HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN LOVELIESSS I HOPE U ALL HAD A GREAT DAY!! HERES A LITTLE SEASONAL ONESHOT HEHEHEH also the main story will be updated soon!! I have a lot of parts written heh just have to connect them

Desc: Fangs, Vampire Thomas >:), reader and thomas r together, reader and thomas make out in a closet, fluff w no plot, hamilsquad halloween party!

TW: mentions of blood, suggestive content (duh its thomas), samuel seabury, charles lee
-
"You're getting pretty good at this, eh?"
Thomas's eyes brightened at the proud little smile that graced your features, even as you tapped him on the face and scolded him to stay still.

"Almost as good as me."

"Wouldn't go that far," you murmured under your breath, dabbing at his eyelid with your brush. The annual King's College Halloween party was the perfect chance to put the makeup lessons Maria and the sisters had been giving you to the test, and there was no one better to experiment on than your eager boyfriend, clad in your matching vampire costumes.

From where you were straddling his torso, you had a perfect view of your masterpiece. Though, anything but begrudgingly, you admitted that very little of it was the work of your own hands.

Bound to some of the wealthiest people in the area, you were hardly even permitted to think about escaping the fanfare of dressing up. There were no half-assed store-bought costumes when you were with the Schuyler sisters. A month prior, you'd been dragged to be tediously measured and fitted, and weeks later, you were holding some of the most elaborate garments you'd ever seen. A flowing poet's blouse, intricate cloak, perfectly tailored vest and slacks, all in the same rich, dark fabric, adorned with gold accents and subtle embroidery, complete with matching accessories and custom acrylic teeth caps from a fangsmith in New Orleans.

The two sets came with only one cane, a fancy, pompous thing. Naturally, Thomas took it. Angelica explained that it was the last one they had, but you suspected that she simply feared you would land yourselves assault charges if it were to fall in your hands.

When the package arrived, amidst the excitement, you'd quietly marveled at your to-be get-ups and thumbed the silks and velvets gently, thinking to yourself that you'd never seen finer clothing in your entire life.

Now, 40 minutes before the party, you were sitting on those very fabrics, giving them a sharp tug whenever your subject got a little too handsy.

Which was often.

Though save for the occasional touches, Thomas was a relatively well-behaved client. He laid still, gazing up at you, and followed your every command, under the condition that you compensated him adequately with kisses.

A large hand trailed up from its hold on your thigh to your waist. "Thomas," your voice held a warning as you felt his fingers travel under your untucked shirt.

"What?" He inquired innocently, another coming up to wrap around your wrist.

"Stop that. We're in a rush."

"You sayin' I'm enough to distract you just with a touch?"

He was more than that, and at his expression, he knew it. You grunted.

"Your hands are cold."

Thomas grinned, even as he retracted his hands dutifully. "Can't blame me for tryin', darlin'. Thou lookest ravishing in thine garments."

A bright laugh bubbled past your lips, then you quickly, albeit with difficulty, killed your smile as you pinched his mouth shut. "Stop talking."

"Ow!"

Looking back down at his face, you almost fumed at how beautiful you found him. Gold jewelry shimmered against his warm skin, which was smooth and dewy on his perfectly sculpted face. His hair had been tied up neatly for the occasion, the dark makeup making the white of his irises and teeth even more striking, deep brown eyes framed with long, fluttering lashes.

Unfair, unfair, unfair, you thought as you brought a tapered brush to his cheekbones. He can't always look this annoyingly good.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the room but him, your partner thought the exact same thing about you. Being pinned down both physically and with your intense, concentrated gaze was Elysium for Thomas as he stared up at you adoringly. Drizzled in your addictive attention, your featherlight touches against his face every few minutes, he was perfectly content being your little experiment, even if it meant exercising some self control to keep still.

You flinched when he suddenly leaned upwards to peck you on the lips. Taken aback, you stuttered, face warm.

"What was that for?"

Thomas settled back down with a self satisfied smirk. "Couldn't resist."

Simply letting out a breath, you returned your attention to his eyelids. He continued.

"Anyways, about the fangs, I wonder what they would feel like when we-"

"I am going to stab you in the eye."

The rest of the application went relatively smoothly, with gentle fingers tracing absent-minded circles on your thighs as you worked. Along with a smear of fake blood and some dawdling, the two of you wrapped up the final touches and went on your way, your makeup having already been done by Angelica.

Fashionably late as always, by the time you arrived, everything was already set up. Cloak sweeping behind you with a flourish, the two of you made your way into the dimly-lit room, until your keen eyes spotted a familiar scarlet-clad figure weaving through the crowd. You smiled, and Thomas lifted a hand in greeting as they approached you, saber gleaming in hand.

"You're late," Maria Clement remarked with a glint in her eye, the other covered with an ornate eyepatch. Her dark eyes scanned you up and down. "Don't the two of you look darling."

"Thank you," Thomas hooked an arm around your waist, turning to you. "Told you it was a good idea." Maria did the same on the other side, provoking a raised eyebrow from your partner over his collar.

"I never said it wasn't."

"You didn't wanna dress up!"

"I was just hesitant! I've never done it before."

Your friend threw her head back in a giggle, gold jewelry flashing with the motion. "Well, now you have, and you look good." She sheathed her weapon with a clink.

Reciprocating the praise, you laid on the flattery lavishly. Not that it was excessive by any means. Maria looked exceptionally well, her red pirate costume perfectly tailored and perfectly elaborate, like get-up of every other person the Schuyler sisters could get their hands one. The plumed tricorne on her head glinted with embellishments as she walked, saber and spurs jangling by her strapped waist. You were unable to contain your fascination with it, and beside you, Thomas stifled a chuckle, which Maria shared.

She smirked. "Wanna try it out?"

Your eyes gleamed. Before you could respond, another voice cut through the chatter of the crowd.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Angelica Schuyler stood before you, hand on hip, in a corresponding black pirate outfit.

"You look sick as fuck," Thomas remarked, which you echoed. She snickered.

"Thanks. Don't give her the sword, Maria."

"Maybe later," Maria whispered to you with a wink.

As the volume in the large room rose, you commenced your journey to the tables on the other side. On your way there, Maria complimented Thomas's makeup over the noise, to which he responded by proudly yelling assent and pressing a kiss to your head. Eventually, you were reunited with the rest of your boisterous friends, who presented their own disguises with fanfare.

Dr. Victor Frankenstein and his monster in the form of Alexander and Aaron Burr already bickering, and Hercules and Lafayette stood as Mario and Luigi. Angelica had insisted that they choose better costumes, but they had stood their ground stubbornly.

"We're getting them custom tailored and ordered and you're choosing to be the fucking Mario brothers?"

"It's funny!"

The frenchman nodded. "I like the Luigi."

John Laurens and James Madison took their places by you and Thomas's side as your respective vampire bats, completing your costumes.

"Hi, Jemmy. Nice wings."

"I dare you to fly with them."

"He already tried," James pointed to John, who was stood high on the snack table with his arms spread, presumably for another airborne attempt. Burr looked as if he wished the bolts embedded into his head were real.

Hamilton approached you in his sweeping doctors coat. "Cool costumes."

"Thanks," Thomas replied loudly.

Alex stared at him. "I wasn't talking to you."

"We literally have the same costume."

"You're ugly."

"This is why you die from pneumonia at the end of the book!"

"I'm not taking shit from a bitch scared of garlic!"

The party progressed as more students filed in. Eliza and Peggy revealed themselves to be astronauts, and throughout the night, you could occasionally catch a glimpse of a helmet flying through the air in a haphazard game of catch. Aaron and James seemed content to engage in peaceful conversation in the corner, and you had been dragged to dance more times thank you'd liked. You'd yelled over begrudging laughs that you didn't dance, and Maria had shouted back that she'd teach you, shoving a drink into your had. You'd barely had a taste when Hercules snatched it and downed the entire thing, disappearing into the sea of people.

Sometime into the party, you found yourself alone amongst the hundreds on the dance floor. For a moment, there was nothing but the booming music reverberating in your skull, and the swaying of bodies around you. The feeling was disconcerting.
Then, like emerging from water, gasping for air, you quickly remembered that you were stuck in the midst of hundreds of people you didn't know, and Dr. Alexander Frankenstein had vanished from your side, taking your phone with him.

Somewhere beyond the main mass of partygoers, a commotion erupted. Your skin prickled with unease. Before you could resort to preparing to fight your way out of the crowd, a faraway, familiar scent of cinnamon invaded the peripheral of your senses. You turned to find your plus one a couple feet away, in the middle of strong-arming his way towards you as politely as possible.

"How'd you know I was here?"

Eyes softening, you discreetly wiped the sweat of your palms on your pants, watching him as nonchalantly as possible.

"Thomas Jefferson, I could smell you from the other side of the country."

He laughed, and the feeling was so unnervingly comforting you felt lightheaded. There was no use hiding your discomfort from the man. Despite your impressively neutral facade, you were massively out of your element, among the bright lights, booming music, and unfamiliar eyes. He knew this, and you knew this- and you knew that no matter how unfazed you acted, the first thing that came to your head on the brink of panic was Thomas. Thomas would save you, Thomas was always there to protect you, and he proved that right every single time, no matter how independent you seemed from each other.

He looked at you once, and the two of you weaved through the crowd, a reassuring hand gripping yours. You squeezed back, pleading that your gratefulness got through. You emerged back at the front of the dining hall and quickly pinpointed the source of agitation.

"Fuck off, Bitchbury! Your Shakespeare costume sucks balls anyways!"

Beside you, Thomas stifled a snicker and you blinked, unsurprised.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Samuel Seabury and Charles Lee had never been particularly fond of each other. At some point, they'd even been enemies, but it seemed that they collectively decided that tonight was the night to change that and form an alliance against their common enemy: Alexander Hamilton and some of his closest.

Which, unfortunately, included you. The more reserved members of your group were nowhere to be found, and the rest watched with tentative grins. Several pairs of eyes swiveled towards your direction at your arrival.

You stared at Lee as he marched up to you. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, you interjected.

"The fuck are you supposed to be?"

He blinked, then scowled. "The joker, fucking dumbass."

"Where's your... makeup?" Thomas squinted, gesturing boredly with his cane.

"None of your fucking business, fruitcake."

Behind him, Alex and his opponent argued fervently about the historical accuracy of the redhead's Shakespeare costume. "If you're gonna be a fucking nerd, at least do it right!" Through the flashing strobe lights and the dim, thick atmosphere, you could see the remnants of facepaint dripping down his neck. It was then that you realized he was completely soaked.

"Did you piss yourself?"

"I pushed his ass into the punch!" Peggy shrieked to you proudly from behind the table. All three of you looked towards her direction just in time to see Alexander throw a well-crafted astronaut's helmet over Samuel's head, tipping the Englishman off of his balance and sending him crashing into another bowl of beverages.

The next minute crashed through the air with pure chaos. Hollers and shoving all around, Samuel Shakespeare sputtering on the floor, Lafayette graciously helping him up. Shouting echoed in your eardrums, Thomas somehow ended up on the other side of the tables, chaperones pushed their way to the front. You caught a brief glimpse of Hamilton celebrating his victory, just to be interrupted by Charles Lee shoving both him and Maria over. He ripped Eliza's helmet out of her hands when she moved to help them up, causing her to stumble, and it was then that you decided you'd had enough, and the sentiment was apparently not present in yourself alone.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

In an incredibly rare instance of collaboration, Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson shared a conspiratorial glance. Then, moving with the well-oiled efficiency that presented itself exclusively in a hasty friendship in the midst of mayhem, Alexander scrambled to his feet. As soon as he wrestled the helmet out of Charles's hands, he passed it to Thomas, who passed it to you.

A heartbeat stretched into an eternity as the reflection of disorderly faces warped and twisted in the visor, glimmering before you.

Then your palms made solid impact with the helm. You slammed it over Lee's head, pushing him into Samuel, who fell into the punch once more, and then leaping across the table, you grabbed Thomas's hand, and ran like hell, crowd parting and closing behind you.

You vaguely remember another wave of uproar with  Hercules laughing maniacally as Charles Lee screamed after you, green wig sliding down his newly drenched, sticky face, which was red and turning purple. A pompous, British-accented voice shrieking bloody murder echoed through your head as you fled the scene, dashing through halls, and the reassuring hand in yours was the only constant in your escapade.

-

Your pounding heartbeat relented ever so slightly, revealing the odd relative quiet in the dankness of the storage closet. You gasped for air as Thomas scrabbled for a light switch.

"Don't," you muttered windily , sliding down the wall. "They'll find us."

"They'll find us anyways," he wheezed back.

You shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "Then at least we'll have some time before they do."

"You implying there's something you wanna do in here, doll?"

"Do you always have to turn it into something? That didn't even make sense."

Chuckling breathily, he settled down somewhere near you. "Ow." He muttered as he hit his head on an unknown object.

You snorted.

A momentary silence fell between the two of you as you recovered. As a steady airflow returned to your lungs, your vision slowly adjusted to the darkness.
Surveying your surroundings as best as you could, you tensed at a touch against your skin, then relaxed as you felt a familiar hand on yours for the third time that evening.

"Can I sit here?"

Huffing lightly, you inclined your head. "You don't have to ask."

Thomas hummed. "Felt like I should."

"We're a little past the point of being courteous, don't you think?"

The chatter in the background reminded you of the mess you'd left behind, but you couldn't find it in yourself to even spare a thought on it when your companion carefully pressed himself to your side, brown eyes glittering attentively through the veil of darkness that pooled around your solitary forms. He cupped your cheek, and you tentatively leaned into his touch.

"Are you hurt?" You murmured suddenly. Your gaze flickered to the side once, almost bashful. Thomas's lips parted, and his voice was surprisingly mellow when he replied.

"...Nah, 'm fine. Are you?"

"No." Another pause. "You think the others'll be okay?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Hamilton'll handle it."

The lilt of amusement was palpable in your voice. "You seem awfully confident about that."

"If there's anything I trust him to do, it's to kick Seabury ass. Can we please not talk about Hamilton like this? He's ruining the mood."

Thomas felt his heart stutter when a vernal laugh crept past your red-stained lips, and you gingerly pressed a kiss to his palm, murmuring against his skin.

"Thanks for helping me out back there."

"Back wh- oh. Yeah, that's what I'm here for, darlin'."

A lopsided smile quirked at your lips. "Short term memory loss?"

Suddenly, he was close, too close, and you could do nothing but feel his hot breath on your lips, awaiting something that you didn't even know you were waiting for. "That's just what you do to me."

You swallowed thickly, feeling him tilt your chin up. Before you could react, he swept your legs from beneath you with the cane he apparently hadn't somehow lost along with his cloak and hair tie. It clattered briefly to the ground, coming to a rest somewhere under a shelf. You caught yourself automatically, and he fell against the cool wall with your hands caging his broad chest, pinning him in place. Whatever protest you had died in your throat when you got the first good look at him since your little escapade, and you had to catch your breath all over again.

"What...What are you..."

Thomas laughed out breathlessly. "Got you."

"You-"

"We're not in a rush now." His eyes gleamed, almost challenging you to make a move. You grumbled under your breath, caving.

You sighed into the kiss as your mouths finally met. The rumble of amusement in his warm chest quickly escaped as a choked inhale when Thomas felt you reach up to his hair and grip firmly, inky curls twining through your fingers. Having no scruples in taking advantage of the opportunity to deepen the kiss, you swallowed the deep groan elicited when you let your fangs graze against his plush bottom lip, hazily noting the lack of resistance on his end.

When your charismatic, confident partner nearly whimpered as you pressed further and tugged his hair harder, you drew back in barely-concealed surprise, a strand of glittering saliva connecting the two of you, skin growing warm at the sight.

Thomas Jefferson gazed up at you pleadingly through thick eyelashes, half-lidded pupils blown wide and dewy. A sliver of light emitted from the cracks of the door cradled his face, his breath escaping his swollen lips in needy gasps, hair and clothes becoming more disheveled by the second. His face felt ruddy and warm under the pads of your fingers — almost too warm.

"Are you drunk?" You managed.

"Just... A little..." He rasped. You swallowed again, dizzy on warmth and cinnamon cologne.

"You- Is this okay then? We can st-"

"Yes, " he blurted, his grip on your thighs searing and yearning. "Don't- Don't stop... I knew you'd take care of me... please..."

Taken aback, all you could do was hungrily press your lips to his once more, but just as his eyes began to close, footsteps suddenly emerged in the farthest reaches of your hearing, the chattering of the ongoing party returning to your peripheral. And based on the sticking noises of what you presumed to be fruit punch-coated shoes to linoleum as the individuals walked, accompanied by muffled curses and threats, you were decently confident about the identity of the footsteps' owners.

Thomas almost cried in frustration as you pulled away again, only for him to choke on his own breath as your mouth latched onto his neck, mouthing a silent order to be quiet as your pursuers drew nearer still. As your teeth lightly sank into his neck, a strangled mewl rose in Thomas's throat. He bucked his hips up against yours, expelling a soft groan from your perfectly bowed lips that was more euphoric than any substance, and you gripped his hip firmly to keep him in place.

Thomas had to bite his lip to keep himself silent.

Your eyes were keen as you pressed ravenous kisses to sooth the tender skin, feeling your lover shudder and sigh helplessly as the footsteps stopped seemingly right outside the door.

You treated him like an experiment, biting and sucking his most vulnerable spots with deadly precision, grazing your teeth along his pulse point as he whined and squirmed underneath you, musing to yourself about his newfound sensitivity. Every reaction you sprang from him you made an effort to wring out again, all whilst still expecting him to remain silent, like he wasn't on the verge of insanity.

It was horridly unfair, and Thomas despised how much he enjoyed it. 

After what felt like an agonizing amount of time, the two searchers retreated, and without giving Thomas so much as a chance of reprieve, you captured his lips again.

In his incapacitated state, a state only for you, from you, he could do nothing but helplessly grip fistfuls of your clothing, not having half the mind to even lament the trembling mess you'd reduced him to. The tantalizing way your tongues slid against each other's, sharp teeth clipping along his lip—it was too much, it was ALL too much, the live-wire feeling of being wholly consumed by you, your touch, taste, and scent burning him inside out.

The feeling of losing control was so foreign, so raw to him, and there was no one he trusted himself more to than you, and you felt it in the trembling, adoring kisses he pressed to your face when you separated, panting, no doubt smiling like fools.

You thumbed his cheek, cleaning up his smudged makeup, smoothing over glossy, unshed tears as his eyelids fluttered closed, your touch as gentle as the sweetest gale.

"I love you," Thomas murmured before you could speak, drinking in the sight of your flushed appearance, always slightly taken aback by his declarations of affection, like the desert receiving its first drops of rain in months.

"I love you too," you breathed simply.

-

Some might've called your emergence from your little hiding spot a walk of shame, but there was not even the shadow of shame present in your carefully impassive expression and your partner's smug smile. He grinned almost dopily, even as you received the lecture of a lifetime, disheveled hair, ruined costume and marked skin telling anyone who so much as glanced in his direction what happened over the almost-30 minutes of your disappearances.

There was no shame present throughout the clean-up you, Hamilton, and associates were forced to do for your "unacceptable, immature, borderline criminal behavior," even as you and Alex were ultimately kicked out for dueling with mop handles.

And there was definitely no shame present when Thomas came strutting out of the heavily-decorated building to pick you up, his gaze so intensely reverent you had to look away.

Behind you, Hamilton made vomiting noises.

"Hey doll, so about these fang attachments-"

"Enough."

-

You gotta be one SICK mf to like submissive men *i cough and wheeze until i hack blood, running a fever of 4000°C, sneezing at an unprecedented pace*