#jefferson x reader

[erina00]

my library of fanfiction which I have read 13

Please read the warnings before reading any FF. Most of them are +18 and Of course Bucky~

<part12 | library | part14>

April 2026

by @w1nter-fairy

🧼 Operation: Get Barnes Laid! | fluff | Bucky Barnes is one mission away from strangling his team, so naturally they do the reasonable thing: spend $800 on a matchmaking service as a prank. The plan? Humiliate him. The outcome? Not what they expected.

🧼 Broadway Ready! | fluff | You come home late, exhausted and expecting a quiet house—only to find your husband and daughter in the middle of a very serious dance rehearsal.

🧼 null & void by @smorgaswhored | +18 | fluff | sugar daddy | series | 31k | The arrangement is simple enough: you give him friendship, he gives you a better life. But between the private dinners cozied up in a booth and the charity galas pressed to his side, it’s getting harder for you to hold up your end of the bargain when you’re starting to feel things for your sugar daddy that were not included in the contract…

🧼 baby what's mine, it now yours by @bonniejoee | dirtbag roomie | +18 | you steal your unfathomable secret roommate's t-shirt & expect a week's worth of blackmailing, but to your surprise he cares less about what you're wearing & more about what you're not. he's not the one complaining when he's taking what he can get—even if it risks blowing your cover.

🧼 mob by @kinanabinks | +18 | fluff/angest | bestfriends | the adventures of bucky and his little fairy.

🧼 so what if by @buckysslut | stucky x reader

🧼 Frustration by @barnes-doll | +18 | avengers | Sparring with Bucky- he can’t help but notice just how tense and full of frustration you are, so he gives you the offer of a lifetime.

🧼people watching by @jamesbbcrnes | angest/comfort | after the funeral of his sister, bucky finds himself sitting in a park. your dog crashes into him, spills his coffee, and the rest is history.

by @vunblr

🧼 Alpha!Soldat | +18

🧼 Omega!Reader | +18

🧼 Brown Sugar and Gunmetal | alpha | +18 | 12k | Who would have thought that an inconspicuous vent in a bakery alley would be what brought them together: the omega who never felt right with any alpha, and the asset who wasn't supposed to want at all.

🧼 fading away by @juniebjonesin | sadness/confort | you've always been the person who slips through hallways without a sound, whose name fades from conversations as soon as you leave the room. bucky, who's all steel and shadows, with the kind of presence that fills a room, shouldn't care about anyone so insignificant compared to him, no one else does. yet he still sees you.

🧼 First & Last by @sunday-bug | +18 | After a tragic accident, you are left widowed with a newborn son. Your late husband's brother and your childhood friend, Bucky, is there to help you pick up the pieces and lend a hand around the family ranch. Old flames reignite.

by @slutdier

🧼 old men rules | +18 | dbf | Bucky would be over literally hanging out with your dad and trying not to watch you in the pool, but when did you get so hot? And he would watch you and the house while your parents were away for the weekend and when you tried to sneak off to a party to meet a boy he’d show you just why older men are so much better

🧼 congressman's brat | +18 | keeps bothering bucky at his desk and so he makes her warm him under his desk. and maybe steve walks in on them

by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two

🧼 How could I possibily do that | +18 | thinking of nerdy!bucky and reader when reader thought HE could have cheated on her. like he goes mad because “how can u possibly think that?” u know? no problem if you don’t like it

🧼 Love every shapes of you | +18 | Do you think Bucky would ever start working out and get beefy? Maybe he starts doing it for stress relief but then really gets addicted and just ends up sticking with it? I’d imagine that the reader definitely has no complaints about his new form?

🧼 You want me to do what? | nerdy | +18 | squirt for the first time

🧼 Lean On Each Other by @navybrat817 | fluff | You are tired, which is the norm for you nowadays, and share a sweet moment with Bucky.

by @winteryn

🧼 MY WIFE | +18 | three times in which the new intern tries to impress her hot, grumpy boss, mr. barnes. or, three times in which bucky can’t stop talking about his lovely wife. 

🧼 VIBE CHECK | +18 | 14k | your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.

🧼 babydoll by @metal-armed-muse | +18 | series | 53k | you swore you could keep your two lives separate: medical intern by the day, faceless fantasy online by night. But then Bucky Barnes walks in for a check-up… and later logs in to watch you strip. He knows. You don’t. And the deeper he falls, the harder it is to keep both worlds from colliding.

by @godmadeaterribleerror

🧼 tight | +18

🧼 choose me | ceo | +18 | 13k | bucky isn't your boss, but he's still off limits. and even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd ever go for someone like you. weird that he matched with you on a dating app then, isn't it?

🧼 Pretty Young Thing by @tw1sters | +18 | Lee Bodecker | When a pretty girl walks into the station looking for the sheriff, no one ever thought that she could be his wife.

by @buckytakethewheel

🧼 the hand plants, the heart reaps | +18 | 15k | You never planned to return to the quiet countryside, let alone inherit your late grandmother’s weathered cottage and overgrown garden. Stressed and city-worn, you hire local landscaper Bucky Barnes to tame the chaos in order to honor her memory. But what begins as a simple restoration blooms into shared stories of loss, second chances and a path to starting over.

🧼 maybe the pain makes the pain go away | Guy Moratz | +18 | During sex, Guy finds out that a slap to the face might just be the type of pain he's always been looking for.

by @juniebjonesin

🧼 Sticky Confessions | fluff | bucky moves into your spare room expecting nothing more than four walls and a place to sleep. instead, he finds floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, sticky note conversations, late-night takeout, and a girl who always puts herself last.

🧼 a rose a day | fluff | as the thunderbolts’ overworked assistant, invisibility comes with the job—late nights, impossible schedules, no recognition. so the single red rose waiting on your desk feels like a mistake. until another appears. then another. each morning brings a quiet gift, easing the exhaustion you’ve learned to carry. by valentine’s day, your desk holds a full bouquet—and far too many unanswered questions.

🧼 Pervy Bucky Headcanons by @sassandscribbles | +18

🧼 Earned It by @phoenix-in-writing | +18 | While on vacation, your best friend books a spa day for you to loosen up. A luxury spa, the hottest masseuse you've ever laid eyes on, and the slip of a sound lead to a very not normal massage. But in your defense...he had very good hands and a flexible definition of tension relief.

by @stanmarvelous

🧼 Slippery Slope | ski instructor | +18 | 8k | Bucky Barnes likes order on the mountain: organized lessons, predictable guests, and smooth days on the slopes. Unfortunately, one woman spends the day unintentionally getting in his way. When they finally meet at an après-ski party, he challenges her to prove she’s more than just a tourist with a camera.

🧼 headcanon | angest/fluff | Thinking about Bucky Barnes and how he’d be such a good shoulder to cry on.

🧼 unelectable by @satelitte-angel | political comedy/drama | After the untimely death of Brooklyn’s congressional representative, the Democratic Headquarters tasked you with finding someone, literally anyone not in Wilson Fisk’s pocket to run for office. The good news: you found a candidate. The bad news: it’s Bucky Barnes.

🧼 stupidest things by @nicks-fowler | +18 | sambucky x reader | Sam and Bucky competing over the stupidest things around you. But mainly them competing over who can make you cum harder.

by @castielscaplan

🧼 Mission Priority | stalker | he's been watching you for so long, you finally confront him.

🧼 Walk Away With Devotion | angst | He sees proof that conditioning can fail.

🧼 I Did It For You | stalker | Nick Fowler x reader | you will never know the depths that he would go in order to save you.

🧼 And What If I Do? | Nick Fowler x reader | Nick needs to learn a new language for a new mission he's assigned. He never expected to meet a spunky woman like yourself who matched his quips.

🧼 Belong to Me | Nick Fowler x reader | After too many emotions, after one night alone together, the pair of you cannot keep lying to yourselves.

🧼 Burnt Toast With Love | Nick Fowler x reader | lazy days with Nick.

🧼 Memories and Wrong Dates | Nick Fowler x reader | You were on a date with someone else... when Nick made his presence known yet again months after you had broken up.

🧼 Off the Record | Nick Fowler x reader | your boss's boss catches your eye. It all comes crumbling down during a christmas party.

🧼 Am I Wrong? | lance tucker x reader | Despite Hope being an excellent intimidating companion, lance longs for you to be back at his side.

🧼 Baby Bottoms | lance tucker x reader | Lance is just amazed at your belly and the fact you're growing an entire human inside of you.

🧼 Breaking Point | lance tucker x reader | Lance finally confesses his feelings.

🧼 Badge of Honor by @drabblesandsnippets | +18 | Bucky takes his frustrations out on you after a long day.

🧼 Messed up date by @honyskisses | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 come here by @corruptededen | dddne | +18 | incest

by @theoracleofsin

🧼 the weight of the past | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 sweet dreams are made of this | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 truth or dare | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 missing you | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 july heat | dddne | +18 | incest

by @charliesinbox

🧼 cum with me (but not really) | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 brother ft. steve catching you on camera | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 fingering in bus | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 ride home | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 teaching you how to cum | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 pies and thighs | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 club bathroom sex | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 thanksgiving sex | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 finding out you're pregnant | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 jacking off on facetime | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 throat training punishment | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 interning for ceo dad | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 helping you cum | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 valentine's day | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 online account by @brotherbarnes | dddne | +18 | incest

by @cottontail-confessionals

🧼 click. buzz. sigh | dddne | +18 | incest | daddy can hear you through the wall. but...it's fine. as long as he doesn't act on it.

🧼 just like honey... | dddne | +18 | incest | home from college and staying in your childhood room, you find solace from the sounds of your parents' bedroom by knocking on your brother's door. or do you have an ulterior motive for doing so?

by @kittiescraft

🧼 rules are rules | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 bunny boy | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 fucked up | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 thighs | dddne | +18 | incest

🧼 IS THIS OKAY? by @forbidden-sin | dddne | +18 | incest

by @dear-dark-angel

🧼 you feel like home | dddne | +18 | incest | after a long week away on a tiring mission, your stepdad shows you just how much he missed you.

🧼 a wicked game to play | dddne | +18 | incest | you—your older brother's good luck charm—always come knocking at his door when your cravings haven't been met. however, you do hate competing for his attention over a silly video game.

by @societyfolklore

🧼 Slower, Baby | +18 | Nick Fowler x Female Reader

🧼 Lets See | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

🧼 Easy now, sugar | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

🧼 Training | +18 | Lance Tucker x Female Reader

🧼 I Can’t | +18

🧼 Just One More | +18

🧼 Lazy Mornings | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

🧼 Wonderland’s Sweetest Secret | +18 | Jefferson x Female Reader

🧼 Wouldn’t Let Me | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

🧼 House Party | +18 | Destroyer! Chris x Female Reader

🧼 Pick a Number | +18

🧼 Kitchen for Dishes | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

🧼 Spoil You | +18 | Lee Bodecker x  Female Reader

<part12 | library | part14>

divider by @anitalenia

[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Make It Spin // Jefferson (Mad Hatter) x F!Reader

Summary: You came to Jefferson of your own free will. To help. Instead, you end up playing one of his games. Now the rules are slipping, your body is being pushed to its limits, and the line between punishment and pleasure is starting to blur. You said yes. You could still say no. But for some reason… You haven’t.

Requested by: 2 x anon have requests, Jefferson (1 anon specifically asked for this request!) Thank you both for the request! I will just say, I haven't watched OUAT in YEARS, and had to watch a compilation on YouTube for a reminder of his character, so if it feels off, I'm sorry! Also Jefferson is unhinged in this fic, so please read the tags!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dark, dubious consent (safe words are in place!), drugging, obsessive behaviour, forced orgasms, coercion (previously consented), toys: nipple clamps/vibrator, overstimulation, subspace, rough sex, restraints, dom/sub, begging, aftercare

Words: 3.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You’d come to him willingly, wishing to help. You tell yourself that again as you begin to wake.

The room is quiet enough to hear your own pulse. It’s the smell that hits you first–clove, bergamot, a hint of something like vanilla and old paper. Your head is heavy, fuzzy. When your eyes open, you’re already tied down.

But you came to him. He hadn’t snatched you from the woods or stalked you through the streets of Storybrooke. You knocked on his door. Asked to help, sat down at his table and willingly drank the tea even though you knew it smelled of the familiar sleeping draught that you take before bed.

Not rope or metal. Silk.

Your arms are bound at your sides, ankles crossed, the velvet of the antique chair pressing into your back like a throne that doesn’t want you to leave.

Then– “You’re awake.”  A man’s voice, warm as tea and sharp as broken porcelain.

He’s by the fire, lounging in a wingback chair as though you’re not the one tied up. His legs crossed at the ankle, gloved fingers spinning a spoon in a cup. Eyes pale and piercing beneath a wild sweep of chestnut curls. The top hat rests on the mantel beside him, watching, judging.

You blink in confusion. “Jefferson? I said I would help, but this-”

He smiles slowly, like he’s savouring the sound of his name in your mouth. “You do remember. Good. That saves us time.”

“What–what is this?”

“A test,” he says lightly, setting the teacup aside and standing. His long coat flares behind him as he moves, each step slow and deliberate. “A bit of research. Some creative problem solving.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head in the hope that it will disperse the confusion and cloudiness in your mind.

In truth, this wasn’t the first time you both had played out a scene similar to this. You had been in love with Jefferson for years now, and he with you. The more you got to know him, however, the more you realised just how far he had fallen into the depravity of his insanity. Not that you honestly mind, there were always limits, a safeword, no permanent marks.

This scene could end with a simple three tap, or whisper of the word ‘red’, and yet, you never do because somewhere in the back of your mind, you needed this escape, finding the more intense the scene, the harder you orgasm. So you never stop him, you play along willingly.

He stops before you. Tilts his head, like you’re a painting he can’t quite understand. “See, my hat’s broken. It used to open doors. Worlds. It used to spin and shimmer, and sing. But now? Nothing.”

He glances toward it. “And then you showed up. And something shifted. It trembled. It wanted you.”

“Jefferson, we’ve talked about this. I’m not magic,” you whisper, throat dry.

His eyes lit with amusement. “Ah, but you don’t know that. And I don’t know that. So until we do…”

He kneels between your legs as your breath hitches. He doesn’t touch you, not yet, but his gloved hands rest on your knees, thumbs tracing idle circles. His voice softens to a lover’s caress.

“All you have to do is make it work. One spin. One shimmer. And I’ll let you go.”

You shake your head, “I can’t–I told you, I don’t–”

“Then,” he says sweetly. “You must not mind what happens next.”

He leans closer. “Because if you really wanted to stop me, darling, you’d make the hat work, wouldn’t you?”

Your lips part, panic and disbelief rising in equal measure. “That’s not fair–”

He laughs. Not cruelly. Something worse. Like you said, something adorable.

“Oh, sweetheart, who said I was fair?” His grin widens, and something in his eyes, fractured and gleaming, burns like frostbite.

“You don’t need magic. You just need motivation. And I'm very good at motivating.”

You yank at the silk bindings, but he’s already slipping off one glove, then the other, methodical, theatrical. His hands are pale and elegant. When he touches you, it’s almost gentle. Almost.

His fingers ghost over your inner thighs, dragging your skirt higher as he speaks in a low, hypnotic tone.

“Maybe it’s personal shame,” he muses. “Maybe you’re nervous. Or Maybe–” He slides a single finger along the seam of your cotton panties, teasing. “-You like the idea of being helpless.”

You gasp, hips jerking toward him because in truth, you’re soaked, cunt pulsing, squeezing around nothing and desperate for his touch. He raises a brow. “See? That was a twitch. We’re getting closer.”

“Please,” you breathe.

“Still not spinning,” he pretends to sigh, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Pity.”

He hooks your underwear aside with one finger. Cold air kisses your skin before his warm breath replaces it.

“This could be all over,” he whispers, lowering his mouth. “But since it's not…”

His tongue slides against you, slow and obscene. Your body jolts, traitorous, heat building with humiliating speed. He hums against your clit, lapping deliberately, rhythmically–like he’s tasting a fine wine, letting it linger.

You clench your teeth. “Jefferson– wait–”

He pauses just long enough to smirk. “I will. Just make it work.”

You can’t. Of course, you can’t. So he keeps going.

His mouth devours your cunt. Wet and relentless, coaxing moans from your throat no matter how hard you try to bite them back. You didn’t want to listen to how good your body felt, tried to ignore his tongue pressing into your cunt, but you still feel yourself climbing faster, harder, your thighs trembling, wrists straining uselessly in the silk.

“Cum for me,” he purrs, smirking like a maniac. “Give me what the hat won’t.”

And when you do, when the orgasm hits you deep in your abdomen, you’re crying out his name before you even realise it, hips rocking against his face. 

He pulls back, lips glistening. Blows softly on your oversensitive cunt just to watch your flinch. Then he stands. Straightens his black waistcoat. Picks up the hat. He holds it over your head like he’s offering a crown.

Waits. Nothing. No shimmer. No spin. His smile returns, wolfish and delighted.

“Oh, dear,” he goads. “Still broken.” He sets the hat back on its pedestal with care. Then he turns to you, undoing the first button of his coat and removing the thick scarf around his neck, until the silver scar around his throat is revealed.

“Well,” he says brightly, “I guess that means again.”

The silk cuffs remain tight, but the panic in your lips has dulled. Not because you’re calm. Because you’re tired, your body betrayed you once already. He made sure of that.

Jefferson hums as he paces behind you, coat now discarded, waistcoat snug against his lean frame. He’s unhurried and precise like a cat playing with its meal.

His boots tap lightly against the hardwood as he circles. Hands behind his back, head tilted, eyes gleaming and something unholy. “I must admit,” he says, voice syrupy and amused. “I rather hoped you’d get it right the first time. Would’ve saved us both a lot of… well–”

He stops in front of you and flashes a grin, eyes flicking toward your trembling thighs. “--distraction.”

He crouches. Strokes a single finger down the side of your face with eerie tenderness. “But alas. Still no spin.”

His thumb drags along your cheek. “Now, the optimist in me says: try again. Let her focus. Let her breathe.” His smile widens into something darker. “But the realist? The scientist? He knows something more stimulating may be required.”

He stands again. Crosses to a nearby cabinet– glass-fronted, etched with swirls–and unlocks it with a small brass key that jingles like a charm bracelet.

Inside: leather, steel, satin. Tools that appear elegant and terrifying in equal measure. A flogger, velvet blindfolds, wands, restraints, gags, a collar, and clamps. And scissors. Not normal ones. Giant, gleaming Victorian tailor shears, black-handled, polished to a mirror shine. They look far more suited to cutting bone than thread.

He lifts them with excitement. Weighs them in one hand and looks over at you. “Now,” he begins, “hold still.”

“Jefferson–wait–I need to catch my breath–”

The scissors click open. “I told you. It’s Hatter.” You flinch as he leans down and snips – the first cut severs the fabric at your shoulder. The strap falls.

He inhales, pleased. “You wear too much,” he decides, slicing the front of your blouse with the calm precision of a man trimming ribbon. Each cut exposes more of you. Your bra. The slope of your stomach. “How am I supposed to read your energy if I can’t see you?”

You’re breathing hard now, skin prickling in fear and heat. “You don’t have to–”

“You could stop me,” he coos. “Just make the hat spin.”

You shake your head, eyes closing. “I can’t.”

He gives you a mock-pitying look. “Then you can.”

The final cuts expose everything. Your ruined clothes are falling to the floor. You’re left trembling in your underwear, chest heaving, goosebumps littering your skin. “Better, “he admires, rubbing the cool flat of the scissors down your sternum before tossing them aside with a metallic clang.

He turns back to the cabinet. You hear soft leather, zippers, the low buzz of something mechanical. Then, he returns, holding a small black vibrator wand and a length of silk rope.

“Oh,” he says innocently, catching your eye. “Did you think I was done?”

You try to shrink into the chair, but the bindings don’t let you. He kneels again, this time straddling your legs. Clicks the wand on. The sound alone makes your thighs twitch.

“That’s the thing about behaviour,” he whispers, brushing the wand’s tip along the inside of your knee. “It’s shaped by consequences.”

He glides it higher. “You failed your test.” The wand meets your underwear, already damp. He doesn’t move it yet. Just let it hum against the fabric, watching your expression change. 

“So now,” he leans close, lips against your ear. “You learn.”

He presses it harder. You jolt. The first wave builds fast with the device. You try to hold back, shame and adrenaline and fear warring in your chest, but he’s relentless. 

“You’re making such lovely noises,” he praises sweetly. “That moan right there–sublime.”

You squirm, eyes fluttering, breath coming out in quick bursts. And then you cum. Helpless, shaking. Heat flashing down your limbs. He doesn't stop.

“Still broken,” he drawls, voice maddeningly sweet. “You really must want me to keep going.”

You try to speak, but your words blur. “Oh no, no,” he scolds genly, pushing your panties aside once more, and turning the wand up. “No faking. No stalling. You want this? Own it.”

The second orgasm hits harder. Your head drops back, tears slipping down your cheeks from the intensity. He still doesn’t stop. By the third, you’re half-gone. Floating. The world is blurring at the edges. His voice becomes a distant melody. You can’t move. Can’t think.

He cradles your chin in one hand as he turns off the wand. “Look at you,” he praises, genuinely awed. “My little puppet. All wet and wild and weightless.”

He brushes damp hair from your forehead, voice dipping into something almost caring. “You’re slipping already, aren’t you? Right into the dark. That lovely quiet place. That’s called subspace, darling. Isn’t it delicious?”

You blink up at him, dazed. Then–softly, from your lips– “Emma…”

He stills. Then, very slowly, he smiles. But it’s not kind.

“No, no, no.” he strokes your cheek. “She’s the saviour. I don’t need saving. I need you.” He kisses your temple, soft and sinister. “You don’t get to leave me.”

And then, with a laugh that could shatter porcelain, he stands. “We’re just getting started.”

The silk cuffs are gone. Not out of kindness. Not out of mercy.

Jefferson untied them with a flick of his wrist and a smile that made your stomach twist. You’re free now – but only on a technicality. The velvet chair is gone too, replaced by something more cruel in its simplicity.

A desk. Heavy and old. Walnut and brass. The kind of desk that kings wrote war letters on. Its surface gleams under the chandelier light. At its centre, on a deep red cushion, sits the hat. 

Still and silent. Almost mocking. You sit before it like a student awaiting examination.

Jefferson is behind you. You can feel his eyes on your neck, his breath drifting across your shoulder.

“Isn’t this better?” he says in a sassy tone. “No restraints, no games. Just you, me, and her.”

He taps the hat lovingly. “Go on, then. Concentrate. Think very, very hard about making her spin.”

You glare at the hat, fists clenched in your lap. Your pulse is already rising, not from magic, but from the weight of his presence. Every part of your body feels too hot, too aware.

“I am trying,” you insist.

“Try harder,” he singsongs. “Or maybe, you want me to help.”

He disappears behind you. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of knees hitting carpet. And then, his hands slide up your calves. You freeze.

“Jefferson–”

“You’re not concentrating,” he tutts. “Your mind’s all fuzzy and tense.” He pressed a single kiss to the inside of your knee. “Let me help.”

Your chair jerks slightly as he nestles fully underneath the desk until you aren’t able to see him. You slam your hands against the surface. “No– this isn’t – this isn’t fair!”

“Fair?” his voice, muffled under the wood, is teasing. “Oh, darling. You’re still clinging to that word like it ever meant something.”

He hooks his fingers around your thighs, dragging you forward. Your knees bump the underside of the desk. Your heart continues to race.

“I told you…” His voice darkens. “All you have to do is make it spin. But you haven’t. Which tells me…” His lips press to the inside of your thigh. “You want this.”

“Wait…,” you whisper, voice shaking, but have no answer for him.

The first swipe of his tongue silences everything else. You slap a hand over your mouth, fighting the moan that threatens. His mouth is warm, even on your already sensitive cunt, tongue flattening against your throbbing clit, licking you like he’s starved.

“You say wait,” he murmurs between licks, “but your body says yes, yes please, don’t stop.”

You tremble violently as he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming like he’s enjoying a fine meal. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread and open, your ruined underwear pushed aside.

“You could stop me right now,” he says. “All you have to do is spin the hat.”

You shut your eyes. Your hips twitch. The climax is blinding again, fast and shameful.

“Jefferson–”

“You keep saying that name like it’s a prayer,” he purrs. “Try ‘Hatter’. See if it tastes better on your tongue.”

You cum with a broken sob, your whole body jerking, hands digging into the edge of the desk. He moans against you like he’s the one receiving pleasure. When you slump back, legs shaking, he doesn’t stop. He nuzzles in deeper, tongue flicking over your overstimulated clit, another orgasm already blooming like fire under your skin.

“I can’t– Please,” you beg shamelessly.

“But you haven’t tried to stop me,” he coos. “Still no magic. No spin. Which means…” He pauses, licking his lips audibly. “You must want another.”

You take in his words, reading between the lines, realising that your hands aren’t even tied up anymore, you could have pushed him away if you wanted to, could have said your safe words, but you don’t want to.

You cry out as his mouth continues, you aren’t even sure how many orgasms you’d had now. You’re not even thinking anymore. Words are just sounds.

He finally crawls out from under the desk and crouches beside your chair, his lips swollen, eyes glowing with something manic and possessive. He cups your cheek. “There she is. Look at you, my poor little creature. You’ve barely blinked. Can you even hear me?”

You nod faintly. But you’re floating again, spaced out. Subspace yawns below you like a velvet pit. He strokes your face, leans in close. And you whisper it again–barely audibly. “...Emma…”

He goes still. Then stands slowly. His jaw ticks. “You want her?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

He laughs. Bitter and dangerous.

“You think she’ll save you? That golden girl? That walking prophecy in leather boots?” he leans over, palms on either side of the desk, his face inches from yours. “She’s not the one in your head when you scream. I am.”

He grips your chin and kisses you, hard and claiming. His tongue pushes into your mouth like he owns it until you can taste yourself.

When he pulls back, he’s panting softly. “No more desk games,” he says, voice low. “No more little tests.”

He steps back and slowly undoes his belt. “If you won’t make the hat work, darling,” he says, licking his bottom lip, “then you’ll have to take what comes next.”

You don’t remember how you got into bed. One minute, you were still slumped at the desk, your muscles too weak to hold you upright. The next, you were floating again, head lolled back on a mountain of silk pillows, the chandelier spinning softly above you like a cracked halo.

Your limbs are heavy, your brain even heavier. You hear his voice before you see him.

“Not the Saviour,” Jefferson mutters from somewhere near the foot of the bed. His voice is calm, though, despite his manic appearance. He’s shirtless now. Lean, pale, marked in the way only madmen are.

He tilts his head as he looks at you. Then lets out a soft chuckle. “Look at you.”

He straddles your waist, bare chest gleaming faintly with sweat, curls a little damp from exertion. His top hat is still on the table. Watching, always watching.

“You should’ve made it spin,” he emphasised. “You could have.” he leans over you, one hand sliding up your exposed body, trailing fingers along your ribs, your breasts. His touch is delicate.

“But instead,” he says, voice lower, “you chose this.” he brushes his thumb over your nipple, watching it pebble under his touch. “You’re so quiet now,” he muses. “So obedient.”

He reached the bedside table, the same drawer from which the wand now sat. This time: two gleaming silver nipple clams, joined by a delicate black chain.

You don't even flinch as he pinches your nipple and fastens the first clamp. The metal bites, the pressure sharp and mean. Still, you don't make a sound.

He pauses. Then does the second one. Again, no reaction. His eyes narrow with interest. “Well, well,” he breathes. “What a good little doll you’ve become.”

He drapes the chain across your chest, the weight subtle but present. You blink slowly, the world still gauzy at the edges.

He kisses you in a deep, possessive way. But, when he calls back, he whispers against your lips, “You’re not thinking about Emma anymore, are you?”

You manage a soft exhale. He strokes your hair. “No. You're thinking about me. You're thinking about how it feels when I break you open and put you back together again.”

He shifts down your body, pressing kisses to your thighs, then crawls back up, rutting his hard cock against your trembling pussy. “You feel that?” he growls. “That's mine. You’re mine.”

And then he's inside you. No more slow teasing. He sinks in deep and fast, and the stretch is too much, too perfect, your body arching instinctively. The clamps tug just enough to sting, and still, you barely react. You whimper, but there’s no resistance left in you.

He groans, watching you take him. His thrusts start slow but heavy, grinding into you with each push. His eyes never leave your face.

“You’re so quiet,” he pants. “You were such a fighter. So full of fire. And now look at you.” he presses a hand to your throat, not choking but claiming. “Look at what I made.”

You whimper again, vision swimming. He leans down and licks a tear from your cheek. “I knew,” he whispers. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

He snaps his hips harder. The chain between the clamps jostles with each thrust, sending pulses of sharp sensation across your chest. Your body shakes, tears slipping from your eyes, mouth open but silent.

He doesn’t slow. He loves it. Loves the tears, the silence, the way you give him everything now without even realising it. And then you cum again. Silently. Fully. A full-body quake that makes your eyes roll back, your fingers clench in the sheets.

He follows right after, groaning deep in his chest, burying himself inside you like he belongs there. When he collapses against you, it’s not rough. It’s gentle. Too gentle. He kisses your forehead. Removes the clamps with surprising care, even calming you as you scream as all the blood returns to your nipples, which is more painful than them going on. 

You tremble beneath him, body boneless and dazed. Jefferson brushes the hair from your face, watching you like a precious, broken thing. When he speaks again, it’s in a lover’s tone, sickly sweet.

“You did so well.”

Your lips part. A soft, whimpering sound escapes. Your mind is fogged with pleasure, pain, exhaustion, your body doesn't know what to do, except reach.

You lift your arms, barely, and he catches your wrists, pulling your body closer. He cradles you to his chest, rocking you gently. “You get it now. You finally understand.”

You nuzzle into his chest. “Good girl. My girl. My perfect little dream.”

You know the aftercare will come, the drinks with electrolytes, the sugary snacks, the washing away of sins from you and plenty of reassurance. But, something stays in your mind, a name that you’d been trying to communicate to him.

“Emma has magic, Hatter.” You’re finally able to breathe the words to him, only half awake.

You’d heard the rumours from town, and with any luck, she could be the answer he was looking for, creating magic for his hat.

He freezes for a second beneath you, then his lips curl into a grin against your temple. “Well,” he breathes, “that changes everything.”

He tucks the blanket tighter around your body. You sigh. Sinking deeper into sleep.

“Don’t worry, darling, you’ll always be mine.”

[navybrat817]

Tea

Pairing: Jefferson x Female Reader

Summary: Jefferson has you over for tea and more.

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), mention of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Jefferson (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 16 of the Sexy September Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: Want me to stop, you need to come again if you want me to stop. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Jefferson,” you moaned, your legs trembling.

“You’re so sweet,” he said, a wild smile on his face as he looked up at you. His lips and chin were shining from the previous orgasms he gave you. “Like the sugar in my tea.”

It wasn’t how you thought your afternoon would go when Jefferson asked you over for tea. It was like something out of a dream with the fairy lights and dishes and array of tea. He put a lot of care into it and wore one of the hats he made just for the occasion. But when he held up a plate of treats with a glint in his eye, you should’ve known he had more in store.

Especially since the one you selected said, “EAT ME.”

Which was exactly what he did.

He was careful not to knock the pot of tea over when he pulled you closer to the edge of the table. “Oh, your pussy is magical,” he said, looking at it like it was the most precious treasure. “Worth falling down a rabbit hole for.”

You arched your back when his mouth closed around your clit, your body sensitive and trembling. “Please. I can’t…”

“Can’t what? Can’t take it?” He laughed like a madman. “You can. I know you can.”

“Jefferson, I-”

“Want me to stop? You need to come again if you want me to stop.”

He pushed two fingers in, brushing your velvety walls with curiosity and care. You didn’t think you could give him another, but your body had other ideas. It wanted more.

“Oh. You’ll need to come on my cock, too. Then I might stop so we can have our tea,” he said, his ringed fingers digging into your thigh. “And then I’ll start all over again, my sweet girl.”

Posted this super late! All the love for Jefferson. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ SSS Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sheriff-bodecker]

I NEEEEED HIM SO BAD

God if you’re seeing this put more jefferson fics on my timeline NOW #guyliner

[bi-bard]

Gunpoint - Jefferson | Mad Hatter Imagine [Once Upon a Time]

Title: Gunpoint

Pairing: Jefferson | Mad Hatter X Reader

Word Count: 2,917 words

Warning(s): presence of a gun (not used), mention of kidnapping/stalking (if you wanna call it that)

Summary: Jefferson finds himself held at gunpoint in his own home. He doesn't feel any fear. Instead, there's a sense of hope.

Author's Note: Shoutout to TikTok for reminding me of this character and giving me an idea that actually feels solid.

This is also mostly to hold people over while I work my way through the MCU projects. At the time I uploaded this, I'm on the first of Tom Holland's Spider-Man movies.

Navigation Guide | Prompt List - Romantic Tropes | Original Characters Masterlist | Album Writing Challenges

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"Hey... Hey... Hey!"

I jumped when Emma shook me by my shoulders. It felt like being pulled out of a trance. There was just too much running through my head right now.

"Are you alright," she asked, placing a mug in front of me.

I was home. I didn't remember getting back here. I didn't remember Emma offering me something to drink.

She sat across from me. "Tonight was scary. I know it seems like a lot, but shutting down is going to make it worse-"

"I'm not shutting down," I stopped her. "I'm just thinking. About all of it."

She sighed.

I don't know what kind of response she was looking for.

We had gotten back from Jefferson's house. A big mansion in the woods owned by someone who had to be a mad man. He had to be. He held us hostage. He was rambling about magic and a curse. He had telescopes aimed at different places.

Oh God, the telescope. Like the scar on his neck. Or the gentle way he spoke to me despite every other action screaming that I shouldn't have trusted him.

"You found a telescope aimed at your house," Emma said after a while. "He held us hostage. You can't actually be giving this guy any thought-"

"How can I not," I asked.

"He was spying on you. Stalking you," she continued. "He's a pervert."

"If he was a pervert, he would've aimed the telescope at my bedroom," I argued. "I don't strut naked through my living room."

She grimaced a bit.

"And his neck," I continued. "How do you explain that?"

"A prosthetic? Thyroid surgery gone wrong?"

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

She ran her hands over her face. "Think about this. A man, a random man, takes you and your friends hostage, and then tells you that you are the long-lost love of his life but he's the only person that can remember any of it because the whole town is under a curse."

"I don't think he meant for me to be there."

"That doesn't change what he did."

I let out a breath, leaning my head on my hands. "I have to see him again. Talk to him."

"No," she scolded me for even having the idea. "No, you're not going back there. It's too dangerous."

"Emma, I have to know-"

"There's nothing to know!"

"Yes, there is!"

We both sighed, leaning back in our chairs. This was the problem when two stubborn people argued. Like two bulls just bumping heads over and over and over.

"What if he's telling the truth," I asked quietly. I heard Emma get ready to argue. "I have been... so lonely for so long. What if that's some part of me looking for him? Some part of me knowing that we were supposed to find each other?"

She didn't have a response.

"Maybe Henry's book-"

"No-"

"Just let me look at the pages. What if I'm in there?"

"What if," she asked. "Could you go back to that man? After everything that's happened tonight?"

"I... I don't know." I admitted, feeling pathetic. "I just... I don't know if I can just move on without knowing. It's just... it's eating at me."

She sighed. "I can talk to Henry. See if he'll let me borrow it to show you."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"Get some rest tonight, okay?"

Emma came back the next night, book tucked under her arm as she held out some takeout like it was a peace offering. I grinned, stepping to the side so she could walk inside.

"How are you feeling," she asked as she plopped onto my couch, the book finding a place on the coffee table with the food.

"Fine," I shrugged, sitting next to her. "I feel like I'm doing better than I should be considering... everything. How's Mary Margaret?"

"She's alright. Coping."

"Good," I nodded. "I feel like I should apologize."

"No," Emma touched my arm. "You didn't do anything wrong. Jefferson confused you. It's not your fault. He basically whispered sweet nothings into the first lonely ear he found to see what would stick."

"Yeah," I muttered, grabbing some food. "You think he's still watching?"

"I don't know, maybe."

I hummed.

"Want me to close the blinds?"

"No, no, it's fine." I waved her off.

"You sure?"

I nodded before looking at the book. "May I?"

"If you're ready." she motioned to it. "Henry asked a lot of questions. Says he bookmarked the page you're looking for."

"A true believer."

"Something like that, yeah."

I found Henry's bookmark and pulled the book open.

I was immediately met with a drawing of someone who looked identical to the man that had held us hostage. I started reading through the story, noting that the name Jefferson was there.

There were more pictures on more pages. Some of Jefferson on his own, some with a little girl, or some with a person who looked... just like me. I furrowed my eyebrows, like I was daring it to change in front of my very eyes.

There was one photo on the next page of Jefferson and the person who looked like me. They were standing close, clearly in love. It almost looked like they were dancing. You could see the little girl in the background, looking like she was admiring the pair.

"Woah, woah," Emma reached out to touch my arm. "Are you alright?"

I gave her a confused look.

"You're crying."

I reached up and touched my cheek. I was crying.

"What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know," I mumbled. "It's something about this photo. Like there's something missing. Like I know something was taken from me and I don't know how to get it back."

She didn't argue, thankfully. Instead, she wrapped an arm around me and tried to comfort me as best as she could.

I knew then that I needed to find my way back to Jefferson's house.

It took me a few days to get there. I had to make sure that Emma wasn't going to be ready to stop me as soon as I walked out of the house. And I couldn't risk going in unarmed because this man could've been armed and dangerous.

So... I ended up sneaking into Jefferson's mansion with a gun in my hand.

I had never thought of myself as being particularly stealthy. Quite the opposite, I stumbled and bashed my side into countertops more than anything else. But something about this house changed me.

I was quiet. Silent even. Even my shaking nerves couldn't stop me. It was terrifying. Maybe a little exhilarating, but mostly terrifying.

The only sign of life I found was in the office.

I had been in there before. When I first ran to find Emma after finding a telescope pointed at my house. She was at the desk, Jefferson watching from the corner. I could still see how he looked at me. He knew I was there, but he still seemed so devasted that I had walked in. Like he still couldn't believe I existed.

Now, he was sitting in that same office. I could hear him muttering to himself. There was a hat sitting in front of him. He had those shears in his hands again. Meant for fabric.

I took a deep breath before violently pushing the door open. I held the gun up immediately, pointing it at him. Not exactly how I had planned this going, but I wasn't exactly thinking clearly.

"(Y/n)?"

"Shut up and stand up," I said. I didn't even question the name he used for me. He listened, holding his hands up.

"You own a gun?"

There was that look again.

The one mix of devastation. Whether it be about the gun in my hand or my mere presence, I wasn't sure.

I let out a huff, "Leave the shears on the desk and walk around to the other side."

His eyebrows furrowed as he listened to me.

"Where's your gun?"

"In a safe in the other room."

"Good," I muttered, nodding a bit to comfort myself.

He spoke up again, "When did you get a gun-"

"You're asking a lot of questions for a man that kidnapped me."

"I didn't kidnap you; I kidnapped Emma to get her help and you-"

"You are not arguing about semantics while I'm aiming a gun at you."

He held his hands up a little higher. "You're right. You always are-"

"How do you know that?" I felt panic run through my veins again.

He took a deep breath.

"I... I found the telescope," I continued. "When I was here last. It's aimed at my house. At my living room. Why?"

Another breath. "It's where you sit and read at the end of the day."

I tilted my head, furrowing my eyebrows at him.

"Sometimes you concentrate really hard on whatever you’re reading and start muttering what the pages say. If I pay close enough attention, it feels like you're reading to me."

I bit the inside of my cheek for a moment. "You saw me look at the book?"

"The one that made you cry? Yes."

I blinked a few times as a fresh batch of tears fell down my face.

"It was us, wasn't it? You saw our story."

I didn't respond.

"You have to tell me. Please."

I ignored him. "Who was the little girl?"

"Grace," he answered. "My daughter. You... You didn't meet her for a long time, but when you did... oh, she adored you."

"Where is she?"

"Under the curse, like you... she's called Paige now."

"How did we meet?"

He scoffed. "You read the story."

"I want to hear it from you," I said. "I want you to tell me everything."

"Okay," he mumbled. "We met at a market. You were selling clothing and fabric. There was a cloak that was perfect for Grace. You saw me scrounging for coins and offered it to me for free, even though you had a boss that looked like he would've been furious with you.

"I came back to visit you again. And again. And again. I would lie that I was looking for something, but I wasn't. You knew that. We... We had our first kiss a few weeks later after you questioned me about my regular visits. It was like the world had opened up for me. It was magic.

"We lived a good life. A happy life. Grace loved you. I loved you. And then, the queen showed up. She dragged me into another job hopping dimensions. She trapped me there. My head got cut off, I lived, and I spent my days trying to make a hat that would get me back to you and Grace. Until the curse. Then, I was left here. Alone and knowing and under strict guidance to not see either of you."

I stared at him for a moment. "Then why keep me here with Emma and Mary Margaret?"

"You weren't supposed to be there," he explained. "I... I never wanted to drag you into anything."

There was a long pause between us.

"You have to-"

"Show me your neck."

"(Y/n)-"

"Show me your neck!" I didn't mean to shout. I didn't want to. I was just getting too caught up in the madness to avoid it.

Jefferson didn't fight with me. He barely hesitated. He almost immediately reached up and pulled his scarf off. I stared at the scar before walking in a circle around him.

I saw his shoulders move as he chuckled as I started moving, but he didn't say anything. Didn't ask any questions. He just stood here and let me watch the scar extend all the way around his neck.

"Oh God," I muttered. My eyes filled with tears. Again, I found myself crying without fully knowing why.

"I'm sorry for what I did to your friends," he continued. "I... I was scared and hopeless. Emma... Emma has something special. She's the key to this all. I thought she could get me out of here. Get the magic to work. I... I never wanted to hurt you or scare you away."

He started walking forward and I was suddenly aware of how uncommitted I was to firing this gun if I needed to. He made it close enough to reach out and touch the gun.

I felt my heartrate spike as Jefferson pushed my hand down. He let out a small sigh as he ensured the gun was aimed at the ground.

"Emma said that you were just whispering sweet nothings into my ear because you could tell I was lonely," I mumbled.

He chuckled. "Do you believe that?"

It was my turn to chuckle, granted that mine was more forced. "I don't know anymore."

His free hand reached up and touched my face. It was so strange. So familiar but new. I was still overwhelmed and confused and panicked. I didn't know what to do.

"I don't know what to think anymore," I mumbled, much sadder than I was a few moments ago.

Jefferson hushed me gently, leaning forward to press his lips against my forehead.

"God, I'm holding a gun," I added, feeling like the object now weighed a ton. I felt pathetic.

Jefferson slowly pulled the weapon from my hand, moving back just long enough to place it on his desk.

"What am I doing here? I didn't know you a few days ago and now I've held you at gunpoint. I'm looking at kids' books like they're fact. You kidnapped me and my friends a few nights ago."

"It's the curse," he said. "You're pushing against it and the curse is trying to drag you back into this false reality."

I shook my head. I don't know why. I couldn't tell if I was trying to shake away my own thoughts or trying to refuse acknowledging his words.

He cupped the sides of my face, leaning his forehead against mine again. "I am so sorry this is how you found out. I wanted this to be easier."

"I wanna understand it. All of it."

"I... I need you to trust me for just a few seconds," he replied. "I understand it's scary and overwhelming but I... I just need to try something."

I was convinced that in any other situation, I would've been able to say no to him in that moment. But every time I look back, I find another thing that could have changed that still wouldn't have stopped me from nodding to him.

Jefferson leaned in to kiss me. Gentle, careful. He was trying to keep me calm as he did it. He was fully aware of the weight and terror that was sitting in the room with us.

I felt some force hit me in the chest. Like a chain had been snipped and opened. Jefferson seemed unaffected by the blast.

I found myself needing to pull away to react to the hit. I slammed my eyes shut, tilting my head toward the floor.

"(Y/n)? Hey, hey..."

My name didn't sound wrong or strange now. It just... was.

"You remember now, don't you?" Jefferson's hands touched the sides of my face, trying to get me to look at him. He wiped more tears from my eyes.

When I finally managed to do so, he was crying too. I found myself wiping them away.

"(Y/n)?"

A smile broke through on my face as my thoughts finally settled like dust on a battlefield.

He smiled back at me.

"Hi," I mumbled.

"Hi." his voice was more of a sigh than a word.

"I remember. Everything. All of it."

He let out a breathy laugh before leaning forward and kissing me again. I hummed, moving my hands to touch his sides.

When I leaned back, I pressed my forehead against his. "What happens now?"

"I... have no idea," he chuckled again. "The town is still trapped. Emma's going to have to save them. Regina... Regina might know about this."

"What do we do about that?"

"Continue with our false lives. Act like nothing happened. Just for a while."

I shook my head. "I don't want to act like nothing happened, Jefferson. I want to be here… with you. My mad hatter."

"I know but we need to know that we're safe," he mumbled before pulling me into a hug, lips pressing to my head. "I can't be the reason you end up getting hurt or taken from me again."

"Okay," I replied. "You'll keep a close eye on me?"

His cheeks started turning a little bit red at the mention of his telescope. "If you'd like."

I leaned over and kissed him again. "I'll be sure to read a little more than usual."

Leaving the house that night was difficult. It was me having willingly let go of the best thing I had ever been given in my life. Even if it was just for a short amount of time.

I looked back from next to my car, seeing Jefferson still standing out on the front steps. He grinned at me so softly that my breath almost stopped. I waved to him and climbed into my car, letting myself drive away, even though it felt like part of my soul was getting ripped out.

One day.

One day this would all be easier.

But for now... I had to figure out what the hell I was going to tell Emma.

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Author's Note: I am kinda obsessed with the idea of "mad hatter" being a pet name/affectionate nickname that was later hijacked

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Tag Lists:

Overall - @geeksareunique @daisydark

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Some Important Causes:

GLAAD - LGBTQIA+ Organization

National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

CHIRLA - Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights

Palestinian Red Crescent Society

[ayvuhs]

jefferson IS harry hook and you can't tell me otherwise

this post MIGHT be subtle foreshadowing to a fic im writing??

[castielscaplan]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Summary: you were running late for making dinner. Running to the food store should have been an easy and fast task. But panic consults your heart when you accidentally reverse into something... i mean, someone. [WC 597] [Ao3]

Warnings: vampire!jefferson, being hit by a car, no angst or pain, humor, flirty jefferson

A/N:GUYS LOOK WHAT I DISCOVERED ON SOMEONE'S BLOG!!!!! IT'S ONE OF MY OLD VAMPIRE JEFFERSON AUS!! of course i rewrote it from it being First Person POV. BUT LOOOKKKKKKK!! i need to hunt down so many more of these damn fics man

You were running late.

That alone felt unreal—almost laughable—because you never ran late. Not once. Not ever. But, apparently, there was a first time for everything.

You rushed into the store, grabbing everything you needed for dinner in a blur, barely registering anything around you before hurrying back out. The bags were tossed into your trunk without a second thought, and you slid into the driver’s seat, already reaching for the ignition.

The engine turned over. You shifted into reverse.

And you didn’t see him.

It wasn’t until the dull, sickening impact jolted through the car that everything came to a stop.

Your stomach dropped.

For a split second—just one—you thought about the eggs in the trunk. Then reality slammed back in, and you shoved the door open, practically stumbling out of the car as you ran toward the middle of the aisle.

“Oh my God!” The words tore out of you, breathless and panicked, as you rushed to where the man lay sprawled on the pavement. “Oh—oh God, please tell me you’re not seriously injured?”

Your heart was racing for a dozen reasons, none of them good.

He groaned, shifting slightly as his hand came up to press against his ribcage. “I’m fine, m’lady,” he said, voice strained but steady. “Thank you.”

“I—I just—I didn’t see you in the mirror!” The words tumbled out over each other, frantic and breathless. “I checked, I swear I checked and—”

He let out another groan, but this one softened into something quieter. Amused.

“Mirrors can be… unreliable things,” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “What?”

His gaze lifted to yours, dark eyes catching the light in a way that felt… off. Not reflective. Not quite right.

“Depend on what they choose to show you,” he added lightly, like it was a joke meant to smooth you over.

A strange chill slipped down your spine.

“I was in a rush to get home, I’m so sorry, I—” you started again, trying to shake it off.

A low chuckle cut through your rambling.

“It’s okay,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite everything. “Maybe you can make it up to me one day?”

That… wasn’t the response you were expecting.

Your panic faltered, confusion slipping in as you blinked at him. “How so?”

“My name’s Jefferson,” he said, like this was a perfectly normal way to meet someone. “Maybe I could invite you over for dinner? I’ve been told I’m a fantastic chef.”

For a moment, you just stared at him.

And then, somehow, you smiled—like the fact that you had just hit him with your car had already started to blur into something unreal.

“I’d be delighted.”

“Tonight, seven?” he offered, already reaching for your hand. His fingers were cool—colder than they should have been—as he turned your palm upward. A pen appeared from his coat pocket, and before you could protest, he was writing across your skin.

His touch lingered a second too long.

“And don’t worry,” he added softly, almost under his breath, “I’ll make sure you see me next time.”

You glanced down at your hand—his name, his address inked neatly across your palm—then back up at him.

For just a second, as he shifted, you caught a glimpse of your car window behind him.

Your reflection stared back at you.

Alone.

When you looked back, he was smiling like he knew exactly what you’d seen.

You had been in such a rush to get home.

Funny how quickly that stopped mattering.

[thezombieprostitute]

Unwanted - Part 8

Summary: Omega tries to settle into her new life by finding a job.

A/N: Reader is described as big & tall, is female. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Allusions to surgery, human trafficking, kidnapping, Blood, Panic attack, PTSD flashbacks. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 7 -- Part 9

Series Masterlist

The garage Curtis runs is close enough for you to walk to. Most of the places in the compound are, making you wonder at the need for a mechanic. But when Sam leads you inside, all of the tractors and farming equipment give you a better understanding.

"I...I didn't realize this was a farming community," you comment aloud.

"We don't have much in ways of economy around here," Sam starts. "Sure, we've got deals with the federal government, but growing our own food, making our own stuff? It really helps us when Steve's negotiating for resources we really do need."

"But we can only do so much if we ain't got the parts," a handsome, shirtless man with brown hair and bright blue eyes comments. You shyly look away and he adds, "ain't no need to be shy around me, pretty lady."

"Hal," Sam gives a warning look.

"Alright, alright. I'll go get a shirt," Hal rolls his eyes before giving you a wink. "Ain't often we get a pretty lady around the garage."

"Probably because you scare them all away," Sam sighs.

"That reminds me, if you see Sarah tell her I'm available on Friday," Hal smirks before running off.

Sam scowls at the mention of his sister and you try not to flinch. He must pickup on your distress because he smiles at you.

"We play but he's actually a good match for my sister," he explains. "He's got a good heart and he'll be a great dad for her boys."

"Not to mention they're both shameless flirts." Curtis' familiar voice gets your attention.

You can't fight the urge to immediately turn your attention to him. You swear you used to be able to play it cool around crushes but these new instincts, this inner animal, keeps taking control at the most embarrassing times.

Thankfully, if he notices, Curtis doesn't mention it. He just smiles at you and Sam.

"I heard you're wanting to help us get our paperwork organized?" he asks you.

You keep your head down, unable to look him in the eyes as you remember thoughts of him getting you through your last heat.

"If...if that's okay," you mumble. You swear you could kick yourself for how much you want Curtis' approval. Where is all of this coming from?

"Definitely won't be a problem," Curtis reassures you. You think you hear the hint of an alpha purr in his tone and heat rushes to your face. "It'll be nice to have someone to talk to besides Hal and Mace. Let me show you where the office is."

The next week is one of the best you've had in a long while. You're getting out of your temporary home. You're building a routine. You're feeling useful.

Sure the office was a mess and it turned out no one had done inventory in forever, but it was something you could dive into. It gave your brain other things to do besides remember the pain. Maybe you didn't even need to go to those support meetings Sam had told you about. You were doing great!

Grace calls your name and waves excitedly at you as she and Jefferson enter the shop.

"Oh hello!" You greet. "What brings the two of you here?"

"We're going on a picnic lunch with Dad," she giggles, bouncing on her toes. "It's a Friday tradition!"

"And we've got something for you," Jefferson adds. He reaches into the picnic basket and pulls out the most adorable stuffed bunny you've ever seen.

"Nat said you were interested in a stuffed animal for the nightmares," he explains. "And as the resident fabric worker in this community, it fell to me to make you one. Grace suggested the bunny as it's one of her own favorites."

"It's perfect," you sniffle as you hug the bunny tight. "Thank you so much! I don't...how can I--"

"No repayment necessary," he assures. "It took me quite some time to get used to the whole 'community' side of things, too. But I'm sincere in not asking favors for gifts."

"Thank you," you blubber.

"I know I'm not the warmest person,"he continues. "But you've been nothing but polite, even kind, to my little fam--pack. My little pack. Not to mention, there is a kind of kinship that comes from...not quite shared trauma but you get what I'm going for?"

You nod.

"Well, Grace, let's go get Dad for--"

He's cut off by a loud, pained shout coming from the garage. The three of you rush to see what's going on and you see Mace gripping his hand in a fist. Curtis and Hal are already at his side and you hear Curtis order Hal to get the first aid kit.

Mace opens his hand and, when you see the blood, the walls start closing in. You're back on the table, under the knife. Kemp's voice is in your head, giving orders, willfully ignorant of your pain.

So much pain. So much blood. You're strapped down, unable to move, unable to scream. You think you hear other voices, someone calling your name, but all you know is Kemp, his cruel, cold smile, and the pain.

Your hand feels something soft. That can't be right. You squeeze. It is soft. But that can't be. Not here. Right?

There's a gentle caress of your cheek. Your confusion grows. There's no gentleness from Kemp. Ever. So why do you feel that touch?

"I'm going to hold you," you hear a deep but familiar voice say before you're gently, but firmly, wrapped in a pair of arms.

You feel a vibration you've never experienced before. Unknown sensations should make you panic but this one...this one feels soothing on an instinctual level. Like the animal side of your brain you're constantly at odds with has found some common ground for the both of you.

When you're finally able to breathe, you smell spices, tea, hearty comfort foods. You squeeze your hand, the softness is still there. The bad memories start to fade, replaced by concerned faces.

"That's it," one of the faces coos. Jefferson. You know him. "Come back to us. You're not there anymore. No one's going to hurt you."

"Keep squeezing the bunny," another face pleads. Grace.

She's clearly distressed. You need to help. She says she needs you to squeeze so you do. The softness of the bunny plushie is further evidence for Jefferson's words. You're not there anymore. You're here, with them.

Looking down you see the familiar arms of Curtis. The vibrations seem to be coming from him. That must be what an Alpha purr is.

"I'm sorry," you gasp as the vibrations ease up.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Curtis reassures.

"You're feeling better?" Grace asks, hope written all over her face.

"Yeah just..."

"Drained?" Jefferson suggests. You nod. "We should get you back to your place for some rest."

But I'm all alone there, you think.

"And, with your permission, we'll watch over you," Curtis adds. Jefferson and Grace nod in agreement.

You swear you could collapse all over again, from relief this time. Maybe you do still need to go to that support group.

Part 7 -- Part 9

Series Masterlist

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