#𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

[starbuckie]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

pairing: jefferson hatter x reader

words: 9.9k words with lyrics, 9.7k words without lyrics

warnings: SMUT 18+ (unprotected sex, kinda sub!jefferson bc i said so), fluff, angst, mentions of slight alcoholism and death, and just two sad babies dedicated to making each other better

summary: two lost, miserable souls find each other when time has been reduced to a mere concept.

a/n: clearly i, i got carried away, i worked on this piece for elven months and honestly i dont regret it because i think this is the best writing i’ve ever done. in my whole life. i also rewatched hat trick this morning and i miss sexy sexy hat man. im very proud of it, and i love this song more than anything in the world, so please please give it love with reblogs and comments. please enjoy<33

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist || series masterlist

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife

And if it was an open-shut case,

I never would've known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine 

Condensation slipped down the side of the glass almost as smoothly as the moonshine in it slipped down Jefferson’s throat. His eyes struggled to stay open, blinking so blearily when he faced the dim lights of The Rabbit Hole. The crowded bar drowned out his sorrows, loud clamor and exhaustion filling every one of his senses as he ordered another round of drinks, all for himself. 

Any of the locals of Storybrooke would’ve said that his scruffy appearance was his norm, bloodshot eyes and a light stubble peppering his sharp jawline and chin, rosy pink lips in a constant smirk while he bubbled out strings of nonsense. To them, he was just the creepy, drunken man who sat in the second seat on the left side of the bar, drinking himself silly like he wanted to die.

Honestly, that last part couldn’t be closer to hitting home.  

Jefferson couldn’t blame the townspeople for his poor reputation. But he also couldn’t say that any of them wouldn’t be in the same position if they had gone through nearly half the loss he did. 

He was tired. He was tired of clinging onto alcohol as a lifeline, of late nights at the bar and walking home at night, cursing the sky for something that couldn’t be changed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even let the blessing of sleep overtake his system. His hands were worn and scarred from three years of non-stop sewing, grasping onto the old habit to create some sense of familiarity in his bones. Every flaw on his body served as a reminder far too painful of everything he had lost.

His late mother remained on his cut fingers, and each time he pricked his thumb with a needle he could hear her incessant screaming to continue sewing garments to sell at the market the next day. It was during these moments that if he closed his eyes, the memory of a greyed out, stressed woman counting each dime and penny he laid out on the kitchen table played like a movie.

The weakness in his knees had Priscilla’s name written on it. From the moment he first caught her trying to steal the king of Camelot’s treasure, to giving birth to their dear Grace, to the moment he held her dying body in his shaking arms, his wife had been the one to take his breath away and feeling like a love struck idiot even years after her death.

But his neck, that angry, maroon line of scarred flesh that surrounded his throat, was the most painful of all. It was the result of a strike of vanity within him, when that feral need of going out to get more than he needed prevailed over his own satisfaction. The consequence of what good being greedy got him at the cost of the last good thing left in his life. 

Grace was waiting for him. Grace was the one who sat patiently at a cedar table, chopping up vegetables at the neighbor’s house while his head was being chopped off. His darling daughter, who wanted nothing more than his time and his love, the girl who he had dedicated his life to making nothing but joyous, and yet in the end it was him who took that joy away. It was the moment Regina stepped through that magic portal; he finally knew what he had lost. He’d finally lost everyone he’d ever loved, just as he always feared.

She no longer held any memory of him, and he was alone. Moments that Jefferson clutched onto so desperately in his mind were erased in hers, replaced with a life she never knew before. He watched her every morning when she got on the bus, sporting a smile brighter than he’d ever seen when they’d lived out in the woods, and he was forced to live, knowing that both she and him existed in Storybrooke, but in completely different circles. His dear Grace wasn’t his anymore.

And he was the only one to blame.

Tears glossed over his eyes with the effects of the alcohol he quickly downed, and he could only remind himself to not dwell on his family. The memories only made living that much more painful. Darkish, orange hues of light cast long shadows across his face, failing to hide the messy look that people around town snickered at, and picked at the lint of the maroon silk vest he wore, stumbling over his next order of absinthe. He was planning on making his way through the bar’s entire top shelf for the night. The bell jingled off the door of the bar jingled as someone left or came in while he spoke, but Jefferson was both too drunk and too miserable to move around and see who it was until he noticed that the room had gone silent, only the audible sound of heels clacking in hardwood floors echoing around the bar.

“I’ll take an absinthe as well, the Tenneyson, please.” 

Jefferson looked to his left, and for the first time in a long time, he was rendered speechless. A young woman sat drenched head to toe from the pouring rain outside, dressed in a delicate, evergreen gown that reached her knees. Despite the drearily horrid storm outside, she seemed quite content in her shivering state, a pretty grin painted on her face. Goosebumps covered her body from head to toe, and if Jefferson had been sober, maybe he would’ve felt kind enough to lend her his coat that hung on the rack by the front door.

Nonetheless, even through his drunkenness he could see the soft, innocent aura that seemed to glow around her. He hadn’t seen such a being as beautiful as her in a long time, and yet an immeasurable amount of guilt seemed to press down on his chest as soon as he admitted that to himself. Priscilla would have wanted him to move on, but there was really no time to do so after she died, having to take care of an infant and provide for her as well.

Jefferson wasn’t aware he was pretty much openly gaping at the poor girl until she faced him with a quizzical expression. Her eyes flitted around the bar, feeling squeamish under his intense stare. “Hello there, can I help you?”

Two drinks were placed down at the counter, but neither of them turned to get them, too entranced in each other's eyes to care. That’s when Y/N noticed that, oh, oh yes, this man was quite good looking compared to her first impression of him. Even through his dilated pupils and reddened face from drinking were normally a red flag in her book, she could see from his attire that suited him far too well and his strikingly blue eyes that he was handsome. 

However handsome the man was though, he still hadn’t answered her question, and he still seemed to be in a haze of some sort. “Pardon me, sir, but you’ve been staring at me for quite a while. Are you feeling alright?”

His glazed eyes blinked once, twice, and he was back to his senses. “I’m sorry,” he slurred slowly, “I just haven’t seen a pretty girl in a really, really long time.”

Y/N tried to fight the heat that crawled up her face when he called her pretty, instead trying to find something to continue their awkward introduction. The man clearly was lonely, and she’d heard the hushed whispers when she sat next to him. Hushed tones that only further intrigued her to learn everything about the mystery of him.

“Thanks,” she mumbled quietly. “I’m Y/N.”

That seemed to catch his attention, scooting his stool closer to hers with a lazy smile. She could smell the alcohol he reeked of and in that moment she wondered if it would be a good idea to smash the other glass on the bar to the ground, in fear that she’d have to drag him to the nearest hospital due to alcohol poisoning. “Jefferson, darlin’.” 

She nodded with a polite smile as he offered his hand to her, shaking it daintily and for some odd reason, relishing in the way his calloused, rough palm felt against hers. By his looks he was well off, though she didn’t mean to read a book by its cover, with leather pants and boots (something that shouldn’t have looked so damn good together, but he managed to pull it off) and a silk maroon vest overlaying a black, long-sleeved blouse.

Yet his hands showed a lifetime of hard work and pain. They were something that she marveled at for a while, small scars littering his knuckles, each red marking only adding to his appeal. His fingers were long and slender, his larger hand wrapping around her small one in a way that made her feel protected. Everything about him, from his scarred skin to his mysterious aura. She wanted to know everything about him.

But as soon as her questions began to flutter to life, he released her from his firm grip, facing back towards the bar with that glass of straight up absinthe. Y/N tried not to cringe when Jefferson nearly fell off the stool as he downed the drink with a very forceful tilt back of his head. He seemed to be completely unbothered by his own clumsiness, instead smiling to himself before questioning her again.

“I haven’t seen you around this part of town, what brings you to The Rabbit’s Hole?” 

He ordered another drink as she took a sip of her first one, swallowing the clear liquid with a harsh gulp before answering. “I usually come during the day.” 

That got a raised brow just for the insinuation, which she found mildly infuriating, but the smirk he wore couldn’t be any less sexy.

“It’s too crowded at nights,” she gestured around the bar, which was teeming with buoyant voices once again, “and I don’t drink myself stupid either. Well, not before eleven at least.” 

The chuckle she heard was so low that Y/N almost didn’t hear it, but when she looked at Jefferson, he was smiling so wide it was on the verge of psychotic. Her lips parted in what was either confusion or pure want when one of his hands came out to touch her face, a thumb and forefinger delicately holding her chin. “You’re funny, pretty girl.”

Under the circumstances that the man was drunk and barely knew what he was saying, Y/N tried to hide her nervousness with a soft chuckle, forcing herself to remove his hand from her face. 

“Time always went by much faster in Wonderland,” he giggled slowly. The sudden change of topic didn’t surprise Y/N, with him being drunk and everything, but the words that he said next were more than worrying. “I miss my dear Grace, my baby. So perfect, she was the sweetest little girl. Have you ever had something too good to lose?”

Y/N froze in surprise, a chill running over her body even though a fire burned on the other side of the room. “I had something once, my beautiful Grace. She was my family, she was my love and my home,” Jefferson hiccuped between his words, and the image of his sad, drunken self was something Y/N knew would be ingrained in her conscience forever. “But now I’ve lost my home, and it’s all my fault.”

He turned away from her with a pout on his rosy lips, his eyes much mistier than they were before. Y/N had no clue who his Grace was, but it was clear from his words that she was quite dear to him. When she walked into the bar she hadn’t planned on feeling like complete shit, but after Jefferson’s uplifting spiel, her mood had been noticeably dampened. Yet, through all the grief that seemed to cloud around the handsome stranger, him and his story intrigued her, and she could feel her three-year addiction to find connection surfacing to her lips. Before she could even stop herself, she blurted, “I lost my home too...”

Her sentence trailed off at the end, her attempt at starting a conversation ending as soon as she saw that Jefferson had fallen asleep, his head already slumped down so his chin was tucked into his chest, eyes blissfully closed and small snores emerging from his throat. A bill was slapped onto the bar, knocking Y/N right out of her melancholy whims, and she scanned over it with a slight worry of how much he had actually drunk that night. 

While the bartender was busy trying to wake the sleeping man up with gentle shoves that did absolutely nothing, Y/N pulled out her wallet from her crocheted shoulder bag, prepared to pay for his drinks and her single shot of absinthe. The twenty dollars that she slid over the counter seemed much more interesting to the man across the bar than waking up Jefferson, and with a quiet sigh she pulled herself from the bar.

She had never before brought home a man unless she was planning on sleeping with them, but that was before she was trapped in Storybrooke so Jefferson could be her first. At that point in the night, she felt as though she knew far too much about him to just let him stumble home in his inebriated state.

“Alright, Jefferson, let’s get a move on.” She wrapped her left arm around his waist, bringing his right hand to rest on her shoulder. His hard body slumped against hers as she tried not to acknowledge the hard planes of muscle pressing through the fabric of his vest and against her side, as well as the sleepy groans that were mumbled into the side of her head. Y/N sent the bartender a small smile in thanks as he smirked at her, patrons of the bar staring at her clumsily grabbing his coat off of the hanger with amused expressions 

As soon as the cool air and harsh rain of the night hit their skin, Jefferson seemed to wake up a bit more, his reddened eyes blinking slowly to adjust to the darker setting. Cars slowly rolled by, not too many for ten o’clock at night, and maybe if he weren’t so drunk and she had gotten more than one shot in, it would have been an enjoyable night. 

However, that thought was immediately ruined when Jefferson pushed her arm from around him, doubling over and puking whatever else he’d consumed besides deadly amounts of alcohol onto the sidewalk.

Y/N sighed gently, rubbing his back soothingly with a slight grimace. “It’s okay, just let it all out. There we go.” She genuinely had no clue why she felt so inclined to help the man, but maybe it was because she possibly found the chance to find someone just as lonely as she was or she was just so desperate to find a person she could care for, in exchange for the slightest bit of affection. They certainly had some things in common, hitting up bars at ungodly times, loving to get piss drunk (though she handled it much better than he was in the moment), and the empty vat of loneliness that could only be filled with copious amounts of alcohol. The words that tumbled out of his mouth so freely in the bar were definitely not coherent, but when he mentioned being separated from his home, she felt a tug at her heart. 

“I’ve lost my home, and it’s all my fault.”

She felt guilt and deep resentment towards Jefferson when he’d first said those words. It wasn’t his fault that she was stuck in an endless time loop, isolated from everything and everyone she loved. But that single strand of slurred syllables, those bare words struck Y/N like a slap to the face, to hear the words she had once repeated to herself every time she saw a reflection of herself when she’d first gotten stuck in the much too idyllic town. 

So she didn’t feel disgust when Jefferson coughed up a storm as she tugged him along back to her house, or when he silently stalled himself in the rain, prodding his foot at puddles along the way and marvelling at how the surface ripples. With gentle coaxing and sweet sugar-coated words, she led him down a muddy path as he pointed out different species of mushrooms he found along the way. Her house, or more of a cottage really, was out in the middle of the forest, out of the way of the rest of town. While it fit in quite well with the whole aesthetic of Storybrooke, the lonesome house was shrouded in a shivering feel of desolation, surrounded by nothing but wildlife, nearly two miles away from the main road, which really wasn’t that far, but seemed so while she dragged a large man behind her in the pouring shower. 

Y/N had never found a reason to move into a house or apartment closer to the shops of the village in the three years she was trapped inside of it. Her house in the middle of the forest reminded her of the one her parents had back in her hometown, where she had been trying to return to what seemed like so long ago. The stone walls had been her family for some time already, the red cardinals and yellow lilies becoming the only things she confided in, and it still amazed her that everyday she mustered the courage to leave her little bubble of tranquility. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to escape before, but every road, every clearing she believed would lead her out of Maine was an illusion, an invisible field of dark magic keeping her trapped inside of Storybrooke like a mouse. 

Jefferson was nearly passed out by the time they reached the wooden door, brown curls of hair plastered to his forehead as he leaned against the entryway. Yet, even in his sleepiness, his right hand still cradled her own tightly, not that it bothered her, really. She’d forgotten how pleasant the feeling of simply holding hands was. 

“Pardon me, Jefferson, I just need to open the door real fast.” Her fingers fumbled with the single bronze key attached to her keychain, the picture of her mom and dad smiling back up at her pausing her for a second before she got it into the lock. 

As soon as the door opened, Jefferson stumbled in clumsily. Y/N tried her best not to cringe as his muddy shoes made tracks over the rugs in the entryway with his soaked clothes dripped with rain. At least he had the good grace to remove his coat from his body and place it on the hooks hung next to the door. But as soon as he did so, he made his way over to her couch, face-planting on the cushions with a loud moan. 

“This is really comfortable,” Y/N caught Jefferson’s muffled voice from the door, locking up the inside with a huff. 

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” she rushed over to her stack of pre-cut wood at the oval fireplace, checking to see if it was dry enough to light up. “You’re gonna be sleeping there tonight.”

His little squeal of excitement was kind of adorable, she couldn’t deny it, and maybe her heart felt a little lighter to share her home with someone even if it was only for one night. The fire rose to a roar of flames quickly after she threw the match in the small bundle of kindle, instantly heating the room up while both of them let out contented sighs at the warmth. When Y/N turned back around, she saw Jefferson staring at the cut-out skylight on the roof of her house. Rain splashed down on the glass so the night view wasn’t too visible, but the sight seemed to entrance him anyways with his comically widened eyes and parted lips. 

It was only when she tried to tug the skirt of her dress down that she realized how cold and wet she actually was. “Jefferson, I’ll be back in two minutes, can you stay still for me?” He quietly mumbled some sort of agreement, and she padded upstairs with the green fabric of her dress sticking to her skin.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to look good for Jefferson, after all he was drunk and could barely seem to keep himself together, but when he woke up the next day, she needed to look somewhat presentable. She grabbed a pair of cotton pajama pants and a large tee-shirt to pull over her head, warming her freezing feet with a pair of fuzzy socks before making her way back downstairs in record time to meet the sight of a sleeping man on her couch.

Jefferson’s eyes were blissfully shut, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin with every breath he took. His hair still had not dried and he shivered in the slightest. Y/N grabbed one of the knitted blankets from the side, a hobby she took up during her time in Storybrooke, and tucked it around his body, watching as his chest rose and fell softly. Hopefully he had found some sort of absolved peace in his slumber, some healing to the ache he was feeling at his loss.

Y/N tucked herself into the chair softly, curling her feet beneath herself and pulling a blanket up to her chin. Her eyes fluttered shut in the dimly lit room, watching over the mysterious man on her couch for just a second, before drifting off to a peaceful sleep and hoping for an equally pleasant morning. 

Her eyes opened after what seemed like seconds, only to be disappointed by the thin streams of soft sunlight coming in through the circular windows. A small whine escaped the back of her scratchy throat as she unfurled herself from the tight ball she’d curled into while sleeping in the rattan arm chair. Despite the sunniness of it all it was still quite a cold morning, and the chill that formed goosebumps to rise across her skin forced her to bring the blanket on her way to her quaint kitchen. 

Her pots of hanging vines and ivy roped across the counters and cabinets, the soft pale orange giving a little shining tint to all of the pans and plates stacked in her glass shelves. In three years she’d built quite the life for her house- easy to do so in a time left frozen, where everyday had just droned endlessly with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It wasn’t very difficult to make a living for herself after the first year, she’d found her happiness in working at Granny’s Diner on the weekends and she’d worked up relationship enough with Granny herself that the kind, older woman let her sell some of her own recipes from her hometown in the place. Ever since then she’d become nearly infamous amongst the breakfast-goers at the diner for her Mayer lemon pancakes, topped with homemade raspberry jam that added just a kick of tartness. 

It was a much better life than what she had ever hoped for. Right out of college she had no plan for her life, with a degree in English that she didn’t know how to put to use. She was lost then. And going home to her family, to live in her old room in her middle class house with her mother and father, was less than she had planned for herself than when she was eighteen.

Still, she was lost in Storybrooke as well. Everything seemed so… off. It was almost too perfect. Almost no crime, it was much too cottage-y to be real, and despite her common everyday life, she knew it wasn’t where she belonged. But there was nowhere else to go. 

With a gentle sigh she rolled her shoulders back, feeling the knots and bones straighten themselves out and stretch. It was nearly nine-twenty in the morning and she felt that with the ever mysterious Jefferson in her living room, she was bound to have an interesting morning. She began her coffee machine, laying a porcelain painted mug under the stream and turning it on. Both she needed it and she knew the man on the couch would too, especially after the amount of drinking he’d done the night before. 

A basket of lemons that she’d picked on the Wednesday before sat on her counter, and she decided to make her lemon pancakes. It was originally her grandmother’s recipe, adding the confectioner’s sugar and syrup into the pancakes to give it an extra woodsy and sweet combination. If Jefferson was allergic to any of those ingredients, well, then that wasn’t her fault. 

She began to chop and peel her lemons, careful to remain graceful and quiet in her movements to not wake her sleeping guest. Yet before she could even finish juicing three of them, she clumsily hit her hand a little too aggressively against the metal bowl that sat right next to her small cookplace. Along with measuring cups and a spatula, the bowl went tumbling to the ground, creating a large amount of clattering and clanging as they hit her tile floor. 

“Shoot, damn it,” she cursed quietly, kneeling down to pick up her mess. 

“What the fu-” 

Back in the living room, Jefferson shot up like a light, his arms steadily holding himself up as he looked around frantically. His heart beat fast and loud, and checking his surroundings, he didn’t know whose fireplace that was, or the chair in the corner, or whose couch he was sleeping on though it was quite comfortable. He didn’t remember this place. He didn’t think he’d ever been here, but who knows. Maybe Regina was finally fucking with his mind so he didn’t have to remember everything.

But he did remember it, so clearly that wasn’t a plausible theory. 

It must’ve been around nine in the morning. At least that was what the light indicated. There was only one hour in the morning where he didn’t feel like dying and it was because the sky looked too pretty to feel that way. His mind was foggy. It hurt.

Oh, it was pounding. Hangover.  

He had gone to the bar and he now remembered the pretty girl Y/N. Pretty name for a girl as pretty as her. He pictured her pretty green dress, and the pretty goosebumps that had scattered across her skin from the cold, and how he had un-prettily proceeded to throw up on her shoes.

He grimaced at the memory. A great first impression.

Before another negative memory could be pulled to the front of his mind, he heard soft padding of feet coming nearer to him. He had a faint idea as to who it was, but at the same time he didn’t want to frighten her or for her to kick him out. He wanted to know how badly he had screwed up the night before. As quickly as he could he fell straight back to his sleeping position, taking the last few milliseconds before she could catch him in her eyesight to tuck the blanket back around his body like a swaddle. 

His breathing leveled out as best it could and she heard her quiet humming over him as she looked down on him.

“Good morning, Jefferson,” He pretended to blink away sleep and finally made sober eye contact with the woman who had so kindly taken him in the night before. Y/N softly smiled from above him. Like an angel descending from the sky, the light formed a ring of brightness around her, and even better, she smelled like something sweet and citrusy and soft, like newly picked lemons from a blossoming tree. But then she smirked gently, her lips spreading wider when she saw straight through his horrid acting. “I know you were awake, there’s no way you slept through that loud mess I made.”

He grinned sheepishly, a boyish thing that sent something aflutter in her chest. “What- what were you making?”

“Lemon pancakes. You want?” She asked, her fingers fumbled with each other, awaiting his response like she was nearly nervous. 

He then found it in himself to let out a genuine smile, the first one he’d had sober in weeks. She mirrored him instinctively, a small giggle leaving her lips at his happier expression. And that was when Jefferson first found his heart beating for a woman for the first time in a long time. The once dead butterflies laying at the pit of his stomach began to flap their wings again, so he laid a signature smirk on his face, settling into a much more relaxed position against the couch to answer her.

“Whatever you’ll give me, darlin’.”

The more that you say

The less I know

Wherever you stray

I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

“And that’s why you shouldn’t trust the Granny Smith apples at Katrina’s stand?” Jefferson smirked, biting into a fresh Granny Smith apple not from Katrina.

“That is not what I said,” Y/N admonished with a grin of her own. “I simply stated that one time I went and there was a worm in the apple I bought! Just being anecdotal today, s’all.”

“I don’t know, darlin’, if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you’re still salty about that experience.” He grinned at how she huffed. “Tell that to the town and that woman is going out of business.”

It had been a few months since he’d woken up in that wispy, sunlight living room of hers. It had been a long few months. 

Not because of the frozen time loop they were stuck in, and not because he didn’t enjoy his time with her. It was because he enjoyed it far too much. He’d forgotten what it felt like to fall in love. The last person he’d fallen in love with was his Grace, his baby, and she was gone. A deep guilt settled in his gut when he thought about how hard he’d fallen for Y/N and at what cost he’d met her for. To him it seemed like some awful trade, that his daughter got taken away but then a gorgeous, kind, sweet woman had walked into his life and taken his heart. 

He had a feeling he couldn’t move on. Occasionally he wondered if anyone else felt that way, knowing that they were taken from their own families as well, but he brushed it off. The last time he’d tried to ask a patron of the bar he’d nearly gotten a black eye for the mere insinuation. 

But Y/N was something else. She understood him because she was trapped. She’d never been in Storybrooke before the storm, she’d only meant to drive through before her world was turned upside down. And after three long years, she’d come to some satisfaction in the life she’d made. So why couldn’t he?

“You’re overthinking something,” she noted, munching on her cinnamon roll. Steam rolled off it in the cool spring air, the scent intoxicatingly sweet as her voice. “What is it?”

“I just don’t understand how you do it,” Jefferson sighed, snatching the pastry out of her fingers. She squawked at his rude intrusion, but still focused on him with her whole being. She knew what he had lost. He’d explained it over lemon pancakes at her house that very first morning, how his wife had died and how his daughter wasn’t his anymore. Y/N had clung on to his every word like a lifeline and comforted him with her baking and her sweet-slick words, easily falling into a simple friendship that had recently developed into something more. “We both lost so much, you’re stuck here with no previous knowledge of what magic truly underlies this town we live in, yet you're the most sane person I know. You’re not under any spell like the rest of them, you’re like me. But you-”

“But I nothing, my darling Hatter,” the woman shushed him, patting his arm and stealing her breakfast back. “It’s a mere matter of circumstance, Jefferson. I got stuck here due to my own stupidity, who was I to be driving in a storm? My family is going on without me and, yeah, it hurts knowing that I may never see them again.”

Her eyes began to ache as she truly thought about her mom and dad and little sister, back home for God knows how long, wondering what happened to her arrival back at their house. “I think I’ve learned to move on with my life. You’ve helped immensely in that.” She shot him a quick grin, wiping off the remaining frosting from her fingers before intertwining them with his.

Jefferson nearly jumped at the contact, the way her soft fingers soothed his scarred ones so delicately. Y/N was an affectionate one, always laying her head against his back when they stood in line for the grocery mart together or leaning on him when they would knit together in the late night, but it was intimate when she held his hand.

Though they’d never dared cross the line, when she held his hand and looked at him with her large, adoring eyes, he could imagine a world where she loved him. One where he wasn’t a piece of shit or hurting and one where she had never seen him drink himself into oblivion, acting like a sad fool. But that could never happen here. Not now. He couldn’t allow it with his kind of baggage. 

He gulped before adjusting the hat on his head and subtly pulling her closer to him. Her body did always run warm, and in the colder spring air he was basically using her as a furnace. At least that was his excuse for holding her close. “Did I really help you, darling?”

She squeezed his hand twice, glancing up to him with the most dead serious expression he'd ever seen her wear. “More than anything else, honey, you eased the ache. You make my life better. You make me better.”

He wanted to tell her the same. That because of her he felt hope. That with nothing but one of her small grins he was sent spiraling into a chasm of her love and care, something he hadn’t felt in so long. It felt good to be around her. She was intoxicating and she didn’t even know it. She made him want to be better. For himself and for her. With her help, he’d stopped drinking so much. He knew his Grace would be thankful for that. And he thought sometimes, in the dead of night and only for small moments, he allowed himself to think that if he ever got his daughter back, that she would adore Y/N more than anything else in the world. In one where she loved him too. And he could have a family again.  

But he had scars. Too many littering his hands and his neck and his memory and mind. Just enough to scar her himself.

So he drew the line again. 

“Just glad to help,” he offered with a pained smile. 

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

As if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring

And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

Y/N’s toes were warming by the fire as she lay outstretched on the newly rearranged couch. Jefferson had come over the weekend before to help her redecorate for the oncoming winter, and she had a hard time believing that it had been nearly a year since she had first sat next to him at the Rabbit’s hole. The week next would make it their official anniversary. November 14. 

She could hardly wait. She had everything planned out, with a picnic in the morning first by the lake, then boating around it in a small gondola-like thing she’d found abandoned in the woods a bit off from her house. November would make for the perfect season, with the chilly air and warm jumpers she could wear now that it was no longer swelteringly sunny. 

The time loop now longer seemed like a curse to her. No, it seemed like a blessing. Because in an outstretched time, she’d been allowed to fall in love with Jefferson. Her Hatter. There was truly no one like him. 

Two knocks sounded at the door and she looked up. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but Jefferson also did enjoy showing up at her house unexpectedly with little gifts of his own. She especially enjoyed it when he brought some mushroom soup with the savory vegetables he found around his mansion. 

“‘M coming!” She shouted towards the door. Her knit sweater had gotten all tangled with the strings of her apron and she grunted as struggled to separate the fabrics before she went to get up. With nimble fingers she tangled out the knots in her hair, realizing that she’d been sitting and reading the whole afternoon and into the night without once checking her appearance.

Y/N slid in her socks over the hardwood floors, grinning at the mere thought of seeing his devilishly handsome face again. But when she opened the door, she came face to face with her Hatter, eyes red and blurry and spit-slicked lips, an expression similar to the first time she’d met him in the bar. A breeze came in behind him and she saw a rainfall brewing too, the trees bending this way and that in the harsh winds. She urgently ushered him inside, grabbing his cold hands with her warm ones and dragging him in the heated house. His tartan cloak was dripping in water, but he seemed to be unfazed by it. 

“Are you okay, darling?” His eyes remained blank and unmoving, so she nodded before parting his bicep. “I’ll make you a cup of tea, you must be freezing. Just make yourself comfy.”

She quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with hot water, chai, and just a drizzle of honey. By the time she got back he was still standing, shivering at the doorway. “Come sit down, Jefferson.”

He nodded before removing his coat, hanging it up on his designated hook that she’d carved for him. He slid his boots off right next to the door and with heavy footfalls, lumbered over to where she sat cross-legged on the right side of the cream colored cushions. With a small whisper of gratitude he took the mug from her, slumping down on the couch, his leg shaking violently as he bit his fingernails. His silver rings shone in the dim lighting of her living room, catching light on the same engravings he’d carved into them almost a decade before.

“She came up to me today,” he sniffed. “My Grace.”

Oh no. It had been a while since he’d seen her. Each time he did he had somewhat of a setback, and each time he did he thought himself to be a bit more mad. But she never did. She knew what it was like to lose the ones closest to her. 

“Paige.” He snorted, a deprecating sound, and took a small sip of the chai tea. “That’s what she’s renamed now anyways, right?”

A flurry of worries tumbled around Y/N’s empty stomach. She hurt for Jefferson, felt his pain not nearly as deeply as him, but enough to make a frown pull at her lips. And though they’d been friends for so long, she still was sensitive when it came to the topic of his family though he’d been brave enough to share the story before. With timid hesitation, she gently asked, “What did she say to you?”

“She asked me why I looked so sad when I was in line at the grocery,” he chuckled sadly. “My sweet Grace. Always worrying about other people and wanting to make them happy.” 

“You raised her good,” Y/N shrugged, rubbing one hand on his knee. “She may not remember you, but one day she will. This curse has to be lifted one day, it’s how all fairytales work out. They end happily ever after.”

“It’s been almost four years, Y/N, this storybook seems to have closed,” he shook his head, “so it confuses me as to why you're still here, Y/N.” 

She was taken aback by the harshness of his words. “What do you mean, darling?” One of her arms tried to wrap around his neck, but he pulled away from her touch, which hurt him almost as much as it did her. 

“Aren’t you sick of me? Sick of this?” He gestured at his reddened, tired eyes and scrambled appearance. “Aren't I subjecting you to a friendship of humiliation?” 

“No,” she answered coolly. “And it hurts me that you think about yourself in that way, ‘cause it’s certainly not how I see you.” 

“And how do you see me, Y/N?” He laughed sadly, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Do you pity me too? Do you think I’m insane? Are you embarrassed when you go out in town with me? Does it tarnish your reputation, being friends with the crazy man at the edge of Storybrooke?”

“How could you ever think of yourself like that?” Y/N strongly accused. “You-you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve known in my life,” she offered quietly. His head lifted up to see her saddened eyes, readjusting herself to her knees and pulling herself closer to him. This time he didn’t back away from her. “You’re strong and you protect me and you’re sweeter than strawberry jam, though you deny it constantly. I know that when you knit me sweaters I enjoy the feel of the fabric against my skin because it reminds me of you. You’ve lost your love before and that doesn’t make you insane. Feeling that,” she placed one of his hands over his chest, right above his pounding heart, “doesn’t make you crazy.”

“My darling, I would follow you to the deepest spots of your mind,” she gave him a small grin, pushing sweaty curls of hair back from his face, “to the tallest, snowiest mountain that you will yourself to climb because I love you, Jefferson.” 

He nearly choked on his own breath. She did? Of all the kindest, most pure souls, he never meant to taint hers. If she loved him it meant that he had sucked her into his greed and affection for her, something he had never meant for. “You don’t love me, Y/N,” he argued faintly, but with each stroke of her nimble fingers, he was already losing himself in her love. “You can’t love me, it’s not good for you.”

“You’re good for me, honey,” Y/N straddled him, her skirt rising to stretch around her knees as she did so. “Jefferson, I’ll take your bad days,” her fingers rubbed circles into his cheekbones, “and your happy ones. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. I’ll take your moments like these and I know that when my days come, you’ll take care of me the same. Because I think that you love me too, darling.”

His heart beat wildly as he stared at her with wide, torn eyes. For the first time in years, he was wide awake. Every part of him buzzed with anticipation, waiting to see if he’d finally let himself love her with no limits. Because he trusted herself with every fiber of his being, there wasn’t a cell of him that didn’t believe her wisdom when it came down to the subject of love. She was, after all, the queen of his heart. And he did love her. More than she’d ever be able to account for.

So he let himself fall, jumping across the rushing river he was so scared to cross before, with all the hope that she’d catch him on the other side.

“I promise,” his hands shook as he held her, as if she would vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. As if the whole moment had been a harsh, cruel figment of his imagination. “I will spend every moment making you happy, giving you everything you need. I’m yours for the rest of our lives, okay?”

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” she shook her head, love and adoration fueling the tears that rose to her eyes. Her heart felt full, stuffed to the brim with the warmth his care brought her. “I just need you.”

The more that you say, the less I know

Wherever you stray I follow

Begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

You know that my train could take you home

Anywhere else is hollow

Begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

Y/N’s hands shook as she cupped Jefferson’s face, thumbs brushing tears off of his cheek. His breath came out shuddering, but even with his sniffly nose and small frown, she still thought he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

Her lips trailed over every part of his face, pressing gentle kisses to his eyelids and temples before she came to his lips, her eyes begging for permission as his warm breath fanned over her face. “Will you let me take care of you?”

His face broke out into a small grin as he nodded, and he brought her lips down to his, relishing in the feel of her lips soothing his. Salty tears were caught between their skin and he whimpered into her mouth when her tongue slipped past his lips. He didn’t know if she could hear it- his heart pounding erratically in his chest or the way his head screamed I love you- but he tried his best to show it as he moved his lips against hers languidly. 

“Please,” he whimpered against her lips. That was all Y/N needed to hear, placing a knee on either side of his lap and slowly rolling down into his hips once, twice, and- oh, she could feel him pressing up into her core through the pants he wore. A smirk played over her lips as she did it again, and this time he slipped his hand under her skirt to the underwear she wore, fingers dragging precariously close to where her cunt was soaking her cotton panties.

Slowly he lowered the material down her legs, and both of them laughed when he couldn't get it out from under her knees. “I’ll get it, baby,” she chuckled softly.

His heart clenched with joy at the new pet name he had been gifted, and watched in adoration as Y/N stripped herself bare to him. Her body, with all its curves and marks and dips, made his heart beat faster, if even possible at that point, watching as her chest rose and fell in front of him.  

“You’re gorgeous, bunny.” As she settled back onto her lap, she had to stop herself from moaning aloud at the feeling of his black jeans rubbing against her clit.

Her fingers trailed over his chest and up to the scarf he always wore, feeling a little seed of excitement begin to sprout before-

Wait.

Hitched breath. Opal eyes wide with what looked like fear as he stared at the opposing digits that threatened to expose him. An air of tension and a sudden rush of cool against her body made the hairs on her neck stand up, and immediately she stopped her movements 

“My love?” Y/N questioned gently. “Can I take your scarf off?”

Oh, he could never say no to her. Jefferson sent a small smile her way, picking up one of her hands and laying a gentle kiss on each of her fingers. It wasn’t much and not a word left his mouth, but his message was clear enough. I trust you. That made her smile giddily, and she pressed their lips together messily once again as she undid the patterned silk, each tug one step closer to revealing skin that he had been so scared to show before.

She’d always been curious as to what his scar looked like after learning of his time in Wonderland, and when she saw the thin line of raised flesh around the circumference of his neck, tears rose to her eyes. She could nearly damn hear the way the beat of Jefferson’s heart sped up as she ghosted her lips over the scar, kissing up the column of his throat until- God, she knew she had hit the spot when he whimpered and unconsciously bucked his clothed hips into her bare cunt. 

He could feel her wetness through his jeans, could smell how much she needed him, and he was not going to be the one to deny her that because he needed her just as bad. 

“You wanna take my clothes off, bunny?” Jefferson asked quietly. 

The process of undressing him was a tedious one to say the very least, with his four layers of shirts (“Yes, baby, I need all of them, it ties the outfit together,” is what he had once argued) and the skin tight jeans, which Y/N wasn’t upset about in the slightest. 

Their love wasn’t serious. Well, for the love they held for each other, yes, that was serious, but the love itself was not. Though they’d never been together in such intimacy before, Y/N and Jefferson felt completely at ease in each other’s embrace. She giggled at the way he huffed when she tried to shimmy his pants off his legs, and revelled in the way his breathing seemed to halt with every button she undid over his chest. Their love was silly, it was full of Jefferson’s groaning complaints about how long it took to take off his clothes and Y/N shutting him up with kisses to his collarbone. 

She finally managed to rid him of all his clothes, nearly scrambling back onto his lap with fervent need. Jefferson chuckled at her readiness but he really couldn’t make fun of her either with his dick, hot and heavy and poking at the inside of her thigh. Precome smeared onto her soft skin and both of them moaned at the little contact, aching for more than just a light touch.

However, the sounds he made as she hovered her entrance over his dick were absolutely sinful, a choked groan amongst the tears he was shedding, because she felt so warm and God, she was just dripping all for him. Her wetness squelched against his cock when she finally lowered herself onto him, and Jefferson decided then and there that there was no better feeling than having her wrapped around his cock. 

“Jesus,” he moaned lowly. Beads of sweat already started to form along his forehead and the euphoria that washed over him brought more tears to his eyes. His brain felt like cranberry pudding, all mushy and gooey and filled with some sort of addictive feeling because he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of it. 

“You feel so good inside me, baby,” Y/N purred, “can I have you like this forever?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

That broke something feral and loose inside of him. 

Jefferson’s hips snapped upwards sharply, the head of his cock hitting her G-spot on the first try and knocking the wind out of her lungs. Her legs trembled and she fell forwards onto his chest for support, arms shakily holding herself up on the back of the couch. “Oh, shit, you’re so deep.”

“Am I.. am I hurting you, darlin’?” He asked warily. His body sat rigid on the couch, afraid of even scarring her body in the slightest.

She shook her head, pulling herself closer to his chest with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her hips slowly rolled over his, making him whimper and tremble under her soft ministrations. “You could never hurt me, honey,” she pressed her lips to his, breathing his woodsy smell in as deeply as she could, whispering her words of adoration into his mouth. “You’re my love, my heart, my man. I trust you with every bone in my body. Do you?”

“You’re the only person I do trust.”

“Then trust me when I say that I want you,” she began to steadily push herself down further on his cock, until she could feel his heavy sac resting right beneath her wet cunt, “deeper.”

Jefferson whined at her lewd words, but obliged to them too. He wasn’t one to deny his bunny of his pleasure. Especially when she looked so innocent spread out across his lap.  

“Take what you want, bunny,” he began to help her up again before slamming her back down on his girthy cock. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Y/N nodded vigorously and got to work, pressing her breasts into his face and sliding up so the very tip of his dick was in her. She held herself there for a moment, relishing in his bated breath and how he held his objection in so obediently, then twisted her hips so she swiveled back down.

Her knees moved the couch as she continuously grew more confident in her movements. And Jefferson, he was in awe of her body, how she flowed with a certain rhythm and made him feel like it was his very first time again. His chin rested against her sternum while she rode him sensually, his glossy blues staring up at her thrown back head as she lost herself in pure pleasure. It was only for a moment that she peered down at him as she bounced on his lap, watching as his mouth dropped and eyes then rolled back into his head every time she sheathed herself all the way in. He was nearly pleading with his whiny words, “Faster, Jesus, f-faster please, bunny.”

Maybe she was a bit too happy to do so, and as her hips sped up, both of them let out completely debauched moans. Y/N was delirious on pleasure, even more so when Jefferson trailed his hands to her ass, kneading the flesh gently before he left open-mouthed kisses up her stomach, her sternum, finally to her nipple and wrapping his lips around it. The whimper she let out filled him with pride, for making her feel this way, and he caressed her skin with his tongue, flicking over the pebbled bud and tugging it between his teeth. 

One hand, he didn’t know or care which one it was, separated their hips in the slightest as he found her center, the rough pads on his fingers rubbing against her clit and creating the most delicious friction. 

“Jefferson, you’re-” she choked on her words, eyesight getting blurry until all she could hear was their heavy breathing. “You feel so good, baby, you feel so good.”

His lips moved to her other breast and he murmured against her skin, words coming out in slow pants. “Are you close, bunny? Wanna come with me?”

She really wasn’t able to give an answer, but from her high-pitched whimpers and the way her walls clenched around his cock he could tell she was bordering the edge of release. Her hips rocked faster, her labored breaths hurrying as both of them chased their orgasms in desperation. “I’m not gonna be able to hold out much longer, bunny- shit, you feel so good wrapped around me. 

Y/N could barely focus on his words, only trying to control her own breathing as white dots danced along her vision. Slowly she was losing power over her own body, feeling her legs tremble against his warm skin as she brought herself closer to release. “Baby, baby, I-” she sloppily pressed her lips to his again, open-mouthed and heavy as her legs began to give out. “You wanna come, baby? Go ahead, fill me up, darlin’.”

“Mhm-” he grunted, grasping her skin. He was only seconds from combusting into flames, and when Y/N’s soft voice carried him away, he drove his hips into her a final time and came with stuttering groans. “Fuck, I’m coming, pretty girl.”

White hot cum spurted out of his twitching head into her walls, spurring on her own orgasm. Her vision became a blank space as she mindlessly whined into his mouth, vigorously trying to rub her clit even faster against his fingers. 

“That’s it, bunny, make yourself feel real good,” his voice was deep and guttural, exhausted after coming hard into her tight cunt. He continued to methodically pad over her sensitive bundle of nerves until she sighed, letting him know that she was coming down. 

The gyrating, seductive rolls of her hips over his slowed down as her eyesight and hearing kicked back in, until her rushing blood in her ears was replaced by the angelic symphony of her and Jefferson’s mingled breaths. 

“Hey,” she grinned against him, pushing herself up from his softening cock. He winced when he pulled out of her but relaxed as she brushed her palm against his sweaty forehead, allowing hers to come rest upon it. 

“Hey yourself,” he chided back playfully. Their noses nudged each other and nothing he did could fight off the smile he wore against hers. He had finally found bliss with her. “God, you’re pretty.” 

“You are too,” she agreed. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her elbows bending to allow her play with the curls of his chestnut hair. While her cunt remained dripping with his come, her intimate bubble of peace with her love didn’t allow her to care about cleaning up. “You, my darling Hatter,” she quickly kissed him, letting the taste of him linger in her mouth for one more moment before speaking again, “you make me happier than anything in the world.”

His arms wrapped around her, clutching her as tight in his grasp as he could like a lifevest keeping him afloat. As long as he had her, he was alive. He was loved. That's all he needed. With her, he learned to survive with their blossoming love.

“I love you, my darling Y/N.” 

She knew everything would be alright with him. And everything would be alright with her. Because he saved her and she saved him, and in a time where frost laid the clock stuck around them, they had all the time and love in Storybrooke to themselves. 

That's my man