To Let Everyone Know:

Francesca‘s Master-list

| A organization collection of stories i’ve written, and ones yet to come |

Hamilton

Thomas Jefferson (x reader)

Beyond Monticello (complete) - One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.

Listen before I go (complete) - One

Alexander Hamilton (x reader)

What we leave behind (complete ) - One, Two

Jamilton (Jefferson x Hamilton)

Quiet evenings (complete) - One

Always

thomas j. x reader

Modern, soulmate au

Warnings: swearing, second hand embarrassment and rushed writing

Soulmates are tied by having the song of whatever they’re listening to written on your wrist. So what happens when you realize your soulmate is the man you deemed ignorant, annoying, and conceited?

Wc: 5.8k

Notes: Stan marsh mentioned??!

No. 1 Party Anthem — Arctic Monkeys

That’s what your soulmate was currently listening to. You’d know because the words were inked on your skin. They’d change in a few minutes, when the song came to an end.

But that’s how it worked with soulmates. Whatever music they were listening to would be written on your left wrist, then erase out into the next song. Sometimes you’d have the emptiness of bare skin, but your soulmate seemed to really be into music. His taste varied from all sorts of genres—country to rock to death metal, and the occasional Chappell Roan or Laufey thrown in there.

Any time you were bored, you’d compile his songs into a Spotify playlist titled “my love” where you’d listen to his songs and dream of him. It was over fifty hours long. Maybe he listened to so much music so that whenever he met you, he’d know. You tried to do the same, but you’re the type of person to listen to the same songs on repeat until you find new ones.

You sighed, gently running your right hand over your left wrist where the words were. It was your first day of college, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was when you’d meet him.

It was colder than you predicted, so you armored up with an oversized grandpa sweater and leggings. It covered up your soulmate’s song, but you figured you’d know when you met them. People reported feeling a pull to their destined lover.

After trudging through the crowded campus and struggling to find your lecture hall, you eventually entered introduction to philosophy.

Ten minutes late.

Thankfully, the professor didn’t seem to mind (or even notice you for that matter) and you humbly snagged a seat at the top row. The guy next to you gave you a nasty side eye, one-hundred percent judging you for being slightly late.

You gave him a dirty look back and tried to catch up with what Professor Marsh was saying. He seemed to be going on about the syllabus and what his teaching would entail. He yapped a little more, but you were still hung up on the fact you already managed to harbor stares from the curly haired man sitting mere inches from you.

Professor Marsh stopped to pass out a paper you weren’t entirely sure what for, and encouraged the class to talk with those around you. He emphasized becoming acquainted with your neighbors because they’re who you’ll be debating on different philosophical views, and a group discussion would be necessary for your grade in this class.

Begrudgingly, you glanced at the guy next to you. He was the only person sitting near you, save for the person in front of you already in conversation.

“Hello.” You said, forcing a sweet tone. His eyes held amusement as he studied you.

“So you’re just gonna act like you didn’t death stare me earlier?” When he spoke, an unexpected southern accent filled his words.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “As if you didn’t side eye me. C’mon, man, I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.”

“Are you always late to your classes?” He tilts his head, a stupid smirk playing on his lips.

“In my defense, this campus is huge and this is the first time I’ve been late to a class ever. I am a rule follower through and through.” You pledge your hand up.

“Ah, okay, so you’re the biggest nerd in here. Got it.”

“Wh—you can’t make impractical assumptions like that. You don’t know anything about me.” You huffed, a frown spreading on your face.

His eyebrows shot up as he gave you a pointed look. “You’re wearin’ a grandpa sweater. I don’t need to know anythin’ to figure you were probably a hall monitor.”

Lucky guess, you deduced. So what if you were that good of a student that admin appointed you a hall monitor? That’s nothing to be ashamed of. And he was wearing an ugly magenta sweater, anyway, so he has no room to talk. Despite that, your cheeks grew warm and you squirmed uncomfortably, glancing at Professor Marsh to see when he would finally reach your row.

“Grandpa sweaters are cute,” you say, “and you seem like the type to be that loser who was always in detention, anyway.”

He gave you a bored stare. “That the best you got? Seriously, grandpa, you gotta think quicker than that.”

“Don’t call me grandpa,” you snapped. He barked out an airy laugh.

“Then tell me your name.”

“Why should I?” You frowned deeper. “All you’ve done is belittle me the moment I stepped into class.”

“Because I want to know who I’m gonna be spendin’ the rest of this semester sitting by.” He deadpanned.

“Who said I’ll be sitting here tomorrow?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, you’ll be sitting here. I’m way too charming for anyone not to.” He grinned, causing an extreme eye roll on your behalf.

“How conceited of you,” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“If conceited is synonymous with incredibly hot and captivating, sure.” His smirk widened, and you swore in that moment, you could’ve hurt a man. You seriously considered it, but bit those thoughts down since it was the first day.

“Keyword: if.” Your jaw tightened.

He was enjoying this way too much. The boisterous laughter and arrogant smile said so.

“So your name?”

“Up yours, asshole.” You snarled. He didn’t respond. Instead, his triumphant smirk grew wider, his whole face lit up in a beaming glow. You followed where his eyes led, which was to a presence behind you.

“I’m glad you took my advice on becoming acquaintances with your peers,” Professor Marsh said. A small stack of papers was held in his hands. You winced, glaring at the annoying stranger next to you.

“I’m sorry, Professor, he—“

“Don’t apologize. I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason to refer to your classmate as a derogatory name,” he sassed, “next time, please refrain from calling others asshole.”

He handed the paper to you and another to the absolute dickwad sitting next to you. You watched Professor Marsh retreat to his desk, speechless from what the hell just happened.

“So I’m assuming I don’t get to know your name?”

His grating voice brought your attention back to him. You turned sharply, a murderous intent in your eyes.

“You.” A seething glare pierced through him. “You got me in trouble, you motherfu—“

“Ah, you can’t say no-no words,” he teased, holding up a hand. God, you wanted so badly to rip that cocky smirk from him. It genuinely made your blood boil, and your hatred almost pulled you to him. Probably because it wanted you to kick the shit out of him even though he was bigger and stronger than you.

“You are insufferable. And I hope I never have to see or converse with you ever again.”

“Well, someone’s cranky today.”

“Well, someone needs to shut the fuck up.” You bite back in a tone equally as sarcastic, if not more.

He was about to respond when Professor Marsh started speaking again. You gratefully averted your attention back to the subject of philosophy. He droned on for a little while longer about the history of philosophy and asked somebody what the point of taking this class would be.

Before anyone could raise their hand, asshole shot his hand up eagerly. You groaned, closing your eyes slightly.

“You, in the back,” Professor Marsh nodded. Asshole ahemed, straightening up to make his presence louder.

“She knows the answer,” he says, pointing directly at you. Fresh sets of eyes were laid upon you, and you grew hot under all of the attention. You slumped a little in your seat and glared at asshole, observing the satisfied smile he had and the utter joy in his eyes.

“Yes?” Professor Marsh waited patiently for you to respond to his question.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, “to discuss multiple points of views on questions with no right answer…?” You spoke reluctantly.

The ravenette instructor nodded, “that’s right. Mostly. Philosophy has no right answer, it’s a string of never-ending thoughts pertaining—“

“You dick,” you whispered aggressively to Asshole. He snickered, keeping his voice low.

“I said you knew the answer, didn’t I?”

“At the risk of embarrassing me in front of everybody! Have you not had enough satisfaction from tormenting me already?!”

He gave you a lame shrug, which really did nothing for you. “Guess not.”

You couldn’t wait to get out of this class already.

—

You shoved both AirPods in your ears as you walked across campus, blasting High and Dry by Radiohead. It was a week into your freshman college experience.

So far, it’s been shit.

You’ve already made an enemy with the guy in your into to philosophy class (who you still didn’t know the name of), your favorite sweater got soiled from getting beer spilled on it, which was your fault for wearing a sweater to a frat party anyway, and you hadn’t encountered your soulmate like you hoped.

Safe to say you were completely crushed by the outcome of college. It wasn’t the time-of-your-life party you imagined. No, it was full of copy paste sorority girls and frat bros who talked grossly about women. The food in the dining hall sucked, and you were too broke to afford groceries.

The only positive experience was meeting your dorm mate: Eliza Schuyler.

She was an incredibly sweet girl, and a genius, too. She had an almost mother-like quality to her which drew you in to want to know everything. Thankfully, she seemed to like you as well, and you quickly became close. Mostly because you’re living in a cramped room with little to no privacy, but that’s besides the point.

Lucky for her, she came back on the second day, her heart pouring with excitement. She met her soulmate, a man by the name of Alexander Hamilton, in her English course. You congratulated her and ignored how you felt like the living version of Falling Behind by Laufey.

You glanced down at your wrist. Casual — Chappell Roan.

Ah, it was one of those days.

Sometimes your soulmate had episodes where he listened to nothing but sad, angsty songs about love. Mac DeMarco seemed to be a popular choice with him, and you wished you could hold him in your arms already.

The familiar family-owned coffeehouse came into view. You breathed in the scent of rich coffee and pastries, an instant hunger hitting you, and jumped into line and patiently waited your turn behind all the other caffeine deprived college kids. After placing your order and waiting at a small, two seat table, the sound of a dreaded voice broke your peace.

It took a minute to realize that voice was directed at you.

“—ndpa? Long time no see.”

Your breath hitched and you took out an airpod, coming face to face with Asshole himself.

“Oh great, it’s you,” you grunted, setting your phone on the table. The screen turns on to flash Dreams by Fleetwood Mac, and asshole glances down at it, an immediate unreadable expression crossing his face.

He tugs a little at his left sleeve, his usual cocky demeanor dropping ever so slightly. “Happy to see you, too.” He mumbled.

You quirked an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “I guess I won’t be staying much longer now that you’re here.”

“W-well, you don’t have to leave ‘cause of me,” he stammers almost urgently. This made you pause. He wanted you to stay? “I only just got here. Wanna talk to you.”

“…Why? You hate me,” a scoff escaped your lips. Genuine confusion was plastered on your face. Why is he acting all suddenly nice—wait, you know why. He just wants to find more ways to berate and argue with you as if him countering every word you speak in philosophy isn’t enough.

“Now, I never said I hate you or anythin’.” He reasons, a nervous smile hinting on his full lips.

“Weird. I’d think after you calling me grandpa and blatantly suggesting I’m stupid every day would give off that vibe, but I guess I was wrong.” You deadpan. His shoulders drop, and a small scowl forms on his face.

“I’m bein’ serious. I don’t hate you, and I really do think we should get to know each other.”

You take a moment to stare at him, examining the sincerity on his features to the stubble he had growing to the dark curls that fell over his deep espresso eyes. “Why?” Was all you could manage to blurt.

“Because,” he huffs, “I just do. With us bein’ close in Stan’s class, I figured we should at least know each others names.”

“Okay, first of all, don’t call him Stan you freak, and second of all, you would know my name if you cared enough to pay attention. But you always have a headphone in, so how could you be?” You batted your eyelashes, venom in your tone.

“He doesn’t care if we call him Professor Marsh or Stan! It's not weird to call college professors by their first names. Besides, it’s way easier to say Stan than Professor Marsh. And I wear headphones so my soulmate—“

“Order for Y/n?”

The barista cut him off, her voice dominating the crowded shop before it hurriedly went back to its chattery state. You sighed, standing up and making your way over to the counter. Latte in hand, you start to move out the door, not bothering to say goodbye to Asshole.

But he didn’t seem ready to say goodbye yet. He followed after you, ignoring the fact his coffee was being made and he likely wouldn’t get it.

“Wait! Not even a hug bye?” He jokes. You didn’t laugh.

“Why are you still talking to me?” You groan, clutching the warm liquid in your left hand.

“Y/n, huh? I’m Thomas,” he says, ignoring your question completely. You rolled your eyes, picking up the pace. His long legs easily kept up with you, however, so it didn’t really do all that much.

“Awesome. Now can you leave me alone? You know my name, what else is there?”

“I’m sure there’s a lot else to you if you’d just let us have a nice, civil conversation.” He grunted, falling into step with you.

“And ruin our rivalry?” You give him a sickening smile. He fights back a mocking face.

“Our rivalry is dead. This is the beginning of a friendship,” he declares. You laugh in his face.

“Sure it is.”

“I’m serious! Why don’t we set up a little hang out sesh, hm? Go to the library, finish up that paper Stan assigned?” He suggested.

“Again, calling him Stan,” you sighed. “But I suppose a little time studying in the library wouldn’t hurt. I know I’ll regret this, but if it’ll make you leave me the fuck alone, I’ll agree.”

“Perfect! Just give me your number and I’ll text you when,” he smiles, and for a moment it looks good on him. Then you remember it’s Thomas you’re thinking that about.

“God—you better not annoy me or I’m blocking you.”

“I would never.”

—

Thomas had planned to meet you later that night around 7. The library closes at 10, so it gives you plenty of time to get the paper done. If you worked non-stop without much distraction, that is. But being with Thomas might dismantle that idea.

For the time being, you shuffled into your dorm, greeting Eliza with a smile. She was talking on the phone with Alexander. Must be nice, you thought.

To have met your soulmate already from chance.

You stayed quiet while she finished up the call, telling him she loves him. Fuck, dude, you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear those words. But they were always at someone else, never directed at you.

“Hey.” She grinned, setting her phone down.

“Hey yourself,” you replied. The latte you were previously drinking was nearing emptiness, so you finished it off and tossed the paper cup.

“No luck today?” She tilted her head, sitting on the edge of her crappy mattress. A small frown formed on your face.

“Nah. But that annoying guy in my philosophy was at Café Serenity and somehow got me to agree to study in the library with him.” You moved to sit on the edge of your bed, facing her. “I did finally figure out his name, though. It’s Thomas.”

“Thomas Jefferson?” She asked, eyes going a little wide.

“I don’t know his last name,” you shrugged, “if Thomas Jefferson is an arrogant shithead, then probably.”

“From what I heard he is. Alex keeps ranting about this guy named Thomas Jefferson, so if it’s the same person…yikes.”

You scoffed, “That’s not at all surprising. Thomas always argues with any point I make. It’s irritating as fuck.”

“And you’re going to study with him, why?”

“I don’t know! He wouldn’t hop off so I just agreed to make him shut up.” You slipped your hands up in defense.

It really was a stupid decision to say yes to him, even worse that you gave him your number. His confidence and stubbornness caused you to cave, although you really didn’t want to. You had no desire being around him.

You may not know much, but you do know that Thomas Jefferson is an exasperating, egotistical piece of shit.

“I have to go. Washington locks the door the moment it turns ten, so lord knows if I want to get to actually learn today I have to hurry.” You rolled your eyes, sighing heavily.

Professor Washington was your English professor, a damn good one at that, but he was strict. Not in a mean way, but he did enforce school rules and a rigorous grading policy. Man would not accept work a second late or if it didn’t meet the word requirements.

“Okay. I’ll be out with Alex tonight, so tell me how it goes with Jefferson,” she smiles sadly.

“I will. And make sure to use protection,” you grimaced. She laughed, telling you to knock it off and hurry to your lecture, which you did.

Thankfully, your speed walking did you good and you took your regular seat next to Aaron Burr. He was a quiet man, very respectful and polite, yet held himself with confidence. You knew you’d be friends the moment you first spoke to him about soulmates. He wasn’t listening to music at that time, and when you checked your wrist it had Love Yourz by J. Cole written on it.

So that ruled him out as your soulmate.

You became friends anyway, and shared feelings of excitement on when you’d meet your soulmate and how you wondered what they were like. He said he had a feeling as to who his was, but he needs to talk to her and figure it out for sure. Said he saw a glimpse of her wrist and it had the classical music song on it. Only Burr would be the type to listen to Mozart unironically.

“How’re you liking 1984?” He asks, referring to the book he recommended.

“It’s actually not bad. It’s not what I expected, but I do like it so far.” You reply, giving him a light shrug. He smiles and nods, and shortly after class starts.

—

You didn’t dress for the rain.

You didn’t even know it would rain.

So after pulling up to the library, drenched and miserable, you beelined for the bathroom to dry everything with shitty paper towels.

All they really did was dry your face and hands. The rest of you—your clothes, your hair, your shoes—was soaked and uncomfortable.

Thomas texted you asking if you arrived alright, and you replied with a bitter “give me two seconds.” After that, you inhaled sharply and walked back out. The library was pretty empty, but it was a Friday night so that wasn’t unusual. Aside from the librarian and the burnt out sophomores in the corner, it was just you and Thomas.

His eyes widened when he saw you, and he stifled a laugh. An immediate distaste bubbled inside you.

“Fuck off,” you growled, sitting across from him. He snickered a little more before collecting himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you okay? You must be cold,” he apologized, leaning forward on the table.

“I’m fine. I won't be staying long, considering I’m cold and wet and really want a hot shower.” You hugged your arms over your chest in a pathetic attempt to warm up.

A genuine frown spread on his face, and he stood, shrugging off his jacket. “Here, you need it more than me.” He held out the vintage jacket to you.

You stared at it, blinking, unable to form words. Why was he being sweet? You thought he was supposed to be a self-centered asshole, just like you assumed and like Eliza told you, but he was offering you his jacket.

“I…thank you, but it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” You decline after a prolonged silence.

“I insist,” he replies, circling around the table and draping the jacket over your shoulders. He smiled, staring down at you with a softer intent. You glanced at his wrist to see if his soulmate was listening to anything, but it was empty. “There. Now we can start.”

He retreats to his seat and pulls out a laptop, and you do the same. Fortunately, the laptop was safe from the rain but the rest of your bag was not. He starts up a conversation about the details of the paper, but you couldn’t focus.

How could you when his jacket smells like sandalwood and vanilla? And how could you focus when you liked the feeling of his jacket being around you?

You had to force those thoughts down. He’s not your soulmate. He probably already found his, and he was just doing this to be nice. But still, you had to ask. So you did.

“Have you found your soulmate yet?” You blurt.

A twinkle of amusement shines in his eyes, and he promptly pulls his hands off the keyboard. “No. Have you?”

“Not yet,” you reply dryly.

“Why do you ask?” He tilts his head, crossing his arms, and your gaze trailed to his toned biceps and forearms. Fuck, and his chest did that dip thing where—focus, damnit!

“I was just wondering. You’ve never said anything about her, so…” you shrugged.

He nodded, scanning your features. “Well, do you want to talk about her? You seem interested.”

“What kind of music does she like?” You ask, causing him to look down at his left wrist.

“Right now she’s not listening to anything,” he starts, “but she’s really been obsessed with Radiohead lately. It’s weird, but whenever I see a new song, I add it to a playlist so I can listen to it.” His eyes crinkle into a grin.

“No way, I do that too! It’s not weird.” Despite every urge telling you not to get comfortable with him, you do. A wide smile spreads on your face and you perk up a little.

“Really? What’s he like?” He pulls out his phone, probably to show you the playlist. You retrieve yours as well, scrolling until you found it.

“He listens to so much. It’s actually insane. Nothing right now, I guess,” you frown slightly at the emptiness on your arm.

“My soulmate listens to the same four songs on repeat, I swear. Then when she gets tired of it, she moves on to the next.” He rolls his eyes fondly, scooting his phone across the table for you to see.

Shit, this playlist had like, every song you listened to.

“…She has good taste,” you reluctantly speak, eyebrows furrowing. There’s no way…he can’t be. Right?

You turn your phone over to him, and he scrolls a little, eyes widening with each song. Then, a grin overtakes him.

“I have a lot in common with him.” He said.

“Do you?” You mumble in almost a trance-like state.

“Mhm.” He hums, voice low as he starts again. “Maybe we oughta check to be sure we ain’t each others soulmates.” A deep laugh escapes him, and a breathy one leaves you.

“..Yeah, we should.” You pull out your AirPods, as does he, and you put on Vienna by Billy Joel. He puts in his right airpod and scrolls until he clicks on a song.

Reluctantly, dreadfully, and anxiously, you check your left wrist.

Always by Daniel Caesar.

He checks his then shows you it. Sure enough, it says Vienna on it.

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, showing him your wrist as well. “You’re my soulmate.”

“I knew it,” his grin grew wider.

An almost instantaneous bitter rage overcame you. “What do you mean you knew it? How long have you known?”

“Relax,” he motions his hands for you to calm down, “I had a gut feeling this morning but I wasn’t sure. This is great! I’ve waited—“

“No, it’s not,” you interrupt, abruptly standing.

“What?” His face fell. Literally, you watched the excitement dissolve into confusion then hurt.

“It can’t be you.”

The words left you before you could process what you were saying. Shit, you didn’t want to say that. You didn’t want to watch his heart visibly break. How could you just deny your soulmate like that? He was supposed to be yours from the start. You were literally meant to be together, since the moment you came into this world.

It was supposed to be you and him. And yet here you stood, telling him no.

“What do you mean?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. He looks like he just got hit by a truck, like he got stabbed repeatedly in the heart.

“I should go,” you mutter, grabbing your bag and shoving the laptop in it. Tears pricked in your eyes, and you blinked them back. You needed time to process this, to come to terms with the fact that this man you absolutely despised was who you’re expected to spend the rest of your life with.

“Wait, Y/n, please,” he calls, rushing to pack up his belongings before chasing after you.

You ignore his pleads and step back into the storm, shielding your bag from the rainwater. He follows after you, shouting out your name, but you trudged through the rain. Eventually, he sighed, dropped his stuff, then sprinted to catch up.

You gasped when his hand met your arm, swiveling you to face him.

“Thomas! What’re you—“

He cuts you off by smashing his lips to yours. You let out a muffled gasp before your instincts kick in, and you find yourself kissing back.

And now you feel it.

The pull.

What other people described when they met their soulmate for the first time. The immediate attraction that they’re supposed to feel, yet somehow, you didn’t feel it upon interacting with him. But now…now you feel it.

Full force desire. Want.

His hands moved down to your lower back and waist, dragging you closer to him. Rain trickled down from the top of your head to cover every inch of you and Thomas, and yet, it felt like it was only you and him in the world. Nothing else seemed to matter except the heightened awareness of the fact you were pressed against your soulmate. It was bliss.

Then the bliss was over.

“Thomas…” you whispered, pushing off of him.

“Y/n,” he whispered back, his tone low and it made you feel all sorts of things.

“I need time,” you say. He nods, one hand caressing your jaw as he backs up. He didn’t seem mad, instead he seemed at peace with your decision.

“I’ll be waitin’ for you. Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart, I’ll always be waiting for you.”

—

“Eliza, I know who my soulmate is.” You blurted, voice desperate as you paced around the tiny dorm. You knew she was hanging with Alex tonight, and you didn’t plan on needing to call her, but this was an emergency.

“What?! That’s amazing! Who is it?” You can hear her perk up. Alex asks her to put you on speaker, which she does so. Alexander briefly says hello and congratulates you before asking who as well.

“So, funny story actually,” you start, a nervous laugh escaping you. “It’s Thomas.”

“What.” Both Alex and Eliza say, equal amounts of distaste in their voices.

“I know, I know—I wasn’t particularly thrilled either. But he’s not a bad guy,” you defend.

“Wow. I am so, so sorry, Y/n. Are you okay?” Alex sounds, and you roll your eyes. Only you were allowed to talk shit about Jefferson. He was your soulmate, after all.

“I’m fine,” you bite, “I just need to process it all.”

“Of course, girl, I’ll be back later tonight and we can talk about it more,” Eliza said. Her words were comforting and you thanked her before promptly hanging up.

So. What to do now other than reflect on the past 24 hours.

Thomas Jefferson, the man who called you a hall monitor and proceeded to insult your sweater, the man who got you in trouble on the first day, the man you swore to humiliate and destroy, ended up being your soulmate. Karma has a way of getting you, doesn’t it?

You checked your wrist. Watching Him Fade Away, Mac DeMarco. Okay, so he is not okay. Got it. You really need to think faster and make it up to him, because you know that even with his cool and collected, cocky exterior, he was still a person with a heart that you probably just shattered. You checked your phone for the millionth time that night, not at all because you’re anticipating if he was texting you, but to your dismay there was no new notifications.

So you sighed, grabbed your shower caddy and clothes to change into, and headed for the communal bathrooms. Not before realizing you were still in his jacket. It hurt you to have to take it off, but you did so anyway and neatly laid it on your bed.

After a lukewarm shower in a shitty locker room, you changed into pajamas and returned to your room, immediately flopping on your bed.

Still no new notifications. And still sad, slow songs listed on your wrist.

The door swung open, Eliza tumbling in. “I’m here! I’m here, tell me everything,” she rushed to your side.

You sat up, jaw slacked open, then started speaking. Slowly, hesitantly, then you picked up the pace and told her everything. The jacket, the realization, the kiss. Every little detail from the curve of his jaw to the glimmer in his eyes when he said ‘I knew it.’

“He said he would wait for me, Eliza, he said he’d wait for me.” At that point, tears you didn’t want in your eyes formed anyway. Hell, you didn’t even know why you were crying. Maybe because you know you’re so fucked up for rejecting your soulmate.

“As much as Alex and I dislike Jefferson, he’s still your soulmate. And you still need to at least give him an explanation as to why you needed time. Get some sleep tonight, and tomorrow you’ll feel better. I promise, love,” she smiled softly, pulling you in for a comforting hug.

In the week-and-a-half that you’ve known her, she’s been one of the most supportive friends you’ve ever had. Granted, one of the only friends since you’ve always struggled with socialization, but she didn’t seem to mind your slip ups or awkward silences.

“I got so lucky that you’re my roommate,” you mutter into her shoulder, tightening your grip. She squeezes you reassuringly.

“I could say the same for you. Now, get some rest,” she pulls off, standing up and retreating to her side of the room.

There was one last thing you had to do, though. You grabbed your phone from the side table, pulling up Thomas’s contact. You had him saved as Thomas (asshole), and since that’s not exactly appropriate for your soulmate's contact, you changed it to Thomas<3.

You: can we meet tmr at cafe serenity? 9 am?

Thomas<3: I’ll be there.

After that was taken care of, you comply with Eliza’s request and go to sleep, Thomas’s jacket lying next to you.

—

Thomas arrived earlier to the coffee shop than planned.

By the time you arrived, he was already sat in a little corner booth, staring out the window. A cup was snugly in his hands, and there was a latte across from him. You sank into the seat, his face instantly lighting up when he saw you.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, inwardly cursing at yourself for not knowing what else to say.

“Hey,” he smiled warmly, as if nothing was wrong.

“How’d you know I like lattes?” You picked up the cup in front of you, taking a sip. Your order wasn't exactly complicated, but it was still sweet how he went ahead and ordered for you, somehow knowing what you’d like.

“I saw it on your cup last time.” He shrugged, taking a drink of plain black coffee.

“Awh, thank you. Damn, now I really feel bad for last night,” you chuckle in a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood.

“I know I’m not who you expected or even wanted. But I am yours and I am determined to prove that to you,” he brings his voice down, reaching across the table and putting a hand on yours.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Thomas, you are who I want. No, you’re not what I expected, you’re a million times better. You challenge me and still want to be with me despite my flaws—Thomas, you are perfect and I am so, so sorry for saying what I said yesterday. I was shocked, but that’s no excuse. I really want to make things work between us, even though we’ve had a bitter past.” You finish your rant and he smiles real wide.

“I’m so glad it’s you.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread on your face, and you leaned across the table and met in the middle for a short, sweet kiss.

“Hey! Keep the PDA to a minimum, you damn kids!” The old lady behind the counter scolded you, and you broke apart in fits of giggles. He stringed his pinky with yours and tugged you out of the establishment, leading you to wherever felt right.

—

A heavy arm hung loosely around your waist, and the soft snores coming from Thomas awoke you. Your eyes fluttered open and you came face to face with the man you’ve come to love.

Eliza was with Alex, so you invited Thomas to spend the night and ended up cuddling in each other's arms. You smiled, careful not to wake him, and shuffled so you were back in his embrace.

This, you decided, was peace. This is what was meant for you.

---

Do yk what high and dry chp.2 is coming out? TAKE YOUR TIME!! NO RUSH.!!

Probably sometime this week, I’m like halfway thru a chapter rn

Come back the kids miss you💔💔

BROO I don’t know what to writtteee 😭😭 anybody got ideas PLEAS

hi my dear! would you ever consider writing for john laurens? p.s all of your works are beautiful and i’ve reread them too many times ;)

Yess yes I’d write for Laurens or Phillip, idk about Alex or Hercules yet but I could def try.

Also idk when I’m gonna be out with new chapters/fics, I’ve been pretty busy so don’t expect much from me for a while. But thank you to everyone who supports 🫶💕

Okay I know you love the eagles…. So what if WHAT IF… you MAYBE wrote a fic (Tjeffs x Reader) based on the song Hotel California? /nf I’ve been really getting into the eagles from ur fic tequila sunrise (now hey! Roomie) and more into Radiohead from high and dry, THANK YOU FOR THE MUSIC BTW!!

HOLY MOLY I’m so glad I could infect you with my music taste. I freaking love the eagles and Radiohead and yes I will definitely consider it!!!

Hotel California has so many different ways to interpret it, lotta opportunity yk??

Hey, roomie! ch. 5

thomas j. x reader

wc: like 2.8k I think

warnings: swearing yada yada the usual

You confront Thomas after he ignores you for the millionth time.

It has been four days with Thomas upset. It was starting to become worrisome.

You did what Peggy advised: give him space. You’ve given him tons of time to think, and he’s still failed to have a full conversation with you. It was starting to become childish. But you figured that he’d come around eventually and things would go back to normal, so you’d play the waiting game if necessary. It was hard when he was always gone though. When he’d left for work on Monday, he didn’t come back until the late hours of the night when all was quiet.

Even on Sunday, he was gone most of the day. Sometimes he would pop in but majority was spent god-knows-where doing god-knows-what.

On the fourth day, you noted he started speaking to you more. He wouldn’t avoid you and rush out of the room anytime you entered. He sat with you at dinner and breakfast (typing frantically on his phone, but still there nonetheless). He left some coffee in the pot for you after he brewed himself some. Progress was being made.

Although you wondered why. Why did you care so much if he was happy with you or not? The thought plagued your mind and you found that every time you looked at him, you wondered what things would be like if he was happy with you. You wondered what you’d be talking about, what new adventure you’d go on, what petty argument would be sparked that ultimately wouldn’t matter, because it’d be over some stupid shit like ‘who has to do the dishes?’ Or ‘which shitty childhood film was the best?’ (The answer is shark boy and lava girl, by the way.)

Instead, you had to wonder what he was thinking about. What his twisted look of confusion, angst, grief, sorrow, and guilt muddled into one means. Pondering what the occasional brush of fingertips meant to him, and if it sent his heart racing as fast as it did yours.

At times, you would catch him staring at you. He would quickly snap his eyes back to whatever was at hand, and pretend like he didn’t get detected. It started getting on your nerves, and you found yourself growing angry every time he’d act like you weren’t there.

It got to a point where you were in the kitchen, cooking mac and cheese because you know it’s his favorite (not that you keep track of what he likes or anything) when he entered and barely acknowledged you. He looked at the pot of mac, nodded to himself, then sat at the table on his phone. By that point you were about to boil over with frustration.

“When is this little game gonna stop?” You snapped.

Thomas peered up at you with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept talking before he got the chance to.

“I mean it’s been what, four days? It’s immature. Whatever problem you have, just fucking talk to me instead of ignoring me.”

“Can I speak?” He gives you a pointed look and you glare at him before nodding slightly. “Great. I don’t have a problem with you or anythin’, I’m just tryin’ to work out my own feelings before I talk to you.” He explains calmly, but his tone held impatience and annoyance.

“What feelings? Jealousy because I’m close friends with Lafayette?” You scoff. His eyes widen and he sits up straighter.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of, sugar,” he laughs bitterly. “You can do whatever the hell you want, I’m not your dad.”

“So then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Like I said,” his jaw twitches, “I’m trying to figure out myself first.” Liar. Liar liar liar LIAR!

“And that doesn’t allow you to be able to have an adult conversation with me?” You retort. He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yet you call this an adult conversation…” He mutters just loud enough for you to hear. You roll your eyes.

“I’m trying to confront the problem. Face it, fix it, and make it better.” You cross your arms, grating your teeth.

“Is this really makin’ it better? I mean, c’mon, you confront me out of the blue and keep attackin’ me, then expect me to do all the work in makin’ up!”

You let your arms fall to your side, shoulders slumping and a guilty feeling gnawing at your stomach. For once, you couldn’t think of anything to say back. He was completely right, you started attacking him then wouldn’t let him speak, and you were being a giant hypocrite. You stare at him, his rant processing in your head. When you finally could speak, the first two words that came from your mouth just happened. You didn’t think, you just said.

“I’m sorry.”

Now it’s his turn to stare at you. His jaw is hung slightly ajar as he studies your face for any dishonesty. Then, he sighs—softer this time, less aggravated and more relaxed. There was an excruciatingly long period of silence, of him processing your words and working out his next move. He could either A) choose to forgive you or B) decide to keep the argument going. It’s in his hands now, and there wasn't much you could do other than hope.

By the time he replied, the anger inside of you calmed, but you were still full of questions, and unsaid arguments running rampant through your brain.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for ignorin’ you, I didn’t know it truly bothered you,” he admits, standing up. “Hug it out?” A cheeky grin spreads on his face.

“Hell no, words are enough,” you laugh. You knew it wouldn’t be completely normal, not for a little while longer, but this came as a relief. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You hated fighting with people and walking around knowing someone is pissed at you, so it was nice knowing this feud was finally done.

“C’mon, we gotta hug it out.” He walks closer, his arms open wide as he approaches you.

“No we don’t—oh, you’re doing it anyway okay.” He engulfs you in a bone-crushing hug. The scent of his cologne overwhelmed you, and every pat on your back made your stomach flutter.

“‘M not letting go ‘til you hug back,” he murmurs in your ear. You sigh, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace and wrap your arms around him. You stayed like that for a good five seconds; you were so close your heartbeats synchronized. For some reason, his warmth made you feel safe. Comfortable.

He pulles off, a wide smile on his face, and a look in his eyes you haven’t seen. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” He whispers, his voice gentle.

“Do you have to be an asshole with everything you say?” You joked. He rolled his eyes playfully, the smile never faltering on his face.

“Whatever. You love me. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have made mac ‘n cheese, which I am really looking forward to, by the way.” He beams, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I made mac ‘n cheese because I wanted mac ‘n cheese,” you lie. He saw right through it.

—

“This is the best goddamn mac I’ve ever had,” Thomas exclaims, his mouth still full of food after his first bite. A shy smile creeps on your face.

“Thanks, it’s Tini’s recipe,” you admit. You’re just glad the way your heartbeat sped up from his compliment wasn’t visible.

He scarfed down his first place and went back for seconds, completely ignoring any vegetables you made on the side to balance it out. Man had only one thought in mind and it was pasta.

“If you don’t slow down, you’re going to choke.” You set your fork down in concern, watching him shove as much sustenance in his mouth as possible.

“Hmf—ha’s wha she saih,” he giggled.

You shook your head but you couldn’t deny the grin that fell upon your lips after hearing his shitty joke. It felt a little weird laughing with him so naturally when not two hours ago you would bicker. The switch left you wondering if he was growing tired of fighting. If he longed for talking to you like how you had grown to miss his presence.

The subject bothered you so much, you didn’t wait for him to stop chewing before you asked the question burning in your head.

“Why did you react that way when your friends were over?” You blurt, impatience evident in your voice.

He pauses, swallows his food, and thinks on the matter.

“I was just tired.” He says stiffly. You didn’t think his bullshit excuse was true, but you decided not to push it. For now.

“Hm. Alright.” You stand abruptly to rinse your plate and set it in the dishwasher. He joins you shortly after, a thick silence falling over you.

You knew there was something deeper to his attitude these past days. There had to be. No one just ignores someone for five days because “they were tired.” Part of you wondered if Peggy was right. Did he get jealous because you were play-fighting with Laf? Although what he said earlier was true, much as you hate to admit it. There’s no reason for him to be jealous. There is nothing between you and Thomas, and there is nothing between you and Lafayette.

And there never will be. It is what it is.

You glance at him, studying his features. He was focused on the dish in his large, strong hands that could easily pick you up and pin you down—wait. What was that last thought?

You swallowed, regretfully tearing your eyes away from him. A sudden wave of nausea washed over you, causing you to stumble to the couch to sit down. Or was it being flustered? The line was blurred.

“You alright? You look a little queasy,” he frowns, joining next to you.

“Yeah, I just ate too much, I guess.” You shrugged it off, trying to ignore how the way his leg brushing against yours sent electricity through your entire body. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, it didn’t bother him.

“Alright…Wanna watch a movie?” He narrows his eyes at you momentarily before straightening up, then holding the remote up as an offer.

“Sure. Your pick.” You nod and shift to get comfortable. He grabs the blanket that sat next to him and drapes it over the two of you. The couch was small enough to where you almost sat shoulder to shoulder, and the blanket was comically large.

About halfway through Interstellar, you started feeling a little drowsy. Your blinking slowed and your head suddenly weighed like a ton of bricks. Another 40 minutes or so goes by and the voice of Matthew McConaughey droned on and on, blurring into what sounded like the perfect environment for sleep. You fought to keep your head upright, but alas, Thomas’s shoulder seemed like the perfect pillow to lie your head on. Only for a minute, you told yourself. It was the last thought you had before you were lulled into sleep.

You weren’t awake to watch Thomas’s reaction. His features softened, he stayed dead still, and turned down the TV so you could sleep better. His chivalry would’ve made your cheeks flush had you been present to witness it.

—

“The wedding is only a week away! I’m so excited!” Eliza exclaimed.

She was referring to her courtship with Alexander, of course, as they had been seeing each other for more than four years. He had finally popped the question about six months ago, and Eliza merrily accepted him with tears in her eyes.

You were extremely happy for your friend; she was to be a wife in only one week. For most, this tradition is considered the happiest day of their lives. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get married, no, not with your luck around guys. But at least you could support Eliza and Alex.

They were perfect for each other, too. She was just as witty as he, if not more, and both were extremely intelligent. Alex had the penmanship of a poet and Eliza lived in books. It was truly a sight to see them together; neither could stop sneaking glances at the other then smiling, a fierce blush adorning both of their faces

You saw firsthand how he became enamored with her, how he wooed her by sending flowers with letters attached to it. It seemed that any time you spoke to Eliza before they started dating, she always mentioned how sweet Alex was and the latest thing he did to charm her. Typical talk of someone in love, always speaking of their interest.

When she asked you to be one of her bridesmaids, you were ecstatic. Angelica was the only other person to ask you to hold such a title, and that was an honor to you. Of course you said yes, and she went on about her ideas of the wedding.

Eliza wasn't much for “girly” things like that. She had always been the bookworm of the sisters; the one that picked up on studies the easiest and advocated for what she thought right. So it came as a shock when she ranted about her dream wedding, and she was thankful Alex let her do most of the planning.

She just seemed to light up whenever chatting about Alex or the wedding. She went on about how perfect it was when he proposed, and she’s extremely grateful he was able to win over her parents. The Schuyler family only accepts the best of the best into their circle, and Alex wasn't exactly someone that should even go near the Schuylers. Hamilton was a poor, orphan, immigrant who barely had his own name, let alone anything to it. The Schuylers were notorious for their wealth and social status, with Philip Schuyler being a senator for New York.

“You never did tell me what dances I’m supposed to learn,” you say.

“Oh! Right, well there’s going to be a slow-waltz,” she starts. For the next few minutes, she goes into detail about what dances there will be and how it will operate. You, being a bridesmaid, will dance with the groomsmen for a couple waltz’s to please her parents. They were quite traditional after all.

You visualized how it would go: you’d ask either Laurens or Mulligan to dance (Lafayette is completely off the table since he is absolutely hopeless, you’ve seen how he acted at Angelica’s wedding), and then…shit. How do you dance?

You should be able to slow dance from Angelica’s wedding, but upon remembering, you were too drunk to truly dance. You kinda just swung around with Lafayette and laughed every time he stepped on your feet.

Well. This would be a problem. Put learning how to dance on your to-do list for the week.

“Oh god, you don’t know how to dance, do you?” Eliza asked, a worried look on her face. She was very observant, she must’ve noticed the way your face contorted into discomfort after she described the slow dancing.

“Not…really, no.” You give her a sheepish smile.

“Do you think you could get anyone to teach you?” She asked.

You pondered for a moment. How many people do you know would be willing to teach you to dance, and dance well? You know one who absolutely can’t; you know Alex can dance but he’s the groom. You’re not entirely sure how good Hercules or John would be at that type of stuff, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask them. Peggy and Angelica could, but they’d likely be too busy to give you lessons. It won’t hurt to ask but you can predict what the answer will be.

That left one person you are in close proximity with.

“I bet Jefferson wouldn’t mind,” Angelica wiggled her eyebrows. He had just entered the living room from the kitchen, and must’ve been eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Can’t you do it?” You whined. She formed her mouth into an awkward line.

“Busy. My husband and I are gonna be out of town for the next couple days, but we’ll be back in time for the wedding.” She shrugged. You huffed, rolling your eyes at her predictable answer.

“What about Peggy?”

“What about me?” Peggy popped her head in.

“If you could teach me to dance,” you pleaded. She stared at you blankly, glanced at Angelica for a prolonged period of time, then smiled devilishly at you.

“I can’t. Ask Thomas to teach you. You live with the guy.” She teased. “Besides, didn’t you say you’re good now?”

“Well…yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to dance with him,” you squirm uncomfortably. The sisters share a look as if to say bullshit detected. “What?”

“Didn’t you say you fell asleep on his shoulder last night?” Peggy gave you a pointed look.

You paused, opening your mouth for some quick quip, but nothing came out. Instead you flushed with embarrassment and huffed in annoyance. It was true that you fell asleep on the man you claimed to despise. Even if he was maybe—but only a little tiny bit—growing on you. When you woke up that morning, you were in your bed, a blanket neatly draped over you. When you greeted him at breakfast, there was a twinkle of amusement and mischief in his eyes.

“You’re seriously gonna make me ask him?” You crossed your arms and glared at all three of them. They weren’t fazed.

“You might as well. It’s not like it could hurt you or anything,” Eliza shrugged. Easy for her to say, when she danced with Alex for the first time it was ‘the most magical experience of her life.’

“I hate you guys so much,” you sighed. They laughed and Peggy patted you on the back.

“Oh, cheer up, it won’t be that bad. Maybe it’ll be good for your…relationship.”

“I dunno if relationship is the right word…”

---

Hey, roomie! ch. 9

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, AAAAUUGFFHFHGHHHHH

Wc: 2.5k? I think?

Your master plan backfires, cue the crying.

Notes: I think I’m gonna write one more chapter after this and be done, enjoy

Equipped with the new realization that you have a crush and that crush may like you back, you didn’t know how to feel.

You had a date lined up tomorrow night with Samuel who was turning out to be a really pleasant guy, and you couldn’t just ditch him. You were in too deep, and now you have to crawl out of the hole that kept digging itself deeper and deeper.

Options were limited. You could either ditch Samuel for Thomas and confess as soon as possible, or you could show up and let Samuel down gently. Tell him nicely during the dinner that you weren’t feeling it, and you would prefer to stay friends more than anything.

You figured the latter was the safer option. And maybe you wanted to see if Thomas would get jealous.

It was all so obvious to you now. The flirting, the kiss, the pet names, the lingering stares and touches. All of it meant something to you at least. A nagging thought in the back of your mind kept whispering that was just who he is, and if he really liked you then he would tell you himself.

He is a natural flirt, after all. And he does sleep with women on a regular basis, although he’s slowed it down, and come to think of it he hasn’t brought anyone back in a couple months.

What didn’t make sense to you is why would he help you get a boyfriend if he (maybe) liked you? He offered to give you advice, and he watched you walk up to guys to be their potential lover. Would that not hurt? Or did he not like you then and start liking you sooner?

Did he even like you in the first place?

Lafayette didn’t give you a clear answer. All he gave was a hint for you to solve this puzzle by your lonesome. You just assumed that the man you’ve been secretly pining for has secretly been pining for you as well.

You rushed home from Lafayette's apartment building, no clear goal in mind. Your heart was racing and hands were shaking at the thought of seeing Thomas.

The drive home was spent procrastinating as much as possible. In fact, you made a stop at Target to shop for yourself and pick up some things you know he likes. Try and butter him up a little, y’know?

While picking up ingredients for macaroni and cheese, a philosophy book he's been itching to read, and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, you thought about the advice he had given you. Be a better listener, be polite, be authentic, be confident, and compliment him.

You wondered if you tried those tactics on him, would he fall for you?

No other way of knowing then to do it, you decided. If you were subtle enough, you could pull this off. You totally could.

—

Lafayette called Thomas the moment you exited his apartment. Neither would ever tell you that, of course, but he still had to fill in his friend on what went down.

He didn’t say that he told you you’re the only girl Thomas has talked about, but he implied that he merely suggested you both have feelings for each other. Thomas was a little pissed that Lafayette almost said something he shouldn’t have, but in his defense he’s been in the middle of this drama for way too long, and he is sick and tired of it.

So when you got home, Thomas wasn't surprised to see how anxious you were. After having an awakening on your attraction, he’d be having one too. He was surprised that you picked up the things he loves. It was sweet. There weren’t many times you did things like this for him.

“You got stuff for mac ‘n cheese? And you got The Alchemist? Sweetheart, you know me too well,” he grinned, taking the book from the target bag and flipping through the pages.

“Not only that, but I got ice cream.” You pulled out the frozen tub of sugar and milk. His face lit up.

“Am I dying or somethin’? Or do you just really love me?” The words rolled off his tongue so naturally it felt like you really did love him. It made your stomach flutter with excitement, and you couldn’t suppress the smile growing on your lips.

“Just wanted to do something nice.” You shrug, putting away the groceries.

“This is seriously the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” He stared down at the book, softness in his voice and an even softer smile.

“Really? You say that as if I just saved you from drowning. Seriously, all I did was buy you some stuff,” you scoff.

He shook his head. “It’s not the items you bought. It’s the fact you remembered and cared enough to buy them for me.”

Your movements slowed. That statement alone made your heart hurt. He was so sincere, no one has ever done this for him before. It made you want to go out and buy the whole world for him if it made him happy.

“…I’m glad you like it,” you say slowly and gently.

His eyes lingered on you a moment more—a different tone to them. They flashed from something darker to adoration to sadness, then back to normal.

It made you second guess your thoughts of going out with Samuel. But then again, you still had no definitive proof that Thomas likes you back. Maybe him and Lafayette were just fucking with you, because why not?

The silence that consumed you was spent choosing your next words carefully. How to break it to him that you were going out tomorrow night with another man. You envisioned how he would react; would he show clear signs of jealousy? Maybe distance himself a little? Be angry or upset?

You hoped for nothing too strong, because you had it all planned out. After going to dinner with Samuel, you’d come home claiming you realized you’ve been in love with Thomas this whole time, and would much rather spend that time with him instead. Then he confesses his undying love for you and you kiss, and you both live happily ever after. The End.

At least, that’s how your fantasy went. Of course you couldn’t control how either Samuel or Thomas would react, and if Thomas would be happy that you bailed on your date to reunite with him. You could only hope.

You cleared your throat, nerves immediately starting up again. “Did I ever tell you about Samuel?”

He was turned around, so you missed the scowl on his face. “No. Is he nice?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty sweet, calls me pretty ‘n whatnot. He’s cute.”

“I’m pretty sweet and cute, too,” he grunts.

“Never said you weren’t, sweetheart,” you laugh, walking around the counter to face him.

“You can’t use my own pet name against me!” He gasps dramatically.

A sickeningly sweet smile crawls on your lips. “All is fair in love and war.” He shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips and you knew you were about to wipe it off his face from the news about to drop. You bit your lower lip and prepared for battle.

“I uh, have a date with him tomorrow night,” you cleared your throat, the confidence that had built up from the playful banter diminishing. “Thought I should let you know.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze, and looked like you just punched him in the stomach. “Have fun. Remember what I told you.”

“How could I ever forget your wise wise wisdom?” You attempted to lighten the mood, but he never did laugh.

Instead, he forced a smile that failed to reach his eyes and sucked in a breath. “I told you I was a good teacher, didn’t I?”

“That you did.”

And he walked off, book in hand and mumbling something about how he wanted to go read it. You nodded and let him escape the awkward conversation of your love life. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that what you were doing was wrong. It clearly upset him, and a sick part of you was curious to know if he would be, but now that you have your answer you wish you hadn’t said anything to begin with.

—

The date was only an hour from now. You had already picked out what you were gonna wear. He was taking you to a semi-nice restaurant called the White Stallion and advised you to dress nice.

You were in the middle of doing your hair and makeup, smoothing out any loose baby hairs and touching up mascara. The clock kept ticking as you continued getting ready, ensuring your go-to black dress fit right. It always did. The vanilla-coconut perfume filled your senses, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t help but over think how wrong this is.

You drew in a sharp breath, clipping the necklace on your neck and eventually the earrings, and walked into the living room. Thomas was sitting on the couch, munching on the ice cream you bought him.

He froze when he saw you, his eyes trailing over your outfit. The face he made yesterday when you told him you’d be going on a date with Samuel—the one where he looked like you punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him—haunted you. Because it was back, and this time a flicker of sadness flashed in his eyes.

“Do I look okay? Does it look like I’m trying too hard?” You ask, worry furrowed deep in your eyebrows.

“No, you look perfect.”

Now it was your turn to have the wind knocked out of you. The words were a direct elbow, punch, and kick to your stomach. You nodded, thanking him and nervously fidgeting with your hands.

Of course you were going out with another guy. What Lafayette had told you the previous day must’ve meant nothing to you, because if it did, surely you wouldn’t be walking out the door, about to meet up with someone other than Thomas. Then again, he didn’t know about your mastermind plan (it was actually really fucking stupid and had a 99% chance at failure, but you like to think it will work).

Samuel was outside waiting to pick you up. His pale skin flushed completely red when he laid eyes on you, following it up with how beautiful you looked. You thanked him and tried to feel complimented from it, but it didn’t have the same ring to it when Thomas said you looked perfect.

The drive was about fifteen minutes—it was filled with listening to Laufey, Radiohead, and The Cranberries. Male manipulator music, you deemed. But he had good stories and was genuinely interested in what you had to say, which only added to the guilt of knowing you were to reject him later that night.

When you arrived, he informed the hostess of a reservation for two. She led you to the table, and almost immediately a waiter came and set down a basket of bread and butter. The fancy, brown seeded bread, too.

“This is really nice, Samuel, thank you.” You smiled awkwardly. He lit up, a beaming grin on his face.

“Consider it just the first of many,” he winked. Bold.

“Haha, yeah…” you trailed off awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. God, could you be any more obvious? To avoid this issue, you peered into the menu, eyes scanning over the options and their expensive prices.

He must’ve noticed the shift in your demeanor, because his smile faltered slightly. It was back when the same waiter from before asked for drinks and your order.

You ordered the cheapest thing and a water, and didn’t pay much attention to what Samuel got. You had to prepare yourself for the heart-wrenching news you would eventually tell him.

Wow, this would be harder than you thought.

The end of the night came around. Too slowly, you thought, but it happened. And in the events leading up to it, you felt like a bigger and bigger dick. Every compliment replied with a fake laugh just made you want to rip your heart out.

You split the bill since there was no way in hell you’d let him pay for all of that, even if he insisted that he should pay. You were about to tell him outside his car, but figured it would be better to wait til he dropped you off at your place to save for an awkward ride.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“Do you maybe want to go back to mine?” He asked, a twinkle of heat in his eyes as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

Fuck.

“Ah—Sam, I…” you winced.

“We don’t have to, I’m sorry for asking,” he added quickly.

“Sam, as nice as you are—and trust me, you are—I think we would be better friends than anything.”

He paused. “Ouch, okay,” he breathed out. “If that’s what you want.” A short response, but you didn’t mind. He turned up the radio louder, Paranoid Android blasting from the speakers. The rest of the ride was dead silent. And extremely awkward.

“What made you change your mind?” He broke the silence.

“I’ll answer this truthfully since I feel like you deserve an honest answer,” you sigh. “My roommate, Thomas. I didn’t think I would, but I’ve really grown to like him. Love him, even.” You ramble. He keeps his eyes set on the road and nods.

“I kind of had a sneaking suspicion. The way you talked of him…it was so fond. I knew there was no way you hadn’t had some sort of attraction to him.” He turns into your apartment building parking lot.

“Was it that obvious..?” You muttered, gathering your purse and stepping out of the car. He laughed out a yes. “Well, either way, thank you for dinner and taking me home. I’m really sorry it had to end this way.”

“It’s quite alright,” he smiled sadly. “Have a good night.”

And with that, he drove off, leaving you stranded in the empty parking lot. You sucked in a breath and headed up the flight of stairs since the elevator has been under maintenance for months now.

Catching your breath and calming your nerves, you unlocked the door and opened it softly. The words you planned to say replayed in your mind over and over, although in the moment you’d likely forget your preparation.

“Thom—“

You froze.

There on the couch, Thomas sat with another woman in his lap, kissing him fiercely. Both were only in their undergarments, and his hands were in places you wished they weren’t.

Thomas unlatched from her with a gasp of surprise, craning his neck to look at you.

“Y/n—“ he started, but you stopped him.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I didn’t know you had…company over.” You croak out, stepping out of the apartment.

You couldn’t stop the flow of tears that burst from your eyes as you hurried downstairs.

You were wrong. He didn’t like you, he was about to fuck another woman, and now you didn’t know what to do.

---

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A Night To Remember | ch. 1

j. laurens x reader

Warnings: swearing, idk some sexual language? Whole lotta yap. Chronic overuse of italics

You work as an assistant to one of the most influential journalists in New York City. One fateful day, he invites (more tells) you to go to a ball with him and pretend to be his date. How do you manage being on the side of a very attractive businessman?

Wc: 2.6k

A/n: ahh it feels good to be back. Thanks for everyone being so supportive and kind, it really means a lot fr 🫶 enjoy

You were overwhelmed.

You woke up late, was swarmed with work, sweaty from pacing in an unairconditioned office lobby during the summer, a fresh coffee stain on your white blouse, and your boss, John Laurens, was already yelling. It was safe to say you were anxious and irritable.

“Where’s that report on the Knicks I asked for, Casey?” Laurens slammed his hands on your coworkers desk, an intimidating glare being shot at him.

John Laurens was a go-getter. A man of his word. He was confident, intelligent, wealthy, and incredibly demanding. If there was work that needed to be done, he wouldn’t leave (or let you leave) until it was finished. He was the type of guy to have motivational quotes scattered throughout the building. “Go The Extra Mile,” was one that haunted you from having to stare at it every single day. He held people accountable for their work, and he had a presence to him that made people part the hallways when he walked through.

Despite that, he was a good leader. He made sure to do his part, he always asked for the full story and listened with intent rather than jumping to conclusions, and he was open to new ideas. And he was incredibly attractive. He wasn’t too much taller than you, but he held himself with such confidence and had a lethal face card that it was impossible to not think about him in that way. And good lord those biceps. He was only a few years older than you, him being 28 and you being 25, and it didn’t help that he was exactly your type.

So working as his assistant had its pros and cons. He could be arrogant and rough at times, but hey, he looked good while doing it. Too good.

His work as the editor-in-chief for a journalism firm was your dream job. Becoming his assistant wasn’t ideal, but it was necessary if you wanted to be promoted. How he managed to become editor-in-chief at only 28 was remarkable. The man worked nonstop with one Alexander Hamilton, another notable figure in the writing world. While they took separate paths with Hamilton becoming a political figure and Laurens in journalism, both were extremely talented writers. You read and reread their essays multiple times, scanning and analyzing every word and punctuation. It was art.

But his presence as a journalist was one thing, working for him was another. They say don’t meet your heroes. Don’t work for them, either.

You eyed him cautiously, holding a cup of coffee tailored specifically for him. You were stuck on handing it to him now, or waiting until he wasn’t so fucking angry before giving it to him. He looked over Casey as he scrambled to find the papers he asked for. You drew in a sharp breath, planning to quickly hand it off to him before going to the bathroom to try and dry the stain on your chest.

Your mind was screaming how he was just going to take out his frustration on you and to wait, but your feet were carrying you towards the freckled man. His eyes shifted to you, glanced at the prominent coffee stain, to the latte in your hand, then to your exhausted face.

“Here you are, sir,” you cleared your throat, handing him the good coffee cup. The other one you had to throw away since it was now soaked into your shirt.

When getting John’s daily coffee, you made sure to order two of the exact same thing just in case something happened to his. And it worked out. After being shoulder checked by a bodybuilder, only one coffee spilled. It was supposed to be his, but you managed to save the one that was originally yours. Fortunately, you hadn’t drank from it yet since you were in such a rush.

“Thanks. You’re late,” he said gruffly, taking a sip. He examined the cup, raising an eyebrow. “I need you in my office soon.” He waved you off, turning back to Casey when he finally coughed up the Knicks report he was searching for.

“Yes, sir,” you sighed, walking off to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. The best you could do was dab most of it off, but there was still an extremely noticeable brown splotch on your shirt. Wonderful.

Laurens would be fussy if you didn’t appear in his office like he asked, so while still dabbing the paper towel on your shirt, you trudged into his office. He was sitting at his desk, going over what seemed to be Casey’s papers. He glanced up at you, then pursed his lips.

“Y/n. Sit,” he motioned to the chair across from him. You complied, tossing the paper towel in the trash and straightening up.

“Sir?”

His jaw hung open as if he were about to speak, but instead, he reached for the latte cup. He traced his finger around the rim, a soft snort escaping him. You knit your eyebrows in confusion, watching his odd actions.

“Call me, you’re cute,” he spoke. Your eyebrows flew up in surprise and you stammered to speak.

“E-excuse me?”

He turned the cup around, showing you the order sticker. It had the basic information of what the drink contained, your name, then a number with the words “call me, you’re cute” written under it, as well as a winky face. Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks as you thought back to the barista that made your drinks.

“I did not know he wrote that,” you defended quickly. His eyes held amusement as he chuckled. Embarrassment spread through you in the form of blush, though it wasn’t entirely visible.

“Maybe you should check before handing your boss a coffee that was clearly meant for you,” he teased, although it didn’t feel natural because he was such an intimidating man. He was seldom playful with you. Always serious, always working, always professional.

“I apologize. If you can’t tell, I spilt the other one all over me,” you retorted sarcastically. His eyebrows raised in surprise, and you quickly muttered out an ashamed sorry.

His eyes went to the stain on your blouse again. You shifted under his heavy gaze. It was hard to focus with him staring at you like that.

“Nevermind that,” he shook his head, finishing off the caffeine before tossing it in the trash, “read this. Tell me what you think.” He pushed the papers over to you, analyzing your facial features as you began reading.

After a few minutes of scanning the text, you frowned, setting it down. “He hit some of the key points, but he sounds pretty biased. I think he should change it to just the facts. Keep it to who won, who lost.” You handed the papers back to him.

He nodded, taking them back. “I thought the same thing. I’ll have to tell him to start over.” A frustrated sigh escaped him.

Instinctively, you stood. “Would you like me to te—“

“Sit back down, I’m not finished,” he grunted. Your jaw snapped shut and you fell back into your seat. He cleared his throat, leaning forward almost awkwardly. It was a look you never saw on him, and it made you uncomfortable knowing he was uncomfortable. ‘Oh god, is he about to lay me off?’

“What I really called you in for is to ask you to accompany me at a ball. There will be a lot of big names there. Lot of execs. I need someone to represent me, represent our company,” he explained. He shifted in his chair, eyes trained on the table.

“I’d be honored. It’s the one this Friday at 5 pm, correct? In Washington D.C.?” You asked, but you knew the answer. You made his schedule. Everything from what he was doing today to what he will do in five months is at the mercy of you.

“Right,” he started, his jaw clenching slightly, “and it’s come to my attention that it’s…appropriate to have a date. I wanted to ask if you could pose as my date for this event.”

A silence fell over you. Was he seriously asking you to be his date for this party? No, not even. He wanted you to pose as his date for the evening. Not his actual date. He’s your boss, that would be too complicated. You blinked, snapping back to reality when you realized he was waiting for your answer.

“Do I have a choice in this, or is this more of a demand?” You swallowed thickly.

“More of a demand. It’s only for a couple of days. I just need you to show up with me, speak to some important figures in the journalism world, and pretend to be my girlfriend. Not so hard, right?” He smiled sheepishly.

A scoff escaped your lips. “No, not hard at all. A little weird, sure, but nothing I can’t manage.” You shrugged, attempting to dismiss the way it felt so good to hear him say ‘my girlfriend.’

He shot you his signature smile. “Atta girl.”

Butterflies. Lots and lots of butterflies.

“We’ll discuss the finer details later.” He leaned back in his chair. “For now, go clean yourself up, and give these papers back to Casey. Also, I need you to deliver this to Lafayette’s department—“

He stacked papers on top of papers and you sighed. Back to meaningless, passionless work. You muttered out a yessir, then hopped up and carried the papers out the door.

—

“You know my boss, John Laurens?” You folded your legs on the couch, taking a hefty bite of Chinese takeout while conversing with your roommate.

“Is he the hot one? God, I wish I knew him,” Abigail sighed. You grimaced.

“Aren’t you already seeing a John? Adams, you said he was?”

“Yeah, but he’s nothing compared to the John you’re working for. That man is—damn. You got lucky. I don’t know how you haven’t tried seducing him yet.”

Your eyes widened and you sputtered out an embarrassed cough. “Abby! He’s my boss! That’s like, all kinds of wrong.”

“Okay but you have to admit it, the man is fine,” she laughed airily, watching you nearly choke on chow mein.

“…He is, but still. Not what I brought him up for.”

She cackled, leaning back in satisfaction. Abigail Smith had been your roommate—and best friend—for about four years now. Two years after moving in with her, you got a job working for Laurens. She was someone you came to trust almost instantly. Her strong character and morals attracted you to her, and she was so passionate about politics that you wondered how she wasn’t president yet. If she hadn’t been too young, she probably would be.

“What did he do this time?” She slumped further into the couch.

“He…wow, this is gonna sound crazy,” you chuckled nervously.

“Well shit, now I’m really interested! Spill.” She tossed the now-empty takeout container to the side, leaning forward with intent. You inhaled sharply, thinking over how to say your weirdly attractive boss asked you to be his fake girlfriend for the night.

“He wants me to pretend to be his date at a party,” you shrug. Abby blinks.

“That’s—that’s great! And odd? I mean, hey, one step closer to boning, amiright?” She rambled, earning a glare from you.

“Don’t,” you hissed, “it’s not like that. He wants me to show up with him, pretend to be his fucking girlfriend, and I guess that’ll impress all the executives there? I’m not sure why I have to show up as his date. Showing up as his assistant would’ve been perfectly fine.” A small frown forms on your lips as you overthink the situation.

He did say that it was ‘appropriate to have a date,’ whatever that means. His lack of elaboration really made you second guess what you’re about to get yourself into.

“Maybe he wants an excuse to touch you,” Abby suggested, a sly smirk tugging on her lips as if she were the Cheshire Cat.

“Do you have to make it more than it actually is? He just wants someone to go with him. That’s it.” You groaned.

“All I’m sayin’ is it's not completely necessary for him to have you be his date. Clearly, he’s secretly in love with you. Think about it, Y/n.”

You eyed her up and down as she tapped the side of her forehead. A sigh escaped your lips, and you let your legs fall over the couch.

“You are so delusional. It’s not like that, and never will be like that.”

“As much as you wish it was?

“Yes—wait, no!” You furrowed your eyebrows.

She snickered, watching you groan and push off the couch, walking over to the kitchen. She grabbed her trash, following after you.

“C’mon, you’re telling me no matter what happens during this little trip, you won’t feel anything?”

A pause disrupted the flow of conversation.

“Well…I’d have to be dead inside to not feel anything.” An uncomfortable look crossed your face, and you reached in the fridge for a Coke Zero in an attempt to distract yourself.

“So what’re you gonna do when the time comes around that you’re dancing together, and he’s holding you so close that you feel his heartbeat? You can deny acting on it, but you can’t deny your feelings, babe. It’s natural biology.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter.

You responded with a halfhearted shrug, cracking open the soda. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Now, what’s going on with you and Adams?”

She wasn’t an idiot; she knew you were changing the subject because you’re shit at talking about uncomfortable feelings. The moment you wander into the danger zone, you step right back into comfort, effectively getting nowhere. But rather than commenting on it, she narrowed her eyes.

“Not much. He’s been busy with Jefferson and Hamilton, but we’ve got a date lined up.”

Your eyes lit up with recognition at Hamilton. His work meant so much to you, and you dreamed of the day you’d get to meet him. All you wanted was a conversation over the story of his life, as well as maybe a signature on the book he wrote that you’ve read four times now.

“Oh, yeah? Let me know when your relationship gets interesting,” you scoffed playfully. She rolled her eyes, but a smile was still on her face despite it.

—

“As you know, it’s in Washington D.C., so we’ll fly out tomorrow morning. What time was our flight at?” John watched as you rummaged through a calendar.

“Uhhh…9 am,” you replied. He hummed, leaning back in his chair. A muscle flickered in his forearm as he brought his hand up to his face.

“9 am,” he echoed, “that’s about an hour and a half flight. The ball is at what, five?”

“Six,” you corrected.

“So we’ll have the whole day to explore the city, then.” He mumbled. His eyes ran over your face, and you nodded awkwardly.

“Go home tonight and pack what you’ll need for a two day trip. Make sure you have a formal dress and heels. Red, preferably. I’ll pick you up at 7:30 so we can get to the airport and get checked in.” He spoke, leaning forward. “I’ll need your address.”

You quickly scribbled down your apartment building and the room number. He thanked you as you handed it to him. He dismissed you to go back to working and a breath of relief left your lungs.

“Oh, and one last thing,” he said, right as your hand was on the doorknob.

“Sir?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

---