thumb tenderly brushing her skin.

“Happy two years, baby. ... Love of my life.”

“Happy two years,” replied Vee, her smile never fading.

She was met with a soft kiss, words dying and feelings ever so true. As usual, they silently wished to remain like this forever, feeling oh so good in eachother’s arms.

At least, for this whole day they knew they would 💜

#me #FOFebruary