#jefferson fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

intrepidacious · 1 year

Text

lavender's blue

summary: If there was one thing Jefferson could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

pairing: jefferson x f!reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: canon-typical angst?, reader with unspecified magical abilities, reader is alice-in-wonderland-appropriately weird y'all (affectionate); kind of open-ended but in a hopeful bc canon-compliant way <3

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started this as a submission for @sparkledfirecracker's cheesy writing fest challenge, but it didn't turn out very cheesy or even remotely on time. still, thank you for the wonderful prompts your wheels of fate gave me, and congrats on your follower milestone 💛

prompts used: jefferson + friends to lovers + forehead kisses

masterlist | read on ao3

What Regina couldn’t have anticipated, what no one ever could have, really, was that you had always been unpredictable. A loose end. A ticking time bomb. An unlocked door.

It was a curse in and of itself, most of the time, albeit one with a lowercase c. You’d always craved a normal life, but that didn’t mesh too well with your impulsiveness. Normalcy craved planning, devising, executing, in that order, precise decisions and arrangements that weren’t to be changed at a whim.

You were as wild as a flower in spring.

It was what Jefferson liked most about you when you first met, back when he was still jumping worlds like one of them would give him an answer. Instead, he found you, back in the Enchanted Forest you both called home, on a day that had started out like any other.

You were smack dab in the center of the meadow the hat spat him out on, and you were spinning around yourself until, he supposed, your skirts finally circled just so, and then landing on your back, laughing. Your feet were bare and dirty from stamping the ground like you were proving a point.

When he stepped closer, you propped yourself up on your elbows and blinked up at him with a grin. The sun cast his shadow in such a way that his head seemed to touch your heart. Jefferson noticed that, even then.

"Is there a reason you’re trampling on the dandelions?" he asked.

"Some people don’t deserve a wish," you simply said.

He couldn’t argue with that.

"And what about you?" he said instead.

"Well," you mused, closing your eyes, the tilt of your lips unwavering. "I think I already got my wish for the day."

"And what was that?"

There was magic brimming within you, and a lot of it. It made Jefferson’s hands shake and the hat cough out trails of smoke, even though it didn’t need to go anywhere, but you … you didn’t even seem to notice.

"Something blue," you answered.

Curiouser and curiouser, just like your smile. That was the thing that kept him distracted long enough for you to anticipate his next question, to point, still without looking, back at the hat and the purplish haze it had wrapped itself in.

"Lavender’s blue, dilly-dilly," you continued before he could voice his confusion. "I mean, I wanted flowers. But I suppose one doesn’t argue with chance, don’t you think?"

There was an almost dangerous glint in your eye when you faced him again, and that settled it.

"Why not?" he asked, and held out his hand.

You stared at it in amusement. "Are you in the habit of challenging fate, stranger?"

"Only if I know I can win," he said. "And the name’s Jefferson."

You took his hand, then, and he could never be sure if it was meant as an introduction or a leap of faith. It didn’t matter, really, when it ended up being both. When he’d pulled you to your feet, there was a small bottle in his palm, its contents glittering like liquid stardust.

He blinked.

"You can keep that if you want," you said, turning your skirt pockets out and carelessly dropping the rest of their contents on the ground. "It’s all too heavy."

Jefferson watched as you plucked a single dandelion and shook it until the wind did the wishing part for you. Then you turned without another glance at him and walked away humming, your magic patting the hat like a pet and then vanishing with you.

He’d spend weeks thinking about you simply handing him the very potion he’d intended to steal, and he still couldn’t figure out how you’d even known.

***

In this life, there are several things you know.

You know you’re a florist. You know you’re well liked, which is nice and feels new, even though you’ve lived here all your life. You know your hands can fabricate the most splendid arrangements, bouquets and wreaths in all the colors Maine has to offer, and most days, you know you’re perfectly content doing just that.

Other days, though, you know you want to see every single petal turned to ashes.

Because you also know this voice deep inside your bones, not quite your own but almost, too familiar with your habits and routines and endless, endless smalltalk. You know it keeps telling you that something is missing, something you might find again if only you set this whole damn place aflame.

So you think, what’s the harm.

And as the flames lick at your window settings and burn the roses to a crisp, you tilt your head slowly and something inside stirs, like a sleeping dragon twitching as it wakes. You realize then, that in between all the things you know, you almost missed something quite important.

Tea.

Thankfully, no else one gets hurt. The building barely even carries any damage.

When Sheriff Humbert finally lets you leave, it’s already dark outside, far too late for a neighborly visit, but you go anyway. You should have driven, but by the time you think of that, you’ve almost climbed up the hill already. The forest seems to whisper to you; you ignore it.

It’s a grand house, and you can tell it’s empty by just looking at the front of it. Not without furniture, but without a heart. You knock, knock, knock, and the sound seems to echo through the whole forest.

When the door opens, it’s with a creak that almost sounds like a yawn, and Jefferson freezes, his eyes widening as they meet yours. They’re more tired than you remember.

"I didn’t forget," you say before he can get a single word out, handing him the small parcel. The paper has worn wrinkly in your sweaty palms. "I just burned down my shop today."

If he’s surprised, or concerned, he doesn’t show it. He hovers in the doorway, his fingers carefully unwrap the delicate teacup, and there’s a wisp of a smile of his face as they trace the tiny, nonsensical little spout.

"What’s this for?" he finally asks, his voice strangely raspy.

"Don’t you remember?" you say. "It’s your unbirthday."

He lets you in, then, and your boots sink into the carpeted floor, like the ground is trying to swallow you up. The front door clicks shut.

"Tea day is Tuesdays and Thursdays," you continue on, wandering deeper into the house, making a wrong turn and taking a few steps up the stairs before suspecting—recalling—that the kitchen is to the right. You huff frustratedly. "You didn’t remind me last week!"

"Well," Jefferson calls from somewhere out of your sight. "One never knows with you."

Dark wooden cabinets. Checkerboard tiles in the kitchen. You decide you’ve broken enough rules for a day and cross them strictly diagonally until you hit a corner cabinet, pulling it open. Empty, empty. "It’s my unbirthday too, you know," you say when you hear his steps approaching again.

"What are the chances?" His voice is still hollow, in a way, as hollow as this house, and you feel like you’re missing something, but it’s so, so tiresome to think about.

"Look at that," you say, shaking the last couple of crumbs out of a crumpled up, sad-looking biscuit wrapper. "I should have come up earlier."

Jefferson sighs as he leans against the counter, watching you continue to rummage through the shelves, drawers, cupboards, trays.

It’s the saddest tea you’ve ever prepared, without a single thing to nibble on and the tea leaves trapped in silly little cotton bags, but you move opposite each other like you’re playing a game of chess, which consoles you a little.

He wins, you think, but you don’t actually know how to play.

***

Jefferson was never entirely convinced you were from the Enchanted Forest. It didn’t suit you, the dirt of this world, the whispered promises of happily ever afters and wishing upon stars so your dreams came true.

You went for the things you wanted without an ounce of remorse and without a single glance over your shoulder.

Then again, none of the other worlds he’d passed through seemed to fit you, either. Wonderland might have come closest, but you lacked its shrillness, the blunt terror in its colors and way of life. And you hated playing cards.

He wasn’t sure how you kept running into him whenever he least expected it, but you seemed to make a habit of doing just that. You seemed to enjoy pretending not to notice him staring whenever he did find you, mesmerized as if it was that first time all over again.

There was something about your presence that made any room you inhabited feel different, and the woods and sky and earth would all vibrate at a different frequency whenever you were around. It wasn’t just your magic, it was all of you.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

"See something interesting, dearie?" a voice laced with insanity asked from behind his shoulder.

Jefferson’s eyes never left you, even as he felt Rumplestiltskin’s gaze bore into his neck. You appeared to be counting the toadstools, reciting something in sing-song he couldn’t make out from where he was standing.

"Did you make a deal with her, too?" he asked, voice carefully neutral because you never knew what the Dark One would pick up on and use against you. He already had more on him than Jefferson liked.

"Oh, no. All magic comes with a price." The same phrase, a thousand times, accompanied by the same shimmer in his eyes. He didn't have to look to know it was there. "Just because you’re yet to pay yours doesn’t mean that’s true for everyone."

"So she’s mad?"

"What’s mad?" Rumplestiltskin tutted. "We’re all mad, in our own way. The most powerful most of all."

You lifted your head to look at the two of them and waved. Jefferson lowered the hat over his forehead, finally turning away.

"Then it surprises me you don’t seem to use that to your advantage," he said, crossing his arms.

The Dark One’s grin spliced his mouth with gold. "I like the result of my bidding to be as expected."

It seemed as good enough a cue to leave as any. He didn’t come very far, though, had barely taken the hat off to embark on his next journey before you caught up to him.

"Where are you going this time?"

He smiled to himself, because even with all your whimsical moods he knew you well enough by then to understand you hated being ignored. "Camelot," he answered just as the hat began swirling.

You stepped closer, bare feet crunching the fall leaves on the ground, and when he turned to meet your gaze, the curiosity in your eyes made his heart stumble over itself as he held out his hand, again.

You took it without a moment’s hesitation.

***

There’s a road that leads into town, but it doesn’t lead out. You like how this doesn’t make any sense; it almost feels normal.

Jefferson hates it, of course. It’s easy to read on his face, contempt tinting his every look and gesture an unbecoming shade of green. He hates this world and this wrong life and the fact that everything he wants is right under his nose and yet so far out of reach.

You get that, you really do. But the constant worrying and thinking just drags you down, doesn’t it? No. Ridiculous. So you decide to make a change.

Or rather, things fall into place again.

You work at the library now. People don’t like you as much, but it’s not like that thing at the flower shop was your fault, so they get over it. You love books too much to even consider setting them on fire, and there’s a lot less customer interaction involved, which minimizes the smalltalk. You’ve never liked smalltalk.

You’re perfectly content with your life.

That Friday you find Jefferson hunched over yet another map of the area, tracing the paradoxical routes that should lead onto the interstate and yet never do. Cars break down, bikes crash into trees that appear out of nowhere, and hiking somehow just leads you to walking in circles until you find yourself on main square once again.

It’s a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces, and you’d care about it more if you had any intention of leaving.

"Where do you want to go so badly, anyway?" you asked him once, when his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep and that desperate determination.

"Home," he said, and the finality of that word made your insides twist.

Food and drinks are strictly forbidden in the reading hall, but you sneak him a thermos filled with coffee, anyway, the time for tea long passed.

He smiles at you tiredly as you take a seat opposite him, frowning at the pile of books you’re going to have to sort back onto the shelves past closing time. "Who are you today, then?" he asks, his voice hoarse as if he hasn’t talked all day. He hasn’t taken his scarf off, either, so maybe he’s getting sick.

You squint your eyes at him. "If you’re coming on to me, it’s not working."

Jefferson huffs, and then turns back to his maps. "Not at all."

Maybe it’s working a little, you think as you continue to watch him. After all, there’s method to this madness of his, passion to his pursuit, even though you don’t really understand it.

If he notices you staring, he shows no sign of it, and you’re not about to make him aware of it, not when you’re just starting to get to know each other. Besides, the longer you ponder the possibility of him, the stronger your head starts to pound.

You need to lock up at nine and Jefferson leaves you with another crooked grin that suggests more familiarity than there should be between the two of you. You return it with a bump of your shoulders, and then you watch him walk down the street with his hands in his pockets until he rounds a corner and you roll the shutters down.

Once again, you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.

Because of your migraine, you spill the leftovers of the coffee over a particularly rare collection of fairy tales later that night. The gold-edged pages bleed ink all over the maps, rendering them essentially pretty trash for the perfect townsfolk of Storybrooke. You fold them up as a gift, and then you put your keys into the letterbox for them to pick up on Monday.

***

For a while, it was the two of you on his travels through the different realms, exploring and stealing and doing the unexpected. It was your specialty, after all.

And then, just like that, for a whole while, Jefferson didn’t see you again, not until after he’d met and lost Grace’s mother. It was a particularly cold night in December when he woke to his daughter tugging at his sleeve and a strange noise from outside.

It was rhythmic, swooshing, almost like the wind but accompanied by something like a hum. When he stepped to the window, though, there was nothing outside but darkness and whirling snowflakes.

He managed to get Grace back into bed after some crackers and tea, her eyes drooping closed as she huddled up with the corner of her blanket in her mouth. Jefferson watched her drift back to sleep, and then he returned to the window, because he had this feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. Like someone was calling for him without ever saying his name.

He found you clearing the path leading up to the cottage with your bare hands, the frilly cloak around your shoulders not nearly warm enough to keep out the icy sting of winter. Your fingers were already starting to turn an unhealthy color, and a thin layer of snow sat at the crown of your head like a frozen hat.

Jefferson cursed and grabbed his coat from the bench next to the door.

"What are you doing?" he hissed when he reached you, wrapping you up within seconds. You blinked up at him. Your lashes were glittering with ice.

"It needed cleaning," you said matter-of-factly, without keeping your voice down.

Quickly, he ushered you inside and made you sit next to the fireplace. You only seemed to realize the oddness of your situation now that warmth was returning to your limbs, looking around the room in slow confusion, like you were trying to piece everything together.

Jefferson was putting the kettle back into the fire when you got up again, his coat still draped around your shoulders, and stepped closer to the bed.

"You had a daughter," you said, peering at the sleeping toddler with something almost like a frown. "She’s beautiful."

"She looks like her mother."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you."

The red on his cheeks felt almost like a betrayal, but you didn’t mean that, anyway, so it didn’t count. Still, he was stunned enough to drop his mug, and the sound of it shattering on the floor woke Grace up again. She would be three in spring, then, and she was a smart girl, but she’d stopped talking months ago, instead resorting back to the wails of a much younger child whenever she was upset, and she was hard to calm.

He couldn’t blame her.

Whenever he held her like this, he felt as helpless and alone as he did that first time when she was crying for her mother and there was no one there but him.

Except this time, Jefferson wasn’t alone. To his surprise, you stepped closer and started humming, and then singing under your breath.

To his even bigger surprise, it seemed to soothe Grace.

It was an old song, a familiar song, and you placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he cradled his daughter until she finally fell asleep again. You were still cold enough he could feel it through his shirt, but your voice carried a warmth he wasn’t used to anymore.

You took your tea in comfortable silence, and when the first rays of sunshine started creeping through the branches outside, you told him that you had to leave again. He almost asked how long it would be this time.

Instead, he led you to the door and shook his head as you tried to slip out of his coat. "The weather is supposed to turn again," he said, looking you up and down because he didn’t know when to expect you next. He never did.

"You’re different," you said, and even though you didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt at those words, they still left their mark.

"You’re not," he said, and meant it as a compliment. Somehow, when you met his eye, it didn’t seem like one anymore.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," you answered, and he had no response to that.

You kissed him, then. Sweetly, like a blushing bride would. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

It was over far more quickly than he’d have liked, and you stuffed your hands into his coat pockets.

"I’m sorry," you said, and for the first time, you wouldn’t look at him.

But Jefferson could do nothing but stare, even as you finally turned and wandered down the path again, because there you were, with your heart on your sleeve, and he’d just lost his wife, and he didn’t know up from down anymore.

***

Stepping into Jefferson’s sitting room is a little like entering a creature’s belly and sitting down next to its beating heart, pressing so close you can feel it pulsating through you.

There’s a large grandfather clock staring at you from next to the fireplace, and on the mantle there’s a small, wooden alarm, and from there, it’s six and a half steps to the cuckoo clock on the far wall that makes a little rabbit appear every fifteen minutes.

Then, it’s another twenty steps past the living room table to the clock on the even farther wall and the bookcase he stores his silver pocket watch on, in a blue box on the high shelf, next to a dusty collection of fairy tales and an old hat he used to wear on Fridays.

Or was it Sundays?

"You could just go talk to her," you tell him on a Thursday, taking another sip of tea.

Jefferson sinks back in his chair, knuckles at his temples. His chin is still held high in bottomless defiance, but his eyes are so tired. "It’s not that simple."

"It’s not that complicated, either," you shrug. "You’re her father, after all."

"Except I’m the only one to know that."

"I know," you say, and you’re not sure yourself if you mean to sound reassuring or scolding. The thought is head-achingly heavy, so you drop it and pick up a tune instead, quietly humming to yourself as you continue your circles around the room.

It’s an old melody, ghosting through your mind more often than not, a little sad and happy at the same time. You feel Jefferson’s weary gaze on the back of your head, and somehow it makes you smile.

"You remember how it’s supposed to work back at home, though, right? True love conquers all." You chuckle to yourself. The song in your head starts to buzz. "Or," you continue with a dismissive lift of your eyebrow, "are you just going to wait for that savior to appear? How long has it been, ten years?"

"Eight years, three months, two-hundred and seventeen days."

Huh. You could have sworn you’ve been here much longer.

"Then there’s still nineteen years and …" You think for a moment, then shake your head. "You know what, I’m not going to get that right if I tried, and I don’t want to, so let’s just say a while."

He almost laughs at that, a soft, pained look in his eye that you’re not supposed to find charming.

"You’re going to go insane in that time," you say softly. "I would."

"I know." It’s already starting to tug at the tilt of his smile and the twitch in his eye. He hasn’t quite learned to stop caring, yet, and of course he hasn’t. That wouldn’t be like him.

He’s always been your mirror, so why would this be any different?

Things stay they same, and they stay the same, and they stay the same, and you’re sick of it. Apparently, there’s a thing such as too normal a life, and it makes your skin crawl.

So you start tailoring again. Your evenings are long and there’s just a few people that come in regularly, that ask for golden thread to fix their buttons and flaxen yarn to hem their suits. It’s quiet. Terribly quiet. Too quiet.

There’s not a single clock in your shop, and you realize you miss the ticking as soon as you crawl out of the belly of the beast. So you keep returning.

"We used to share a bed," you recall, lifting your arm so Jefferson can reach for the thread you’re holding out as you both sit on the floor, your tools and fabrics spread out over the entire room. You love watching him work, even though you don’t quite understand why he’s so obsessed with making hats. Maybe you just forgot.

"We did", he answers, not even looking at you. It makes you roll your eyes.

"So why don’t we now?"

"That would be rather complicated." His stitching is impeccable.

"Why?" Something throbs between your temples.

"Several reasons, dear." He tilts his head. "Aren’t you late?"

The unpleasant feeling in your chest disappears when you look at the clock. "Shit."

You hastily gather your things and start running to make it back to your shop in time, barely remembering to catch your breath enough to say goodbye, and so you miss the look on his face as he watches you, staying behind in the big house in the middle of the woods.

***

You visited more often, now that you knew about Grace, but Jefferson didn’t know if that was for her sake or for his. One thing that was very clear, however, was that you didn’t care at all about the dirty looks you got from everyone else whenever you strayed off the path to wander towards his cottage, unchaperoned.

Sure, they pitied him, but he was grieving, they said, and you were young and beautiful.

"They’re all so terribly starved for entertainment," you sighed, and then you handed him another pretty pebble you’d found on your way. He put it into the bowl on the window sill.

Grace was getting old enough to get used to you, then, to recognize the hands that tickled her chin and sometimes pulled her up when she fell on the forest ground. She loved your surprises, and your stories were her favorites to listen to when it was bedtime, even though she usually fell asleep long before you stopped talking.

"Did I ever tell you," you continued when the embers were barely glowing anymore but your eyes were shining in the moonlight, "about those pirates that I ran into near—"

"Why did you stay away so long?"

You blinked, and so did he. He hadn’t expected himself to actually ask, not after all this time that you had been back in his life. But the question was out now, sitting between you on the broken floorboards of his broken life, and the night stretched your silence into infinity.

"I wrote you letters," you told him, and it was true, but it wasn’t an answer. So he kept looking at you, and the silence scraped its nails against your skin. "I don’t know," you finally said in a way that told Jefferson you did know and didn’t want to tell him. There was a flustered hum to you that almost made him want to take it back, but the magic that followed each and every of your whims didn’t retreat. Not even a little.

"I was falling in love with you." He’d never admitted it out loud before. Who would he have told?

You laughed nervously, looking over at Grace. "Not very much, clearly."

"You never gave me the chance to do it properly."

"You don’t want me. I could never be a mother." Still, you talked quietly enough not to wake her, and you brought her trinkets and playthings whenever you’d been away for a while. You never brought him anything, but he still felt like he was getting a rare gift every time. It must’ve counted for something.

Besides, this was the first time you’d attempted to reason with him.

"I didn’t have her then," he said anyway, as if that was an argument.

"But you were always going to."

"And what about you and me?"

You bit your lip. "I’m inconvenient."

"I know," he said.

"You can’t rely on me."

"I know," he said.

"You deserve better than me."

Jefferson shook his head, and for the first time since he met you, you looked unsure. So, for the first time since he met you, he was the one doing the incalculable.

He kissed you.

You pulled him closer immediately, all logic forgotten as you crashed into each other, finally on the same page of this twisted story. You kissed him like you wanted him to be the happy ending to your storybook, even though you weren’t cut out for that kind of tale.

You both tried to be, anyway.

***

You’ve run the teashop now for … you’re not quite sure. Forever, maybe. It sure feels like your whole life has been spent between boxes of fragrant leaves, with a kettle always shrieking somewhere in the house and you humming whatever tune it sings to you.

But your hands are dirty, and no matter how much you brush your nails under scalding water, there always seems to be grime underneath them. Like you’re repotting plants in your sleep. Or clawing at the ground.

Your life is filled with sound, with constant chatter and gossip, because your front door is barely a five minute walk from Storybrooke secondary and the schoolgirls have developed an obsession with the shortbread and ginger muffins you serve with their tea. They reward you with whatever pocket money they can find at the bottom of their school bags and any gossip about their teachers they’ve eavesdropped on that week.

You constantly have a headache, but it’s fun, in a way. And you get to see Grace.

Your hand stops midair as you reach out for the lavender tea the girl ordered, staring unfocused until she clears her throat expectantly.

“Sorry,” you say, still dazed, “lost my train of thought there.”

The girl—Paige, you remember now, you heard her friend say her name when they entered the shop, Come on, Paige, and something about it made your stomach turn—tips her head to the side in a way that’s familiar, even though you don’t know why. “Can I have that to go?“ she adds, a quick look over her shoulder to where her friends are giggling.

“Sure.”

You only serve tea in loose leaves, because you believe trapping your window to the future in a small bag doesn’t do anyone any good, even though most of your customers don’t know how to tip their residue into their saucers in the proper way. You do it for them, sometimes, if they leave enough cold tea in their cups for you to do it after the door has clicked shut behind them. You knew about the mayor’s adoption papers going through before she knew about it herself, and you’d felt pretty smug about that.

The perfect amount of time to steep lavender tea is five minutes and forty-six seconds, and because you can’t trust a child to particularly care for such precision, you keep the steaming paper cup behind the counter until your timer goes off. You stir a dollop of honey in, humming to yourself, before you hand Paige the cup. She doesn’t really look at you, already distracted by another snippet of conversation, but she still flashes you a quick smile before hurrying to catch up with the others. The bell above the door jingles again, and the man stepping inside holds the door open for the girls to file outside, chattering excitedly. His other hand is balled up into a fist so tight it makes his knuckles stand out white.

He takes a deep breath before he turns and regards you. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I suppose so,” you say, even though it interrupts your humming. “Can I get you anything?”

His smile is small, but beautiful. “I think you already are.”

It’s then you notice you’ve pulled out one of the mugs from your good set without even asking, heaping two and a half spoonsful of your favorite blend inside like it’s the most natural thing for you to do upon his entrance.

Before you can apologize, he turns the sign in your window to 'closed' and sits down at the counter with a patient look, eyes very intense as they search yours, his face unreadable. None of it feels threatening, just … expectant.

So you continue with your instinctual movements, even though you’re not sure how you know what he’s waiting for. You feel like there’s something you’re missing, and it doesn’t come to you until you hand him his mug.

The mask falls when he says your name, your real name, and your lips twist into a smile that’s so unsure of itself it almost curls inwards.

You remember, you remember.

Every single lifetime falls back into place until the one that came first stays at the forefront. You cling to the thought like someone fights with a dream to be allowed to stay a little longer, battling oblivion with the resolution of a dragon slayer.

"How long was I gone this time?" you ask, hands clasping the counter more tightly and blinking fast as if that could keep the forgetting away.

"Hard to say," Jefferson answers. "A few weeks. You’re getting better."

You know he’s lying, because in the beginning, it would only take you a couple of days to remember. Now, your moments of clarity seem to be farther apart every time. "Was she nice?"

If you were going to remember any of this in a while, you’d really miss being the girl from the tea shop. You’ve been enjoying this version of things, the simplicity and the small dosages of variety, like little treats in this viscous monotony.

He shrugs with one shoulder. "She’s you."

"So, no."

His smile always seems sad these days. "So, nice in the ways that matter. You always are."

Somehow, you doubt that. "What day is it?" you ask.

"Seventeen years, six months, forty-five days."

You don’t ask him if there’s been any progress; you know there hasn’t been. Instead, you round the counter and put your arms around him. You feel him sag against you, his sigh of relief barely audible against your shoulder. You can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since Jefferson’s touched another person.

He pulls you close enough for you to feel his heartbeat in your own chest, and you barely breathe as you tighten the embrace even more, trying to hold both of you upright.

"Your hair’s getting longer again," you mumble after a very long time, dragging your thumb against the back of his neck.

"Don’t lie," he answers hoarsely, lifting his head without opening his eyes, your noses bumping before he rests his forehead against yours. "I miss you."

It breaks your heart, how easily it slips out.

Your lips seek his carefully, then more confident, because you don’t know how else to express your own feelings. This kiss, like all the ones before, is a promise you both know you won’t be able to keep.

Hope still tastes bitter on his tongue.

***

He’d always hated Wonderland, but he’d never hated it more than when he got stuck there and felt his sanity slip through his fingers a little bit more every day. Time didn’t make sense here, nothing did.

But if there was one thing that he could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

"There you are." A voice as familiar as an old song woke him up from another nightmare. "What on earth are you doing in this hole?"

Jefferson opened his eyes. You were like a vision, not even paying attention to the disbelief in his eyes as you dusted off one of the useless hats.

"How," he croaked.

You chuckled a little and continued to look around the room. His cell. His locked cell with guards posted outside.

He sat up so quickly his vision went black for a moment. "How are you here?"

"You were gone so long," you said. "I was bored."

"You—" He held your cheek, your waist, your shoulder. You felt cool to the touch, but solid, real. Eyes innocent and glittering with your usual mischief, as if this was completely normal. "Have you seen Grace? Is she alright?"

"She misses you, too."

He didn’t even pay attention to it, then, but he remembered that little "too" at the end later, many, many times.

"Can you get me home?"

Your smile was soft and sad and sliced him in two all over again. You gently tugged at the bow around his neck, and then you simply said, "No."

So he raged. He bargained. He begged.

But you could not, would not budge, even though your eyes grew heavy as you listened to him. Like this was a disappointing development for you.

He already knew he was nothing more.

He stared at you when he was done, chest heaving, still on his knees in front of you even though he could no longer meet your eye. You didn’t say anything.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," you said again. You brushed your hands through his hair and slowly sank down to his level.

It was only then that he realized tears were falling from his eyes. Gently, you wiped them off his cheeks, and then, holding his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before touching your own to the same spot.

"Grace sends this," you whispered.

Jefferson closed his eyes, heart twisting with that unspeakable ache.

"There’s something you need to know," you said, your voice already carrying the weight of it. As if all of this hadn’t been enough. "Something bad is coming."

"Isn’t it always?" he asked, but then he felt your magic flicker in a way it never had before. Like it was nervous.

And then lightning struck outside.

When he looked at your face, your eyes were rolled back and your magic was lashing out in all directions, clashing against the walls in terror. "There’s danger if I dare to stop and here’s a reason why," you sing-songed, unfocused, and Jefferson caught your hands before you clawed at your own face. "I’m over-due, no no no no, goodbye, hello." You hiccuped.

Dread washed through him in an icy shockwave. He’d seen you in a state of confusion before, many times, but this was different, not just overwhelmed but panicked. Your magic was literally spilling out of you now, like it was trying to escape whatever fate you’d seen coming, and you would’ve doubled over with it had he not held you upright.

"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run run." You giggled. "Did you know I’m a bunny in a book?"

"Sweetheart, you need to focus."

The next thunder rolled outside and you screamed, but it seemed to knock some sense back into you because your eyes weren’t quite so glassy anymore when you looked at him again. "Oh, this next part won’t be fun."

Something knocked at the door and then it burst open, dark purple whirls of magic filling the room within seconds, accompanied by roaring winds and a thumping sound that reminded him of a beating heart. Your hands came up to cup Jefferson’s face and you gave him the saddest, most knowing smile he’d ever seen on you.

The wind almost swallowed your voice, but whatever magic hadn’t left you yet let him hear your words anyway.

"Some people really don’t deserve a wish."

Then, everything went black.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! you can also buy me a ko-fi if you feel so inclined <3

#jefferson x reader #jefferson fic #jefferson x you #jefferson fanfiction #jefferson oneshot #once upon a time fanfic #ouat fanfic #lavender's blue

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rookthorne · 1 year

Text

𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘’𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

1/1 ⋮ HAND IN HAND (yhhmsgm FINALE) | @thenhewaswrongaboutme

Bucky Barnes x Reader (x Steve Rogers)

Not Canon Compliant 》 tiny Angst, Fluff

The culmination of arguably the best ever series within the Marvel fanfiction community, and my heart could barely handle it. Many tears of both sadness and joy were shed, I love these two (three) with all my heart. (X)

2/1 ⋮ I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE, I WANNA BE YOUR MASTER | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rockstar!AU 》 Fluff, implied Smut

I have never felt so pumped reading anything! I was there in the crowd; I could feel everything and everyone around me. The tension was the best part, what a fucking menace Bucky is! 😈 (X)

6/1 ⋮ RAVENOUS | @navybrat817

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Smut

Bucky is such a little shit, and that surprise cameo made me fucking laugh so hard I snorted! (X)

8/1 ⋮ DARK SIDE OF THE MOON | @sgt-seabass

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Werewolf!AU 》 Dark, Smut

I don’t think I survived reading this, a ghost is writing this. This hit almost all of my weaknesses for this trope and I am dying. 🥵 (X)

9/1 - 24/1 ⋮ YOUR EYES OUTSHINE THE TOWN | @duckybarnes1917

Bucky Barnes x Black!F!Reader

Canon Divergent 》 Angst, Fluff, Smut

↳ Chapter 1 ✦ Fluff, Smut

Literally still reeling from the damn sweater paragraph, and I need a cold shower. 🥵 (X)

↳ Chapter 2 ✦ Angst, Fluff

Things are heating up, and not in a spicey way, beginning to get a bit nervous. 👀 (X)

↳ Chapter 3 ✦ Fluff, Smut

I AM WITHERING AWAY - I want to make snow angels and throw snowballs at Bucky but I also wanna do… the other things. 👀 (X)

↳ Chapter 4 ✦ Angst, Fluff

We’re digging into the sads now, but it is perfectly peppered with comfort. 👌🏻(X)

↳ Chapter 5 ✦ Angst, Fluff

THIS ONE WAS A ROLLERCOASTER! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at most of it and I was on the edge of my seat! (X)

↳ Chapter 6 ✦ Fluff, Smut

You come up with the best punishments, I swear. That was deliciously cruel. 😏 (X)

↳ Chapter 7 ✦ Smut

The fact that you write sub!Bucky so perfectly is hazardous to my health. Seriously. (X)

↳ Chapter 8 ✦ Angst, Fluff

I would say this is the fluffiest chapter yet, they’re so fucking soft and adorable and I love them. 😭 (X)

↳ Chapter 9 ✦ light Angst, Fluff, Smut

I must ask you to leave my brain, this is getting beyond the joke. 🥵 (X)

↳ Chapter 10 ✦ Angst, Fluff

LOOK THAT WAS NOT OKAY! I NEED MY SHOVEL! I swear to god the tension and suspense is not okay, and I’m really fucking glad that I’m reading this when it is finished. (X)

↳ Chapter 11 ✦ Angst

Okay, you have now ripped my heart out, and stomped it into lemon juice with a dash of salt. You absolutely heartless monster. 😭 (X)

↳ Chapter 12 ✦ Angst, Fluff, Smut

You are forgiven. I can’t get over how fucking good you are at writing the conflict, and then the resolution. 💯 (X)

↳ Chapter 13 ✦ Angst, Fluff

Short, sweet, and perfect - just what the two of these idiots needed. (X)

↳ Chapter 14 ✦ Fluff, Smut

OI VEY! okay, okay, okay, I can breathe! *internally screaming* (X)

↳ Chapter 15 ✦ Fluff, Smut

Drunk Bucky is the epitome of chaos, and I love him. A really fun chapter. 🥰 (X)

↳ Chapter 16 ✦ Fluff

The final arc, and my heart is in my throat. I feel like the feels are gonna get a lot more intense! (X)

↳ Chapter 17 ✦ Angst, Fluff

I’m now waiting for the other show to drop and I dunno if I like that… (X)

↳ Chapter 18 ✦ Angst, Fluff

Look, my heart can only take so much. I love Betty! 😭 (X)

↳ Chapter 19 ✦ Angst, Fluff, implied Smut

A perfect ending for these two babies that I have grown to love with all my heart. 😭 (X)

18/1 ⋮ SHATTER | @navybrat817

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Fluff, Smut

Look up the word ‘menace’ in the dictionary, and you will find ‘NavyBrat817’ in BOLD LETTERS. (X)

19/1 ⋮ RED SUN | @sgt-seabass

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hybrid!AU 》 Dark, Smut

Beyond beautifully poetic and scorching hot, literally one of the best smuts I have ever read - ever. (X)

26/1 ⋮ CLOCKWORK AU | @sgt-seabass

Nick Fowler x Reader

Dark, Angst, Smut

↳ Chapter 1 ✦ Dark, Angst, Smut

My mind is blown right now, I cannot believe what I have just read, and I am addicted. I can’t get enough. (X)

↳ Chapter 2 ✦ Dark, Angst, Smut

It just gets even more intense, and it was fascinating to see the dynamics amongst them all. Though, you know my favourites. (X)

HUNT THE WHELP ✦ Dark

This went from super fucked up to being sort of sweet, and I can’t get enough of it. (X)

SIP YOU SLOWLY ✦ Dark, Smut

The cracks are beginning to show… and he is not ready for them at all. I’d say poor baby, but it’s about damn time. (X)

SLEEPLESS ✦ Dark

This is my favourite by far, the dynamics and the tension here is beautiful. It definitely makes what could be coming next very interesting. (X)

PEACE ✦ Dark

Look at him being soft, I love it. 🥹 (X)

18/1 ⋮ DRESS UP | @sgt-seabass

Lee Bodecker x Reader

Dark, Smut

I literally cannot get over how vivid this was in my mind as I read, and that equaled a lot of trouble for me to keep a straight face. (X)

18/1 ⋮ DBF!LEE DRABBLE PT. 1 | @sgt-seabass

Lee Bodecker x Reader

Smut

Please, every one of the points got me, and got me good. 😩 (X)

18/1 ⋮ DBF!LEE DRABBLE PT. 2 | @sgt-seabass

Lee Bodecker x Reader

Smut

THERE ARE NO WORDS. JUST- 😵‍💫 (X)

18/1 ⋮ DARK!JEFFERSON | @sgt-seabass

Jefferson x Reader

Dark

Why do I gotta love the psychos… I’m gonna blame it on how well you write them. (X)

18/1 ⋮ DARK!JEFFERSON | @sgt-seabass

Jefferson x Reader

Dark

I REFER TO MY PREVIOUS STATEMENT. (X)

18/1 ⋮ HEADS WILL ROLL | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark, Smut

I have nothing more to say than this was a masterpiece. It would have been so easy to delve into some pretty fucked up territory with this one, and you kept it perfectly balanced. 👌🏻 (X)

18/1 ⋮ SLAVE TO PAIN | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark

If I have said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. Escape and Steve Kemp do not go together, and you captured the desperation perfectly. (X)

18/1 ⋮ SHATTERED (Sequel to Slave To Pain) | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark

He is such a sick, twisted sonofabitch but you write him so fucking good he’s addicting. 😩 (X)

18/1 ⋮ THE POSSESSION | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark, Smut

I am in shock I think - I didn’t expect to like this trope but… damn. 😵‍💫 (X)

18/1 ⋮ MIND GAMES (Sequel to The Possession) | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark

He is so twisted and I am addicted. (X)

19/1 ⋮ DINNER PLANS | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark

I DID NOT EXPECT THAT PLOT TWIST! damn! 😳 (X)

19/1 ⋮ STEVE KEMP X READER | @sgt-seabass

Steve Kemp x Reader

Dark

SHORT AND SINISTER - just how I like them. 😌 (X)

1/1 ⋮ STEVE COMFORTING YOU HEADCANONS | @writing-for-marvel

Steve Rogers x GN!Reader

Modern!AU / Not Canon Compliant 》 Angst, Fluff

Literally made me all emotional, I didn’t know I needed this until I read it. Beautiful. 🥹 (X)

6/1 ⋮ AT YOUR SERVICE | @writing-for-marvel

Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Bodyguard!AU / Diplomats Daughter!AU 》 Fluff, Smut

Steve… Steve, Steve, Steve. Mate, you’ve got some grovelling to do. The tension is fucking unreal! (X)

6/1 ⋮ CAUSE THAT’S WHEN I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN | @writing-for-marvel

Ari Levinson x F!Reader

DBF!AU 》 little Angst, Fluff, Smut

I’m in fucking tears over here after this one, I felt it all and it was so melodic and happy and just down right FLUFFY! 😭 (X)

1/1 ⋮ I WILL | @kafkazmlekiem

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (post!TWS)

Canon Divergent 》 Angst, Fluff

my first fic of 2023 and I picked a really good one, the flow, the dynamic, the emotion.

4/1 ⋮ HOME | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (post!TWS)

A/B/O 》 light Angst, Fluff, Smut

Just the right amount of emotional porn, AND BUCKY COMES HOME?! 😭👌🏻 (X)

5/1 ⋮ SUGAR, SPICE AND EVERYTHING NICE | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (hinted Clint x Natasha x Steve x Bucky)

Modern!AU 》 Fluff

Extremely fluffy, and now I wanna go to a cat cafe 🥹 (X)

5/1 ⋮ ALWAYS & FOREVER | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

A/B/O 》 Smut

I literally think I passed out reading this, and it is so cruel how I discover new shit through your works. I swear to fuck. 🤣 (X)

5/1 ⋮ CLEAR AS DAY, THERE WAS NEVER ANY OTHER WAY | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (all eras)

Canon Divergent / Adjacent 》 Angst, Fluff

The flow and storytelling in this one really stands out for me, feeling Steve’s emotions and then Bucky’s was gut wrenching and I enjoyed being hurt, this time. 😝 (X)

6/1 ⋮ DRAWN TO YOUR BLOOD | @controlofwhatido

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Vampire!AU 》 Fluff, Smut

Literally one of the best vampire fics I have ever read, and the way you write? Just… absolutely fucking captivating. Beautiful. 💗 (X)

7/1 ⋮ HOLDING ONTO YOU | @winteratdusk

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (WWII)

Canon Divergence 》 Angst, Whump, Fluff

This made me cry so hard, it’s been a little while since I’ve read whump so I lost my immunity to it and goddamn 😭 definitely encouraged me to rebuild my immunity again. (X)

7/1 ⋮ FOUR DREAMS IN A ROW (YOU WERE BURNED) | @winteratdusk

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (post!TWS)

Canon Divergence 》 Angst, Whump, Fluff

↳ Chapter 1 ✦ Angst, Whump

I knew what to expect coming into this fic, but wow. I need to find a factory of tissues and move in, I reckon. The emotional rawness and Steve’s desperation were captured perfectly. (X)

↳ Chapter 2 ✦ Angst, Whump

Considering my fear of what goes on in this chapter, it made it all the more impactful. My heart was in my throat the whole time and god, my heart is just breaking for the two of them; Steve’s helplessness and guilt, Bucky’s suffering and confliction. (X)

↳ Chapter 3 ✦ Angst, Whump

Arguably, I feel like this is the most poetic chapter (that I have read so far, anyway, no telling what’s coming but more pain 🤣). Having Bucky still be in there fighting to keep the Soldier alive, even when he didn’t want to be… it’s like he knew. He knew one day something would give. (X)

↳ Chapter 4 ✦ Angst, Whump

Like I said in my comment, you are literally leaving the most emotional stuff for the 4th instalment. I am in literal shock at what I just read and I am in tears, but this time, the end is happy tears. (X)

↳ Chapter 5 ✦ Angst, Whump

I FEEL LIKE I COULDN’T BREATHE READING THIS MY HEART JUST COULDN’T TAKE IT! oh my GOD! I am so glad I’m binging this now when it is complete, I could not handle the cliffhangers! (X)

↳ Chapter 6 ✦ Angst, Whump, Fluff

A perfect end, for a perfect fic. 💗 (X)

24/1 ⋮ LATE NIGHT GOOGLING | @jro616 (roe87)

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Canon Divergence 》 Fluff

Your writing always makes me smile, and this was no exception. I will forever picture this fic in my mind whenever I’m down. 🥰

30/1 ⋮ THE HOUSE ON WINTER LANE | @ClandestineMira / @Duchess_On_Fire

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Modern!AU 》 Angst, Fluff, Smut

↳ Chapter 1 ✦ Smut

Perfect world building and hella captivating, there were bits I had to stop and collect myself after laughing so hard! 🤣 (X)

4/1 ⋮ RIDE | @buckyismybicycle

Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson

Not Canon Compliant 》 Smut

Sam is such a lil’ shit it was a wonder Bucky hadn’t fallen victim sooner - tbqh. (X)

16/1 ⋮ VITA ÆTHELSTANI | @oneiriad

Ragnar Lothbrok x Lagertha x Athelstan

Canon Divergent 》 Angst, Fluff, implied Smut

I loved every single bit of this from start to finish, and it made me really miss all 3 of them so much. 😭

Banners & Graphics made by yours truly.

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starryevermore · 2 years

Note

I can’t remember OUAT that well so bare with and please make corrections if necessary I just dunno who else you could do this for: Jefferson remembering the reader and running around trying to find her only to realise, she’s not alive anymore and can ya make it proper angst like so full of hope then…bombshell basically.

the worst kind of curse ✧ jefferson/mad hatter

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I can’t remember OUAT that well so bare with and please make corrections if necessary I just dunno who else you could do this for: Jefferson remembering the reader and running around trying to find her only to realise, she’s not alive anymore and can ya make it proper angst so full of hope then…bombshell basically.

pairing: jefferson x fem!reader

word count: 253

warnings?: angst, not proofread

Jefferson had thought he had remembered everything about his life in the Enchanted Forest. He remembered Grace, he remembered thinking that he would do just one last job and he’d never have to worry about money again. He remembered arriving in Storybrooke via the curse, he remembered being the only one who did remember. But there was one memory that he didn’t have until now. One very big memory, about you.

You, his beloved wife. Why had Regina made him forget you? Wouldn’t it have aided in his suffering by making his remember that he had a whole family he could never contact? What was her motive?

When the curse was broken, he was initially terrified of what would happen when he saw you and Grace again. Would you be ashamed? Would you be upset with him? Would you tell him to fuck off? Would Grace want nothing to do with the father who abandoned her?

But then, he finally got over his fears, and he went looking for the two of you.

But he only found Grace.

And as he held her in his arms, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Where’s momma? Have you seen her?”

And she sobbed quietly, whispering, “She died, papa. After you left.”

You were gone. He lost you. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. He didn’t even know you had died. He would never get to say goodbye.

And oh, that was far worse than any curse that Regina could have ever cast on him.

#jefferson imagine #jefferson x reader #jefferson x fem!reader #jefferson x female reader #jefferson x y/n #jefferson x you #jefferson fic #jefferson fanfiction #jefferson fan fiction #jefferson fan fic #jefferson fanfic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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phantomstatistician · 2 months

Text

Fandom: Hamilton

Sample Size: 20,757 stories

Source: AO3

#alexander hamilton #john laurens #eliza schuyler #thomas jefferson #james madison #marquis de lafayette #hercules mulligan #aaron burr #maria reynolds #george washington #theodosia burr #martha washington #hamilton #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician #lams #hamilton x laurens

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nadiawritessomething · 2 months

Text

A STAR

Miles had never known what stars looked like. He'd only seen their shapes, shining specks scattered across the black sky, obscured from the rest of the city by a thick layer of smoke and ash. The cold asphalt stung his hands, made his battle scars burn and swell, and his words stuck in his throat every time he tried to say something into the silent air. But no matter how hard he strained his eyes, no matter how hard he tried, the stars were too far away. Too weak to shine their rays through this veil.

Perhaps Miles was the same way. Equally weak and invisible to people, equally unrecognizable and unknown. He didn't have much time to think about who he could be. He didn't have time to think about who he was, or even who he was now.

Uncle Aaron told him that he was an amazingly talented child whose potential was as hard to unlock as it was to destroy. Uncle Aaron said that he would try his best to make sure that all of his -all of their- efforts were not in vain.

Uncle Aaron was lying.

His mother hugged him, whispering in his ear that he was the smartest boy she had ever known. She assured him that she had no problem paying for Miles's school, that they would have enough for everything if she worked a little harder. She said it wasn't a burden.

His mother was lying, too.

Sometimes Miles thought about what he had lost, only on those nights when no one saw or heard him, only when the evenings were particularly icy and the gunfire outside the window was too loud.

And still, he was a perfect combination of everyone he respected and loved. Frequently he would hear from distant relatives (who had long since stopped calling only on holidays and only when it was convenient for them) how much of a spitting image of his mother he had become, or jokingly remark on how much his Spanish had improved in recent years.

Often, he would receive a friendly, somewhat gentle pat on the shoulder from his uncle, saying that Miles was "learning the best from him." His uncle's habits, peculiarities, fighting techniques - all of this was slowly becoming a part of his being, carving Miles' tiny self into him right alongside his mother's childhood advice

Because, most likely, Miles Morales was simply not destined to become a star.

He was not destined to repeat his father's heroic physique, always hiding in the shadows behind a mask. It was not written in his fate to have his father's smile, love of silly jokes, or work ethic. It was not in the world's plan to give him even the smallest, most vile part of the man he longed to know a little more about. To remember anything but the crooked memories distorted by the evil game of his brain.

Except, perhaps, the eyes. One of his eyes was a slight shade of green, somewhat reminiscent of his mother's. The other was coloured like a dark honey, almost black at certain angles of light. You could say that his face served as a reminder of both of his parents with different reflections. And yet, it had nothing special behind it, nothing that he wanted to hold on to like a lifeline - it just served as another reason why Miles didn't like looking at himself in the mirror.

And for a very long time, Miles really couldn't understand what exactly he was missing. What was the reason, the mistake, the glitch in the system that ruined his own life?

Until he met him. A boy who looked like him like two peas in a pod. A boy who was him in every literal sense of the word. He shone, blocking the obstacles on his way, illuminating his own faltering path in those moments when there was no other source of light around. His eyes always burned with fire - not the kind of fire that burned houses - and never went out for a second. In all the time Miles had known him, himself, he had never seen anything in the double that resembled his own emptiness.

Miles Morales.

His mom stops, looking up at the doppelganger. Miles didn't hear what they were talking about - he was too busy clearing the table after the last dinner. But he definitely heard the last words she spoke, in a whisper and in a rush. Something that should have been left between the lines.

"You act so much like Jeff." Her voice was quiet, almost absent "And don't even realize it."

She would never say something like that to him.

Perhaps, a timid smile, excessive risk-taking, and strange stories were what it meant to be a hero. What it meant to be a star. What it meant to be who his father was.

What he was supposed to be.

But no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much effort he puts into being a hero, the Prolwer will not be one. Not the way they want to.

Miles Gonzalo Morales will not bring even the smallest part of Jefferson Morales into the world.

Because, most likely, Miles Morales was simply not destined to become a star.

And the universe was never going to listen to him anyway, was it?

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales #miles 42 #miles g morales #prowler miles #earth 42 miles #spiderverse #aaron davis #jefferson morales #gen #character analysis #“Jupiter was supposed to be a star but failed”#yes him #fanfiction #atsvgen #atsv fanfiction

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astralaffairs · 8 months

Note

Don't mean to pressure you or anything but I really miss fotp and that last chap had me wanting to tear my heart open (TT)

If you're up for it, can I request for a short fluff abt mc and president t's marriage life? Or if you're still feeling villain-y, an angst will do! 😚

Hope you're having a fine dayyy, love all your works btw! 🫶🏻

astralaffairs villain era canceled. let me also refer u to late nights & speech writes for some president thom husband material

‐----------------

“And where the hell have you been?” Strong hands grabbed Y/N by the waist the minute she locked the door behind her, and she squealed, stumbling over the hem of her long dress as she was pulled into a strong body. Rough wool scratched her bare shoulders. “‘S late. A woman like you shouldn’t be out all on your own like this. Who knows what coulda happened.”

Her laugh was breathless as Thomas kissed her neck, his stubble harsh against her skin, and her hands came to cover his as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Oh, please. I don’t think I’ve left the White House in the last 72 hours; I’m not exactly looking for trouble.”

“So why’ve you been out all night, hm?” He nipped at her earlobe, but she rolled her eyes. “Who’ve you been with all this time, sugar?”

“That Russian ambassador who did not want to hear that I have an early morning tomorrow,” she said dryly. “This is the worst part about state dinners. All the old men in the room still talk to me like I’m their young prospect rather than a peer in government who’s here as my job.”

“They’re all goddamn relics; don’t let ‘em get to you,” Thomas said. “They’re dinosaurs, and they’re gonna be dead in a few months, anyway.”

“At this rate, they’ll also be running entire countries when they’re on life support,” Y/N grumbled, and his laugh was sardonic.

“‘N they’re still gonna be tryin’ to hit on you when they’re hauling oxygen tanks around here behind ‘em.” He turned her around in his arms, and her drained expression made him frown. Her eyes looked empty. “‘M sorry you don’t get the respect you deserve at these events, though, sweetheart. Wish there was something more I could do."

"I don't expect you to be able to end all sexism in government, believe me," she said, reaching up to loosen his tie. "Doesn't help that they all see you as the ultimate guy's guy, though. Thomas Jefferson, the good all-American trust-fund baby who loves steak and baseball."

"Maybe I'll eat some tofu 'n take up figure skating," he suggested mildly as she slid her hands under the collar of his blazer, pushing it down his shoulders. He withdrew his arms from her waist for just long enough to shake the jacket off, discarding it on the chair by his desk in the corner. "I've always thought there was a whole lotta power in embracing the traditionally feminine."

"Sure you have," she scoffed. He grinned, taking a step back toward their bed with her in his arms as she started undoing the knot in his tie. "You regularly smoke cigars with foreign heads of state to celebrate national alliances. You're the epitome of the boys club."

"Hey, I smoke the cigars with women holdin' office too," he defended. She slid his tie out from the collar of his shirt.

"You're truly a feminist icon." The words were ironic as she pulled his button down out from where he'd tucked it into the waist of his pants, walking him back toward their bed all the while, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're talkin' a whole lotta mess for somebody who's trying to undress me."

"You're not putting up much of a fight." She raised an expectant eyebrow, looking him in the eye as she undid his belt buckle, and when he pulled her close, she slid her hands up his chest. She fiddled with the top button on his dress shirt as he guided both of them through the final few steps between him and the foot of their bed.

"'N you're awful lucky I'm not." As he sat on the edge of the mattress, she stood between his parted thighs as he pulled her dress up her legs. "You just came home from a long night of work, 'n all you wanna do is objectify me? 'M a whole lot more than just a hot body, Ms. L/N."

Despite his words, when the hem of her dress was high enough for him to slide his hands under it, he pulled her onto the bed with him, straddling his lap as his hands ran up her bare thighs. She cocked her head to one side.

"You mean 'Mrs. Jefferson'?" she asked, and he grinned.

"Yeah, but I like it a whole lot better when you say it." He pushed her dress up her body until her hands covered his to pull it over her head, and although she didn't seem particularly concerned with where it landed, she suddenly felt very exposed in just her lingerie on his lap. His eyes didn't stray from her face, however. He pulled her closer by her bare waist, and her arms hung loosely over his shoulders. The open ends of his belt poked at her inner thighs. "Reminds all those Russian diplomats you're off the market."

"I have a feeling Nebenzya isn't trying to steal me away," she said, but Thomas shrugged. "With the way he talks about you, he might be hoping we're looking for a third."

"Unfortunately for Vasily, he wouldn't be at the top of my list," Thomas said, and Y/N's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, you have a list, now?" she asked. He gave a lazy grin.

"Sugar, I've always had a list," he informed her, and she frowned. He kissed her downturned lips. "If we're working from the number one spot, though, we might have some trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I've got a feeling John Adams wouldn't be too amenable to the idea," he said frankly, and Y/N's surprised laugh was closer to a scoff. "'N I don't feel like we know John Jay well enough as a couple, so that's not gonna fly, but inviting Lafayette just feels like it'd make things weird between all of us."

"Is your whole list made up of men?”

“‘Course.” His answer was immediate, but her skeptical gaze didn’t waver. He ran his hands down her thighs. “You already know you’re the only woman I got eyes for.”

“You’re so corny,” she said softly, running her hands down his shoulders to his upper chest. She picked at the buttons on his dress shirt. "Better tone it down before I get the wrong idea and fall in love with you."

"Now, we certainly can't have that."

"Especially not now. I'm too busy to take a lover, I'm afraid," she said, working down the buttons on his shirt to reveal his bare chest. "I'm just married to my work these days."

"'N you mean that literally, don't you, Madam First Lady?" He undid his cufflinks when she finished with his buttons, and he slid them into his pocket. However, he didn't take the shirt off despite her pushing its fabric down his shoulders. Rather, he took her hands in his, lacing his fingers into hers. "You're just a regular Mrs. America."

"You're really gonna stop me from taking your shirt off after you got me down to my underwear?"

"If I let you finish undressing me, it's gonna be a while before we get to sleep," he said, and she shrugged innocently. "We've gotta be up again in five hours. We both oughta get some rest."

"Being the first couple isn't nearly as sexy as I hoped it'd be." She sat back on her heels, resting her hands on his legs, and he gave her a tired smile. "Take the rest of your clothes off and come to bed, at least. I feel like I've hardly seen you all week."

"Right now, I'm all yours," he assured her. "Lemme get up 'n get some pajamas, though. Put on something other than a full suit for once."

"Just sleep without them," she countered, and he raised an eyebrow. "I like the feeling of your skin against mine. Just makes me feel more connected to you, I guess."

"You're adorable." He kissed her on the forehead, his smile endeared, and she could feel the heat rising to the tips of her ears as he leaned back to take his shirt off. After he did, though, he pulled her in closer, picking her up by her thighs as he stood, and she yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders. When he deposited her on his side of the bed, he undid his dress pants, taking them off before joining her on the mattress.

He crawled atop her where she lay on her back watching him, and as he dipped down to kiss her, one hand slid under her back, and she arched up against him. However, as he kissed down her neck, he unhooked her bra and leaned back to slide it down her arms. When he discarded it onto the floor, she was watching him with wide eyes, but he only kissed her forehead before rolling off of her and pulling the covers over them both. He reached over to turn off the lamp at his bedside.

"For what it's worth," he murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist, and she rolled onto her side, letting him pull her into his body, "we've got plenty of time to sleep in on Saturday morning."

"Oh, yeah?" She rested her arm atop his, lacing her fingers into his.

"Mhm." He kissed the back of her shoulder. "So Friday night, you better not come home too tired."

"I'm gonna need all my energy for when I find you and Adams in our bed, huh?" When his hold on her tightened, his cold feet brushed against her shins, and she shivered.

"Not this time, sweetheart," he promised. "Once I get you alone, you better bet I'm not sharing you."

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imyourbratzdoll · 7 months

Text

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

🎃𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍🎃

welcome to the horror fest! where your dreams and nightmares will come to life! choose a path and delve into their stories!

🔞𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 18+ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆! 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 18 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄!🔞

AGE AND SIZE DIFFERENCE IS ADDED TO ALL! MEN ARE LARGER THAN THE READER! UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE THE READER IS INNOCENT IN ALL! THERE WILL BE DARK CONTENT!!!

I would like to give a big thanks to @alovecraft and @royalsweetteaa for helping me with this!!

೫˚💀❀ *ૢ🔮೫˚🧟‍♂️

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

೫˚💀❀ *ૢ🔮೫˚🧟‍♂️

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littlesunshine1223 · 2 months

Text

Hamilton As Thing From The ✨Quote Book✨

Hamilton

- [ ] I have 3 wives…AND YOUR MOTHER IS ONE OF THEM

- [ ] I’m bisexual and I agree with this message

Lafayette

- [ ] I recon that’s a lot of croutons

- [ ] Ah the smell of nature…it’s fucking terrible

Laurens

- [ ] You can really taste the rabies in this Oreo

- [ ] It’s a bit frosty outside and I don’t mean the snowman

Mulligan

- [ ] Just pull up to the one semi open Kmart and pistol whip someone in the parking lot

- [ ] *kind military lady gives piece of candy* AM I GONNA GET DRAFTED NOW?!??!?!?!

Burr

- [ ] *hears plane* oh god they’re back

- [ ] Stop fingering the Nutella jar

Jefferson

- [ ] *enhances image* possibly

- [ ] Touch my thigh with another fucking marker and I’m gonna make sure you can smell colors for the rest of your life

+ Peggy

- [ ] Why is there glitter on the fucking pancakes

- [ ] I’m gonna interlock my toes then kick you in the face

#hamilton fanfiction #alexander hamilton #hamilton musical #hamilsquad x reader #hamilton fanart #hercules mulligan #marquis de lafayette #john laurens #thomas jefferson #aaron burr

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idyllicbarb · 1 year

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not impressed

SUMMARY: in your eyes, nothing is special about the lsu quarterback.

WARNINGS: cussing, drinking, smoking, fuckboy!joe, fratboy!joe, cocky!joe, euphoria inspired

- - - -

You're new to LSU, transferring from a small community college back in Georgia. It's only been a few months here in Louisiana for you but things have been good so far. Joining the majorette team and becoming popular around campus. Men want you but you don't want them, too caught up in enjoying your new college life.

You adjust your bra top, gaining looks from a few college boys that were standing around you. Rolling your eyes, you check your phone for any new messages. Somebody at LSU decided to throw a party for the football team, typical. Your majorette teammate, Naomi, had dragged you out the house so you could find yourself a man just for the evening.

But all the dudes at the party right now were either weird or sluts, huge whore bags. That's how a lot of men on campus are, especially the football team. You never understood how girls would just flock to them, only seeing dick and a potential to become a NFL wife. Shit like that never amused you, you have big dreams too, who wants to be cooped up in a house all day with three to four kids plus having to cook and clean? Yeah no.

Naomi walks back in the living room from using the bathroom, re-joining you on the couch, "You okay?" She asks. Before you can answer her, a loud group of men enter the house and you just know it's the football team.

You roll your eyes before sending a knowing look Naomi's way, she laughs silently before scooting closer to you. "I'm fine, this party is about to give me a headache though," You mutter and Naomi hums in response, "Well, we can always go back to the dorm."

"No, no, I never go out and I want to. It's college, we're supposed to be having a good time." You say in response. Justin and Ja'Marr walk in the living room, giving daps to people they know before heading over to you and Naomi.

You may have not cared for the football team but you've grown fond of Justin and Ja'Marr. They're like two bad ass twins. Ja'Marr shoves your forehead making you slap his wrist in response, "You asshole!"

"We ain't know y'all was coming. Especially you, Y/N, you an old lady, you probably got old people teeth in ya mouth right now." Justin teases gaining a laugh from out of Ja'Marr.

"Don't push it, I'll flick your little ass." You push Justin back slightly with your foot. He fakes a hiss before laughing again, "Stop playing before I get my boy, Joseph on yo ass."

"Ooh! See me personally, Y/N, I would never go for that." Ja'Marr shrugs his shoulders.

"You go for that and then some, Ja'Marr," Naomi rebuttals making you laugh. He sucks his teeth before tapping Justin on the shoulder, they both walk off weirdly.

"Losers," You mumble under your breath and Naomi giggles at your comment. A few seconds they return with the hottest topic on campus, Joe Burrow.

"Keep messing with us and our dawg Joey B gon Mickey Mouse two-piece y'all ass," Justin says and you look over at Naomi before the both of y'all bust out in laughter.

"Y'all weak, I can beat y'all up, easily, light weight." You reply standing up but only to get softly pushed back on the couch by Joe.

"You haven't even seen me fight."

"Well first off, I wasn't speaking to you, but since you opened your mouth, I don't need to see you fight. You look like you'd get beat up." You tell Joe, gaining attention from a few of his friends and teammates.

"Joe you gon' let her talk to you like that?" You hear somebody ask from the kitchen. You stand up getting in Joe's face, "He sure is, because "Joe" isn't going to do a got damn thing to me."

Joe turns his attention over at you as Justin and Ja'Marr slowly back away from the scene. "It'd be best if you watch your mouth."

"Is that suppose to be a threat?" You question while about to to take off your shoes. Naomi stands up and grabs your hand, leading you upstairs into a random empty bedroom.

"Girl! You can't be talking to Joe like that." Naomi blurts out and you turn your head at her. "Y'all scared of him or something? He doesn't faze me."

"Nobody disrespects him-

"How was I disrespecting him by telling him the truth? Do you seriously think he'd win a fight?" You tilt your head meeting Naomi's eyes, she looks away attempting not to answer.

"Exactly, just because he's known doesn't mean anything to me. You should know this by now."

Fixing your hair in your pocket mirror, you catch Naomi staring at you. "What?"

"You know he's going to be on your ass now, right?"

You look at Naomi, "No, no, I don't know, enlighten me."

"He's just like the big guy around here and everyone just respects him. You might be the only person who treated Joe like he's a regular human being," Naomi stated.

"He is a regular human being!"

- - - -

You're currently sitting on top of the kitchen counter drinking some jungle juice. After you and Naomi's conversation, you both decided to rejoin the party. You gained a few looks from people who are believed to be close friends of Joe. You don't care though, you weren't going to treat Joe as if he's superior because in your eyes, he's not.

Joe walks in the kitchen with a woman on his arm, she stumbles over her feet before putting her head down when a few people snicker. You shake your head, turning your attention back to your phone.

"You look lonely," The three words make you snap your head at a man who looks drunk out his mind.

"I look completely fine, do you?"

Joe moves past the two of you, mumbling, "Shouldn't you be anywhere but here?" under his breath. You laugh quietly before focusing your attention back on the dude in front of you.

Before the dude can even reply to your question, Joe taps him on the shoulder and the two of them walk off somewhere. You roll your eyes, waiting on Naomi to get done flirting with whatever man she can have for the night.

This party is lame, and you're two seconds away from beating thee infamous Joe Burrow up. Such a prick! Getting mad at you for not playing with him. Such a dweeb in your eyes.

Justin and Ja'Marr slide next to you, "Yo!"

You laugh before sitting up straight, "I haven't seen you two all night. Must've been getting pussy."

Ja'Marr shrugs playfully before looking away, letting you know that he indeed, got pussy during this party. "That ain't the topic, what needs to be talked about is you and our boy, Joe."

"What about him?"

Justin scoffs, "What about him? You can't be talking to him like that! He big dawg. We was tryin' put y'all on with each other, but you damn near punked him in front of his folks!"

"Justin's right. He coulda had you drooling for him at any moment." Ja'Marr adds in his two cents making you squint your eyes at the both of them.

"Ain't he a fuckboy? He's a blunt, passed around!" You loudly say making people snap their head in your direction.

"Nah! Nah! Don't be saying that." Justin puts a hand over your mouth when Joe appears back in the kitchen.

"Who a fuckboy?" He asks, the whole time he's staring directly at you. Joe knows you said it, he just wants to hear the words come from you. But you can't because Ja'Marr is currently trying to make up some kind of lie.

"See, you gon' get yourself caught up, Y/N. Real shit, Joe don't play them games." Justin tells you before mushing you back softly.

"Fuck yo' teammate who is also your friend, respectfully."

- - - - -

"Wanna take a swim?" A frat boy asks you, you nod your head slowly stripping off your clothes and placing them near Naomi's belongings.

You grab the dudes hand and walk towards the pool, people staring at the both of you murmuring words under their breath.

Joe and his teammates are smoking cigars when he sees you stepping into the pool, "Just what the fuck are you doing?"

You snap your eyes over at him, "You see I'm in the pool, cunt." People start oohing and Joe's face turns red. Never has a woman disrespected him constantly.

His teammate, Tyler, taps Joe on his shoulder, "You gon' have to handle that." Joe's friends murmur words in agreement. He peers his over at you again, watching you attract people with the way you're moving your body.

"Yeah, you right. I can't take the disrespect for too long."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the girl, Joseph." A child-hood friend of Joe's, Derrick, says. Joe hears a few people agree with his friend, sucking his teeth, Joe flicks Derrick off.

- - - - -

The party is slowly coming to an end and you're grabbing all of your belongings when suddenly Joe walks up to you. "You know, it's very disrespectful to call somebody a cunt.

"Hm, am I suppose to care?"

"No.. but I-

"Exactly, I knew you weren't slow! Have a good night.. Mr. Burrow." You give Joe a fake smile, walking off to your car with Naomi trailing behind you. Joe can't help to grin, his first time ever being told off by a woman. He's impressed but you're not.

"I think he's definitely into you," Naomi mumbles once you two reach your car. You hum, not really thinking too much into the thought. Maybe, maybe, Joe might have a crush on you. But who cares, certainly not you, right?

#joe burrow #joeburrow fanfiction #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfiction #joeburrow #joeburrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joeburrow x reader #joe burrow x reader #nfl imagine #lsu football #ja’marr chase #justin jefferson

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