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yourobedientslytherin · 7 years ago

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Adventures with the Dad Friend

Hamilton Fanfiction - Revolutionary America

Hercules Mulligan x Reader

Words: 3088

Warnings: none

A/N: Lol, look who’s actually posting original content after almost a year hiatus!! (clue: it’s me) I’ve learned that it’s really hard for me to be creative while I’m in school. It’s almost summer for me, so long story short, I found this mostly finished Hercules Mulligan oneshot in my computer archives and I thought I’d post it just to get back into the groove of creative writing. Lol i haven’t read this in over a year, and I squealed at the end because it was just so darn cute!! ANYWAY, here’s a random oneshot I wrote about Hercules Mulligan and you having an adventure.

Hercules Mulligan.

Many words were used to describe him. His friends called him the “Dad Friend”. His employer called him ��resourceful” and “hardworking”. His sister called him “goofball” or “dork”. The ladies called him “cute” and “funny”, though not necessarily “dateable”. Though he was beloved by all, no one would call him “romantic”, or even “sexy”—least of all, you.

Compared to your other friends, Herc was not outstanding. Alexander Hamilton was sexy, brainy, and driven, spewing quotes from Greek and Roman philosophers and pickup lines in the same sentence, his dark gaze boldly making the ladies blush, including you when he got drunk enough to override his inhibitions. John Laurens had a cheeky schoolboy charm, his freckles and long curly hair pulled back into a ponytail making the ladies’ knees weak as he flirted shamelessly. And the Marquis de Lafayette—who could resist a man with a heart of gold and a sexy French accent? He even had a dazzlingly brilliant smile and could cook better than you.

Hercules, however, intimidated everyone with his booming, authoritative presence. His protective, caring nature prompted everyone to call him the “Dad Friend,” the one who always made sure you had enough to eat or went to bed at a decent hour. He was the one who would interfere when John got too drunk and tried to hook up with a girl, sending both home to their respective beds alone. He was the one who extricated Alexander from a verbal argument-turned-fisticuffs merely by glaring at anyone involved until they solemnly hung their heads and returned to opposite ends of the tavern.

When you were with the group, or alone with either Laurens, Alex, or Laf, you were talkative, excitable, and teased the guys as much as they teased you. With Herc, however, there was only strained conversation and awkward silence. You always saw him as daunting, despite the others insisting that Herc was merely a big—albeit, hard-hitting—softie.

As usual, you found yourself sitting at a table in your favorite tavern amongst the Revolutionaries, who came home from Valley Forge after a harrowing month of battling the British. Your attention was drawn to a table toward the back, where a group of four soldiers were more unruly than the rest of the American soldiers that crowded the tavern. The mixture of whiskey and adrenaline from thinking about the new world order George Washington would lead America into after gaining independence from the British had all four men practically standing on the tables and chairs as they yelled at each other.

“We’re in the place to be!” Laurens exclaimed, taking another swig of his beer and surveying the crowded tavern. American soldiers from all over the continent were crammed into the small place. “Let’s stick it to the redcoats, ‘cause imam pop chick-a pop these cops till I’m free!”

“Oui! Tell the king casse-toi!” Laf added, slinging an arm around Herc’s broad shoulders. “Who’s the best? C’est moi!”

Alex, who was standing on a chair, lost his balance. Hercules caught his arm to keep him from falling on his face and chuckled.

“I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis,” he reminded them, the Dad Friend to the rescue. “But you gotta slow down with the shots, Alex.”

“But, Herc,” Alex whined as Hercules took his glass, “What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot? We have to celebrate this fate and hatch a plan to defeat the redcoats!”

“We will, Ham. Tomorrow morning when we go back to the fighting.” Hercules guided all three drunk guys to sit in their chairs and slumped into the chair next to you, his arm brushing against yours.

“We gotta do somethin’ other than talk ‘bout fightin’?” Laurens slurred, bemused.

“Yeah, John,” Herc said, shaking his head at his friends. “Relax, we’re on a break.”

“I know one thing for certain,” Alex piped up, his attention drawn to the bar behind you. “We’re reliable with the ladies!”

You felt your spirits sink as you realized where the guys were going. You really didn’t want to be left alone with Hercules while the guys shamelessly flirted with anything wearing a skirt. Herc, go with them, you mentally urged. Or someone stay here with us, please.

Your heart sunk as John and Lafayette exclaimed unintelligibly, following Hamilton to where a group of three women stood giggling near the bar. The women giggled at the men’s advances, engaging in pretty gross flirting.

Herc’s eyes studied his friends for a long moment before sat facing you in his seat and took a long swig of his beer. An uncomfortable silence fell over your table as you both avoided eye contact with the other. Your fingers folded the corner of your napkin while his thumb tapped rapidly on the handle of his mug. Your mind raced as you tried to think of something to bring up with the intense, intimidating man.

“So, how’s—the war?” you asked, clearly grasping at straws to start a conversation.

He looks at you, eyebrows meeting for one brief moment before assuming a neutral expression. “It’s good, I guess.”

You nod slowly, teeth working your lower lip. He watches you, expression still unreadable. You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“You were a tailor? Before?”

“An apprentice, actually. I joined the rebellion because I figured it was my chance to socially advance, instead of sewing some pants.”

That was actually a pretty good idea. You had a cousin who’d been an assistant cooper before the French-Indian War. He’d joined the war, risen through the ranks, and gained the title of Captain and a nice piece of land in Virginia at the end.

Hercules took another swig of his beer and looked over his shoulder at Alex, John, and Lafayette. The boys still were flirting with the same women, becoming more touchy as they drank more. He subtly shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” you asked.

“Hmm? Nothing. They’re just getting into trouble again.”

You were silent, studying the group.

“It’s shameful,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear over the cheers as General George Washington entered the tavern.

The general looked almost regal as he stooped through the doorway, hand on the sword at his waist, uniform perfectly pressed and buttoned. The respect his soldiers held for him was evident when a path cleared as the general made his way to where you and Hercules sat.

You and Hercules jumped to your feet.

“General Washington, sir,” you greeted, curtsying to him.

He nodded respectfully at you before returning Hercules’ salute.

Your heart thumped in your chest as the general addressed Hercules, expression cool and collected.

“Soldier, I would like to commend you on your service for this country,” Washington said to Herc. “Your bravery and sacrifice have not gone unnoticed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hercules breathed, cheeks tingeing red at the attention.

The general made his way to the bar to speak with Hamilton, leaving you in stunned silence. Hercules slowly sunk to his chair and gripped the armrest tightly.

“What did you do?” you finally asked, curiosity killing you.

“I…” he started reluctantly, seeming unwilling to boast about his own accomplishments. Whatever he did, it had to be significant enough for the general of the entire Continental Army personally seek him out and speak to him about it.

“Do you smell that?” His eyes darted around as if trying to find the source of something.

You frowned at his changing the subject and reluctantly sniffed the air. The aroma of baked goods cut through the smell of alcohol and sweaty male bodies.

“I do, actually,” you agreed. “It smells like—”

“Sweet rolls,” you and Hercules said in unison, eyes meeting and laughing.

He grinned shyly at you. “Do you wanna go see if we can get some?”

Your stomach growled as if on cue. “Let’s go!”

He followed you out of the tavern and into the brisk evening air. Outside the bustling tavern, the town was silent, save a few souls walking from pub to home. You inhaled the sweet roll-scented air and sighed happily.

“It’s this way, I think,” Herc said, grabbing your wrist instinctually as he dragged you down the street to your left.

Your heartbeat quickened, not only from the fast pace of your steps as you struggled to keep up with his long legs, but also because of the touch of his calloused fingers on your wrist. Where was this sense of attraction coming from?

The bakery he led you to was closed, but Herc had other ideas:

“If we go around back, I’m sure we can snatch a roll from the kitchens. They must have a window or door open—you can smell it.”

“No, Hercules, that’s stealing,” you protested.

“Only if we get caught,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’m too hungry for this debate of morals.”

Your growling stomach agreed.

“Fine,” you said reluctantly, “but we better not get caught.”

He led you around the back of the bakery, where, indeed, a window was open, wafting sweet roll air into the streets. Herc ducked down so he’s crouching at the side of the window, motioning for you to do the same. You peered stealthily into the kitchen and spot the baker, his back to you as he bent over to retrieve another tray of piping-hot sweet rolls from the oven.

Herc apparently saw the same thing because he motioned silently at you.

Stay there, you thought he said with his hand motions and very serious expression. I’ll get the rolls.

You shake your head. No, I will. My hands are smaller and less easily seen. At least, that’s what you hope you said.

He gave you a look and peeked back into the window, just as the baker turns toward the two of you. Hercules flattened himself against the wall and was silent.

Your heart was beating frantically as you copied his movement, watching as the baker methodically removes the rolls from the tray onto a platter on the windowsill to let them cool. Your adrenaline-heightened sense of hearing noted that the baker walked away from the window.

This was the time to make your move.

You risked another peek into the window, noted that the baker is turned the other way, and quickly grabbed two steaming sweet rolls with your bare hands.

They’re very, very hot.

“Ow!” you exclaimed, dropping them on the cobblestones at your feet.

That got the baker’s attention, and he rushed toward you, his face getting redder with each step.

“Hey, just what do you think you’re doing?”

Hercules acted quickly, materializing a handkerchief and grabbing as many rolls as he can.

Just as the baker reached the windowsill, Hercules stretched for your hand and pulled you with him, fleeing the scene of the crime.

“Come back here!” the baker screamed, leaning out the window.

But you and Herc were long gone, disappearing into the misty network of alleyways.

You and Herc breathlessly laughed and leaned against the brick wall of a nearby store, trying to catch your breath. Your heart beat loudly against your chest.

“I cannot believe we just did that!”

“I can’t believe you almost got us caught!” he retorted.

“How was I supposed to know they were so hot?” You inspected your hand for any lingering burn marks.

He merely chuckled and unfolded his handkerchief, revealing one slightly smashed sweet roll.

“There’s only one, Herc!”

“I guess we need to share, then,” he said, smirking when you blush.

Your fingers touched when you both reached for the roll. You snatched your hand back, giving him the chance to rip off a section of dough and hold it to your lips.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you by pushing the pastry into your mouth. You tried to laugh and close your mouth, your tongue accidentally brushing the underside of his finger as your lips close around it. His lips part in shock, and he quickly withdrew, plucking a piece of roll and popping it in his mouth. He let you feed yourself until the pastry was gone.

He tucked the handkerchief into his back pocket and met your eyes again, the corner of his mouth jerking up as he tries to fight it.

“What? Why are you laughing at me?” you asked.

“You have a little something—” he reached out a finger and brushed some sugar from the side of your lips, quickly licking it off his finger—“right there. Got it.”

You blushed again, your cheek burning where he touched it. He seemed to realize what he did and tucked his hands into his pockets, swallowing hard.

That traditional, awkward silence fell once more.

You stared at a point beyond him, watching him carefully with your peripheral vision. He rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lower lip. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You never answered my question.”

“What?” He finally met your eyes.

“Back at the tavern, I asked you what the general was talking about.”

He nodded slowly, a faraway look shadowing his eyes. “Oh, that was nothing. I was just serving my country.”

“But he personally came over and commended you in front of everyone.” You knew you were pushing it, but he was being too modest. “He wouldn’t do that for just any old reason.”

“You don’t want to hear about that, Y/N.”

The way he said your name send shivers down your spine, but you kept pressing him:

“Hercules, come on.”

“All right, fine.” He smirked at you. “You’re persistent aren’t you?”

“Herc!”

“I was a spy for General Washington,” he finally confessed. “A tailor spying on the British government. I took their measurements, information, and then I smuggled it to my brother’s revolutionary covenant.”

Your jaw dropped in shock.

“I was just using my skills to serve, Y/N,” he continued, gently pressing your chin back up with the tips of his fingers. “No need to get excited.”

“I’m not excited, you fool!” You hit his bicep with your fist. “I’m furious! That is so incredibly dangerous! What if you were found out? What would they do to you, a traitor?”

The smirk on his lips died, his eyebrows creasing. He leaned away from you and folded his arms. He didn’t want to say anymore, but you had to know. He was your friend, albeit a new one despite your history as awkward friends-of-friends.

“Did they—discover you?”

His silence confirmed your fears.

“Did they hurt you?”

Biting his lower lip, he slowly shrugged off his jacket and pulled his shirt up, exposing his broad, muscled back. If it weren’t for the irritated red stripes crisscrossing his back, you would have been scandalized by his sudden nudity. Instead, you sighed sympathetically.

“My god…”

You gently touched the part of his back that did not look injured, but he winced away from your hand.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he said, replacing his shirt and jacket with an almost imperceptible grunt of pain.

He was so brave, you realized. He had risked everything to get that information, sacrificed so much. You uncomfortably imagined him being tortured by the Red Coats, the lashes raining down on his broad back as he refused to give up what he knew.

A stray tear streaked down your cheek, and he watched it pensively for a moment before his calloused thumb rubbed it away.

“See, that’s what happens when you up against the ruffians,” he said. “We were in the shit, but somebody had to shovel it. But don’t worry—when you knock me down, I get the fuck back up again. I’ll be fine before you know it.”

You looked at this strong, brave man as if you were seeing him for the first time. His dark eyes held yours this time, refusing to let you look away. His hand gently cupped your cheek, a touch that comforted and turned you on a little. You realized how strong yet gentle this man was. His gruff manner and large body was only a part of who he is. His hand could easily snap your wrist, but he held it gently, guiding it to his chest, right above his heart.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I’d like to kiss you now.”

A smile washed over your face before you could stop it. “Kiss me.”

He leaned down—he was a good five inches taller than you—and closed his eyes, kissing you so gently you felt like a butterfly was ghosting across your lips. He pulled away too soon, making you giggle.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s all you got?”

“I just didn’t want to—” His eyes darkened as you bite your bottom lip. “Fine. As you wish.”

The next kiss nearly caused your knees to buckle. His hand gently gripped the back of your head, tangling in your hair as his other hand pulled your waist to close the gap between your bodies. You wrapped a leg around his thigh as his tongue teased your lips.

But this time you pulled away first, leaving him wanting more but too much of a gentleman to take it from you without your permission. He looked into your eyes with a soft smile and gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart beat faster at the sensual movement.

He cleared his throat, as if just realizing that you two were standing in an alleyway at night.

“We should go back and make sure that the guys haven’t gotten too many drinks splashed on them for their impertinence,” he suggested.

You agreed, and the two of you headed back to the tavern. His hand never left your hand, even when you entered the tavern and found Alex, Laurens, and Lafayette. The guys were too drunk to notice anything out of the ordinary, but as you and Hercules helped get them back to their sleeping quarters, he kept close to you, occasionally touching the small of your back or giving you a knowing look.

After the last of the revolutionaries were tucked soundly in bed, Hercules pulled you to him and kissed you soundly.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Y/N,” he murmured in the dark living room, the gruffness in his voice making your toes curl inside your boots. “We’ll have many nights together. But right now, you should really go to bed. Tomorrow is another day to fight.”

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