#Jefferson ouat fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

intrepidacious · 2 years

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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hannahhook7744 · 20 days

Text

Hitched!;

Written with: @ouatnextgen .

Rating: General Audiences.

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Category: M/M.

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV), Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV).

Relationships:

Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters:

Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Storybrooke Residents (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags:

Rare Pairings

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Marriage Proposal

Captain Hook | Killian Jones In Love

Hurt Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Captain Hook | Killian Jones needs a hug

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Chaotic Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Chaotic Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Misunderstandings

Eventual Happy Ending

Crack Treated Seriously

Language: English.

Series: MadHook.

Summary: Killian and Jefferson get hitched.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, smoking, mentioned drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, impulsive decisions, etc.

#madhook #mad hook #madcaptain #mad captain #killian x jefferson #ouat #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #ouat one shot #ouat fanfic #Killian Jones #ouat hook #ouat madhatter #ouat jefferson #etc

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treatian · 1 year

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Hadestown

Chapter 20: Eternal Partnership

Orpheus came in the door just as he was sealing Jefferson's envelope.

"You were successful," he assumed aloud before the boy could question his actions.

"Everything is easy after you're tasked with bringing spring back into the world," the man replied, reaching into his messenger bag and withdrawing the deformed hat from it. He allowed it to fall onto the table where the letters lay, before quickly snatching the remains of it up. And opening himself up to feel...

Power. Very powerful, very unique magic.

It was still there, just below the surface. Only it was just as broken as the hat was. But it was there. And that was what counted. He'd never learned how Jefferson's grandfather managed to make portals; he was the only portal maker he'd ever come across in his life, and he'd died before getting the opportunity to track him down so that partnership could flourish. He could not replicate the magic that he felt struggling within the fabric of the hat, but he trusted in his own magic, in his ability to restore broken objects to what they once were. So, after taking a deep breath, he set the hat upon his palm and held the other overtop. Then he closed his eyes and focused.

He let his magic pour into it, restorative, healing magic; the same magic he used when someone was hurt, the same magic he used when something was damaged, it was magic of the heart. And the moment that he felt the magic in the hat begin to respond, like a pulse beating strong and steady, he pulled. He let his magic seek out every ripped seam and hemmed it. He found every creased fracture and straightened it. Every crooked corner, every unrounded edge, every place it had been harshly battered and burned, he smoothed and rounded. He healed. He couldn't return the burned pieces, but he magically knit new fabric and patches onto it. He felt the magical fabric that wove it together and sought out the imperfections, replacing magic with magic so that he felt that shimmer of broken power gush and grow into a sensation that he would recognize even with his eyes closed.

And when he opened his eyes, he smiled to find the hat he'd seen so many times in his tower, so many times atop the head of one of his oldest friends, the boy who had been like a son to him. It was whole again. And even better…

Like a spine that had just been realigned, he felt the magic within it right itself and begin to grow again. It hadn't been instantaneous, but he would never have expected it to be. This hat had been through a lot: Regina, Storybrooke, destruction he knew not of…it would take it a bit to get back to its full potential, but by the time Orpheus handed it to Jefferson, it would be ready for him. And Father would be reunited with Daughter…

"That's amazing!" Orpheus balked, reaching up and taking the hat from his hands to inspect it. "It's like…like…Spring after Winter! Resurrection after death! Like…"

"It's been made new," he finished before the boy hurt himself.

"Exactly…" Orpheus smiled as he took the hat back from him and set it on the place he'd been writing. The sun would soon be rising, and they had other things to discuss before he left with Eurydice.

"In just a few short hours, you'll meet Hades, and you'll begin your trek back to the world above with Eurydice. Before you go…instructions." He took the three sealed envelopes from where they lay and held them out before Orpheus.

"Letters?"

He nodded. "One for my friend with the hat," he commented, putting the note he'd written into the hat. "One for you, only to be opened once you are done with your task! It contains instructions for fulfilling our deal and getting the hat to my friend. Promise me you won't open it until you are above."

"I won't."

"Say the words…"

Orpheus sighed. "I promise I won't open it until I'm home with Eurydice."

"Good lad," he noted happily as he handed it over. That kind of confidence was exactly what he needed to make his special brew work. Which was also the reason for…

"And this one is for Hades."

"Hades?" Orpheus balked as he took it. "What could you possibly have to tell him?"

"That's not much of a concern for you now,t is it," he snapped back. "Rest assured, the contents of that letter are vital to this deal. As such, when you offer this letter to Hades, make him promise not to open it until after you've completed your task. He'll likely think nothing of it, that it's some letter of confession you have written, but a promise is as good as a deal to a man like that. You must get him to say the words just as I did for you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. That promise will keep his eyes off of it until it's done."

"Sir…I know you said it's none of my business, but…really, what's in it. If it's something that will make him come after Eurydice and me again."

"Never mind what's in it," he snapped quickly. "Just know that you and your beloved will suffer no impact from this. In fact, it'll likely aid in the god not coming after you again. But only so long as he doesn't open it-"

"Until my task is done, yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Good."

Gods help the overly curious ones who didn't know when to stop scheming or asking questions.

"Now, when it comes to your situation, I believe our deal was that in return for delivering the hat to its owner, I would help you through your task, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent." He took the letters from Orpheus and set them done on the desk next to a few other small vials of magic he was sure the boy might need to return the hat, then called him forward to where he'd been boiling the water before. Now it was only at a simmer, but he quickly removed it from the heat and used his magic to cool it.

"This little beauty is a potion for confidence. Give me that canteen you carry…"

Orpheus quickly dug into his messenger bag and pulled it free so eagerly it was a struggle. But once he had it, he wasted no time filling the thing up to the brim and sealing it off.

"Sir, it's a long trip. Are you sure that will be enough?" he asked with scared, hopeful eyes.

Well, now, an attitude like that simply wouldn't do. Ordinarily, he would have left that sort of thing to his beloved to talk through, but given they'd have little to no time together...he supposed he could switch hats for a moment; pretend to care.

"Young man, a sip of this particular brew once lasted a friend of mine two weeks. It'll be enough, though I suspect this isn't about the elixir. You're worried."

Orpheus sighed, he turned his back on him and the canteen and made his way over to a chair, where he plopped down without an ounce of grace. "It's been a long time since I last saw Eurydice, at least two hundred years since our previous meeting. What if she's changed? What if she no longer loves me or doesn't want to go?"

He didn't think he'd ever had to work harder to keep the mask that he wore around others in place. Now he asked this question? Hours before he was to go on a walk that would require the utmost trust and confidence, now he was choosing to question the girl?! No wonder he'd failed once before! How was it possible for Orpheus to be this old and still be such a child?!

Orpheus hung his head before him, and he prayed for strength. He was the wrong person to be having this conversation with. He needed Belle. He needed her eternal optimism and rose-colored glasses, he needed the way that she believed in the power of True Love. Hell, half the reason he believed was because of her. What would she say?

"Is two hundred years the longest you've gone without seeing each other?" he questioned.

"No," Orpheus sighed. "We once went nearly four hundred once before."

"I see...and in those four hundred years, her love, her faith for you wavered?"

"No, Sir. Her faith and love have been just as undying as my own."

Then why the fuck were they having this conversation?! it was the least logical, most irrational, dangerous, and emotional kind of thinking. Given all the evidence it was far more likely that the girl would follow him out of the depths of hell just as he had followed her to the depths of hell. But how to get his mind to trust in that and lock his fears away so the potion would work...what would Belle say?

"You asked me before, when we were in the library, about when Eurydice summoned me, did you not?"

Orpheus nodded. At least, that was the best thing he could think to call the limp bob his head did. "You said your time was brief."

"It was, it was, but…sometimes all you need to know a person is a brief moment. And in ours, you were the center of her focus."

That got the boy to raise his head a little.

"I was?"

"You were the reason she summoned me. Because the Seer, the same girl you'd talk to and led you to me, also led her to me. She summoned me because she couldn't rest without knowing you were safe."

He sighed again. "Yes, but it's one thing to want my safety and another thing to come with me."

"Orpheus, look around. You've been here longer than I have, so I know that you know it just as well as I do. No one wants this. No one wants to be here. What comes after here? Perhaps. But as it's been presented to her, her options are going with you, or eternal imprisonment in Hades' dungeon. Which do you think she'd prefer? Both of you miserable, or both of you happy?"

Orpheus folded his hands in front of him as if in prayer and leaned his head against them, but the answer he was hoping for never crossed his mouth. Fuck the self-deprecating…he was the King of self-deprecation when it came to love, and even he was annoyed. Was he this bad? Was this what Belle got when she tried to have a conversation with him about their love? Fuck, it was infuriating. Not to mention the worst possible timing!

He needed another approach, another way to get him to say it without saying it. What would Belle say? Hell, at this point, what would Snow White or Henry say?!

"Orpheus…let me ask you something…" he summoned a chair of his own, allowing himself to sit at eye level so a conversation could not go ignored. If he wanted to act like a child, then he'd treat him like a child and bring himself down to his level. "When all this is done, after you've handed Hades his letter and completed your task, after you've found my friend and given him his hat back, after you and Eurydice have settled down...will this all be worth it?"

"Yes," he spat out instantly. "Of course, it will be, how could it not?"

"Will it?" he pressed. "I only press because you've admitted to me that Eurydice is human, mortal. You are something more. You confessed yourself that you don't age or die. So, you've been waiting here for this opportunity for hundreds of years-"

"Thousands, actually."

"Thousands!" he corrected, trying to hide his own amazement. "You've waited thousands of years for an opportunity to live a handful of years with her before she grows old, wrinkles, dies…do you really believe this all to be worth it?"

"Absolutely! Eurydice and I…before she died, we weren't unaware of the challenge ahead. We had plans. We made plans. We vowed to find a way to give Eurydice immortality or find a way to surrender my own so that we'd never be alone."

"Surrender your immortality…you would do that for her."

"In a heartbeat. If it was the only way we could be together forever, I'd do it."

"And Eurydice…she was passive in this agreement you made. This was your idea, and she just went along with it?"

"Gods no! She wanted it just as much as I did. She…she used to tell me that if I could sing Spring back into existence one day, then there was nothing we couldn't solve together, including this."

"I see…and Eurydice…she's a liar then?"

"What? No!"

"She lies to you frequently?"

"I've never heard a false word leave her mouth, why would you suggest such a thing?!"

"Because everything you've told me about her, everything that she's said, everything I've seen paints a picture of a woman ready to follow you out of the gates of hell and into eternity by your side, and yet you doubt. You doubt the person you know, you doubt her words, you doubt the experience I had with her, you doubt her own actions the last time she followed you home. Logically, the only thing that could lead to such doubt is if she's a liar who can't be trusted."

Orpheus stared at him, wave after wave of emotion dancing across his face. There was a part of the boy that wanted to hit him for what he'd suggested, he recognized that easily enough. There was anger and sorrow, there was rage and consideration. And then there was resolution.

"I trust Eurydice with my life," he stated unflinchingly. "She's the best person I've ever known. I'd do anything for her, and I know she'd do anything for me. If the roles were reversed, I know that she'd follow me to hell, and that's how I know she'll follow me back again."

"Good. Now hold on to that thought, hold onto that determination, and drink…"

He offered him the canteen. Orpheus looked down at it for a moment, as if confused. Then recognition sparked, and he took it from him.

"Just a sip is enough for now," he warned as he watched him swallow a mouthful. "Just a sip…"

Orpheus turned his nose up. "It's warm."

"It'll cool eventually. How do you feel?"

Orpheus nodded, and slowly the crinkle in his nose began to unfold. He watched as the boy opened his eyes, looked at him, looked at the canteen, then glanced out the window. For a brief second, he wondered if he knew. For just a moment, he feared that Orpheus had guessed exactly what he'd done. But when he looked back at him, none of the shy, self-deprecating boy remained. Instead, he saw the man who had boldly declared Eurydice the one he trusted completely, the man who had given away his greatest gift to secure her freedom, the man who had spent thousands of years in this hell for this brief opportunity.

He was ready.

"I can do this," he stated with confidence.

And so he would.

#rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #rumple #dark one #mr. gold #belle #Jefferson #mad hatter #orpheus and eurydice #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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marahutecorner · 2 years

Link

#Fanfiction #OUAT #Once Upon a Time #Rumbelle #Belle French #Lacey #Mr. Gold #Robert Carlyle #Emilie de Ravin #Jefferson #Killian Jones #AU

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j2d3 · 26 days

Text

Mr. Loverman | Jefferson/Mad hatter x reader | pt 2

Picture this since before the curse you and Jefferson have been best friends, your character is the chesiare cat but a witch version ( NOT A FURY 💀) . This is staged during season one during the time of the curse, your memory is erased but he still remembers you. ( Also Jefferson doesn’t have a daughter in this!!!)

I wake up in the same room I fell asleep in, my mouth isn’t covered, my hands aren’t tied and neither are my legs. Though at the same time Jefferson’s arms are wrapped around me tight.

“Did you have a nice nap?”

“What did you do to Emma?” I would struggle to get out of his arms but I should know the type of man he is first.

“Don’t worry about Y/n, she’s perfectly fine.” I look up to his gaze, still stuck in his arms. It’s almost as if I’ve been in his arms before.

“Oh well you look at that, I have to check up on Emma! Catch you later Y/n.” Just as I’m about to question what he’s going to do to me as he leaves, he grabs a rope to tie my hand to something.

“Don’t try anything.” He jumps up and leaves the room a little joyful. I at least thought he was going to be smarter than that, I managed to do a trick a learned- well I actually I don’t quite remember where I learned this trick I just know that it helps me get my hands out of being tied.

I slip my hands out of the rope, carefully not trying to get rope burn. While making sure to be as quiet as possible, my eyes wander around to see if there are any possible weapons I could use in this room. There, there it is. I reach to grab a vase, holding it in my hand as if it’s lethal.

I slowly and quietly make my way out the room, taking observations as I walk out to the hallway. I could hear faint talking in a distance, of whom I could I assume is Jefferson and Emma. I walk towards the room where I hear the talking, I know it’s not the smartest move but I’m hiding near the door behind the wall so he can’t see me. I’m planning when he walks out the room I’ll hit him with this vase, quickly pick up a broken vase shard and run to save Emma.

For now I just eavesdrop, listening on what Jefferson and Emma are saying.

“I know what you refuse to acknowledge Emma, you could save us all you know but you need to open your eyes first.”

“What are you talking about?!?? Your crazy, your a psycho!” Emma yells in distress.

“I want you to make a hat Emma, with your magic.” Okay now this guy sounds crazy, I scoff but not too loud.

“A hat…the hats, the tea, your psychotic behavior. You think your the mad hatter ?” Emma says in disbelief, I don’t know why but the mad hatter sounds so familiar to me, like I’ve met them before.

“My names Jefferson.” He says so calmly, like he has so much patience.

“Okay you’ve clearly glommed on to my kid’s Henry’s thing. There just stories, the mad hatter is in Alice in wonderland. A book, a book I actually read.” It surprises me really, what is the Alice in Wonderland book? who is the mad hatter?

“Stories…stories, I’m not a character you see. I’m real with a name. And right now your the only one that can saves us, you just need to believe in it, believe in magic. You and your friend Mary Margret are not leaving here till you make my hat, make it work!” Why didn’t he say I could leave too? What does Emma have to save?

A few minutes pass by of listening to their conversation, I hear Emma soon get to action by hitting Jefferson with something I can’t quite put my finger on. I run in the room with a vase in my hand, Jefferson surprised to see me while trying to recover.

“Come on Y/n, let’s go!” We run out hand in hand, looking for a room Mary Margret may be in. Finally we find her, tied to a chair, with duct tape on her mouth. Emma unties her arms while I untie her legs, Mary Margret rises out from the chair taking of the duct tape from her mouth.

Jefferson comes in the room and runs to Emma, pulling her hair till Emma punches him. I run with a vase in my hand hitting him with it, grabbing Emma to protect her. He then grabs the gun that he dropped and points it at Emma, I could only look at him not knowing what to do.

There’s a look in his eyes that makes me doubt what I did deep down inside me, doubt hurting him. I don’t know why but it just did, his eyes burn in mine for second before returning his eyes to Emma. Putting on a hat, before smiling. There’s a scar on his neck as where his scarf used to be.

“Off with his head.” Jefferson madly says, grinning wide. Unaware that Mary Margret has picked up a hammer, she creeps up behind him hitting him with it causing his back to turn on the window. She then precedes to kick him out the window, which was very badass.

“You okay?” She turns to ask Emma, breathing heavily.

“Yea” Emma responds and all three of us head to the window, to see where he landed I guess. We all stick our heads out the window, looking at the floor. And to our surprise he wasn’t there, I mean his hat was there and broken shards of glass but not him.

“Well that’s weird, where could he have gone?” Emma says what we’re all thinking before we all look at each other in confusion.

“Let’s just go, I think we’ve had enough.” I said after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

On the drive back to town center I can’t seem to be at ease, there’s something about him I just can’t put my finger on it. He acted different towards me then he did Emma and Mary Margret, but it’s not just that. Does he think we’re all characters? There’s so many things I’m confused about but there’s one thing I’m not, I know I will be seeing him again.

#once upon a time #ouat jefferson #ouat fanfiction #mad hatter #chesire cat #mad hatter x reader #Mrloverman

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universesinhermind · 3 months

Note

How do you write when you're not writing? Are you big with notes or daydreams? Do you do art of your characters? Are there certain movies of songs that make your fandom brain buzz? How do you keep up the creative momentum when you're not actively working on your fic?

Im always typing things in my notes app. Sentences that come to me, story ideas, names, titles. Anything. It’s my brain dump space. But I’m usually writing these days now that I’ve dedicated myself to writing my first novel (hence why fanfiction took a back burner for a while). There are definitely movies that I associate with fandoms. For example, anything with Sebastian Stan makes me go “ITS JEFFERSON!” And cues all the different OUAT retellings you can imagine. As for keeping up creativity momentum I think it’s important to always try and get words down even if it’s just a sentence. That why you’re always making progress. And I also love to watch author YouTubers! My current fav is Kate Cavanaugh and I love writing alongside writing twitch streamers! It helps feel less lonely in your writing

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eirian-houpe · 1 year

Text

30 Days of Fanfiction, Day 9

Going to try and get back into doing these...

Day 9: Pairings – For each of the fandoms from day two, what are your three favorite pairings to write?

As a reminder, (to me as well), here’s my list:

Rumbelle/OUAT (Including anyelle and anyem) - 67

The Mummy Franchise - 5

UC:Undercover - 4

Sleeper Cell - 2

Star Trek: Discovery - 2

Stargate: Atlantis - 22

Stargate: Universe - 7

Tolkien - 4

Halt and Catch Fire - 2

Foundation 1

Hellcheer -1

So, here are my pairing:

Rumbelle/OUAT - no other than Belle and Rumple (though sometimes with a side of Jefferson)

The Mummy Franchise - Ardeth Bay/OC (I’ll chop off my fingers before I’ll ever write an Ardeth/Evie fic.)

UC: Undercover - Frank/Saran (OC)

Sleeper Cell - Faris/Samia

Star Trek: Discovery - No pairing, just gen fic.

Stargate: Atlantis - Michael/Teyla

Stargate: Universe - Rush/Gloria or Rush/Belle if it’s gonna be Rushbelle.

Tolkien - Thranduil/Celindailiel (OC)

Halt and Catch Fire - Joe/Sara

Foundation - Empire/OC

Hellcheer - Um, that would be Eddie/Chrissy.

#30 days of fanfic #pairings

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hannahhook7744 · 2 years

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MadHook edits/scenes part 5;

Jefferson as a tailor/art collector/tea shop owner. As his job during and after the curse.

Killian as a co Sherriff/mechanic/bartender/ harbor master. As his job after the curse.

Little Harry (Hook) Jones aesthetic.

Baby Harry (Hook) Jones aesthetic.

Harry Hook's similarities with his fathers, Hook (Killian Jones) and Mad Hatter (Jefferson).

Could be pre madhook or post break up madhook. Either way, it's funny.

If Jefferson were to get caught after kidnapping Snow and Emma during the curse and was forced to talk to Archie in a Mad Hook au.

Madhook quote edit.

'A regular occurrence in the Hightop-Jones house' edit.

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babybluebex · 3 years

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(literally me trying to use google forms)

umm hi it’s your favorite local dumbass who somehow DELETED THEIR ENTIRE TAGLIST??? i don’t know how i managed to do it but whatever

click here to fill out my new and improved taglist!

#kit.txt #tom holland fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #arvin russell fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #lee bodecker fanfiction #jefferson ouat fanfiction #charles blackwood fanfiction #todd hewitt fanfiction

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treatian · 1 year

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Hadestown

Chapter 19: Three Letters

He wanted to watch. So much of what he wanted to do hung on making sure this plan was executed to perfection. But he was trying to remember to have trust. That was something he was going to need now that the Seer was gone. Besides, there were other things he needed to do, things that he couldn't do with Orpheus present because one glance over his shoulder would give his plan away. It was time for his confessions.

He had letters to write. Three, to be precise.

The first letter he needed to pen was for Hades. He hadn't met the man, but he knew how dealmakers thought. When Orpheus completed this task and escaped the Underworld with Eurydice, Hades would be angry. He might seek out vengeance, anything to prove that the boy had defied him or hadn't followed their deal to the letter. If he did enough research, then he might figure out the plan that Orpheus believed he'd concocted, which meant that in order to truly free Orpheus, he had to leave behind his confession for the King of the Underworld to read, so that he'd know he hadn't been cheated or lied to. The agreement had been carried out as planned according to the help he gave without giving it.

The Seer was never wrong.

So he wrote out a confession to Hades, giving him the information that he needed to know, the information that would free Orpheus and Eurydice for good and likely put his own soul in jeopardy. But assuming that the Seer was right, he hoped he wouldn't be here long after Orpheus succeeded. She'd hinted that there was a master plan, that as long as he helped one of their own, then they would make sure his path back to his family opened. Of course, she'd also mentioned that there would be another trip to the Underworld in store again for him someday. This would most certainly paint a target on his back when that day arrived, but gods willing, he'd have some time to figure out how to dodge that particular bullet.

The next letter that he wrote out was for Orpheus himself. He'd intended for the letter to be merely instructional. There was no need to tell him exactly who Jefferson was or where to go looking for him now, that was all for later. So, he carefully outlined a way for Orpheus to use the hat to get himself, and the hat, to Wonderland so he could return it to Jefferson. He made sure to warn him that he needed a body that wasn't Eurydice because the same number of people that went through had to come back, and they'd need to bring Jefferson home or else risk being parted again.

Those instructions were all that he'd planned to put in the letter, but when he stared at the third blank piece of paper he'd drawn up, trying to think of what words he needed to say, he'd quickly pulled the letter to Orpheus back to him and added a post-script. He added his confession once more. But this time, he added it not for Hades' benefit, although the information would certainly help if Hades found them and came calling. He added it not for his own benefit, though it certainly did distract him for a time from the third letter. Instead, he added it for Orpheus. He added it because a man should know what he was capable of. Orpheus deserved to know, at the end of the day, that he was responsible for his own actions.

Post-script finished, he stared at the blank piece of paper again. He let the pen in his hand tap against the desk, an uncharacteristically nervous tick, as he considered where to begin. A name would certainly help, he decided, then carefully scrawled Jefferson, at the top. But then he was back to tapping as he considered what should come next.

Obviously, he was in a confessional mood. But when it came to Jefferson…he wasn't sure where to begin. The last few encounters that he'd had with Jefferson, one in the Enchanted Forest and the other in Storybrooke, the boy had made it clear to him all the ways that he felt he'd failed him. Now that he was clear-minded, now that he had his son back in his life, and now that Belle and Henry had been added to it, he could see just how right the boy was. And while it certainly wasn't the first time, it was one of those rare moments where he felt truly sorry, right down to his bones.

He was sorry for not seeing what he'd had when he'd had it. He was sorry for not recognizing that Jefferson's presence in his life had been a good thing and not just because of the trinkets the boy had fetched for him but because he had provided company when he was perhaps at his most lonely. He was sorry that he'd pushed the boy away, that when he'd invited himself into his castle and even established a room for himself, he'd pushed him away and out, that he hadn't done enough to make him feel more welcome. He was sorry for rebuffing every attempt Jefferson made in his young life to get closer to him. Jefferson had been a boy without a father, and he had been a father without a son, if he'd thought about it then, they most certainly could have been all the things Jefferson had told him that he wanted. More than associates, more than partners, more than friends. They could have easily provided what the other needed. Instead of growing jealous and fearful of losing his associate when Jefferson met the girl, Priscilla, he could have offered him advice. Something more than just "stay away and don't get her pregnant." Instead of turning away from the couple after they'd married and Jefferson had announced that he was retiring because they were pregnant, he could have offered him something more than the correction of an assumed gender he'd made. Instead of turning a blind eye to the pain that it caused him to be absent from his life, he could have been the man Jefferson needed. He could have been there. He could have known Grace and watched her grow, he could doted upon her and spoiled her as he wanted to spoil his own flesh and blood. He could have helped when Priscilla had been killed. He could have made sure that Jefferson and Grace never went into poverty or wanted for anything. He could have made sure that he was never an easy target for Regina. Instead of the pair being separate, they could have lived together, they could have stayed at the castle, and Jefferson could have been his right hand as opposed to Dove. He could have made sure they were just as safe as he was when the Curse came. They could have found Bae together.

There were so many places that their lives could have gone. Instead, he was here, alive but summoned to the Underworld, a deal in place that he'd never let the boy see his face again, and a piece of paper with his name scrawled across it, waiting for the apology he couldn't find the words for.

He felt sorry, but he didn't blame himself entirely for where things ended up. The cosmos were to blame for some of it. Jefferson had been the right person, but he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. His heart hadn't been open to him, his mind was so consumed with Baelfire and worry about how he'd feel if he ever realized that there was another boy his father had taken in that he hadn't been able to think of Jefferson the way that Jefferson thought of him. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. Now that he knew Baelfire, he suspected Bae wouldn't have cared. At least not now. Learning about Jefferson might have been a slap in the face, but eventually, he'd have come to accept it as he appeared to have accepted Belle. It was a foolish reason to push someone away. But it had been who he was.

He'd changed since then. His mind often found him looking back on those times longingly, and he dismissed them because he'd repressed the feelings that he'd had then, and it made him feel guilty now. If he could go back and do it again, knowing everything he knew now, he'd make different choices when it came to Grace and Jefferson. But time had moved on. He couldn't do it again and given the separation he'd endured from Bae, he didn't want to do it again.

So now there was only forward. Only this piece of paper. Only this one last opportunity to say what he should never have to say.

And no time.

Orpheus was back. He felt him enter the property, and only a few moments later, he detected magic that he recognized but hadn't felt in a long while. Jefferson's Magic.

Orpheus had the hat.

And he was already so worked up that the knowledge was all it took to break him into tears. Orpheus had the hat. Jefferson could get back to Grace. And really, wasn't that the only thing that mattered?

He regretted what happened, and he regretted what had never been. But those were two unchangeable situations. There was only forward. There was only Orpheus coming up the stairs as he stared at his paper. There was only one thing he could write.

I'm sorry. I hope this helps. -R

#rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #rumple #dark one #mr. gold #belle #Neal Cassidy #Jefferson #mad hatter #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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thebluemage · 2 years

Text

Ring for Me

Pairing | Jefferson x female reader

Word Count | 1121

Warning | Explicit sexual content, 18+, touching, fingering (f receiving), MAJOR RING KINK, hand kink, power dynamic, mentor/mentee, use of pet name (sweetpea), Jefferson (he’s a warning on his own)

Summary | It’s important that you disclose everything to Jefferson of what’s on your mind.

A/N | I’m holding my ring kink against me and made a fic out of it, this fic is based on a recent dream that I had about Jefferson. 😩 Beta’d by the amazing @maladaptivexxdaydreaming Banners made by @maysdigitalarts

You didn’t know when this infatuation all started but it was all you can think about. Jefferson kept on talking about scissor sharpening and the importance of it. But you can’t help but stare at his rings, they’re so shiny and smooth. You don’t know when these intrusive thoughts come into your mind. It just happened.

“Hey, are you even listening?” Just like that, you’re snapped out of your daze.

“Huh, what?” You asked.

“You seem distracted, is there something I need to know?” Jefferson asked, his voice laced in curiosity.

“Oh no, I’m fine” You try to reassure him.

“Are you sure, though? I’m your mentor, you know you can tell me anything.”

Your gaze inadvertently directs to his rings. You quickly looked away again. “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing.” You said trying to focus on anything but him.

“Hmmm... I’m not convinced. You're avoiding eye contact with me, so you’re not truthful with me. You know, besides scissor sharpening it’s also important to open up about what’s going on inside that head of yours.” You give him a bashful look.

You giggled out of nervosity as you shook your head. “It’s stupid really, a bit insane.” You confessed.

“Um, have you met me? Nothing is insane to me. People don’t call me the Mad Hatter for nothing.”

You chuckled. “It’s just... that....I’m kind of distracted by...” You merely whispered.

Your gaze landed on his big silver ring with a giant red stone in the middle. He seems to notice and follows your direction of sight. He’s leaning his ringed hand against the table.

“Your... rings.” The words barely came out of your mouth.

“My rings? You’re distracted by my rings?” He chuckled. You looked at him, as his head tilted and his eyes transmuted in something you can’t tell. “You’re distracted by my rings huh.” He said, his tone entails something more behind his words.

“Yes.” You bashfully confessed. He smirked. “I know it’s stupid—”,

“Well, I’m flattered that you find my rings beautiful.” He interrupted. “But tell me why do you find my rings a distraction?” He asked blatantly, there was mischief behind his eyes.

“I can’t tell, really.” You said.

“Hmm.. How long were you sitting on these thoughts?” He asked as if implying that he knows more than he gives off.

“A while now.” You said honestly. He gives you a satisfying look. “What did I tell you that I can tell when you’re not truthful? You’re definitely able to tell me, so you either can’t or you won’t.” He starts to wriggle his ring. Unable to find your words, you just stay silent.

Tension was hanging in the air. “I-”, he comes closer to you as he maneuvers you until your back hits the table. You’re trapped against him. “But I think I know.” He whispered as his words penetrated your mind. His face was close to you. Several strands of hair lay loose on his forehead. His eyes blazed with delirious passion. He smirks wickedly. “What is it that you think about my rings huh?” His tone of voice is almost sultry, tempting you as if to lure you into his trap. He showcases his ringed hand, rings and veins are obscuring your sight.

“I- I think they’re pretty and well designed.” You stuttered, nearly drooling out of your mind. “They’re absolutely beautiful and so shiny, right? However I think there’s more you have in mind.”

You feel your panties already dampening, by his illustrious words. “Tell me what is it that you desire?”, “Is it the smoothness or coldness that you crave, sweetpea?” In an unexpected motion he palms your mound with his ringed hand, letting you feel the coldness of his rings.

You let out a gasp when he starts to smirk at your reaction. “Coldness, I see. I thought so.” You look at him, as you can only swallow. “If you want me to stop, tell me okay?” You nod.

“Well, let me get these wet first.” He states as he licks his rings and slides his hand directly into your pants and panties, and that’s when you really feel the coldness of his smooth rings, protruding your slick folds. You’re getting wetter by the way he rubs his rings on your already drenched pussy. He’s holding you by your waist as you grab hold of the table. Your moans were swallowed up by his kisses.

“Is this what you thought of when you were staring at them, sweetpea?” He asked with a low sultry grumble. “Yes!” You moaned, gripping the table harder. “I knew there was something about you, when I accepted you.” Placing kisses on your neck and collarbone. He pushes a finger through your core, leaving you panting.

You mewled with each stroke, as you gradually crumbled under his torment. “You sound so sweet when you lose control like that, sweet pea. You’re doing so good for me.” His praise left you whimpering. Jefferson absolutely relishes in your pleasure, he enjoys it.

“Jeff-- Please! Oh, fuck!” You plead, needing to steady yourself. His motions become erratic as your back arches. “Oh, shit I need to cum.” You plead. Jefferson kisses you fervently. “Then, what’s holding you back? Cum for me.” He commands.

The coil finally breaks and your orgasm hits you in a multitude of waves. Pleasure coursing through your body as you embrace it. He slowly moves his fingers out of you.

His fingers are completely soaked with your cum. “I always wondered what you taste like.” Licking off your cum on his fingers.

He hums. “Hmm... you taste heavenly sweet too, I can’t wait to get a real taste of you.”

You come down from your high as your breathing steadies again. “That was unexpected but amazing.” You giggle. “I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did.” He chuckles satisfyingly.

“There’s a lot you need to learn though in terms of being truthful to me and as your mentor, I expect you to be honest. Your honesty is an imperative factor in our relationship, so you need to communicate with me in all forms. I also expect you to be my second opinion and give your authentic opinion with what I wear and whether you like it or not. You’re always allowed to voice out your prerogative, when you don’t like something. If you don’t like it, then I’ll leave it. Okay?” He asked. “Yes, I understand, Jefferson.” You said clearly, leaving you pondering over his statement. “Good.” He smiled.

“And oh yeah, I recently bought a new set of rings and I’d like to have your opinion on it, you wouldn’t mind if I showed it to you, right?” Giving you a smirk.

#thebluemage writes #mage writes #thebluemage writings #jefferson #jefferson ouat #jefferson hatter #jefferson ouat smut #jefferson x female reader #jefferson x reader #jefferson x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 years

Text

Maze Chase

Summary: Turning from his Sugar Cube to his favorite dumb bunny, when you chase a white rabbit.

Pairings: Jefferson “Mad Hatter” X Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, PIV sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, chase kink, cum play, choking, primal kink (if you squint), bratty bunny, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.5k

Series Masterlist

One of your favorite things to see is your husband Jefferson in the fall. He has the keenest way of layering his clothes. The different fabrics of silk, leather, pure cotton, denim, just whatever he puts on is classy. The deep jewel tones and blacks and grays make you want your fingers all over him. Of course, Jefferson has a method to his madness, everything has a time and place, and walking out in the garden is not the time to touch his body.

Yes, you two hold hands as you walk through the garden of fall flowers. The tones of scarlets, mustards, oranges, and yes even some pumpkins create the perfect setting for yours and Jefferson’s evening walk. He holds out his arm for you to take, but it’s not close enough. Leaning over onto his arm, he starts to tsk at you touching before time, until he hears the soft sigh release from your puffy lips. Seeing you so content when being close to him, he allows this unusual departure for the evening, and you still have no idea what he has planned for you this evening.

“You’ve been working so much lately, daddy,” you pout up to him.

“I know, Sugar Cube, autumn is a busy time. You know, it’s nearly Halloween,” he playfully teases you. While you love fall, Halloween has always kind of scared you, and Jefferson can have a sick sense of playtime. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?” you eagerly ask.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise then.”

The two of you continue to walk along the property until you’re distracted by the most beautiful fluffy white rabbit. “Oh, Jefferson, look!” leaving the crook of his arm, you run chasing the bunny, right into the hedge maze that Jefferson had procured just for you.

“You sure know how to act like my dumb bunny don’t you?” he snickers, watching you turn, knowing you’re going to get lost deep in the labyrinth. “I guess we’ll have some fun.”

He waits awhile, giving you time to get good and disoriented, feeling his absence before he decides he’s going to hunt you down. Once he’s satisfied in thinking you’re deep within the hedges, he trudges forward. Slinking around the corners, and listening for any whimpers or cries of help. Let the chase begin.

You had been able to pick up the bunny, and petted it for only a moment, before releasing it back. But it wouldn’t matter, now you’re lost in this ridiculous entanglement of turns. If you weren’t alone and very much lost, you would find it beautiful. Large red rose topiaries randomly scattered around, with odd statues of animated cards. You had lost count, but you would assume all fifty-two cards are spread throughout.

“Jefferson!” you scream, and hear nothing. “Okay, I messed up, can you please, just come and get me?”

He hears you, but he’s only started his hunt, he wants to see you, before he really begins his game. There’s something about getting your adrenaline pumping before he devours you. He’s done this game too many times to count, and the way your body trembles when he clings tightly to you afterwards does something deep inside of him. He craves for you to squeeze him, even giving his arm a little nibble when you realize he was the cause for it.

However, having this whole maze to chase you through? It dizzies him. “Oh, sweet bunny!” he calls out.

Your ears perk up at that name. Jefferson only calls you bunny when he’s disappointed, preferring to call you his Sugar Cube. Now your body is in fight or flight mode. When disappointed he enjoys a slow torture of your body. It excites you and irritates you, until you see the devious smirk on his face. He enjoys a good chase, and you’re going to give it to him. “Tweedle Dee!” you shout. Calling out to him to locate his whereabouts.

“Tweedle Dum,” his voice quieter, and you know how close he is to you. “Run, bunny,” his voice at the normal volume and you hear it perfectly, only barely feeling his fingers graze your shoulders. You run away from him, run as fast as your legs will carry you, having a disadvantage with this stupid dress.

Hearing the thud of his riding boots to close behind you, you weave through the many wicked twists and turns of this hell. Changing directions quickly, but still creating a pattern. Jefferson studies you too often, picking up on this pattern, and he also knows the maze, figuring out where you two can meet.

When he’s directly in front of you, his face gleams with an evil Cheshire grin. His eyes already full blown with lust. “You’re not gonna get away from me bunny.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Ooh, she’s my bratty bunny, huh?” he sneers at you, taking slow steps towards you. You bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood, and even the slow flicker of pain, makes the madness turn up in his silvery blue eyes. “Run,” his voice taunts you.

Giving him one more final sweet smile, you turn and run. Hearing him right on your heels. Knowing he’s not running at his fullest capacity, and you know that you have Jefferson right where you want him. Turning your head, you see he could reach out and grab you if he wanted to, but Jefferson loves the chase.

You should have been paying attention however, because you run right into one of those stupid rose bushes, this one white, while all the others are a blood red. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls your back tight against his front. His hardened length pressing into your ass, and you let out a desperate mewl.

“Oh, bunny, you found your roses. What a perfect place to break in your new gift.”

“I thought it was the white rabbit.”

“No, now I get to chase you all the time,” his fingers already work the buttons, undoing each one, feeling them slowly pop off.

“Jefferson, please. I won’t have anything to wear.”

“You act like that’s a bad thing, bunny. Shh, let me enjoy my prey,” he snarls in your ear, you whimper, and feel arousal rush to your core, ruining the lace. Beginning to struggle, Jefferson’s movements become erratic. Quickly pulling off the multiple layers, that he insists you wear.

“That’s my good bunny,” his voice whispers on your neck. You keen at the feeling of him, his fingers winding down your body, until he touches your bundle of nerves, drifting further into your glistening folds. “Aw, making a mess for me bunny. Don’t try to deny that you love this,” hearing you moan at the pleasure his fingers give your drenched cunt, he chuckles. “Where shall I have you? On top of your discarded dress? Or bend you over that bench?” growing impatient when you don’t answer. “Tick tock goes the clock bunny.”

You would answer, but you quite prefer an aggravated Jefferson. If he’s going to rile you up then you’re doing the same to you. Sure enough, you’re lack of a response has him gripping your waist tighter. Marching over to the bench, one that seems perfectly designed to lift your core straight to his throbbing cock, knowing him, this isn’t an accident.

While you’re completely bare, he is still mostly clothed, and when his booted foot kicks your legs further apart, a chill runs up your spine with how much slick coats your thighs. He stands back looking at the pussy that seemed to be designed perfectly for his cock, before he’s maddened by the sight. Pulling himself free of their confinement before he’s pushing himself into your waiting cunt.

He doesn’t slow, this is a heated rut. Between the chase and your brattiness, there’s a fury in him, and you love this side of Jefferson. The side that overtakes his calm and calculated self. And you’re the only one who gets taken care of afterwards. People fear this side of Jefferson, and you being the bratty bunny you are, want to bring it out more.

Your voice sings out his name with every thrust into you. Reaching towards your neck, he brings you closer to him, arching your back in an unnatural way, to keep him at just the right angle, and he crashes his mouth onto yours. Feverishly the two of you kiss each other. Teeth, tongue, and lips gnashing against the others. “Gonna fill you up bunny. Have you leaking down your legs.”

“Please. I’m yours, do what you want.”

“I will,” his voice a mix of admiration and mischievousness. “Let go for me bunny. Give me what I want.”

Slamming back onto your lips so he can swallow and taste your moans, he feels you cum, clenching around his cock, and needing his release. “Oh fuck, Sugar Cube,” and he’s back, as soon as he’s painting your velvety walls, the calm and collected Jefferson returns. When he pulls himself out, his fingers gather up the two of your cum, reaching around you he shoves them in your mouth, and without hesitation you clean his fingers. Tasting what the two of you do to one another.

“Alright Sugar Cube, let’s get you a bath. You’re shivering from the cold.”

“I’m shivering from the Jefferson,” and he knows this to be true, because it’s his favorite part of the chase, besides your crumpet.

Masterlist

taglist: @duuhrayliegh @lalahreblog @autumnrose40 @learisa

#jefferson #jefferson mad hatter #jefferson ouat #jefferson mad hatter ouat #jefferson x reader #jefferson mad hatter x reader #jefferson ouat x reader #jefferson mad hatter ouat x reader #jefferson smut #jefferson mad hatter smut #jefferson ouat smut #ouat fanfiction #jefferson ouat fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan character x reader #sebastian stan character smut #sebastian stan smut #chase kink

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