Hamilton X Reader - Blog Posts

Boss, I mean Thomas

pt. 2!

Y/N x Thomas Jefferson

Plot - Y/N is a lonely 25 year old, working a job she doesn't like with a boss she doesn't like-- But does she really not like him? And why did she never realize how fine he was!

A/N - Been very very hard to come up with ideas! Finally did though, hope you guys enjoy! :)

:)))

"Coffee!"

You grabbed the tall cup filled to the brim with nothing but ice (and a bit of coffee). While Thomas sat down, you tried not to make direct eye contact with him, it would... be too awkward for you to handle.

"So as I was saying--"

Before you knew it, he just kept on going on and on. Were you listening? Heck no.

"Uh Y/N?" He waved a hand, practically in your face. "You weren't listening, were you?" Thomas asked, his tone mildly annoyed.

"Sorry. Go on!" You quickly apologized.

"Anyway as I was saying--"

Thomas stirred his coffee-- accidentally spilling it on your white button-up shirt.

"I'm SO SORRY Y/N!" Thomas practically screamed, it was strange seeing a man like him being so worried over a silly mistake made you feel... you didn't know the word for it.

"It's okay!"

"No-- it's not!"

He raced towards the counter, grabbing a pile of paper towels from the barista. A lady about your age-- with dark curly hair. She was drop-dead gorgeous, you couldn't help but squint your eyes at the look she gave Thomas. Before you knew it, he was on his knee right in-front of you, cleaning your shirt.

"Sorry Y/N"

"It's okay..." you mumbled. "It's alright, you don't have to continue apologizing"

"It's still wet here" Thomas took off his signature magenta hoodie. "You can just wear this" he placed it in your lap, waiting for your reaction. You hesitated for a moment, before picking it up and giving him a reassuring nod.

You awkwardly put the hoodie on, "Uhh.. Lunch must be almost over by this time, we should go back" you simply stated, not looking at Thomas.

He nodded, and the two of you quickly exited the shop. You walked as fast as you could (without running), to try to stay away from Thomas. Yet he was still not too far behind you.

"Y/N"

You turned around facing Thomas, who looked to be slightly out of breath. "Slow down a tad bit, will ya?" He muttered.

"Uh yeah my bad" (spoken like a true alpha)

The two of you slowly walked back to your workplace, you could just feel all the stares on you. Especially when you walked past Maria's desk, you just knew she was going to start a new rumor about you and Thomas. Oh and James M too! He was one of Thomas's only two friends (that you knew of) in the office, he was going to 'ship' (or whatever it's called) you guys together.

You sat back down in your little cubicle as Thomas went back to his desk, right after telling you to call him if you needed any help. And with that, you just got back to work. At least something remotely interesting happened in your repetitive, boring life. *SIGH* It's fine--

Speaking of fine things, Thomas was 101% on top of that list, for right now at least! Not ashamed to apologize, making sure you were okay and all. Was all of this bare-minimum? Yes, but can't a girl be just a little delusional?!

At the very end of the day, you drove back home. Flopped down on your couch and called your BFF. You told Eliza every little bit of tea there was.

Did she like Thomas? No, her husband was literal arch-enemies with him.

But did she (being the supportive friend she is) listen to every single detail you totally overshared? YUP!

Then you remembered, you had Thomas's phone number...

Should you message him?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TYYYYY FOR READING!!!!!!!! PART 3 COMING IDK WHEN...

Boss, I mean Thomas.

Y/N x Thomas Jefferson

A/N note - My very first time writing! PLEASE PLEASE don't question my writing skills. I've never written for a fandom, so please feel free to tell me what I should improve on! 😭 Also Y/N is female in this story!

Plot - Y/N is a lonely 25 year old, working a job she doesn't like with a boss she doesn't like-- But does she really not like him? And why did she never realize how fine he was!

You had big dreams for the future, working for your own self, creating you own business, getting married and having kids with the "one" and being financially stable, but boy oh boy were you wrong.

25, living in a tiny apartment, barely being able to afford groceries and working a shitty 9 - 5 corporate job you absolutely despised. Sure it wasn't all bad though, you had friends (a couple...) but you literally couldn't relate to even your best friend, Eliza. She came from a wealthy family, and had a husband and a kid at just 25! She never had to worry about anything because her father, husband, brothers and sisters always had her back. The only person who had you back was Eliza. And you just... felt so lonely. Is this how adulthood feels like?

Uh oh... Your alarm rang.

You were not about to be late for work for the 4th time this month! Not with a boss like yours, Thomas Jefferson.

You quickly changed out of your sweatshirt and pajamas to a white button-up shirt and a black maxi skirt. You quickly left your apartment and practically ran to work! (you didn't you just drove). You glanced at your phone, 7:35.

Dang, you still had 25-ish minutes left to spare. You were early for the first time in forever! WooHoo! Hopefully you got to work earlier than your boss, you just knew he was going to make a side comment about you actually being early for once.

"I see your here early" Speak of the devil.

"Uh yes" you awkwardly smiles at your boss. "I would appreciate it if you could be on time like this every single day." Thomas said, pushing up his glasses.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes-- not in a mean manner, but rather a friendly, and playful one.

"Can you get started on the report by the way?"

"Sure, boss" you complied.

"C'mon Y/N you know I hate it when you call me boss, it's just Thomas" he whined. "Sorry Thomas." He smiled at your quick apology. You thought he would leave you alone after that, but no this man clearly had nothing better to do ad he grabbed a chair and sat next to you, talking your ear off. Nothing you could do though, he was your boss after all.

Time flew by quick at least, before you knew it, it was already time for your lunch break. "L/N, have any plans for lunch?" he asked.

"Hm, no do you?"

"Nah you up to grab some coffee with me?"

"Uh sure"

Thomas got up and so did you, the two of you started walking over to a local coffee shop, maybe a 7 - 8 minute walk from work.

You sat down, you had never visited here, despite the fact that you had been working this job for the past 3 years. The place was... cozy. Thomas got up and ordered coffee for the both of you, black coffee for him and a iced-latte for you. He sat down, right in front of you.

The sun hit his skin, his dark curly hair was shining under the light, and you could see all the coils and curls underneath the light. That's when you looked him in the eyes for the first time.

Dang-- he was fine.

You just stared at him.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah, what's up?" you hesitantly responded.

"You seemed to be lost Y/N"

"Lost in your eyes" you mumbled underneath your breath, only loud enough for you to hear.

"What was that?"

"HUH!" you snapped out of it. "Nothing, I just said that our order is ready by now" "Oh yeah" Thomas got up and walked over to the counter.

Why was it just now you realized how fine your boss was?

:)

Omg i just read a heart wrenching story of lewis hamilton x reader!sister where she is a drug addict bcs her parents neglected her and lets herself fall deeper and he always takes care of her and then my tumblr refreshed and i cant find it anymore pls help 😭😭

Lee Oneshot - "Get Away From My Sister!"

Requested?: No

Prompt: None

Type of oneshot: ig fluff?

Timing: Modern AU

Reader's Relations: John’s Sister (who is also best friends with the Schuylers)

Warnings: None? (John being a very protective older brother)

Other notes: This includes Elams shipping (because I ship it. Don’t judge me)

------------------------------

“So…. have you got a date to prom yet, (Y/n)?”

I shook my head, trying to ignore my face turning red, “I already told you several times, Peggy; No. I don’t, and I don’t think anyone will ask me. No one is going to when John’s staring over my shoulder at the guy.” I lied, knowing that none of my friends, and especially John, would disapprove of who I’d said I was going with… The truth was that I’d been dating Charles Lee for the past few months behind my brother’s back, knowing that the two of them didn’t get along, well that was an understatement, John hated Charles after he’d said something rude to Mr Washington’s face, but in my opinion, he was just a little bean who needed love. Before any of the three sisters could reply, my phone pinged. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked to see a message from John, causing me to roll my eyes, ‘You got a date yet?’

I just scoffed and looked up to where John and his friends were sitting at a table on the other side of the lunch hall, seeing him smiling at me. I rolled my eyes again and returned to my phone, ‘Yes. At least I’m doing better than you. Tell Alex now, or I’ll do it for you.’

I could see the colour draining from his face as I stood up on the table (It was attached to the floor, the reader is perfectly safe up on it), “HEY ALEX!”

At that point, I now have everyone’s eyes on me and I smirked, “JOHN’S GOT A MASSIVE CRUSH ON YOU!” I jumped off the table after taking a quick look at both boys’ bright red faces, and grabbed my phone, dashing out of the lunch hall, knowing I was going to get an earful when we got home. I ran down the hall, wanting to get to my next class, knowing the teacher would let me sit in the classroom, as long as I was quiet, which I normally was. However, I bumped into someone, “Hey, watch where- Hi, (Y/n).”

“Hi, Charles,” I replied, pecking his lips before pulling him along with me to our English classroom and knocking on the door. Once I was allowed entry, I opened the door and pulled Charles in with me.

“Hello, (Y/n). I take it you want to spend the rest of your lunch in here?”

I nodded, “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I just don’t want to face my brother right now.”

“Fair enough. I won’t impose and ask why, as long as you two are quiet.”

I nodded and sat down in my normal seat, pulling Charles next to me, “Sorry for randomly dragging you off, I just didn’t want John to find us. I may or may not have done something stupid in the lunch hall… I jumped up on the table and shouted to everyone in there that John had a crush on Alex. I’m just sick of him pining after the gremlin, just get on with it and confess already… Oh shit, I probably made Eliza uncomfortable too. I mean, she’s dating Alex, how’s she goin to feel? I’m such a shit sister…” I muttered quietly enough so that our teacher couldn’t hear me swearing.

“You’re not, (Y/n). Hamilton should know the truth. Then he can decide what to do, better than you having to put up with your brother sulking for the rest of his life because he couldn’t get the courage to confess.”

“You’re right, Charles.”

MEANWHILE - JOHN’S POV (Just after you ran out)

I sat there, my face bright red as I tried to avoid eye contact with Alex. Knowing he wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore…

“Look, Alex, I’m sorry. (Y/n) doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I promise you I don’t have any romantic interest in you. Sorry if what she said made you uncomfortable. I-”

“John, don’t lie to me. I’ve known for ages. I was just waiting for you to say something yourself.”

“WHAT?! I-I… I should go,” I muttered the last statement, standing up and going to walk out of the lunch hall, until I felt a hand grab my wrist, “Where are you going?”

“Away from you, Alexander, please let me go,” I muttered, trying not to show my friends I was crying, and pulled my arm from his grasp and ran out, not caring about the stares I was getting.

-------------------------

“John? There you are.”

“Just leave me alone. I deserve it.”

That’s when I saw a familiar blue dress enter my small field of vision, and I froze up, “ELIZA! Shit, I’m so sorry! Please don’t hate me. I know you and Alex are dating, that’s why I kept it to myself. Honestly, I’m trying to get over it. I-” She shut me up with a kiss and I froze, incredibly confused, “D-did you- Just… I-What?!”

“Alex and I have been talking, John, and well, Alex admitted he’s bisexual, and that he’s in love with you too, and the truth is, I am too.”

“WHAT?!”

Eliza just giggled, sitting down on th bench next to me, “It’s true, John. Now, I think you should go and find your sister and thank her before she starts avoiding you because she thinks you hate her.

--------------------------------- YOUR POV

“You look amazing, (Y/n). Makes me not want to share you.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Charles. Don’t worry, I’m only yours.”

That made his face turn red and he turned his attention to the drink in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth in an attempt to cover the blush, causing me to giggle, “You’re adorable, Charles.”

He smiled at me and placed a hand on my cheek, leaning down and pecking me on the lips.

JOHN’S POV

“John… mon ami, you might want to look at this…”

“What is it, Laf? I’m trying to fin-What the Hell is he doing to her?!” I replied, interrupting myself the minute I saw Lee making (Y/n) laugh. He placed a hand on her cheek and leaned down, kissing her, making my blood boil, “What the HELL is he doing, and why isn’t she stopping him?! Laf, hold me back before I fuck his face up!”

“Mon ami, stop. You cannot control the power of love.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“Well… mon ami, don’t hate me for being the one to tell you this, but they’ve been dating for the past six months.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?!”

“Probably cause of your reaction, John,” Alex piped in, wrapping his arms around my neck from behind and kissing my cheek, “(Y/n) looks up to you like you’re a god. She puts her relationship with you above everything else, she wouldn’t want you to never talk to her again because of who her boyfriend is.”

“How are you always right, Alex?”

“I do not know, John. But you might want to let her know before she runs off and secretly gets married to him or something.”

I sighed and nodded, knowing Alex was right and walked over calmly to where (Y/n) was standing with Lee.

YOUR POV

“Oh shit, Charles, you might want to run…” I muttered, seeing John walking over out of the corner of my eye.

“I’ve already seen, (Y/n). No point in trying to run, Lee,” John spoke, causing both me and Charles to gulp and for him to remove his arm from my waist. John continued, “I know we do not get on very well, Lee, however, I was informed that you two have been dating for the past six months and (Y/n), you are my sister, I’d always put your happiness over a petty argument. So for your sake, I will try to get along with Lee.”

I smiled widely and hugged him, “So… you’re not mad about the whole lunch hall situation yesterday?”

“Oh…” was all John said, his face turning bright red, “Well... Thanks to your shtick yesterday, I now have a wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend. Thank you, (Y/n).”

“What are little sisters for? I wouldn’t have done what I did if I knew the two of them didn’t like you back,” I replied, hugging him, Now go and have fun with your partners!”

John nodded and walked back over to where Alex and Eliza were, Laf being off dancing with Angelica, and Peggy with Hercules, leaving me with Charles. Not that I was complaining, “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/n). Glad your brother didn’t murder me.”

I just giggled and kissed him, “So am I, Charlie, so am I.”

------------------------------END OF ONESHOT

Hehe. Another one. I love Lee so much. And Seabury… I NEED MORE ONESHOTS OF THEM. IF ANYONE KNOWS ANY GOOD LEE OR SEABURY X READER ONESHOTS PLEASE SEND THEM TO ME IN THE COMMENTS.

Lafayette Oneshot - Because Fuck You, That's Why!

Requested?: No

Prompt: 6."I-I'm pregnant." 7. "I'll be here for you, through the dark." 11. "You gotta stop doing that." "Doing what?" "Saying things that make me want to kiss you!"

Type of oneshot: Angst/Fluff

Timing: Modern AU

Reader's Relations: John’s Sister

Warnings: None If any of this is triggering, please let me know and I’ll warn for it next time!

Other notes: You live with John

-------------------------

I sobbed as I hid myself under the covers, forgetting that I hadn’t locked the door to my room.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), what happened?”

“Hmm.”

“What exactly does ‘Hmm’ mean?” John asked, pulling the covers back so he could see my tear-stained face.

“It means ‘None of your fucking business’. Leave me alone, please,” I muttered, sending him the middle finger.

“(Y/n), I’m your brother. I am not leaving this room until you tell me.”

“I-I’m pregnant,” I spoke in an almost whisper, hoping he hadn’t heard, but when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I knew he had, “I’ll be here for you. Through the dark.”

I smiled slightly and dried my eyes, “T-thank you.”

“Do you know who the father is?”

I shook my head, “All I know is it’s some French guy.”

“Okay. That’s fine with me. I won’t judge you, (Y/n). Anything I can get you?” John asked, his normal cinnamon roll self returning after being concerned about me. I just shook my head, “Not right now, but thank you.”

--------------------------------JOHN’S POV

“What’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” I replied, looking at my phone for the thousandth time that minute, my leg jittering uncontrollably. 

“Something’s wrong. John, we’re your friends, we can tell when you’re bothered by something.”

“Okay fine. I’m worried about (Y/n). She went out this morning and said she’d text me when she was nearly home. I still have not received that text, and I can’t help but think that something has happened,” I answered, wracking my hands through my hair.

“Oh.”

“Really? That’s all you say?”

Before anything else could be said, there was the sound of a door opening and some muttering. Then I heard a familiar voice, “Uncle John! Look what Mumm-” the young girl cut herself off before dashing out the same way she’d come.

YOUR POV

“Mummy! Why didn’t you tell me Uncle John had people over!”

“Huh? What are you talking about, Sweetie?” I asked, bending down to Marié’s level, and wiping the tears from her eyes.

“There’s people sitting in the living room with Uncle John and I don’t know who they are, or that they would be here!”

“It’s okay, Sweetie. We can ask your Uncle about it,” I replied, picking her up and walking into the living room, “John?”

“(Y/n)! I’m so glad you’re alright! Why didn’t you text me?!”

“Phone died,” I replied. I’ll put it on charge when I go upstairs. Sorry.”

“Mon ami, are you going to introduce us to this belle famme here or are we going to have to make assumptions?”

“Oh sorry. This is (Y/n). My little sister. (Y/n), Meet my friends; Alexander, but we all just call him Alex,” John spoke, pointing to a relatively short guy with dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, “Hercules,” a taller male with a bandana wrapped around his head, and “And Lafayette. His name is too long, so we all just call hi-” John stopped talking when I let out a small gasp and turned around, running out of the room and up to my bedroom, letting myself slide down the door once inside and muttering to myself.

JOHN’S POV

“Do you have something to say, Laf?”

“Whatever do you mean, Mon ami? I’ve never seen her before.”

“Then why’d she run off the minute she made eye contact with you?” I asked, turning to him, raising an eyebrow, “She knows you.”

I could tell he was trying to wrack his brain, when I felt an arm wrap around my legs, “Uppy!” I bent down and picked Marié up. As the five-year-old started to play with my hair, I continued to stare Laf down. Then it clicked, “Laf, don’t tell me… You don’t happen to be Marié’s father, do you?”

“Mon ami, that is an absurd thought. I told you already I have never met ta souer before. How could that even happen?”

I sighed and sat down on the sofa again, Marié now happily sitting in my lap, “Laf, like how you can tell when something is worrying me, I can tell when you’re lying. (Y/n) knows you.”

Before he could reply, my phone pinged. I picked it up and looked at the message to see it was from (Y/n): “Can you ask Lafayette to come upstairs? He deserves to know…”

“Laf, my sister wants to talk to you. You ‘deserve to know’ something.”

YOUR POV

By the time I sent John a message, I was sitting on my bed, wracking my hands through my hair That’s when I heard a knock on the door, “Excuse moi, may I come in?”

“Yes,” I responded, trying to calm myself down.

“(Y/n)... John thought of something downstairs..”

“Yes. You’re Marié’s father. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you, but I didn’t know I was pregnant until I got back to America, and by that point, it was too late. “C-Could you ever forgive me?” I muttered, my shoulders wracking with the sobs I was letting out.

“Mon ami,” he replied, bending down in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders comfortingly, “I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. I am the one who got you pregnant, and I haven’t done anything to help with the result of it.”

“You didn’t know she existed, Laf,” I muttered, reaching up and wiping a tear from his cheek, “You’ve got to stop doing that, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing things that make me want to kiss you,” I answered, my face going bright red.

“Y-you want to kiss moi?”

“Y-yeah. Honestly, when we met in France, I fell in love with you, and the night Marié happened, I wasn’t actually that drunk. I’m sorry if this is creeping you out, I mean, I’m just your friend’s sister now. The past is the past, right?” Instead of a response, Laf just removed a hand from my shoulder and placed it on my cheek, “Mon ami, may I kiss you?”

And… my face was bright red again, “Y-you feel the same?” Again, there was no verbal response, only a nod. I nodded back and leaned in, kissing him, soon finding myself lying down on my bed, Laf hovering over me.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”

I immediately broke off at the sound of my brother’s voice, as I turned to see his face; red with anger, “LAF THAT IS MY SISTER!”

“Et c'est ma petite amie,” Laf replied, causing me to blush for the third time in ten minutes. Due to my French knowledge, I knew he’d just called me his girlfriend.

“Fine. You hurt her, you’re dead, Laf.”

----------------------

“Marié, how would you feel about getting a little sibling?” I asked the now eight-year-old as I fiddled with the ring on my left finger. Her face immediately lit up, “Really?!”

I nodded and she squealed, running off happily, probably to tell her friends. I stood up, however, I could feel eyes boring into me from behind, “Why are you asking Marié that specific question, (Y/n)?”

“Because fuck you, that’s why, John. My love life is none of your business.”

—----------------------------------END OF ONESHOT

Finally back to writing Hamilton oneshots hehe.

High and Dry | ch. 4

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, lowk me being a therapist for myself

Wc: 3.6k

A/n: to anyone who reads or interacts with my work: thank you so so much for the support. Seriously. Reading y’all’s comments genuinely makes my day so much better. The authors curse has been hitting but y’all fr give me a reason to keep going. So thank you. Anyway enjoy the chapter 😝

“How are things?” You therapist, Suzanne, asked.

A half-hearted shrug was given, and you shifted on the blue sofa she had. It was the kind of couch that was so comfortable you could sink into it for eternity and be fine like that. It made you consider stealing it—or buying one for yourself, which was probably the more logical option. You were almost scared to ask her where she got it, because you knew it would be way out of your price range. “Things have been a little rough lately, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Liar. She knew you were lying. You knew you were bluffing, too, because everything is always hard to handle. Despite that, Suzanne crossed her legs, patience creased in her eyebrows. Opening up had always been a difficult task; nothing ever came easy, especially after the trauma of having the one person you trust turn on you, and especially when your birth giver was the cause of so much insecurity and doubt in your life. Suzanne was always lenient with your struggles. It would take a bit of warming up during therapy sessions for you to really start pouring out the emotions that had built up. She worked around your brief answers by letting her questions breathe, then digging a little deeper.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about?” She tilted her head. You tried to ignore how the rhythmic ticking of the clock was irritating you.

“My mom called. Well, her ward did, then I spoke to her,” you rambled, hugging a navy blue pillow to your chest. “But she wants me to visit and I’m just… I’m not ready. I don’t know if I can speak to her quite yet.”

Concern wrinkled into her tan skin. “Is there a reason why you don’t feel ready yet?”

“I’ve just been overwhelmed lately. It’s been hard to even deal with myself, let alone other people.” You picked at your cuticles, a nervous habit you developed in middle school that stuck around.

She paused for a moment to see if you’d say anything else, but upon hearing silence, she spoke. “You told me you started a new job at a high school. How has the environment been treating you? Do you think the start of a new school year could be an attribute to your stress?” Her eyes flickered to the fidgeting of your fingers.

Right. Work. Thomas. How could you forget about him?

“It’s been fine. We just finished the first week, actually. A lot of the people I’ve met have been good to me so far, but there’s just one minor inconvenience,” you winced. She waited for you to continue. “Thomas, the guy I used to be friends with in high school that caused me to be bullied, is the other teacher I have to work with the entire year. And, um… it hasn’t been pretty.”

“That’s great that you’re surrounded by a lot of good coworkers! It’s important to have a supportive circle. As for Thomas—It must be hard to face him after all this time. I’m sorry it hasn’t been going well. How have your conversations with him been?” She jotted something down on her sky blue notepad, paired with a fancy blue pen. The woman was obsessed with blue, if you couldn’t tell.

“Bitter. A little teasing, but they usually all end in some form of argument.”

“What do these arguments consist of?”

You paused. “The incident. How he hurt me. I can’t let him forget what he did and act like everything is fine and dandy while I suffer.”

She took a sip of herbal tea, scribbling a few words. The lemon scent wafted from the liquid, soothing your tangled brain. “Do you think,” she said, “that you can’t let him forget because you can’t let yourself forget?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is you seem to really hold on to what happened all those years ago. There’s something holding you back, keeping you from fully healing.” She explained, looking up from her notes. You could never decipher how old she was; her curly black hair and flawless olive skin made her look like she could pass for twenty-five, but the analytical, empathetic wisdom she carried herself with was far too mature for that to be true. “It might do you some good to let it go so you can find peace.”

Your lips tugged downward.

“I know it’s easier said than done,” she continued, “but it is possible. You cannot let the past control you. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, it means that you stop carrying the energy of the past into the present. We can definitely discuss some strategies to live in the present moment when you’re ready. For now, I’d like for you to tell me about how he is now compared to the past.”

Squirming uncomfortably, you nodded. “He’s different from when we were kids. In a good way, I suppose. He’s still very temperamental, but it seems like he’s better at managing it now. He’s changed a lot,” a soft smile appeared on your face without realizing it, “but he’s still the same guy I befriended.”

A brief silence filled the office, letting both you and her digest what you said. “If he apologized, genuinely apologized, would you forgive him?” She asked. Suzanne was straightforward, she didn’t sugarcoat her questions which you appreciated. You needed the push.

The question hung in the air while you weighed it. Considered it. “I don’t know. Probably? I want to. But I just—if the old me could hear me right now, she’d probably freak out at the possibility of forgiving him.” A dry chuckle left you, although it wasn’t real.

“My dear, the old you no longer exists. That part of you is what’s stopping you from growing. The question is what would you say if he apologized?”

Goddamnit, she hit the nail right on the fucking head.

“I… I would forgive him. I would forgive him if he apologized.” You repeated, firmer. It surprised you that when you said those words, they were true. The choice of forgiveness was so freeing, and saying it out loud confirmed those feelings.

A satisfied smile grew on her red-tinted lips, and she leaned back. “Acknowledging that is a great first step towards healing. I’m proud of you. Now I have to ask, has he done anything recently to show he’s trying to change?”

A warm surge of confidence swelled in you when she said she’s proud. It wasn’t something you grew up hearing. You took a moment to bask in the feeling, then responded to her question. “I guess—I guess he brought me coffee, if that counts for anything.”

“That’s a sweet gesture,” she commented.

You stared at the picture hanging on the wall behind her, depicting her kids when they were younger. “Yeah.” You blanked, “it was my favorite kind. I don’t know how he remembered my favorite. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and it was the exact order I still get to this day.”

She took another sip of her tea. “It sounds like he is trying, then. I know it will be hard, but show him a little mercy. And give yourself grace, too.”

A reluctant frown formed on your face, but you nodded anyway. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Would you be ready to talk about those strategies now?”

You acquiesced, and for the rest of the session that’s exactly what you did.

—

“Okay, class, since my partner in crime only wants to review this week, that’s what we’re doing,” you announced.

The room was rearranged to have every desk in groups of four, with plastic baggies that had a set of task cards in them. The assignment was to match a title card to its descriptor. They were to work in groups of either three or four, letting them choose who to work with because you’re not evil.

“Call me over when you’re done so I can check it!” After giving instruction, the room erupted into light chatter. You sat at your desk, taking attendance and eavesdropping on conversations.

There were some… questionable discussions happening. You had to ignore a lot of foul language, penis jokes, and friends that were ripping on each other. This continued up until fourth period; Thomas’s lunch while you had class.

The door pushed open, and every student paused for a second to inspect whoever was entering. Upon seeing it was another teacher, they quickly went back to their task at hand. Thomas glanced around the classroom before strutting to your desk.

“I thought about it a little more, and if you really want, we can start readin’ To Kill a Mockingbird this week,” he said, leaning against the table. The sleeves to his black polo were rolled up, revealing every detail of his forearms. It was one of those oddly attractive things men do, and you hated how it was him who was doing it.

Your eyes lit up, and a bright smile grew on your lips. “Really? What made you change your mind?”

He glanced away in a sheepish manner. “Thought a week of review might be a little extreme. Figured we could introduce it to ‘em on Thursday.”

His answer was vague, but you weren’t complaining. You got what you want. Now what you really wanted to know was what led him to change his mind?

“Okay, yeah—sure, Thursday works,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice level. For some odd reason, you found your eyes wandering to his chest where he had the top button undone.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, eyes flickering to your hair. “You have somethin’…” he trailed off, reaching up and picking out a spec of lint, his touch featherlight against your head. The hitch of your breath didn’t go unnoticed by him.

The action was small, insignificant, but your cheeks flared with embarrassment in response. All of a sudden, the classroom was too hot and he was too close and your clothes were itchy and why was his cologne so intoxicating?

He straightened up, scanning your appearance, not saying much else. Reality of where you were and who he was hit. There were a few hushed whispers of students around the room, only a handful having seen the encounter. Most were too engrossed laughing with their friends to notice Jefferson was still here. For a moment, you wondered what else he would say if the classroom were empty, if it were just you and him alone. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

So you calmed your racing heart and came to your senses. What Suzanne had told you about showing him a little mercy echoed in your head. Forgiveness, you reminded yourself. Forgive and forget. It won’t happen overnight, and it sure as hell won’t happen now, but if you want to heal you have to make conscious efforts every day.

“I’ll speak to you later?” He asked, a hopeful undertone as he tried to play off what just happened.

“Y-yeah,” you whispered, watching him retreat back to his classroom right next door. How he managed to seem so unaffected was beyond you.

You were freaking out more than you wanted. It didn’t help that one of the girls closest to your desk turned to you, her gaze full of mischief and curiosity. “Are you and him together?” She asked.

Immediately, your eyes flew wide open. High schoolers are a different type of beast. The confidence that the popular, pretty volleyball girls have is unmatched by society. Seriously, they have no shame in walking up to somebody and just talking. The temerity in her question also astounded you; if you had asked your teacher that when you were a freshman, she’d probably slap you.

Drawing in a sharp breath, you spoke steadily. “No, Mr. Jefferson and I are not together. We’re just fr—coworkers,” you paused mid sentence. It was too early to consider Jefferson your friend. Even an acquaintance would be too far.

She raised a quizzical eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Her friends behind her snickered, and that moment sent you back twelve years ago when you were sixteen and every girl in class would laugh at you. A sense of dread gnawed at your stomach.

“I think he likes you, Ms. L/n,” she said, snapping you out of your flashback. “You’d be a power couple.”

Okay, pause. What kind of high schooler tries to set their teacher up with another teacher? Kids these days really don’t fear any sort of repercussions for their actions. Then again, this girl in particular already established herself as a troublemaker.

You snorted. “There are more important things to be doing than trying to play matchmaker with staff. Like, for example, are you done with your work? Because I can see from right here that you only have two cards paired up.”

“We’re like—halfway there,” she mumbled, giggling with her friends. You sighed, perking up when another group raised their hands, signaling their completion. It gave you the perfect excuse to focus on anything other than Thomas Jefferson.

It being even plausible that you and Thomas would be a power couple was insane. Far as you’re concerned, he still never apologized properly. You weren’t ready to be anything more than coworkers, and these asshole teenagers were suggesting he ‘likes you.’ It’s a bunch of crap. Just teens thirsty for drama.

—

You staggered into the teacher workroom, desperate for the chicken wrap you brought for lunch. Lafayette and Laurens were already sitting in there, chatting with each other.

“Y/n! Ami, join us,” Lafayette waved you over.

Exhausted, you smiled and joined them. “Hey guys, y’all doing okay?”

“Yeah, are you? You look like you crawled through a dumpster to get here,” John teased. Laf kicked his shin, eliciting a groan from Laurens as pain shot up his leg.

“Okay, asshole.” Despite his insult, you laughed, knowing he meant no real harm. Plus, it felt good to have someone who was comfortable enough to make those kinds of jokes and know you won’t get hurt by it. “But yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Aren’t we all?” Lafayette hummed, popping a grape into his mouth. “A kid told another student he wanted to tuez-le avec un marteau. I don’t know where he learned zat. I certainly did not teach him ‘ow to say zat.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at John for clarification on what the hell Lafayette just said.

“He said ‘kill you with a sledgehammer.’” Laurens said without missing a beat. You sputtered, nearly choking on your food.

“Jesus Christ. That’s—wow. Did you report it?” You said, an incredulous laugh escaping you. Again, high schoolers are fucking insane. Most of the time, they were joking, but being mandated reporters and all, you have to speak up about those kinds of things.

“Oui. I ‘ave no other choice. I can’t just let zem walk around threatening each other with improvised weapons! It’s only the second week, and I already ‘ave to deal with zis?”

You hummed sympathetically. “I feel you. My fourth period was… interesting, to say the least.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?” John asked, sharing a knowing glance with Lafayette. Rumors had already circled around from students gossiping to teachers, which in turn led to teachers gossiping to teachers. They had a general idea of what your relationship status is.

“Well, Thomas came in to tell me something, and then afterwards a girl asked me if we were together,” you said, “can you believe it? Then she suggested that he ‘likes me’ and that we would be a power couple! I mean, c’mon, what kind of student plays Cupid with her teachers?”

Lafayette chuckled, shoving a forkful of salad in his face. “It’s kind of believable. Who knows, maybe he does like you?” He smirked, his gaze darting to Laurens. No way he actually thinks that.

“Please don’t tell me you actually believe that,” you groaned. “I would never even look at Thomas like that. Uh-uh.” Really? Because you were looking at him like that on your first day here, before you knew it was him. Clearly there’s some underlying attraction you’re not recognizing.

The Frenchman shrugged, “never say never, mon ami.”

Your eyes narrowed at the mockery he made of you. Who the hell does he think he is, trying to spark something that isn’t there? Something that you would never let happen?

“In other news,” John started. It was starting to become tense at the table, and he figured a change of subject would do some good for the sanity of everyone. “On friday, we’re getting a bunch of teachers to go out to a bar. It’s a little ritual we do at the start of every year. You should join us!”

Worn out nerds all getting drunk together? Sounds like a damn good time right there. “That sounds fun,” you grinned.

He went on to tell you the location, what time to show up, and that you better come because he’s counting on doing shots with a new friend. Somehow, it escalated into the story of how him and Charles Lee got into a fight. You recalled him talking about it on your first day meeting him, but he never went into detail.

“—sayin’ Washington was a bad principal ‘n shit. And I’m not about that, Washington was way better than George, so I told him to keep his mouth shut or I’d make him.” A thing you noticed about John was how animated he was. He talked with his hands, and when he got worked up, his Brooklyn accent was very prominent. Although he did mention he was from South Carolina, so how he developed a New York accent was interesting. “It was almost Alexander that got into the fight, actually. But I got a little temperamental, and well… you saw how that ended up.” He laughed, nudging Lafayette who did the same.

“Lots of good times at zat bar,” Lafayette hummed. “You will ‘ave fun, Y/n, we are ze best drunk teachers you will ever meet.”

—

The overhead lights to Thomas’s room were off, leaving the faerie lights and lamps as the only source of illumination. Reluctantly, you knocked to signal your entrance. He glanced up from his computer, and you could’ve sworn his eyes lit up at the sight of you, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” you awkwardly shuffled in. It was rare you would go into his classroom; being in it felt like stepping into uncharted territory.

“Hey yourself,” he stopped typing, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Somethin’ I can do for you?”

“Just came in to ask about your plan for the book,” you answered, hesitantly pulling up a plastic chair.

His face hinted at disappointment, his shoulders dropping the tiniest bit. “Right. Well, I was thinkin’ to explain to them the background, the characters, and the historical context before readin’ the first chapter. Then I thought about assigning a character sheet for them to fill out as we go along.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. “So I see you decided to finally take my advice, huh?”

“Oh shush,” he rolled his eyes. “I came to this conclusion on my own. You had nothin’ to do with my thought process.”

“Mm, sure I didn’t,” amusement and sarcasm laced your tone.

“‘M bein’ serious. The world don’t revolve around you, y’know,” he huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Okay, so did you have a thing for forearms or something? Because why were his arms so attractive when he barely did anything?

“I like to think it does.”

“Yeah, I know you do.”

A playful defiance shot your eyebrows up. “Care to elaborate on what that means, exactly?”

“Sweetheart, I would tell you, but I’m scared you might hurt me. Some things are better left unsaid,” he scoffed. The pet name slipped by his lips so naturally, he didn’t act like he noticed he said it. You didn’t want to reveal how much of an effect it had on you, because Thomas Jefferson calling you sweetheart is not something that should affect you. Not at all.

If anything, it pissed you off and oddly enough comforted you at the same time. Physically, you grimaced immediately, but internally your heart skipped a beat.

“I’m sure you know a lot about leaving things unsaid, sweetheart,” you mocked. His face fell, contorting into a mixture of discomfort and irritation.

“Y/n,” he warned, “let’s not start an unnecessary argument. We were just becomin’ friends.”

“I wouldn’t go that far to classify us as friends,” you retorted. That’s right! Stand your ground, ignore everything your therapist said about forgiveness, and continue to berate him every possible chance! “Maybe getting along.”

Hurt flashed on his face, and he bitterly grumbled, “Right. We wouldn’t want to get too close, would we?”

For a second, you regretted your actions. Was it possible that you were doing more harm to him now than he did in high school? Was holding onto a lifelong grudge really how you wanted to spend the rest of the year? Apparently, because despite the back of your subconscious mind whispering that it wasn’t right to hold it against him, you said, “No we would not.”

Tension filled the air. It was thick, uncomfortable, suffocating. You didn’t want to be there anymore, with him, focusing on all the negatives while he tried to be positive. So you stood. “I think I better be leaving now. See you tomorrow, Jefferson.”

His gaze lingered on you, a tight frown forming. “Lookin’ forward to it, L/n.”

High and Dry | ch. 3

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, mostly yap tbh this chapter is pretty mid

Wc: 3k

Guys I swear it’ll pick up after this chapter js you wait 🙏

“I’d like for you to come visit,” your mother said, a smile in her tone.

“Mom,” you started, stress evident in the single word, “I would love to, but with the school year just starting…” you trailed off, hoping she’d get the hint.

“You don’t have the time,” she finished. A relieved sigh escaped your lungs, and you peered in the tiny window to see Thomas still typing on his computer.

“Yes. I’m sorry, mom, I—“

“It’s okay,” she interrupted abruptly. “You don’t have to give me an excuse. If you can’t visit, then let’s leave it at that.”

A heavy, almost frustrated sigh escaped you. As much as you’d like to visit her, you weren’t quite ready to face her after the years of emotional trauma she put you through. And with the reintroduction of Thomas in your life, you weren’t quite sure if you would ever be ready. He was the only person you opened up to enough to let him see that side of your family. He was the only one to have met her. And she really loved him. Still does, probably, because you never told her why you stopped being friends.

She was under the impression that you grew apart due to him moving to France. You never did have the heart to tell her the real reason.

“Okay.” You frowned. “I’ll call you when I get the chance.”

She hung up without saying goodbye. Instant guilt bubbled in your stomach all the way up to your chest, making you grimace bitterly. You felt like a total shithead for pushing her away, but what could you do? The state of your mental health was deteriorating, the second most stressful time of year was beginning, and enemy number one somehow found a way to wiggle back in your life.

It was too overwhelming to deal with all at once, especially since your therapy visits were slowing down to once a month rather than once every two weeks. A small, desperate part of you was convincing you that it was for your mother’s sake that you don’t visit. If you went, you reasoned, what would end up happening is projection from all the fucked-up shit going on in life. As a result, she would only get worse and you would be unhappy, too. So it was best to avoid until it stopped all together.

You took a moment to regain yourself, then walked back in and wordlessly sat, ignoring the lump that formed in your throat.

—

“First day of teaching, how are you feeling?” Alex grinned, his hands clasped together. You shrugged.

“Nervous. Excited. Kind of dreading it.”

Hamilton shook his head, a wide smile still plastered on his face. “You’ll do fine! First day is always nerve-wrecking, but I’m always down the hall if you need anything.”

A sheepish thanks was sent his way, and you tried not to think about all the chaos that would ensue during the day. There was bound to be that one kid who causes trouble. When running into those types of students, you have to remind yourself they probably have something going on in their lives causing them to act up. Giving them a reaction would only give them a reason to continue. Best thing you can do is laugh it off and move on.

“I appreciate it, Alexander,” you said. His long hair was put up in a ponytail, and he had this ambition to him that seemed to infect the people around him. He was only a year or two your junior, yet he was so intelligent and walked like he owned the place.

“Of course. Hey, Lafayette got back with his girlfriend, just like I predicted.” He sat on the edge of your desk, changing the focus from you to drama.

“Oh, good, he won’t shamelessly flirt with me anymore,” you sighed in mock relief.

“Who’s shamelessly flirtin’ with you?” A certain southerner chimed in, walking through the door. Thomas held two coffees in his hand, one iced and one hot. His biceps strained against the white button up he wore, and—wait. Why were you staring at his arms?

“And now's a good time for me to leave. See you, Y/n, good luck!” Hamilton hopped off the desk, scowling at Jefferson when they crossed paths. Thomas sent back an equally distasteful glare, then turned to you with an expectant look.

“No one anymore,” you formed your mouth into a thin line, shifting in the shitty swivel chair the school provides.

“Hm. Okay.” He narrowed his eyes, scanning your appearance, taking note of the neatness in your hair and makeup. “I brought you coffee, even though you took my spot again.”

An iced latte with a distinct Starbucks logo was placed on your desk. Instantly, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You hesitantly grabbed it, taking a sip. It was your favorite. How did he remember that you like extra caramel and extra vanilla?

“It was open,” you shrugged, looking down at the drink. “This isn’t laced with anything, is it?”

He smirked. “How’d you know?”

“Because you would never bring me coffee out of the goodness of your heart—if you have one, that is,” you retorted.

His smirk grew wider, and he would rather you throw it in his face than tell you the real reason why he brought you coffee. He felt bad for you. After what happened the day before, he realized you must be going through a lot, and a tiny part of him wanted to correct his behaviors. But he would never admit that. So instead of apologizing or trying to be genuinely nice, he figured he could reach you through food. The best way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach, after all.

“I have a heart,” he protested. “Trust me, L/n, if I wanted you dead you’d be dead. But you’re still breathin’.”

“Thank you, you are such an amazing person now that you’ve spared me! What would I ever do without you?” Your tone was dripping with sarcasm. He seemed to thrive in it.

“Suffer, probably,” he suggested, a slyness in his stupid smile. You hated the way that you liked how his eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Right. Because I already don’t do that with you in my life.”

Instant regret the moment the words left your mouth. Why did you say that? All it would do is stir up drama and start the day off negatively.

The smile he wore faded, and for a second, guilt tugged at your heart. “Alright, I get it,” he threw his hands up in defense. “You hate me. Don’t gotta rub it in my face every time you see me, though.”

You muttered incoherent nonsense under your breath. “Feels like I have a right to,” you said. All of a sudden, keeping his gaze seemed impossible. How was it that playful teasing could turn sour so quickly?

“You do,” he nodded, “but you’re also gonna have to suck it up, cause you’re stuck with me the entire year.”

He was right, as much as you hated to acknowledge that. His attention lingered on you, taking in the frown that tugged at your lips, how your face had matured over the years, the way your haircut suited you perfectly. Thomas hated how you made his heart flutter. You shouldn’t make him feel anything other than rage, and yet? He still became flustered at the sight of you.

“Thomas, you—you really hurt me, y’know that?” You started, finally pulling your focus back to him. “I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve lost a leg or walked through fire if you asked me to. So I think I’m entitled to being a little bitter when you’re around.”

He stared at you, digesting what you dropped on him in silence. Slowly, he nodded, an unreadable expression twisting on his features. Right as he opened his mouth to speak, the bell rang, and the chatter of students filled the hall. He glanced up, then took a step back.

“Saved by the bell,” he murmured, looking at you one last time before exiting.

A breath you didn’t know you were holding was released. You thought telling him how he hurt you, maybe even yelling or belittling him would make you feel better, but it didn’t. The weight was still on your shoulders. The pain still loomed over you, haunting the back of your mind, dancing and thriving in the self-pity you felt. What you would give to stop it.

The first wave of students clamored in, and you stood, forcing a smile and a positive attitude. Next door, you heard Thomas welcoming students in, you heard him saying hello to older ones. His stupid, sweet southern drawl being the only voice you could hear over the loudness that teenagers brought in.

You loathed him for it. Or was it that you hated yourself for selectively hearing his voice above all others?

—

The day went by surprisingly fast, and you ended up having a lot of fun. Lafayette and John had the same lunch as you, so they invited you to eat with them while in the teacher workroom. Conversation flowed, inside jokes were built, and you came out of your shell for once. Naturally, you and John teased Lafayette for flirting with you during the first impressions, then three days later getting back with the girl he said he was ‘officially over with.’ They even noted how you seemed more talkative, more expressive once you’ve eased into the friend group a little. You were just happy someone wanted to be your friend.

The students you had were all smart, and the majority of your classes worked well together. Some better than others, but what mattered is that they had fun. Of course, there were those few students that disrupted class with their friends. It was a simple fix. By the end of the day, you were exhausted, and it didn’t help knowing you had a full week ahead. More lesson plans to create. More time spent working with Jefferson.

“There she is!” An energetic Hamilton barreled through the door. He was practically bouncing off the walls from how lively he was. It astounded you how he was so cheerful after an entire day of working.

“Hi, Alex.” The best you could offer was a lethargic smile. “Good day, I presume?”

“Great day,” he corrected. “All of my classes were perfect. Well, except one, but they were still good!” He slid atop your desk once more, his smile never faltering. “So.”

“So?” You raised a brow.

“How was it?” His hands went to grip the edge of the desk.

“Good. Tiring, but I had fun. Nobody got hurt, so that’s a win in my book. Went over the syllabus, class procedures, the works, but I didn’t want the first day to be that boring, so we had them choose a song or artist that represents them. One kid said Sexyback. I still don’t know how to feel about it.”

“Kids never fail to disappoint me,” He chuckled.

“I know. When I read it I just started laughing. I think that one was my favorite, and the kid that wrote he’s the reincarnation of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.” You reached for the stack of notecards that students turned in, flipping through them. Honorable mention for whoever put Life in the Fast Lane.

“Good for both of them. I wish I were that confident.”

“Right? They know their worth. I gotta respect it,” you said, shoving the cards back in the turn-in box.

“Honestly,” he hummed. He contemplated his next words, fidgeting with a stray pen on your desk. “Any trouble from Jefferson?”

“Nothing more than usual,” you shrugged. “He brought me coffee this morning.”

Alexander’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Really? What did he want?”

“I don’t know, he never told me why he brought me it. He never asked me for anything either, so maybe he just bought an extra by accident,” you reasoned. Which it didn’t add up in your mind, because how could he buy an extra that just so happened to be the exact kind of coffee you drink?

“Huh,” his eyebrows creased, “that’s odd. One would assume he would give it to Madison before anyone else…”

Even though you didn’t want it to, a knot of jealousy twisted in your stomach. “Who’s Madison?” You asked, trying to keep your tone as level as possible.

“Someone from the math team Jefferson is best friends with.” A tight scowl overtook his features. “Madison and I used to get along, too, until Jeffershit came around.”

It shouldn’t hurt so much to hear Thomas was “best friends” with some girl named Madison. Why did it hurt so much? Why did it hurt at all?

“Yeah? So Thomas really does ruin everything, huh?” You laughed, trying to act as if you weren’t crushed by the possibility of Thomas finding someone new.

You knew that Thomas was bad for you, that you wouldn’t get along ever again, but the thought of him having someone else he’d share everything with, someone he’d laugh and have inside jokes with…it sucked. That was the only way you could classify it. A sick, selfish side wanted him to still be stuck on you; for him to think your name first when someone talked about close friends. But you knew better than to give in to the toxicity.

“God, don’t even get me started,” he groaned. “Seriously. Because you and I both know that once I get going, I don’t stop.”

An airy laugh escaped you, and his bright, enthusiastic smile returned. Thomas was often the topic of discussion between you and Alex, mostly when you felt like talking shit about someone, but right now you wanted to do anything but think about him. It seemed like all your thoughts revolved around Thomas Jefferson. His small action of bringing you coffee, joking around with him, why his cologne smelt so good, the way his shirt hugged his muscles—by the way, when did his muscles become so defined? And why did you find yourself staring at them so often?

“Anyway, you’re starting To Kill A Mockingbird soon with your classes, right?” He asked. “It’s one of my favorites. I wish I could read it with my classes, but with them being seniors, I really can’t,” he shook his head, a disappointed sigh leaving him.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite too, but for now we’re just reviewing and setting up for the year. I’m gonna try and convince Jefferson to start it next week instead of the week after—although maybe I should be a little nicer for that to work…” you trailed off, grimacing at the thought.

“Convince me of what?” Thomas jumped in, standing in the doorway all casual.

Alex stared at him, scrunching his nose in distaste. “This is the second time you’ve done this today, Jefferson.”

Thomas shrugged. “I heard my name. Can’t blame me for bein’ curious.”

Hamilton scoffed, “go be curious somewhere else. We don’t want you here.“

“Believe me, Hamilton, the last place I want to be is in a room with you. ’nd now you’ve infected L/n with your idiocy. This ain’t exactly the ideal environment for me.” He retorted, unamused.

“You could resign. No one’s forcing you to work here,” Alex suggested, smugness evident in his tone. Annoyance flickered in Thomas’s jaw.

“Okay, Alex,” you chuckled nervously, shooting him a look as if to say cut it out. “I was wondering if we could move reading Mockingbird to next week instead.” Alex seemed to have gotten the hint that you needed to be on Jefferson’s good side in order for him to comply.

“Hm. I dunno… you wanna tell me how smart, handsome, amazing, and charming I am?” A sly grin grew on his lips.

“I’m not gonna kiss your ass, Jefferson,” you deadpanned. So much for getting him on your side. You’d rather die than admit those things.

“Well then, I guess we’re not movin’ it a week closer. Your loss, Y/n,” he hummed. The sudden feminine urge to throw your computer at him was overwhelming.

“Oh, c’mon, d’you seriously wanna work on mindless review for two weeks?”

“I don’t mind doing so,” he took some steps toward your desk. “Most of ‘em don’t even remember the difference between a compound and complex sentence, much less how to write an essay or basic punctuation. This’ll set ‘em up for a good year.”

You couldn’t disagree with him. A lot of your past students did struggle with grammar for whatever reason, and maybe a couple weeks to review everything they lost due to summer wouldn’t hurt. “But they aren’t stupid. Most of them are honors students, it shouldn’t take two weeks to review the basics.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he frowned, shifting his watch to Hamilton for a brief moment. “But I still think we should stick with what I’ve done every year I’ve been here. My students have always had the best test scores in the district, after all.”

The not-so-humble bragging only furthered your irritation with his intransigence.

“Oh, that’s crap, Jefferson. Every other school is twice as small, and their funding is significantly less. We’re the biggest school in this district, we dominate in sports, UIL, and scores for every subject,” Alex chimed in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Uh, was anybody speakin’ to you, Hamilton?” He huffed. “I swear, you don’t know when to stop talking.”

“That is kind of true,“ you mumbled. Alex elbowed your arm, giving you a pointed look.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he pouted.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But to be fair, you said it yourself earlier. ‘Once I get going, I don’t stop.’” Upon hearing his words echoed back to him, he groaned.

“See? Even Y/n agrees. But unless she agrees that I am the most gorgeous, intelligent, dashingly attractive man she’s ever met—“

“Go fuck yourself,” you interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping your chest. “We can just stick to your plan since you want to be such an ass.”

How badly you wanted to erase the smug grin that reached his eyes. “‘M not bein’ an ass, ‘m just bein’ a smart planner. You’ll thank me later, L/n.”

You sighed. This was gonna be a long year.

High and Dry | ch. 2

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, overuse of italics, title drop (shit was NOT tough at all pls don’t judge me too hard)

Wc: 2.7k

Holy moly this took longer than expected

EDIT: LESLIE ODOM JR RETURNING TO HAMILTON??? HELLO??!????

Out of everyone Thomas anticipated to be working with, you were the last on his list. He didn’t think he’d ever see you again after what happened in high school.

He had been best friends with you since birth, two peas in a pod. You did everything together: lost your first tooth, the awkward middle school phase, and the first steps into high school. Where one was, the other wasn't far behind. Near the end of junior year, he had a promising chance at a scholarship for a prestigious university. It’s not like he needed the money anyway, he was already filthy rich and took yearly trips to Paris for fun.

So it was only natural you were jealous of him. At least, that’s how he perceived it. To him, you envied his wealth and intelligence, always making snide remarks or rolling your eyes when he’d talk about being future Valedictorian. It got to a point where he snapped. He ignored you for days. And when you called him out on his chickenshit behavior, he proceeded to list out every reason why you shouldn’t be friends anymore, and ended the most valuable friendship you’ve ever had.

After breaking connections with you, rumors began to spread. There were some smaller ones, like you sleeping together, but that died down pretty quickly. Those were unimportant, everyone knew they were untrue. The biggest one is that you intentionally tried to ruin his chances at the scholarship. His then-girlfriend had told him you reported him for academic dishonesty in all of his work.

Which you didn’t, by the way. But he was convinced you did. He decided to trust someone he’d known for only a few months compared to the person he’s been attached at the hip to since diapers. It’s not like they stayed together, either. Two months later they called it quits. Something about her cheating on him with the Basketball captain. Once he successfully got half the grade turned on you, he randomly packed up and left for France—for good this time. He abandoned you in a difficult situation which you couldn’t do shit about; he left you high and dry.

It broke you.

He was supposed to be the one who helped you when times were rough, not the one who brought you down. And yet he did. He betrayed any ounce of trust you had, and you endured a year-and-a-half of whispers and stares in the hallway, lingering eyes, and petty comments.

“I can’t believe it’s him, of all people,” you groaned.

Alex gave you a sympathetic look, putting down the papers he had in his hands. You told him what happened to an extent. He would never know the full story, mostly because you’re bad at opening up and you’ve only just met him yesterday, but he was aware there was bad blood between you and Jefferson.

“He didn’t even want to be an English teacher! He wanted to be a lawyer! So why is he here?” A huff escaped your chest, built up from years of undiscussed trauma.

“I’ve been asking that for years, trust me. Waltzing in like he owns the place and stealing my friends,” he scoffed.

“God—how did I not realize… I should’ve known he would be out to get me. One final ‘fuck you’ by being my partner for the entire year.” You shook your head, a defeated slump in your shoulders.

“He doesn’t have to win this battle, y’know,” Alex hummed. You quirked an eyebrow, signaling for him to go on. “Just be petty, he hates that. He’s pretty obsessed with this one specific parking spot—the one under the tree. Where there’s the most shade,” his eye twitched, “I’d know because I parked there one time, and the whole day he was after me. The next morning, he was there 30 minutes earlier than normal.”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” you nodded. “That parking spot will be mine. I will do literally anything if it means pissing off a man.”

A devilish grin spread on Alexander’s face. “I’m so glad you hate him as much as I do, if not more. I swear, he’s been terrorizing this school for years. It’s about time he gets what’s coming!”

“I don’t even know how I’m gonna be able to talk to him every day. Let alone look at him. And why is it required for us to collaborate on lesson plans? That’s so stupid,” you grunted, rolling your eyes.

“I know, I’m not happy about it either,” he empathized with the struggle, “but it’s because you’re both Honors English teachers, and all freshmen are supposed to be learning the same thing. Prepare for state testing and whatnot.”

You grumbled under your breath about how stupid it was. For another 20 minutes or so, you went back and forth about stories regarding Jefferson. Spoiler: none of them were good. It’s like somehow your mind blanked, and you couldn’t think of a single positive experience with Thomas. Between you and Hamilton, he was a symbol of evil, something you could bond over. Was your friendship entirely fueled by hatred? No, of course not. But it was a strong part of it.

Although something about being unjust to Thomas because of the past struck you as immoral.

There was a side of you screaming to forgive and forget, but with everything going on in your life, how could you? It seemed like every relationship you had was fucked. You’d barely speak to your mother, only when the ward called, and you had basically no friends (Hamilton is still under examination.)

But there’s nothing like the taste of sweet sweet revenge, right?

—

“She’s still pissed about it, James. It’s been years, I don’t know why she hasn’t gotten over it yet,” Thomas scrunched his nose in disgust, a scowl creeping on his face as he laminated posters for James Madison’s classroom.

“That sucks, man. You talk to her today at all?” James went through the repetitive motion of cutting excess laminated paper, listening to Jefferson talk about you.

“Hell no. She won’t even look in my direction when I pass by her. If she wants to be immature—“ Thomas drew in a sharp, frustrated breath. “She can go ahead. I’m perfectly fine bein’ the bigger person.”

James coughed before nodding in agreement. “Don’t let her stop you from having a good year,” he warned. “She’ll come around eventually.”

“Yeah, well she doesn’t seem too keen on forgiveness anytime soon,” Thomas scoffed, “I don’t think she ever will.”

There was a long falter in his motions. The longer he thought about it, about you, the guiltier he felt. Despite the desperate attempts in trying to convince himself he wasn’t wrong, wasn't a bad person, he still felt immense shame when you popped in his mind. He hurt you. He knew that. But he moved to France and forced himself to forget about you. Facing you was a whole other dilemma; all it did was resurface the shrouds of guilt that haunted him in Junior year.

By the time college rolled around, the remorse had controlled itself, only manifesting in the back of his mind when he said anything fucked up. But he didn’t plan on seeing you again, no.

“You just have to give her time. Women will be dramatic, Thomas, we both know that,” James laughed a little.

Jefferson let out an uncomfortable chuckle, going back to the mundane task of helping Madison make posters. He hated the statement of you being some dramatic woman when he knew you were so much more than that. He wanted to scream at James for even suggesting that. Against every ounce of anger he felt, he missed you. He missed the adventures you’d go on, he longed for the sound of your laughter again, to see you smile because of him rather than someone else.

He missed his best friend.

And here you were, the nerdy girl who wore bulky sweatshirts, all grown up. He couldn’t deny how beautiful you matured. It wasn’t weird to think that; it was a simple observation. You’re attractive, nothing wrong with him acknowledging it. That doesn’t mean he has to automatically like you.

“I suppose,” he sighed. “She’s gettin’ all buddy-buddy with Hamilton, though. Not too excited about that. Hamilton is a shit influence.”

“True. I bet he’s gonna manipulate her into believing you’re the most horrible, evil villain ever.”

“She already does,” Thomas barked out a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t have to do anythin’.”

“But he will.” James gave him a pointed look.

Thomas’s lips quirked downwards. “Yeah. He will.”

—

The door to your classroom flung open, and a mildly pissed-off Jefferson walked in. He gripped his bag so tightly his veins strained, and the coffee he held looked like it would burst at any second.

“We have to make lesson plans for the week,” he grumbled, setting his bag down and taking out his laptop.

You quirked an eyebrow, examining his actions of pulling up a chair next to your desk. “And we have to do this together…? Right now?”

“Yes. Right now,” he said through gritted teeth. His jaw clenched as he opened his laptop.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. He was acting all pissy for no reason, and you were having a rather pleasant morning, having snagged a parking spot in the shade. You even treated yourself to an iced coffee. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Someone took my spot, that’s what crawled up my ass,” he spat.

“What, the one under the tree?” You smirked. His eyes immediately snapped to yours. A sickening grin spread further across your features, relishing in his anger from one simple action. He narrowed his eyes, scanning your appearance at how much you changed in the time not spent together.

His nostrils flared. “You must’ve gotten here early to steal that from me. Already tryin’ to piss me off, L/n?”

“Bold of you to assume I care that much about you.”

Thomas couldn’t deny the slight sting that went with your words. He stiffened, irritation bubbling in his chest. “You’re right, we both know you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Yeah? Is that why you destroyed my reputation then left me for France?” You cocked your head to the side.

Thomas winced at the memory, hating the fact you were still stuck on it. An exhausted sigh left him, and he ran a hand over his face. He knew anything he said wouldn’t make it right. Healing is a gradual process. You both knew that. So why is it that after years of what he thought was healing, it still pained him to think about it?

“That was years ago,” he mumbled, “do you have to bring it up now?”

“Figured I might put it out there,” you shrugged, not entirely satisfied with his poor response.

Thomas pursed his lips, fixing his gaze on the screen before him. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. It would hurt less to pretend like it never happened and move on. A long, tense silence filled the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife. He slumped in his chair, an uncomfortable frown stuck on his face. “We need to be workin’, not arguing.”

You stared at him a moment longer. Was he seriously brushing this off? Was he for real about to ignore the years of pain and suffering you went through because of him?

“Whatever,” you grunted. There was no point in trying to fight him on this. You knew how stubborn and defensive he could be. “What do you normally do for your students at the beginning of the year? I can’t imagine it’s anything fun.”

He leaned back in the crappy plastic chair, rolling his eyes at your petty comment. “I go over the rules, and usually have them write about themselves from a prompt.”

A thin line formed on your lips. “You give them work on the first day? Asshole…” you grumbled.

“Fuck off, they get rowdy if we play games,” he laughed airily. For a split second, it felt good to hear the sound of his laughter again. Then you remembered why you hadn’t heard it in so long.

“Rowdy because they’re having fun,” you gave him a pointed look. “It never hurt anyone to feel joy once in a while. You should try it sometime.” A wide, teasing smirk grew on your face again.

Thomas so desperately wanted to wipe that smugness off your pretty little face. “Have you ever been told how insufferable you are?”

“Only by you, Thomas, only by you.” You batted your eyelashes in a mocking way, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hands. A flicker of amusement flashed in Thomas’s eyes, and a slow grin spread on his lips. For some odd reason, it made your stomach flutter.

“I’m just sayin’ what the rest of the world is thinking,” he teased. The familiarity of his southern accent brought a wave of nostalgia with it.

“Funny,” you scoffed.

“Awh, no more witty comments?” He tilted his head, an innocent expression on his face.

You raised your eyebrows, not amused by his antics. “You are such a dick, Jefferson. Thought I might remind you of that.” You said, tone flat with a hint of teasing.

He feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. “How dare you, L/n. I am a saint.”

You rolled your eyes. Something was so familiar about the back and forth, playful banter. For a moment it felt like nothing was wrong, it felt like when he was still the first person you’d go to with good news.

“Congratulations for being the first and only person to think that.”

He bit back a chuckle, finding his eyes wandering over you rather than focused on the amount of work he needed to get done. “No need to be jealous because I’m beloved by everyone.”

“‘Beloved’ is an interesting choice,” you mumbled, pulling up some past lesson plans to reference.

“I think it’s an appropriate descriptor for me. That and dashingly handsome,” he snickered. Getting on your nerves was proving to be a success.

“Oh yes, because you’re the epitome of charisma and charm.” A mocking snarl went with your reply. Thomas seemed to be thriving at all the arguing, something that only pissed you off more. Weren’t you supposed to be working on lesson plans?

“I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You scoffed, about to tell him how you’d rather die than classify him as charming, but your phone rang, interrupting your thoughts. A sigh left your lips when you checked the caller ID. It was your mom’s psychiatric ward.

“I have to take this,” you muttered, standing and walking to the hallway for privacy.

Thomas held a concerned frown. He hadn’t seen who the caller was, but he knew it must’ve been something important. Having grown up with you, he met your bipolar mother multiple times, and he knew the troubles that went with it. He witnessed firsthand the pain she caused you, the trauma from her episodes reflecting upon you. And he was there for you throughout it all. So he wasn't at all surprised when he heard the word “mom” come out in a distressed tone.

A couple minutes later, you entered again, silently slipping into your seat. Your whole demeanor changed. What once was feisty was now solemn, as if life had been drained from you, leaving an empty shell of a human. It bothered him, but he knew the best bet was to leave you be, even as much as he wanted to ask what happened. You weren’t on those friendly terms anymore. He didn’t get to comfort you or know anything happening in your life.

Besides, one of the last things you said to him when you split up was “I hope you have a great, successful life, and I hope I never have to hear anything about it.”

The silence was deafening.

It was always, always silent in your life.

The silence that came after hearing Thomas talk shit about you for the first time. The silence that came after not getting to explain your side in an argument. The silence of no one understanding what you’re going through, and the one person you had decided his life would be better without you in it. And what could you do other than play along? Put on a facade of rivalry, go-with-the-flow mentality and tough it out?

The silence was killing you. It would’ve been better if he said something. Anything. Even if it meant aggravating you.

And yet he sat there, motionless, wordless, silent; leaving you wondering what he was thinking.

High and Dry | ch. 1

t. jefferson x reader

Warnings: swearing, chronic overuse of italics

Wc: 3.2k

When starting your fourth year of teaching at a new high school, you come face to face with your old friend-turned-enemy: Thomas Jefferson. To make it worse, he’s the other English teacher you’re supposed to work with the whole year.

A/N: the rewritten version of High and Dry And this time I actually have a plan and thought out characters!!! Enjoy lovelies 💕

There’s a certain feeling that comes with a new school year.

Especially when starting your first year as the newest English One teacher to grace Hudson High School. Those distinct, back-to-school jitters that come with the anticipation of a new year were hitting you.

Students shop for new clothes, new notebooks, new backpacks, everything new. Teachers and administrators prepare classrooms, getting everything set up to welcome the newest generation of Freshmen, as well as new staff.

You were one of those newbies. And god, what a feeling of not knowing anyone and having to spend every day here. There’s a thrill that comes with it, something words couldn’t explain.

When you interviewed for the position, George Washington intimidated the fuck out of you. Upon talking to him, he turned out to be a genuine, humble man, but scarily confident. He was the first face you happened to bump into upon entering the school for the first required day over the summer. There were three days before school officially started, and you procrastinated getting your classroom set up and introducing yourself to coworkers.

Next to Washington stood a smaller man. One that had a feistier look to him. There was a stark contrast between the two; Washington was nearly a foot taller than the younger guy, and held himself so calmly while the other was borderline ADHD.

“Ah, Miss L/n. We were just talking about you,” Principal Washington smiled, shaking your hand. He turned to the other man, “this is the new freshman English teacher.”

The young teacher’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, sticking his hand out for you to shake. “Alexander Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you,” he introduced.

You nodded, smiling out of politeness and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Would you happen to know which way the G hallway is?”

“I’ll show you. I’m in the same hallway, y’know, with it being the English hall obviously,” he chuckled, ushering you to follow him. You gave Washington a nod in acknowledgment before embarking on the journey to the English Hall.

“Are you the other English one teacher?” You asked, falling into step with the man.

He let out a loud, bitter laugh. “God, no. I teach English four.” He led you upstairs. “The other freshman English is way worse than I.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. He seemed to have noticed the falter in your steps, because he backtracked to reassure you.

“I’m sorry, that came off a little strong. I’ve had some minor…quarrels with Jefferson in the past. But don’t let that scare you, I’m sure you’ll get along fine.” He waved his hands around, then quietly added on, “If you like arrogant, intransigent assholes.”

Jefferson. That name struck so many bad memories. A chill ran up your spine, and you had to reassure yourself that Jefferson was a common last name. Besides, the one you had known was in France last time you checked.

“You describe him so nicely. I’m looking forward to working with Mr. Jefferson,” you smiled, voice laced with sarcasm. Hamilton laughed, sending an amused grin your way.

“You’ll be okay. It’s only me he truly fights with.” Hamilton shrugged. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Miss L/n.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You can just call me Y/n. And here I was, thinking I was saved from small talk.”

“If you’d prefer to talk about my hatred for your new coworker, or rather listen to me talk about it, it’s always on the table,” he offered. Something about it was so lighthearted. He was really easy to be around, to talk to. “No, but seriously. What got you into teaching?”

“Well, teaching just kind of clicked with me. I subbed once during college, and I loved the atmosphere. I love the idea of helping people grow into who they’re meant to be, giving every student a chance at success. Granted, some of the kids are frustrating, but when handled correctly, they aren’t bad at all. You just have to understand where they come from.” You explained, examining the postures of books strung up on the wall.

You must’ve made it to the English hallway, because where else would there be a giant quote from The Outsiders painted on the wall?

“I understand that completely. It’s so rewarding, watching the younger generations find their passions. Getting to play a part in every individual’s success,” he grinned, showing you to the doorway of a soulless room. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

You flicked the lights on, scanning the bare white walls. It looked like an asylum, and hell, it felt like one too.

“It looks like Jefferson isn’t here right now,” Alex said, poking his head into the room next door. “You got lucky. For now.”

You chuckled, peeking into Jefferson’s room. The lights were on, so he was around somewhere, but there was no way of knowing where. He had a cozy little setup. Lights were strung on the ceiling, there were multiple posters littered around the room referencing pop culture, a bookshelf was stashed in the corner, and his desk was home to trinkets and useless objects. On the wall next to his desk, there were pages, drawings, and letters from past students thanking him for being such a good teacher. That gave you some hope. Maybe Alexander Hamilton was dramatic, maybe Jefferson wouldn’t be so bad.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get set up. My room is just down the hall, G224, if you ever need anything.” He said, and with that, he disappeared.

—

After making about a million trips to your car and back, bringing in all the decorations, books, and supplies you needed, you could finally start setting up your classroom.

Normally, you would’ve complained about having to make so many trips, but it allowed you to navigate the layout of the place. Hudson High was by far the largest school you’ve ever worked at. And with no connections to it or anyone else, it was a fresh start, a clean slate to make good memories. On your final trip, you glanced into Jefferson’s room again to catch a glimpse of the man you would be spending the rest of the school year with, but he wasn’t there.

You could, however, outdo him in his decorating skills.

It wasn’t like you wanted to make him look bad or anything, you just wanted to show out. Make your presence known, and in the process build the best English classroom anyone has ever seen.

An hour-and-a-half of uninterrupted work was all it took for it to be fully set up. You had fairy lights and warm lamps to replace the fluorescent school lighting, a beanbag in the corner, a bookshelf twice the size of his, organized by color because it was prettier that way (despite all the hate you get for it), and succulents on the windowsill. All that was left was your desk.

Before you could begin, the distinct chime of the announcements rang, disrupting your flow.

“All staff please report to the library for a mandatory opening meeting.”

Groaning, you wiped the sweat beading on your forehead, and trekked to the library. Since you hadn’t been anywhere else in this school other than your classroom, you followed behind other staff members for guidance.

When you arrived, Hamilton called your name, waving you over. You grinned and joined him in the back. He was already sitting with a few other people—two having their hair tied into a man bun, and one wearing a blue beanie.

“Who is this belle femme?” A French accent spoke, the man leaning forward on his hands.

“This is Y/n L/n,” Alex introduced you to the group. You gave a shy smile and waved. “Y/n, this is John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and—“

“I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” the same Frenchman took your hand, planting a charming kiss on it. “But you may call me Lafayette.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, not at all impressed by his attempt at flattery. The idea of France spiked feelings you didn’t want to think about. Mostly related to your oh-so-fun high school experience, or lack thereof.

“Or call him Marie like we all do,” Mulligan laughed, shoving Lafayette's shoulder. Lafayette—or Marie?—shot him a glare, grumbling something under his breath.

“Ignore him,” Alex snorted, rolling his eyes. “He just got broken up with again, even though we all know they’ll be back together within a week.”

“‘Ey! She said it was serious this time,” Lafayette pouted.

“Sure,” Alex turned to you, lowering his voice, “she said the same thing last time. Don’t be fooled.”

You giggled, eyes lighting up in amusement at the antics of the table. You haven’t been around friends this close in a long, long time. It was almost uncomfortable; you didn’t know what to do, where to put your hands, or if you should speak more. Being a pretty quiet person by nature, it wasn't hard for you to stay quiet and observe. Your eyes shifted to the only person who hadn’t spoken yet—Laurens.

He was sitting closest to Hamilton, slumped in his seat so their shoulders were nearly touching.

“How’s the classroom coming along?” Alex asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

Sitting up straighter, you forced a smile, “pretty good. Haven’t met this Jefferson character yet, so I’m a little anxious.”

“Wait, she hasn’t met Jefferson?” Laurens spoke, eyebrows raised high as he glanced from you to Alexander.

“He wasn’t there when I showed her to her room,” he shrugged. “Guess he hasn’t been around yet.”

A wild, almost sarcastic smirk formed on John’s face. “Well, you’re in for a treat.”

“Oh, c’mon guys, he is not ‘zat bad,” Lafayette jumped in.

“You only say that because he speaks French, too,” Hercules scoffed.

Laf frowned. “Not true. He’s a great friend if you just give ‘im a chance. Hamilton and John speak French, too, but I’m not friends with them just for ‘zat.”

At this point, you didn’t know who to believe. Everyone had told you one thing, then Lafayette entered and now he was telling you another. So was Jefferson an asshole or not? They bickered back and forth on the subject, and at some point it turned into an argument about unrelated topics. You absorbed the conversation, trying to get a feel for what having a normal friend group could be like, envisioning yourself having this kind of dynamic with them. As long as you don’t fuck it up somehow, maybe they’ll accept you as their own.

Alex and John seemed used to it, as they started asking you questions about yourself. Where are you from, where did you used to teach, how are you liking Hudson so far, how’s your relationship with your mom…the works. Well, they didn’t ask the last one.

“You’re much better than Lee,” John commented. “He was a pain.”

“Lee?” You questioned.

“Oh, yeah. He was the English teacher before you, but he quit after a…debate.” He grinned, clearly proud about something. You furrowed your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

“He got into a fight with him because he was denouncing Washington’s name,” Alex chimed in. You couldn’t control the slight widening of your eyes. He had a physical altercation with someone over some words?

“Men never fail to surprise me…” you muttered.

“In my defense, we gave him multiple warnings. But he didn’t listen. And look where that got him?”

“A new job at a different school, I suppose,” Alex smirked, “and a trip to the hospital.”

They shared a laugh, and you couldn’t help the sick twisting of your stomach. Were they seriously bragging about putting a man in the hospital? That should’ve been the first red flag. They sensed your discomfort, calming down and putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You tensed at his touch.

“Relax. He was okay. He also started it, too, if that says anything.” Alex said, voice softer than before.

“I promise I won’t fight you,” Laurens joked half-heartedly. A smile cracked on your face, relaxing your shoulders.

“How did you not get fired?” You asked. Hamilton's hand fell back to his lap.

John shrugged. “I got really close to it. Hamilton here is particularly close with Washington, and has a way with words. He vouched for my innocence.”

You hummed, watching Alex flash a toothy, prideful grin. “Good to know.”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please!” Washington’s voice boomed over the light chatter of the library, effectively silencing everyone. You straightened in your chair and faced forward, glancing from him to the backs of people's heads.

“First and foremost, welcome back everyone! And welcome new teachers. I hope everyone had a great summer break, and this new year is going to be very promising for all. Now, for a brief overview of school policy—“ you only halfway listened from there. All he talked about was basic laws and regulations teachers are required to take, as well as mentioning drills that would be practiced during the first couple months.

Your eyes scanned the crowd of educators. A head of thick, dark curly hair caught your eye. Somewhere at the front, a man wearing a magenta polo sat, his broad shoulders and arms filling out the shirt nicely. You leaned forward in interest, heart fluttering when he turned and you caught a snippet of his nose, as well as a stubble. ‘Please let him be Jefferson. And please let him be hot.’

As quick as the meeting started, it was over. The whole time, your eyes were trained on the man in the magenta polo, silently praying he was the Jefferson you would have to work with all year.

Hamilton nudged you, signaling it was over. You stood and followed the group out, searching for the magenta-polo guy, but he was already gone. Hamilton suggested that you see where the other guys’ classrooms were, so if you needed anything, you knew where to go. It would’ve been rude to say no, so you didn’t protest, and followed them blindly around the premise.

Lafayette was the French teacher and coached track, so he was downstairs in the foreign language hallway. His room was very colorful, very him.

Mulligan was the art teacher and boys’ wrestling coach. Out of everything you expected him to teach, art was not it. Wrestling fit him, but imagining him painting was a curveball.

Laurens taught U.S. government and coached football. His room was filled with posters of both famous football players and different political systems. Having Tom Brady and facism on the same wall was wild, but hey, if that’s what he’s into.

After touring (some) of the campus, Hamilton walked back to the hallway you were beginning to familiarize yourself with, and offered a glimpse into his class.

And wow, he outdid himself.

“Jesus—how long did it take for you to put all this up?” You asked, staring at the tapestries and rows of books that he had. He stood, pride swelling in his chest as he watched you examine the room in awe.

“A while. Don’t worry about it,” he winked. “You’ll get to my level one day.”

You scoffed, shooting him a playful glare. “Okay, I get it. You win the best Pinterest room award; congratulations.”

“Why, thank you,” he bowed dramatically. A grin spread on both your faces, and your heart was giddy with the excitement that comes with making a new friend. Let him last, please.

“I have to finish setting up my desk. But thank you for introducing me to your friends. They were very…”

“Obnoxious?” He interjected. You shook your head, a fondness evident in your voice when you spoke.

“Endearing. I like them,” you finished.

There was a pause in the conversation, and his eyes lingered on you. “I’m glad they didn’t scare you off. You’re always welcome to hang out with us, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you took some steps towards the door—which had a large poster that read ‘BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU’ as well as a pair of eyes drawn to stare into your soul. Ah, the genius that is 1984. “I have to finish setting up my desk. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around.” He confirmed.

On the short walk to your own cell, you stopped to peek into Jefferson’s room, expecting him not to be in there. But surprise surprise! The man, the myth, the legend you’ve heard so many negative things about was in there, hunched over and writing something down.

And to make it better, it was magenta-polo guy.

Your heart fluttered in excitement, and you stepped in. “You must be the infamous Jefferson I’ve heard so much about.”

“That would be me,” he spoke. Even his voice was hot. It was mature, husky, and—familiar. Way too familiar.

He looked up, and your smile instantly dropped. Stomach dropped. Face paled. Time stopped. Everything seemed to have frozen in place, including him, because he stood there, eyes wide with recognition.

“Thomas?” You seethed, taking a defensive step back.

He was seriously who you were ogling? The man who destroyed every friendship you had in high school, the man who broke every ounce of trust you held for him?

“Y/n.” His face twisted to a sour frown. You hated the way your name fell so naturally from his tongue.

“I thought you were in France.” A deep scowl spread overtook your face. He seemed to have reciprocated the same bitter expression.

“I was. Then I came back,” he growled. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either.” You barked out a bitter laugh. He scoffed, shifting his weight so he was crossing his arms.

“Don’t be childish. We can move on from the past, y’know.”

“After you ruined my social life? No thanks,” you retorted. He let out an exhausted groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“We both know there’s more to it than that.” He walked around from behind his desk, taking some steps towards you.

“What? I was ‘jealous’ of you? Is that it?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes. All the rage you built up was manifesting in this very moment. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him, you could. Tell him how he was a shitty friend for leaving you, for hurting you the way he did.

“Because you ruined my chance at a scholarship!” He hissed.

“I didn’t ruin shit! You act like I sabotaged your entire fucking career! It was junior year, for crying out loud!” You threw your hands up, pacing around his classroom.

He inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. The way his demeanor changed from rash and sharp to ice cold horrified you, stopping you dead in your tracks. Thomas took a small, but powerful step closer, causing you to shift back one in response.

“Y/n,” he started, staring down at you with so much calmed rage that you almost started trembling. “Let’s end this conversation here. You can see yourself out.”

Wordlessly, your nostrils flared and you stepped out of his classroom. He shut the door behind you. Disbelief, rage, hatred, resentment coursed through your veins. Thomas Jefferson, the man who abandoned you during a dark time, the man who borderline bullied you during your lowest point, and the man you once considered your ride or die was supposed to be the man you had to work with the rest of the year.

So much for a fresh start.

A Night To Remember | ch. 3

j. laurens x reader

Warnings: swearing, some sexual jokes, not proofread, google translate Spanish cus yah

Wc: 2.8k

After the fiasco in the hotel room, John takes you to his favorite restaurant in Washington D.C., where you have a heartfelt conversation you didn’t know you could.

A/n: heeyyyy I’ve been having a rough time lately w/ my social life, so please be patient w me, but I will try to get chapters out! ty for your support 💕

“Surely this is a mistake,” he scoffed. “They had to have given us the wrong key or something.”

“I can talk to them and ask if they’ll move us to another room,” you frowned. “I’m sorry, I thought when I booked it, it would have two beds. I can always take the couch if they don’t—“

“No, no, it’s okay. Let’s just talk to them and ask if we can switch rooms.” He sighed, pushing forward and sitting on the edge of the bed while you went to the phone.

You dialed the number to the front and waited for someone to pick up, concern still etched in your eyebrows. Were you that careless to not check what kind of room you booked? It was literally your entire job to sort these things out, and you couldn’t do that right? ‘Good lord, Y/n, get it together.‘

“Hello? Yes, um, I think there’s been a mistake in our rooming situation. We have a single bed when I intended to book two,” you put your hand on your hip, glancing at John who was staring out the window from his spot.

“I’m sorry, we’re completely booked for the night. This is the only available room we have,” the front desk attendant spoke, “if you’d like me to refer you to my manager, I can—“

“It’s okay, there’s no need for that. Sorry for the trouble,” you sighed in defeat, hanging up.

“Well?” He raised an expectant eyebrow.

“We’ll just have to make this work. They don’t have any other rooms available. I’ll just sleep on the floor, John, it’s no big deal really.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he growled, standing up. “This bed is perfectly big enough for both of us. Besides, who wouldn’t want to sleep with me?”

You grimaced. “When you say it like that…”

He scoffed, shaking his head. A smile grew on his face despite that, and you shared a laugh. The sound of his laughter still felt so foreign to you.

“I promise I’m not as bad as everyone seems to think I am,” he said, grabbing his wallet and phone. He slipped you a spare room card and put one in his wallet.

“What? As a person or in bed?” You asked, tucking the room card into your pocket.

The moment the words left your lips, you slapped a hand over your mouth. Embarrassment infected your face, neck, and ears, turning everything hot. You did not just say that to your boss.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and a wide grin spread on his face.

“As a person,” he responded. “Trust me sweetheart, anyone who’s ever been in bed with me has nothing bad to say.”

You blinked, wondering how the use of ‘sweetheart’ made you so much warmer even after the humility of making an accidental sex-comment to your boss. “I see you’re incredibly humble, too.”

He chuckled, taking a tiny step closer, “You’d feel the same way, babe.” He winked, and in that moment, something shifted between you. As a reaction, your eyes blew wide and he rendered you speechless.

A tense, awkward silence filled the room. He must’ve sensed he crossed a line, because he backed up, turning to the door.

“Let’s go get food now. I’m starved,” he said.

You let out a pathetic squeak in agreement, following him out the door. The walk to the elevator was silent. You were still horrified from what you said to him, and the fact that he responded saying you’d understand, too, if you…well. It’s a difficult thing to think about. All it did was make you wish more and more that he weren’t your boss, and instead someone you got the pleasure to know as a person.

He called another uber, and in the meantime, you lounged in the main area of the hotel. It was bustling with people—men in suits, families wearing souvenir shirts that were definitely overpriced, groups of teenagers all wearing the same shirt that read the name of a middle school. You picked at some of the lint on your sweatshirt.

John cleared his throat. “The place we’re going to,” he started, “was where I used to go with Hamilton, Lafayette, and Mulligan when we were broke and ambitious. The restaurant is a little shady, but the food is incredible.”

You cocked your head to the side, looking at him with curiosity. He continued speaking, fiddling with his thumbs, which was something you never saw him do.

“It’s a burrito place, I hope that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“Perfectly fine,” you nod. He hums in content, his eyes lingering on yours a moment too long.

“You’ll love it, then. I’ve been dying to have their barbacoa the second I left D.C. for New York.” He stopped fidgeting.

“I thought you grew up in South Carolina?”

“I did,” he confirmed, “but I moved to D.C. shortly after my nineteenth birthday. That’s when I met Hamilton. I was out drinking with Hercules and Lafayette—illegally, might I add—and he showed up with Aaron Burr. We clicked like that,” he snapped his fingers for effect, “and we welcomed him into our group. Those were some of the best years of my life, messing around with Alex and them.”

A soft smile was on his face as he looked at the floor, reminiscing about the past. You studied him while he was deep in thought. He seemed truly joyful when talking about his closest friends. It made you wonder what he was like around them. Maybe you’d find out one day, if you ever got to meet Hamilton, that is.

His phone chimed, and he stood. “Our ride is here.”

—

“This place hasn’t changed one bit,” he muttered, holding the door open like a gentleman.

It was shitty in the most endearing way possible. The air smelt of freshly grilled meats and vegetables, and there was a light chatter from the two other people there. Despite the low turnout, the kitchen was bustling with noise of food being seared, followed by a healthy smoke that steamed from it.

His hand hovered on your lower back as he walked you to the front. You scanned the menu, most of it being in Spanish, which was a minor setback considering you didn’t speak any Spanish.

“What’re you getting?” He asked, glancing down at you.

“I don’t know—whatever you’re getting, I guess. I trust you have good taste,” you shrugged. He hummed, stepping to the cashier to order.

“¿Puedo conseguir dos burritos de barbacoa con frijoles pintos, arroz integral y un pedido de guacamole? Y también dos bebidas, por favor.” He swiftly pulled out a card to pay.

You gaped at him in shock. He never once mentioned he was fluent in Spanish. Ever. When the transaction was over, he stepped back and led you to a table fit for two.

“…I didn’t know you could speak Spanish,” you commented.

“Did I fail to mention that? Hm. Weird,” he hummed, sliding into the wooden chair. ”It’s nice I can still surprise you. Sometimes I feel like you know more about me than I know about myself.”

Your eyebrows furrow the tiniest amount. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, you’re the only assistant I’ve had who’s memorized my coffee order. And you coincidentally drink the same kind of coffee that I do. You’re pretty attentive.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the mention of the coffee incident. He noticed that you conditioned yourself to chug the same caffeine that he does.

“And you’re a bit of a perfectionist. Everything I ask of you gets done immediately, and it’s exactly how I instructed you to do it. Sometimes it’s like you already know what I’m gonna say before I say it. You just read my mind, I suppose,” he rested his chin in his hands, and something about this was intimate. Domestic. Nice.

The realization that he brought you to his spot when he was younger triggered something in you. He trusted you enough to show you somewhere personal, and tell the story that went with it. Now he sat before you, reading into your personality as if you had known eachother since birth. And when did he first figure out you’re a perfectionist?

You cleared your throat, snapping out of it when you realized he ceased talking. “I can assure you there’s a lot I have to learn. I’ve learnt more about you from this trip than I have in my two years of working for you.”

He cocked his head to the side. Why did he, of all people, have to be so cute?

“Really? Oh, I guess with the whole airplane thing…” he backtracked. “Y’know, you never told me who was making those jokes. About you being a bad writer—which is absolutely untrue, but the way.”

You inhaled sharply, thinking back to all the times you’ve walked in with two coffees in your hand, and your coworkers immediately snickering. The worst people about it were a group of girls that seemed to have banded together, straying anyone who wasn't a total bitch away from their group. Think Mean Girls cliques. They’re beautiful and probably capable of writing, but pretty is as pretty does. Part of you felt like they were jealous of you. It was obvious that they all had huge crushes on Laurens. You’d overheard them talking about how he has the “nicest ass in the office.” Whatever they said was out of jealousy, you reminded yourself.

But it was every time you encountered them that they would make a snide comment. It’s taken a lot of restraint to not claw at them. Somehow, women know exactly where to strike. They know exactly what people’s insecurities are, and with you, they pinpointed it and went for the throat.

It provoked feelings you didn't want to address.

Forcing down the scream you wanted to let out and the closing of your throat, you met his eyes again, and he looked concerned. It wasn’t how he usually looked at you. Then again, you weren’t entirely sure what the usual was since embarking on this trip. It has completely shifted the mood in your relationship with him.

“Just a few girls,” you replied. He deadpanned, giving you a look as if to say ‘really? That’s all you’re gonna say?’ And yes, that is all you would say.

“Is it Pam’s little friend group?”

You tried to hide the way your eyes widened. How did he guess that so quickly?

“I—how did you know?”

A scowl formed on his face and he rolled his eyes. “Please. They’re all over me every time I walk by. They think they’re slick with it, too, but they ain’t.” He scoffed.

You blinked in surprise. He knew about that. “So…do you just like, know everything?”

His face twisted into confusion before he burst out laughing. The familiar feeling of embarrassment bubbled up to your neck again. God, could you say something normal for once? Talk about the weather, or the latest baseball game, or maybe ducks? Scratch that—he doesn’t look like a duck kind of guy. Maybe dogs?

“Around the office, yes. I just choose to ignore majority of it. I don’t have time for that gossipy bullshit, y’know? There’s work to be done, and I focus on getting it done.” He leaned back against his chair, the sides of his eyes crinkled with amusement. You found this display of him way nicer than you should.

It struck you to remember some words from an earlier conversation. He said he’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is, to which you responded by asking if he meant in bed or as a person. Very smart decision. Anyway, moving on.

“You said earlier that you’re not as bad as everyone thinks,” you say. “What did you really mean by that?”

He smiles, tapping his nose, “attentive.” A long sigh leaves him, and you could tell he was preparing for a heart to heart.

“I hear what people say about me,” he starts. The atmosphere turns serious, despite the sound of Selena blasting from the kitchen. “I know I can’t expect everyone to like me, but it is a little frustrating when I walk out of my office and everyone is staring at me like they just finished talking shit about me. Talking about how I’m not fit to be in charge, how I’m too mean, too strict, too this too that. They think a couple harmless whispers in the break room will shield them from my reach. But I notice the way everyone flinches when I enter a room—including you.”

You hang your head, guilt panging through you. He continues, his tone taking a darker edge, “but they forget I have the power to make or break their careers.”

A shiver ran through your spine that you hoped he missed. You took a moment to gather your thoughts before speaking, voice soft and filled with empathetic undertones.

“I know what that’s like, and it’s the most awful feeling in the world. But you…you don’t actually care what they say about you, right? You know you’re more than just a boss.”

“I know,” he said, “but as much as I don’t want it to, their words cut deep. It just reminds me of my own insecurities.”

“That’s exactly how I feel!” You let out a tiny gasp. “Sorry. I shouldn’t make this about me.”

“No, no, we were talking about you before this. If anything, I turned the focus on me,” he chuckled.

You smiled, relaxing your shoulders. “It’s a relief knowing other people feel the same way I do. I’ve never really talked to anyone about this—especially not my boss—so this is just so…”

“Weird? Yeah, it’s awkward for me, too. I haven’t voiced this to anyone other than my turtle.”

Pause. Did he just say his fucking turtle.

“I’m sorry, did you say turtle?” You coughed. He laughed, making you feel all giddy and fuzzy inside.

“Yep. I guess you don’t know everything about me,” he smirked. You so desperately wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. “But seriously, L/n, tell me what’s goin’ on with Pam ‘nd them. I’m worried about you.”

The mood contorted and you thought about what to say. Him saying he was worried about you was not on your bingo card for this trip.

“It’s really not anything, they just make a few comments here and there—“

“Orden para John!”

“That’s me,” he mumbled, standing up. “We’ll continue this in a minute.”

Your eyes lingered on him while he retrieved the food. He slid a mandarin-flavored Jarritos across the table, as well as your food. He sat and immediately stuffed his face full of burrito.

“You’re going to choke if you don’t slow down,” you grimaced.

“Has wha’ she ‘aid,” he giggled, his words coming out a muffled mess. You rolled your eyes, trying everything in your power to not laugh at the stupidest joke known to man. Of course he’d make that kind of joke, too.

You took a generous bite of your own food, almost letting out gasp from how good it was. He wasn’t wrong when he said it was the best burrito he’s ever had. It was delectable, the barbacoa was soft and flavorful, and they didn’t overdo the rice, unlike Chipotle. (Fuck chipotle).

“It’s good ain’t it?” He took a swig of his soda.

You nodded, letting out a muffled ‘oh my god, yes.’

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he snickered, his eyes taking on a softer edge as he examined you. “Y’know, you didn’t get to finish talking about Pam.”

A small frown tugged at your lips, and you swallowed. Where to even start. You didn’t want it to feel like you were ratting them out, but they also kind of deserved it. They were rude and disrespectful to everyone in the office, not just you. It would be Justice for everyone who has fallen victim to Pam.

Right as you were about to speak, his phone rang. He groaned, pulling it out to silence it. But he paused when he saw who it was. His eyes lit up, and a wide grin spread on his face.

“I’m gonna go take this,” he chirped, leaving you by yourself. From where he stood outside, you could see him talking animatedly with his hands, laughing loudly and nodding eagerly. Who he was on the phone with, you didn’t know. You couldn’t see his screen from the way he had been sitting.

Your own phone chimed, and you checked it to see who the text was from. Unsurprisingly, it was Abby.

Abby: How’s everything with John?

You: pretty good. It’s been chill so far. We’re getting food rn but he’s on the phone w someone

Abby: Anything happen between you and him yet??

You: girl no

Nothing is going to happen

Abby: ugh. Okay. I’ll manifest it anyway. Have fun at the party, tell me if anything happens.

A playful smile formed on your lips, and you shut your phone off as John walked back in, a new confidence in his stride. You raised an eyebrow at the change in his demeanor.

“Finish up eating soon, ‘cause we got somewhere to be after this,” he sang.

“Umm… where?” You asked, wiping your hands with a cheap napkin.

The bright, charming smile never left his face as he responded. “To see my friend, Alexander Hamilton.”

A Night To Remember | ch. 2

j. laurens x reader

Faced with his biggest fear, you help him through it.

Warnings: swearing, cliche tropes that i overuse but love, ummm yah

Wc: like 2.9k?? I think??

John Laurens hates flying. Absolutely despises it.

There's something about being over 30,000 feet in the air and having no control over the weather that gets him. Paired with the possibility of crashing and burning, it’s scary as fuck. It’s not something he’s ever talked about with other people because he usually flies solo—or better yet, not at all. Being in a big metal tube wasn't ideal, especially with strangers. Thankfully he was rich, so the days of flying cramped between a misbehaved child and an old woman snoring were over.

As much as he would rather not deal with TSA, the tumultuous roar of the plane, turbulence, and liftoff, he had to. Tickets were already bought and he wasn’t too keen on driving in a car for four-and-a-half hours.

He wasn’t sure if flying with you would make it better or worse. On one hand, he found your presence pleasant. On the other, he absolutely could not show his fear of flying. How weak would it make him look? Especially in front of his pretty assistant who looks to him for guidance?

He sucked in a breath and shot you a text to let you know he was outside your building. Subconsciously, his fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation. It was 7:30 AM, just like he promised.

The door swung open and you hobbled out, a suitcase with a broken wheel behind you, and a tote bag on your arm. You gave him a tired smile and he got out to help you load your bag into the backseat of his Porsche.

“Morning,” he spoke, eyeing your casual wear. “All set?”

“I guess so,” you sighed, brushing off your cotton shorts and getting in the passenger seat. “This is a really nice car.”

“Thank you,” he hummed, backing out of the parking lot. “Took me years to be able to afford it, but I finally have it.”

You took the time to examine his car. It was a dark green Porsche with leather seats. There was a hint of cologne and coconut shampoo in it, as well as the forest air freshener he kept in it. Whatever the smell was, it was him, and your head spun. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or piece of trash. Considering the messy desk he has, it was surprising to see his car in such good condition. But to be fair, if you had this nice of a car, you’d keep it spotless too. It made you feel so poor compared to the rusty pickup truck you drove. Thank god he was picking you up and not the other way around.

“I feel like I’m going to ruin it just by being in here,” you bit your lower lip nervously. He let out a deep chuckle.

“Nah, you’ll only make it better by being here,” he winked. Was he flirting with you? “You can relax. Your shoulders look like they hurt from how tense they are.”

A deep breath escaped you in an attempt to ease the tension on your neck. He smiled lightly when you slumped into the seat, making yourself comfortable in the car.

“Have you been to D.C. before?” He asked.

“I did once when I was fourteen. It was a school trip.“

He nodded, and a semi-awkward silence fell over you. You could tell that he was procrastinating on talking about the party. The situation itself was awkward, and talking about it was uncomfortable, so you took matters into your own hands and brought it up.

“So…how am I supposed to pretend to be your date? Like, what does that entail?” You spoke hesitantly and slowly.

“Right, um, just stay by my side while I talk to some of the attendees. Play boyfriend and girlfriend, y’know? It’s a real high profile event. Most of the people going are above the age of 40, almost all either married or with someone, so I figured it would make me seem more professional if I had a woman with me. Maybe they’ll—“ he abruptly stopped.

You knit your eyebrows in concern, examining the way his jaw clenched and a different fire was in his eyes. “Sir? You okay?”

“You don’t have to call me sir. Just call me John or Laurens,” he sighed, keeping his eyes trained strictly on the road.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mumbled. The thought of calling him John felt wrong since you were conditioned to saying sir. “Maybe they’ll what?” You pushed in a gentle tone so as to not upset him further.

He didn’t reply immediately. No, he gripped the steering wheel tighter and uttered something to himself. Then, a defeated sigh escaped him and he caved. “It’s—it’s stupid, but I’ve noticed that they don’t treat me like I’m an editor-in-chief. To them, I’m not mature enough because of the fact that I’m 28. They seem to think I’m some playboy who won’t last because I got rich so quickly.”

He shook his head in frustration, and all you could do was sit and silently listen to his rant. It was an odd feeling. He was never this open with you, but it was nice. You knew he trusted you enough to open up. So you hummed, and almost put your hand on his shoulder but decided against it.

“I get that. Not being taken seriously by coworkers, I mean,” you said.

He let out a light scoff. “How so?”

“Well, there’s a running joke around the office that I can’t write because I’m just an assistant. It sucks, ’cause I know I can, but I haven’t written anything in over a year so I can’t help but feel like it’s true. But like you said, it’s as if I’m not being taken seriously because of my position.“ You folded your hands in your lap, the airport coming into view.

You glanced at him, and his face was filled with rage. He opened his mouth to speak, promptly closed it to take a deep breath, then softened his facial features. “Who’s making these jokes?”

You shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s hard to pinpoint one person. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a few comments here and there.”

“Y/n, that is a big deal. I’m supposed to be making sure there’s a safe working environment. And you’re my assistant for a reason,” he huffed. “You’re the only person I trust to check and edit works because I know you’ll do an outstanding job. You’re one of the best journalists I’ve seen.” He got in line to pay for a two-day parking spot.

“I—thank you, but seriously. It sucks that you feel like that around all the executives. If me being there as your ‘date’ makes you feel better, I promise I’ll be the best fake-girlfriend I can be.” You smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood, and shift the focus back to him. He seemed to take the bait and calmed down.

But what he said stuck with you. One of the best journalists he’s seen. So what are you doing still an assistant? Shouldn’t you be promoted by now? He wouldn’t be purposely holding you back from moving up in the world, would he?

“Thanks. You’ll do great,” he took his hands off the steering wheel.

“It’ll be just like The Proposal,” you joked.

He laughed, “right. Minus the falling in love rom-com part.”

For some inexplicable reason, his words sent a pang of hurt through your chest. You brushed it off nerves.

“Did you watch it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

“I didn’t peg you for a romantic-comedy type. Thought you’d be all over action movies or biopics.”

“Biopics? Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The conversation flowed nicely, and for a moment it felt like he wasn’t your boss, but rather your friend. Something you never thought possible, but never say never.

After finding and paying for a spot, you unloaded your bags and got in line to check in. When you got through every security measure, it was only 8:33, so you had plenty of time before you needed to board your flight. While sitting in the boarding gate, reading a book you brought, Laurens bounced his leg up and down. It was growing concerning how anxious he seemed. You put your copy of Today Tonight Tomorrow down.

“Are you alright? You seem nervous.” You frowned.

He stopped bouncing his knee. “Yeah. I’m okay, just not the biggest fan of flying.” He chuckled nervously.

Your eyebrows flew up in surprise. He failed to mention that when you booked the tickets. “Oh. I’m sorry.” You tried to offer as much sympathy as possible. He muttered his gratitude and pulled out his phone as a distraction.

It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it further from the way he was squirming uncomfortably, so you dropped it. Perhaps you’d bring it up later.

—

First class is way nicer than economy. Way nicer.

You were sitting next to John with an armrest big enough for both of you to lay your arms on it. And it had cup holders. And despite the fancy seat TVs and the massive amounts of leg room you had, he still looked nervous.

Pitifully so.

When the plane started rolling, he gripped the edge of the arm rest and held his breath. It looked like he were about to break a cold sweat.

“John,” you whispered, turning to him.

“Yeah?” He turned to you, trying to play it cool. Your eyes softened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He paused, and before he could reply the plane took off into the air. He drew a sharp breath in and faced forward, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Hesitantly, you reached out and put your hand over his. You faced forward, but could sense when he opened his eyes and shifted to your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

It was odd, you’ve never seen him like this before. He’s usually angry, and if he’s not angry at someone or something, then he’s stone-cold killer. Sometimes he laughs, like earlier in the car. But most of the time, he doesn’t have a reason to.

You felt right bad for him. People were seldom kind to him. Everyone fears him, and he knows it. The only people who treat him like a friend are Marquis De Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan, and that’s because he knew them before becoming editor-in-chief. Everyone else who works for him does what he says and does it quietly. He seemed kind of lonely at times.

You knew he didn’t have any family left. When the holidays roll around, he continues working. He doesn’t receive any phone calls from people claiming to be his parents. The only person who calls without fail is Alexander Hamilton, the same man he reached success with. Hamilton is possibly the only person Laurens will talk about with a bright smile on, reminiscing about the good ol’ days. He doesn’t talk about women, he doesn’t talk about family, only his friends. You weren’t entirely sure if he had siblings; he may have briefly mentioned them but they must not be in contact anymore.

When the plane reached a steady pace and he calmed down, you took your hand off his. It wasn’t necessary to keep it on the whole time. All it would do is cause you to feel things you shouldn’t for the man who signs your paycheck.

Sometime during the ride, you fell asleep to rain noises playing in your headphones. He shook you softly to wake you up, and informed you the plane had landed. You wiped the drool that formed on the side of your mouth and nodded groggily.

“How—how’re you feeling?” You yawned.

“Good. I’m fine, thanks for um…y’know,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you nodded, sitting up fully. A heavy silence hung in the air. You wanted to ask him why he was so anxious to fly, but you weren’t sure if he would get mad or not. It was only natural that you were curious—it’s human nature. So you spoke.

“What is it about flying that you don’t like?” You asked, tone as gentle as possible. He paused briefly, an uncomfortable look flashing over his face.

“I hate all the noise and the possibility of crashing. I don’t like not being in control. Especially when it’s over my own life.”

Him wanting to be in control all the time tracks. He is your boss, after all. He’s used to having power.

“I can understand that. It is pretty scary. If you want me to cancel our flight back, we can take a train or something?” You offered.

“No, no,” he shook his head, a small smile cracking on him. “My car is already at the airport. And besides, I need to get over my fear anyway.”

You exited the aircraft, got your bags, did anything else necessary to leave the airport, then stepped foot into the Washington D.C. air. It was 11:10 by the time you got out, and it was a dry seventy-nine degrees. You both agreed to check into the hotel so you could drop off all your bags, then would explore the city until the ball at six. He called an Uber and you sat at a nearby bench until it came.

The trees in D.C were beautiful. The area where the airport was was relatively flat, but the greenery in the surrounding area was gorgeous. It was flush with life, yellow and pink flowers littered everywhere, a gentle breeze in the air, and the sun shining high.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, “because I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” you shrugged, knowing full well you neglected to eat breakfast and instead opted for a protein shake with a banana.

“Perfect. There’s a spot I used to go to with my friends. I’m thinking after we drop off our stuff we could head there?”

“Whatever you wanna do, boss,” you hummed. He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk curling on his lips.

Before he could respond, the Uber pulled up. He opened the door for you, letting you crawl inside the tiny black car before getting in next to you. It was cramped enough to where if you spread your legs a little wider, your knee would be touching his. You made yourself as small as possible while he made small talk with the driver.

For whatever reason, men have the tendency to dismiss women. Especially when it’s a conversation. You hoped this isn’t what the ball would be like, because this sucks. His knee would occasionally bump into yours on turns, and it would send a jolt of electricity through you every single time, even though it shouldn’t. Whatever you were feeling had to just be nerves, or not having been with a man in over eight months, or the prospect of a very attractive man sitting mere inches from you.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you stared out the window. The Washington Monument stood tall. A bright smile spread on your face, and you leaned further to the window to try and absorb the scenery.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The cab driver spoke, grinning widely.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Lived here my whole life and I still can’t resist looking at it every time I get the chance,” he chuckled. The landmark left your field of vision, so you turned to John.

He was already staring at you, a soft smile on him and an even softer look in his eyes. It made your heart skip a beat, as much as you didn’t want it to. His eyes flickered over your face. You suddenly grew hot under his gaze, and shifted to looking back out the window, a newfound flush on your neck. He shouldn’t make you feel this way. Not him.

“What’s your favorite part of living here?” You asked, desperate to have the cab driver fill the silence.

He did, because he talked the rest of the time about D.C., jumping from topic to topic about the history to the food to the culture to the people. You internally thanked him, because every so often, John’s eyes would linger on you a moment too long.

The hotel was huge. You almost got lost trying to look for the front desk because there were so many different sections. On the bottom floor there were restaurants, as well as a bar, a Starbucks, and a fucking grocery store. Convenient, yes, but confusing as hell.

When you finally found the front desk and got your room key, the next struggle was finding the room itself. It was ten past noon by the time you found it.

“Is this the right room?” He set his bag down in disbelief, eyes wide as he scanned the proximity.

“Yeah? 224. Why, what’s wrong—“ you stopped in your tracks the moment you saw the room.

There was only one bed.

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?”

Baby I’m Yours

m. de lafayette x reader

Warnings: swearing and not proofread writing

REQ: (anonymous) “Can you do one when the reader has something going on with Lafayette(or you can do Thomas idrm) and one night their friend group are all hanging out and the reader walks away to get a drink or smth and ends up flirting with this guy and Laf gets jealous so he confronts you after the event and it turns into a big argument and the group notices the tension so they lock them in a room (or smth like that) so they can makeup (sorry if this doesn’t rlly make sense 😭)”

In which your best friend, the man you’ve been in love with from the start, gets jealous at a bar over you.

Wc: 4.7k

It was obvious that you and Lafayette were madly in love with each other.

Obvious to everyone but you two, that is. Whenever anyone suggested that he liked you back, you’d dismiss it as him being friendly, or having a naturally flirtatious personality. You were just best friends, you’d claim, he didn’t think of you that way.

But everyone in the friend group knew for certain that he was yours and you were his. That’s just how it is.

And it’s not like you’re denying your little crush; the girls know about it. You openly talk to the Schuyler sisters about your infatuation whenever you get the chance. When you’d say you weren’t sure if his feelings were more than friends, they’d roll their eyes and insult your sight. But he was a naturally touchy person, he was like that with everyone! It was so confusing and so thrilling at the same time.

Whenever you hung out with him (which was almost every day), he had his hands lingering somewhere on your body; whether that be holding your hand, his arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist, and sometimes even resting on your knee. He invariably kept contact with you, every single time.

And every time his fingers brushed yours, it sent a jolt of electricity through you, butterflies and hope filling your stomach as if you were a teenager in love. Your cheeks would immediately warm, and oh god if he sent that dazzling smile your way. Instant butterflies.

Your mind raced while you put on a simple black dress and heels. The dress was a little revealing, but you felt pretty so it didn’t matter. As long as you could hold yourself with confidence, and as long as you genuinely loved how you looked, that’s all that’s important. While you did your hair and makeup, you thought of Lafayette and what he’d like. Of course you knew better than to dress up for a man, and you weren’t dressing up for anybody, but you did want to look nice to impress him. Is that really so wrong?

Lafayette promised to pick you up, which made you a little panicky and rushed. A text chimed on your phone, and you picked it up to see that he was five minutes from you.

You inhaled sharply, putting in earrings and wiping off the mascara on your upper eyelid. Finally, a thin layer of gloss tinted your lips, and you were done.

He texted you saying he was here, and with a quick ‘On My Way!’ you raced out your apartment complex. He was waiting outside to walk you safely to the bar. It was a relatively short walk, only about half a mile, and he left his car in the parking garage since he knew better than to drive drunk.

His face lit up at the sight of you, a wide grin spreading across his features as he scanned you up and down.

“Qui est cette belle femme? (Who is this beautiful woman?) You look gorgeous, amour,” he said, holding out his hand for you to take. He twirled you around, giggles escaping both of you in the process.

“Thanks, you don’t look half-bad yourself.” You elbowed his side, reconnoitering his shirt that had the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest.

“That’s the best you can give me?” He scoffed. You shrugged as you interlocked fingers and started walking to the bar.

“What do you want me to say? I can’t have your ego getting too inflated.”

“Well, a ‘you look handsome too, Lafayette,’ would’ve been nice,” he grumbled.

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, “you look handsome too, Lafayette. Happy?”

He dropped the somber look on his face and grinned, nodding eagerly. You chuckled and shook your head, swinging his arm in a back-and-forth rhythm.

With Laf by your side, the fifteen minute walk felt like five. Time just seemed to fly by with him, conversation flowed naturally, and it probably helped that you had a big fat crush on him. Even the slightest squeeze of his hand made your stomach flutter and warmth shooting up to your cheeks.

When you arrived, he regrettably let go of your hand to open the door for you. You missed the comfort in his touch.

“Thank you for your chivalry,” you giggled. He rolled his eyes playfully and rested his hand on your lower back while in search of the rest of the crew.

The whole gang was there, minus Angelica and Peggy who seemed to have been running a bit late. John and Hercules had already started drinking, maybe a little too much. Alexander held back because he didn’t want to be a huge bother for Eliza, who didn’t drink alcohol.

“The lovebirds made it! Sit, sit,” John shouted, raising the glass in his hands.

You huffed, taking a seat from across them while Lafayette took one next to you. “Oh, shut it. How are you already slurring your words?”

“‘M not slurring my words,” he argued, slamming the glass unintentionally. You rolled your eyes.

“Sure you’re not, ami,” Lafayette said, his hand never leaving your back.

You ignored them as they started bickering back and forth, and turned to Eliza and Alex instead. “Hi Eliza, Alex,” you said. They smiled warmly, greeting you back immediately.

“It’s been a while. How’s being a journalist treating you?” Alex asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Oh, y’know,” you waved your hands around, “pretty mediocre. I haven’t gotten any of the good assignments since I’m the new girl, but I’ll manage.”

“Awh, that sucks. I’m sure they’ll see your talent soon enough.” Eliza reassured sweetly.

“Thanks, Liza. You look beautiful, by the way. Blue has always been your color,” you sighed, glancing down at the simple blue dress she wore. She blushed and thanked you, commenting that you look beautiful as well.

Lafayette’s hand lifted from your back, and you glanced to see why. He had run off with John and Hercules, probably to get a couple more drinks. You frowned lightly, but shifted your gaze from the handsome man to the pretty woman in front of you.

“So, when are you and Laf gonna make it official?” Alex smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. Eliza bit back a grin as well, and smacked Alex’s hand.

“I—he doesn’t—we’re not,” you huffed, cheeks flushing with heat and embarrassment. “He doesn’t see me that way.”

Both of them rolled their eyes at that. “You’re kind of stupid, you know that, right?” Alex commented. Eliza hummed in agreement.

“Wha—Eliza! Don’t agree with him!” You gasped, feigning offense. A sly smile worked its way on her lips as she shrugged innocently.

“If the shoe fits.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You little traitor.”

“How am I betraying you? It’s simple observation. He’s been drooling over you for forever, and if you’re too stupid to realize that, it’s not my fault.” She crossed her arms, and her fiancé laughed, patting her back in support.

You muttered swears under your breath. “He would’ve said something by now if that’s how he feels.”

“Be serious,” she snorted, “he literally calls you amour.”

“Yeah, and you should hear the way he talks about you on the phone. He is..wow,” Alex chimes in. You blink, deciding not to ask for any elaboration.

“…So what? He calls everyone names in French.” You defend. “Doesn’t mean shit.”

“Yeah, but only ami. Amour is specifically reserved for you.” Eliza gave you a pointed look.

You opened your mouth to counter her, but no words came out. She was right; you were the only person Lafayette called amour or chèrie. But that didn’t mean anything, right? Even if he did like you in that way, who’s to say he wants a relationship with you? You’ve liked people before but haven’t wanted to date them. Maybe that’s how it is with you.

And that thought alone scared you, because you knew you wanted something with him, and if he didn’t reciprocate those feelings, you wouldn’t know what to do.

“Well…still,” you spoke hesitantly, “if he feels that way, then I’ll wait for him to say something.”

The pair sighed and shared a look. “That’s exactly what he said to me a week ago…” Alex muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear.

Before you could respond, a pair of arms threw themselves around your shoulders. “Y/n! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

The sound of Peggy’s voice hit your ears, and you instantly smiled, swiveling to face her. Angelica waved to you before greeting her sister in a hug.

“I missed you too, Peggy,” you giggled, hugging her back.

She gave you a toothy grin, backing up from you and taking in your appearance. “You look absolutely hot, by the way. I might have to steal you from Lafayette.” She teased.

“Peggy!” You slapped her arm playfully. The rest of the boys were making their way over, Lafayette’s eyes specifically trained on you.

“The other sisters arrived! Finally, what took y’all so long?” Laurens slurred, his Carolinian accent seeping through his words.

Lafayette moved to your side, bumping arms with you. He gave you a charming grin that you shot back, habitually leaning into his presence. You locked eyes with Eliza who gave you a knowing look, as if to say ‘told you.’

“We just got caught up in traffic,” Peggy responded.

“Liar! Admit that you took two hours to get ready,” Angelica shouted.

The group quickly dissipated into laughter and chatter. While Hercules went on about a horror story from one of his most recent clients, you couldn’t help it that you were only half-listening. Lafayette’s hand on your knee prevented you from thinking clearly—or was it the alcohol?

Whatever reason specifically was irrelevant. All you knew is that he was doing that thing with his thumb where he rubs it back and forth, and he has the audacity to act focused on the conversation. Hell, he wouldn’t even look your way! It’s like what he was doing was completely subconscious. Almost an innate response to being near you.

He must’ve noticed your absence in conversation, because he turned to you with concern etched in his eyebrows.

“You okay, mon amour?” He asked.

Fuck, there’s that stupid nickname again.

“Yeah,” you lied, “just feeling a little nauseous is all.”

He frowned, leaning down so he could whisper in your ear. “If you want to leave, it’s your call.”

“We don’t have to leave,” you swallowed thickly. Was he seriously fine with stopping his evening just to take you home? “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom and refresh myself.”

“Okay,” his frown deepens. You excuse yourself from the setting and rush to the bathroom. His eyes lingered on you a moment more before Hercules snapped him out of it.

The bathroom light was broken. It flickered on and off, on and off in a rhythm that drove you insane. You stared into your reflection, a crisis happening in your brain. You knew why he made you feel this way, that was obvious. But you didn’t know why he kept playing with your feelings the way he does. You didn’t know if you drove him as mad as he drives you, if he stays up at night wishing you were next to him.

There was a random girl applying bright red lipstick. She must’ve noticed the distressed state you were in, because she broke the silence in the air.

“Worrying about a man?”

You blinked, mostly in shock that she was talking to you, but also because she was right. She waited patiently for your response, not looking you in the eyes, but instead focused on perfecting her lip combo.

“Uhh…yeah, how’d you know?” You shifted your weight, looking at her now.

“Woman’s intuition,” she replied. “You’ve got stress written all over you. I know a situationship when I see a girl alone in a bar bathroom.”

“What about you then? You’re alone in a bathroom, too,” you countered. Who was she to make these bold assumptions?

“Right, but observe the difference in our postures. Relax, babe. Breathe. Whatever is troubling you probably isn’t worth all the worry.”

“I—you don’t know anything about my situation,” you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Tell me or don’t tell me,” she shrugged. Finally, she turned to face you. You couldn’t deny her beauty; she wore a bold red dress and the exact same shade of lipstick to complement it. Dark curls fell past her shoulders, and she held herself with such confidence that reflected onto you.

“Fine. My best friend is with me, along with the rest of our friend group, and I can’t tell if he genuinely is into me or if he’s just playing some sick game.” You confessed.

She smiled in satisfaction. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he’s always touching me but he’s never actually admitted that he likes me or anything. He also calls me ‘amour’ and I’m the only person he calls that. And just before I left to come here, he asked if I was okay, and when I said I felt sick he offered to take me home.”

“It sounds like he does care about you. I think you’re overthinking the situation, sweetheart,” she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall. The light flickers more. “You should go for it. And whatever happens is meant to happen. It’s your life, you’re able to change it at any moment. Take the first step even if it seems scary.”

“You’re right,” you sigh. “I should probably head back now. Thank you…” you trailed off, realizing that you don’t know her name.

“Maria,” she responds.

“Thank you, Maria.” You smile, “Y/n.”

“You’re welcome, Y/n.” She smiles back, watching you walk out of the dim bathroom.

After confiding in a random lady in a bathroom bar, you felt confident and ready to change your relationship status. You were tired of pretending to not want something with Laf knowing you wanted a real connection. You wanted something deeper, something intimate with the man you called your best friend.

“Y/n?” A familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. You turn, coming face to face with Aaron Burr.

“Aaron? God, how long has it been?” You smile, pulling up beside him. He was alone in the corner of the bar, far enough away to where you wouldn’t have been able to recognize him from where the group was sitting.

“Since sophomore year, I reckon,” he said.

Aaron Burr was one of the first new people you met in college. At one point, you thought that the man was into you, but a while of hanging out helped you realize he actually was just friendly. And he was loyal, too. His heart was set on Theodosia, and he would deny any woman who looked at him with the slightest bit of lust.

He was a reserved, composed man. Extremely stoic, extremely put together, and very polite. Burr seemed to enjoy a quiet life, hence why he chose the farthest spot away from your rowdy group. He also knew everyone somewhat-personally, although he was left on bad terms with Alexander. A little feud involving Thomas Jefferson led to the break of their friendship.

“How are things? D’you ever tell Theodosia how you feel?” You asked, resting your chin in your hands.

He holds up his left hand, the shine of a golden band making you gasp. You grab his wrist to inspect it, admiring the glimmer of love sealed in a single ring.

“Congratulations! Holy shit, Aaron, that’s amazing!”

“Thank you. I finally got the courage to ask her out, and this is where it’s led me,” he beams a true smile. “The wedding is set for a few months from now.”

You awh and rest a hand over your chest, playing with the dainty necklace. “That’s so sweet. I’m so happy for you, Aaron. I know you and Alex aren’t on the best of terms, but do you want to join us? Share a few drinks?” You offer.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Ever since you sat down, Lafayette has been glaring at me this whole time. It looks like he’s about to murder me,” he chuckles. You whip your head around to see Lafayette.

Laf looks away the moment you turn to spy him, pretending like he didn’t just get caught staring at you.

“Ignore him. He’s just protective, he probably doesn’t realize it’s you.” You wave your hand dismissively.

Burr gave you a half-hearted shrug. “I’ll take my chances. I was actually about to head out soon anyway.”

“What? C’mon, don’t let my friend scare you off. Drink with us!” You plead, leaning forward in your stool.

“No, no, seriously. I told myself I wouldn’t stay long, and it’s getting late.” Despite your efforts to convince him to stay, he denies every offer you put forth.

“Alright,” you frown. “It was nice seeing you, Aaron. Tell Theo I said hi! And again, congrats!”

You hop off your barstool, waving goodbye to him. He walks out the back way, probably to avoid confrontation with the guard dog eyeing the entire interaction you had with the man.

When you got back to the table, everyone was immersed in their own chats, not really paying much mind to you or even noticing your arrival. You plopped next to Lafayette again, but he ignored you, taking a long swig of his drink.

“I’m back,” you chirped.

No response.

“Laf? You okay?” You put a hand on his broad shoulder, wincing when you finally notice the scowl on his face. Your hand falls off his shoulder almost instantly.

“Perfectly fine,” he grunts.

“Whoa, what happened?”

“Go ask Burr, maybe he’ll ’ave an answer,” he snaps.

Okay, problem found. He was upset because you were talking to Aaron. Your stomach dropped and you had to stop yourself from saying something nasty.

“Why are you mad? C’mon, Laf, don’t be like this,” you scoff lightly, crossing your arms.

“Don’t be like what?” He mutters, being extra careful to keep his voice low so the rest of the group wouldn’t get suspicious. When his eyes flickered to yours, they didn’t hold the same playful tint like they usually did. Instead, they were darker, filled with jealousy and bitterness. You tensed.

“Like a dick. Seriously, you’re killing the mood,” you lowered your voice as well.

His jaw clenched and the grip on his drink tightened, and he stayed silent. Scarily silent.

“Lafayette! Which is better, the edge piece of brownies or the center? Because Hercules here thinks the center is the best when it’s not,” Laurens called him over, and he shot up, moving over to them.

You stared at him in shock. Is he really mad because you were talking with Aaron Burr?

“What happened? He looks pissed,” Eliza sounded from behind you. You flinched and swiveled around, mouth slightly hung open.

“I don’t know. I think he’s upset because I was talking to an old friend,” you reply.

“Uh-huh. And does this old friend happen to be a man?” She asks, taking a seat next to you.

You bite your lower lip. “Maybe. But it’s not like that! He literally showed me his wedding ring!”

“Does he know that?” She nods to Laf. You let your gaze linger on him a little too long, gripping the edge of your dress.

“…No. He shouldn’t be mad, anyways.”

“He’s not mad, he’s jealous. If he sees another man being touchy with his girl, he’s gonna get jealous,” she said.

Her usage of the words ‘his girl’ made your stomach flutter.

“So what do I do then?” You turn back to her.

“Give him a little bit of time to cool down, then talk to him. He’ll listen to anything you say, and he’ll believe it, too. That man would walk into fire for you. If you say there was nothing between you and the old friend, then there was nothing between you and the old friend.” She replies. “Who was it, anyway?”

“Burr,” you whisper. She nods, pursing her lips.

“I see. Wait, he’s married?”

“Engaged,” you correct.

She forms her mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ and lets out a tiny noise. You inhale sharply and glance back at Lafayette. He had his focus on the conversation before him, nothing else. Eliza gave you a reassuring smile and told you everything will be okay.

Then you thought back to Maria in the bathroom. ‘Take the first step even if it seems scary.’

Her words echoed in your mind. You needed to go for it like she said. But first, liquid courage.

You downed a shot and stood, strutting over to Lafayette and grabbing him by the arm. He gave you a confused look, but didn’t resist when you pulled him away from his friends.

“Could we go back to mine and talk? There’s things I need to tell you,” you bite your lower lip.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” he frowned.

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, “I’m gonna head out then. Goodbye, Lafayette.”

“Wait,” he stopped you from walking off. “I’m not gonna let you walk home by yourself. ‘Ts not safe.”

The urge to smirk tugged on your lips, and you fought it back. You both said your goodbyes to the rest of the group. Laurens shouts out ‘use protection!’ to which you both ignore before walking out.

There’s a tense, thick silence between you. It was almost palpable. The chill of the night air made you shiver, and he just barely pulled you closer to him.

“Lafayette,” you start once you see your apartment complex come into view. “Tell me the real reason why you’re mad.”

“‘M not mad,” he mumbled.

“So then, what is it? You’ve been acting weird since I got back from the bathroom.”

He didn’t reply. You neared closer and closer to the apartment.

“Lafayette?” You called out, impatiently waiting for a response. Anything, something. Even a squeeze of the hand would’ve been nice, but he was unresponsive.

“I just—“ he cut himself short, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t like when you flirt with other guys.”

“Okay, first of all, I wasn’t flirting with him—“

“But you touched him. I saw it,” he countered.

“Because he was showing me his engagement ring. Lafayette, the man is about to get married, I was just excited for him.” You snort. He falls silent once again, processing your words. “And why are you so jealous if I talk to another man? It’s like anytime somebody comes five feet within my vicinity, you become some overprotective b—friend.” You refrained from accidentally referring to him as your boyfriend, as much as you wish you could.

“I wonder, amour, I really do.” He sassed, rolling his eyes. The way he called you the pet name held weight to it, too.

“Stop it,” you growled. Both of you stood outside the building, nothing but the pale moonlight and broken street lamps illuminating you.

“Stop what?”

“Deflecting the fucking conversation! I’m trying to communicate with you here, and you’re not listening!” You finally snap.

He stares at you, wide eyes and shock written on him. It wasn’t often that you truly got pushed to breaking point, and you seldom swore at him. He didn’t know how to react, really. But god, you being mad at him did something to him words couldn’t explain.

“Y/n,” he spoke, voice low and gravely, “I ‘ave tried to make this as obvious as possible.”

“What?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. He wasn’t referring to everything everyone has ever told you, right? That couldn’t possibly be! Was he alluding to the very real feelings that plague his mind every time he’s near you?

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he swallows hard, taking a step closer to you. The cold air nipped at his nose, making it flushed red.

“No, Lafayette, I don’t. So fucking tell me,” you seethe.

He sighs, murmuring something in French before cupping your face and smashing his lips against yours.

Ah. So that’s what it was.

Without hesitation, you kissed back. Your arms found their way to his neck, and one of his hands stayed on your jaw while the other moved to your lower back, pulling you in closer. Time seemed to have stopped at that moment. All passion and years of yearning were poured into one moment.

He may not have been your first kiss, but he was the first kiss that mattered.

When he pulled off, breathless and now kiss-drunk on top of alcohol-drunk, he looked ethereal. “I’m in love with you, amour, and I have been for so long,” he confessed.

Once again, frozen in time. He stared into your eyes, waiting for a reaction. When you didn’t, you could feel panic seep from him. He loosened his embrace on you and a regretful worry stirred on his features.

“Mon Dieu, I’ve messed everything up now, ‘aven’t I?” He swore, dropping his hands completely from you.

That’s all it took to snap you out of your daze.

“No! No, you haven’t messed anything up. Lafayette, I—“ you grabbed his hands again, pushing closer to him. “I feel the same way. I’ve loved you since the moment we first met, and this whole time I’ve been wondering if you felt the same.”

“Seriously?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded, smile growing wider with every passing second.

“You’re saying we could’ve done this earlier?”

You laughed, shaking your head gently. “Maybe it was meant to happen at this moment.” You leaned in and kissed him sweetly, shorter this time. He smiled into it, and when you pulled off it only seemed to brighten.

“So can we make this official? You’ll be mine?” He asked with a hopeful squeeze of your hands.

“I’ve always been yours, Laf.”

—

“We should mess with them,” you said while riding the elevator up to Laurens’ apartment. It had been a week after you and Lafayette officially got together, and you both agreed to keep it on the DL for a while.

“‘Ow so?” He asked, intrigued.

“Well, they always pressured me into confessing to you. Maybe we can pretend like we’re still friends and just be extra touchy with each other,” you shrugged.

He grinned, eyebrows shooting up. “Let’s do it.” He held his hand out and you took it, interlocking fingers as you approached the door.

A few swift knocks for the door swung open, and Hercules greeted you with a loud welcome. “The lovebirds have arrived! Come in, come in,” he opened the door wider and you stepped inside. Everyone else already seemed to be there, laughing, drinking, eating, and having a good time.

Lafayette kept his arms around your waist the whole time, earning you looks from the Schuyler sisters and Alex. None of them knew they were being fucked with, and their reactions to it made it so much better.

While you all sat on the couch, scrolling to find a good horror movie to watch, you sat in between Laf’s legs, him holding you close in a comforting manner. Once again, Eliza shot you a knowing look, and you just shrugged.

Laurens and Hercules finally came to an agreement on watching Get Out, and somewhere in the first ten minutes, you got up to get a refill.

Naturally, Lafayette trailed after you to the kitchen. The moment you were both out of earshot and sight, you burst into fits of giggles. The rest of the group, however, had a more serious reaction.

“So we all agree we need to get them together soon, right?” Laurens spoke quietly. Everyone hummed in agreement.

“It’s agonizing watching them pine for each other,” Alex said.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.” Eliza got up.

“And I’ll talk to him,” Alex said, following her into the next room over where you and Lafayette were.

When they walked in, however, you were wrapped in each others arms in a kiss. They gasped, and you both scrambled off one another, a guilty smile forming on your face.

“What’s going on here?” Alex spoke, breaking the stunned silence.

You shared a look with Lafayette, smiling even wider than before and struggled to contain your laughter.

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.

NGL I would like to hear Alexander's thoughts on the reader dating Thomas 😭 and also I need a chapter where they get married or something. I just need everyone's opinion on it or the future. Maybe both😭😭(if you wanna I just like the idea in general)

Since you’re so kind 😉:

“I refuse to believe this is true.” Alex muttered darkly, glaring at Thomas’s hand draped around your waist. You finally got the courage to bring invite everyone over (as long as Thomas promised to behave himself): the ‘hamilsquad’, Burr, Madison, and the sisters of course.

“Truth hurts.” You shrugged. Thomas gave you a smirk as you leaned into him, a sly smile creeping on your face.

“I don’t get what you see in him,” he huffed, crossing his arms. John appeared by his side, an equally distraught expression on his face.

“Honestly? I don’t either,” you joked, causing Thomas to gasp and playfully push you.

“You don’t mean that,” he grins. You grin back.

“Course not, sweetheart.” You tease. He rolled his eyes, enjoying the fact that Alexander was crumbling in front of him with disgust, despair, and pure rage.

“Seabury doesn’t sound too bad right about now,” John murmured, him and Alex walking off in a swirl of horror and exhaustion.

Hey, roomie! Final ch

thomas. j x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex (no graphic descriptions), way too much crying, yea

Crying, way too much crying, and finally it stops.

Wc: 4.5k

Notes: I love incorporating South Park into unrelated fandoms

You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t stop the hurt. All you could do was rush to the car and cry your little heart out, and maybe that’s all you wanted to do right now.

Everything was confusing and blurred, and you weren’t sure where to go or what to do. The sight of him shirtless with some woman he probably doesn’t even know the name of on top of him, kissing him and rubbing his chest disgusted you.

It should’ve been you.

You shuddered from the cold, blasting the heater and putting on the most angst-heart-just-broken song you could. Exit Music (For A Film) started, and you waited for the sobbing to die down so you would be in a good condition to drive.

God, of course this happened. Of course he didn’t actually care about you, of course he would go find someone to sleep with the moment you left. And to think you had something with him. To think that if you played nice for one fucking day he would realize how hopelessly in love he was with you.

It just wasn’t fair.

Your naivety and false sense of hope got the better of you. Every memory, every little detail came rushing back. Everything that made you feel special, all the butterflies and warmth that filled your stomach when with Thomas Jefferson.

The first time he offered you some advice, because he was genuinely concerned for you and wanted you the best. While at the park when he was so patient with you, and when he paid for your food. He rambled on and on about the things he loved because he felt comfortable around you. After he texted you when he hurt himself by picking up glass with his bare hands, you wrapped them up and the way he was staring at you so intensely sent shivers down your spine. The time when his friends came over and revealed he thinks you’re smart. He taught you how to dance and you had a moment in the kitchen. Was none of that enough to make him fall?

What about when he confided in you, and only you, about his mom? He cried into your shoulder while you held him, comforting him, whispering sweet reassuring thoughts while he broke down. When he informed you with tear-stricken cheeks that she was getting better.

Did that other woman do that for him? No, she didn’t, and she never will because the women he brings home are one-night-stands and will never have the true connection that you have with him. They’ll never understand why he loves macaroni and cheese so much or magenta, or why he only drinks black coffee, or why he’s so into philosophy and agriculture. They won’t ever know the genius he is; he’s fluent in French from the times you’ve overheard him on the phone with Lafayette.

And if he called them sweetheart, or darlin’, or sugar, it wouldn’t be the same.

It wouldn’t have the same southern ring that it had when he called you it. It just wouldn’t be parallel or even comparable. It would be meaningless.

It made you want to rip your skin off and crawl into a hole and just lay there, letting rain or snow or even hail overtake you. In all your years of living, you’ve never been this distraught about a man.

You’ve always been independent, self-assured and strong, and anytime life knocks you down you get back up and shove your middle finger right in adversity’s face.

But here you sat, hands on the steering wheel and driving with no goal in mind. No idea of what to do next or how to even deal with your emotions while Radiohead played behind all your sniffling. You were tired and cold and sad and you really needed a friend.

You needed Peggy.

—

Peggy swung the door open, first a bitterness in her eyes before they turned soft when they saw your broken state.

“Can I come in?” You croaked.

“Of course,” she sighed, “what happened?”

“Thomas. Thomas happened.” That was all you managed to get out before you broke into tears again. Why did it hurt so bad?

“C’mere,” she murmured, holding her arms out and engulfing you in a hug. It was everything you needed and more. The weight of being alone was finally lifted off your shoulders. You felt like you could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She gently rocked you back and forth, one hand at the back of your head while the other was wrapped securely around your back. You stayed like that for a good long minute. “‘M not mad at you.”

You stayed in her embrace until the crying stopped, and you were back to sniffling. She wiped stray tears from your cheeks after you pulled apart, leading you to the yellow couch to sit.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

You immediately ranted about your plan and how you told Samuel you were in love with Thomas, how well he took the news, and recalling how excited you felt at confessing. Then you got to the part where he was on the couch with another woman. A woman who was only in her red lacy bra and matching underwear, because of course Thomas would scope out a woman who wears a matching set.

“So you’ve finally figured it out, then?” She asked, which confused you and made you pause.

“Figure out what?”

She replied, “That you like him.”

“Oh. I guess so. Is that what you told me to figure out myself?”

A guilty smile spreads on her face. “Yeah. I know it’s kind of shitty of me, but I was tired of hearing about him with no action from you. Thought it would be best if you came to the realization yourself then banged it out with him, but I guess that part hasn’t happened yet, has it?”

Her use of the word yet made you blush, and you wiped your nose, looking down at the wooden flooring. “I suppose it hasn’t.” You uttered.

She barked out a laugh at that, patting your back. You cracked a smile, the kind where you’ve been crying and frowning so long that it was a huge relief to feel any ounce of happiness.

“But I can’t help but feel like I was an idiot for thinking he liked me back. I was so ready to go in there and tell him everything, then…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say the rest.

She frowned, “Y/n, he does like you. As much as I hate his guts right now, you will have to face him again eventually. I think you should stay over tonight.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, “If you’re offering. Brownie batter party? I really need something to take my mind off him for a while.”

A wide grin spreads on her face. “Nothing like salmonella and binge-watching South Park.”

The first brownie batter party you had was when her and Steph broke up for the first time. It didn’t last long, only about a week, but she cried so hard that night that you came up with the silliest ideas to comfort her. Thus, eating brownie batter and watching a show together was born. That show turned into South Park since it was so easy to laugh at and forget your worries.

Before you started, she offered you a change of clothes since you were still in a tight dress that grew more and more uncomfortable. Now equipped with red plaid pajamas and a baggy t-shirt that said “I paused my game to be here,” the real fun could begin.

The batter got made, you both grabbed copious amounts of it and put it in your own little bowls before popping the rest in the oven for later. If desperate enough, you could get through an entire tray of brownies in one night, and the way things were going, it would be one of those nights.

You had gotten through three episodes in season nine. The one where Butters sneaks into the girls’ slumber party as Marjorine, the egg one, and the one where Cartman tries to kill all gingers.

Whatever troubled you was gone the moment the intro started and you took your first bite of brownie batter. Until it was back when your phone buzzed. You groaned, pulling it out to check your notifications.

It was Thomas.

Shit.

“Thomas is texting me,” you mutter. Peggy raised an eyebrow and paused the show.

“What’s he want?” She leaned over your shoulder to peer at your phone, staring at the text you had pulled up.

Thomas: can we talk?

Thomas: I’m really sorry you had to see that

You left him on read, biting the inside of your cheek.

—

Thomas cursed after you left the apartment. The girl on his lap had crawled off, and the alcohol in both their systems only worsened the situation. He tried calling out for you, but you only muttered how you’re sorry for intruding, then walked out.

He pulled at his hair in distress, swearing to himself. He should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have had that girl over in the first place, but he assumed you would be gone longer and he really needed a distraction.

He had facts to face, after all.

You were with another man. Happy with Samuel, ready to impress him and kiss him when it should be Thomas you’re with.

He’s a fool for thinking that you liked him after all the gifts. After the way he’s seen you stare at him, your gaze lingering a little too long on his biceps to still be considered friendly. It didn’t make sense how you’d still continue pursuing a different guy after everything you’ve been through. After the kiss, after sharing secrets, after dancing and laughing and fighting then making up.

He should’ve known better.

Thomas figured that what the hell, he had nothing to lose since you were already gone. So he went out the moment Samuel’s car sped off, and he walked to the nearest bar. Nothing like turning to the bottle when life gets you down, right?

The pretty woman on his lap (who he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of) was eyeing him the moment he walked in. He’s not blind, so he walked up to her and introduced himself. It wasn’t long before she was on the way to his apartment, feverishly kissing him any chance she got.

It wasn’t the same as when you did, though. He couldn’t shake that feeling. All of while she was with him, he was wishing, imagining it was you.

“You should go,” he growled. The woman huffed.

“I don’t have a ride.” She stood, pulling her shirt over her head.

“I’ll give you money for an Uber. Please, just leave,” he urged as kindly as he could in that moment. She rolled her eyes, mumbling something about him being a buzzkill and to not waste a lady’s time like that. He ignored it and handed her a twenty and a five.

She took it without hesitation and left shortly after, leaving Thomas to collect his thoughts. He knew he needed to make it right. He wished he could tell you how he really felt, but if you were content with Samuel, he was willing to let you go and be happy.

“Lafayette, I fucked up,” Thomas paced around the apartment, cleaning frantically.

“‘Ow so?”

He picked up the clothes scattered about. “With Y/n.”

Lafayette heaved a sigh, ready to listen to whatever new dilemma was bothering his friends. “What happened this time?”

“I know, I know you’re tired of it but—Lafayette, she saw me with another woman.”

“Merde, c'est vraiment mauvais,” Lafayette blurted, eyes going wide although Thomas couldn’t see it. “‘Ow did that happen?”

“I fucking know it’s bad!” Thomas seethed. “Sorry. But she left on a date with some jackass named Samuel, and I was jealous and needed a distraction, so I found one.”

“That is horrible, mon ami,” Lafayette critiqued.

“I know,” Thomas groaned, then covered his face with his hands. “But I thought surely she was into me. Is she not? I’m so fucking confused.”

“She is, don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’m pretty sure she was going to reject him. That’s what Peggy told me.”

“Fuck, are you serious? You’re saying this after I screwed everythin’ up? I thought she was head over heels for someone other than me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil ze surprise for you!”

Thomas huffed again, putting his hands on his hips. He couldn’t argue with that. Lafayette was just trying to look out for the both of them and let their romance blossom naturally. He truly didn’t want to get in the way of that.

“Okay. Okay, but what am I supposed to do now? She ran out and I don’t know where she is.” Thomas voiced his concern, pacing around the living room. His eyes met the empty container of cookie dough ice cream you bought for him.

“Well, you’re just going to ‘ave to talk to her, ami,” he replied.

“No shit. What do I say to her?” He growled.

“First you need to calm down,” Laf started, “then just tell her how you feel. Be honest.”

Thomas sighed. It seemed like the most obvious advice in the world, but he’d take his friend’s words in and hold them dear to his heart. Lafayette was the most support he’s had other than James, who he would rant to, but only Lafayette knew you on a personal level as well.

He also knew Lafayette doesn’t have all the answers to his problems. He has to man up and face it himself; communicate with you everything he’s been wanting to say the moment you moved in. So he thanked Lafayette and hung up, fidgeting with his hands.

He knew he needed to talk to you. Hell, that’s all he’s been wanting to do, but you just keep running away. He tried to calm down the best he could, taking deep breaths in and doing some push-ups to burn the pent up energy.

After that, he pulled out his phone, clicking on your pinned contact.

—

“You need to not think about him. Turn off your phone, and let's just enjoy South Park and brownies,” Peggy said, taking your phone from your hand. You let her with little repercussions.

“Alright,” you frowned, eating another spoonful of sugar, oil, and E. coli. It didn’t help. Even while Cartman was singing “hand in hand we can live together, ginger or not we’re all the same,” your mind was still plagued with Thomas.

He was all you could think about.

Especially after knowing he’s thinking about you, too.

And that fact both thrilled and terrified you, because you wanted him to be thinking of you. You wanted him to lie awake that night, unable to think because the vision of you kept popping up. Because that’s what was happening to you, and you wanted him to go through it too.

Peggy sighed, and you noticed the tv was turned off. When did it turn off?

“Are you thinking about him?” She asks.

“Yep.” You mutter without hesitation. She frowned, shaking her head and mumbling nonsense under her breath.

“Do you want to go see him?”

“Nope.” Again, zero hesitation. Although you paused in your mind, because even though the thought of facing him sent dread coursing down your spine, you had to reconsider your response.

Did you really not want to see him, or did you just not want to face the facts?

The fact that he doesn’t want you, he never will, because he’s a player and likely won’t settle down. Not now, not ever.

“I think we should both get some rest. I’ll get you some blankets,” she says, taking her empty bowl to the sink. You finished off the last of yours and rinsed it out. Some rest probably would do you good, and lord knows you need it after all the exaggerated crying.

You moped your way over to the bathroom, taking one of the disposable toothbrushes she kept and brushing off all the sweets from your mouth. A low growl escaped you when you peered at your reflection. Your makeup was smudged horribly, mascara stained your cheeks, and your eyes were puffy and so red it could’ve been permanent.

God, you needed a refresher.

Cold water along with face wash helped your appearance, but did little in calming the storm brewing inside you.

When you walked back out, the couch was set up with sheets, pillows, and blankets covering it. You thanked Peggy with a tired smile. She truly was an angel; forgiving you so easily because you’re friends, and that’s what friends are for.

You just hoped you could face Thomas as easily as she faced you.

—

No response.

Thomas waited, and waited, and waited.

But you never replied to his text. It stressed him the fuck out, and he contemplated calling or texting until you responded, likely telling him to fuck off.

Even if you did say that, he’d be okay with it. Because he’d know you weren’t ignoring him and could acknowledge his existence. Instead, you did ignore him, and he had to sit-and-think-about-what-he’s-done.

It was torture. Excruciating, painful torture. You might as well waterboard him at this point. At least he would have the relief of knowing the bucket would empty—but with you? No. He wasn’t sure when it would end.

He didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned until deep purple bags formed under his eyes, until he damn near ripped out chunks of his hair.

It fucking sucked. And he knew if you had this drastic of an effect on him, you were really fucking special because he’s never felt this enamored with someone.

Once he saw you that first faithful day in freshman bio, you were all he could see.

You were all he wanted to see.

—

The shower at Peggy’s apartment worked better than yours. It had better pressure, warmer water, and was way more spacious. You could extend both your arms on either side of you and have to move to touch the wall. At yours, your hands would meet the wall at half-way extension. Hell, even her towels were better.

The feeling of hot water trickling down your back soothed you. For a moment, everything felt normal. All your worries were gone the moment her coffee scented body wash hit your skin.

You wrapped the fluffy towel around you and she gave you your washed clothes back to change into.

After adorning yourself in the spare clothes you left laying around her apartment, you sucked in your teeth and headed back to yours.

Anxiety nipped away at you as you drove back. But it needed to happen. It had to. There was no other way around it; not under, not over—you had to go through.

The door clicked open and you gently pushed it, careful to make as little noise as possible.

You weren’t sure how Thomas had handled it last night. Probably not as dramatic of a reaction as you, but a small, sick part of you hoped he did. The apartment was surprisingly clean, every dish was done and it was spotless. Well, except for the almost empty coffee pot sitting in the corner.

He didn’t immediately pop out, which you thanked the lord for. Instead, it was silent, so you shuffled to your room and locked it shut.

A deep sigh escaped your lips—then you froze when you heard it. Movement from his room. Fuck. If you stayed deathly still, maybe he wouldn’t notice?

Only he did notice you, he noticed you the moment you unlocked the door because the only amount of sleep he could get was at 2am for thirty minutes. Basically, he was running on guilt and black coffee.

The movement carried itself right outside your door, then the movement was your door. Or rather, the knock sounding on it.

“Y/n?” His crackly, deep voice sounded. “Can I come in?”

You sighed, swinging your legs off the bed and opening the door for him. Oh god, he looked like shit. So much so that you blurted it out. “You look like despair.”

“I’m aware,” he grunted.

“Sorry,” you murmured, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that last night. I didn’t think you’d be home ‘til late, I thought Samuel was makin’ you happy.” He cut right to the chase. No beating around the bush with this one. For some inexplicable reason, his tone was bitter and laced with venom when he said Sam’s name.

“It didn’t really work out with him,” you stated awkwardly. Weird, your throat was suddenly dry.

“Can we pretend like it never happened? Go back to normal, back to us?” He bit his lower lip.

“Us?” You barked out a laugh. “What do you mean, us?”

His face fell. And it wasn’t just an expression that time, his hopeful smile literally dropped and the shimmer of light fell from his eyes.

“Thomas, I—I don’t even know where to start.” You sighed frustrated. “You made me feel things, Thomas, things that no one has ever made me feel before. I really thought that you…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for you to finish. When you never did, he spoke up. “That I what?” He muttered.

“That you fucking liked me back. I was stupid for thinking it, I know. But I really hoped you did.” You inhaled sharply to fight back the closing of your throat. “Lafayette told me something the other day. Something I haven’t forgotten about, because it meant so fucking much to me and I haven’t been able to rid it from my thoughts yet.” You ranted.

“I know.” He whispered.

“What?”

“I know.” He echoed. “I know you spoke to Lafayette. I know about your plan to reject Samuel. I knew that you liked me the moment you stepped back in the apartment, looking so adorable like you normally do and holding my favorite ice cream.”

“Then why did you sleep with that woman?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I didn’t sleep with her.” He replied, taking a small step closer. “And I didn’t know about your plan then, before you ask.”

How could he tell what you’re thinking? He always knew what you were thinking. Not fair.

“I needed a distraction. I thought for sure you would get swept away by Samuel and come home with a giant grin on your face, saying how you were in love with him or somethin’. So I drank away my problems—not the best solution, I know. And look where it got me? It got me running on thirty minutes of sleep, standing in front of the girl I love, begging her to love me back.” He rambled.

You stare at him in shock, hand falling off the door handle, and jaw slacked open. This can’t be right. He didn’t just say that. There’s no way he—

“I never wanted that woman. I never wanted any of the women who I brought over, I spent each and every night wishin’ it was you. I know this will fuck up whatever we have now and possibly make living together hell, and if you want to move out I don’t blame you. But just know it’s you. It’s always been you, from the moment I first spoke to you in college, and it will always be you.”

Shit.

Now you were truly speechless. The man you loved, the one you spent every night with, just confessed his infatuation for you in complete detail. It made your stomach do flips the moment it all registered, and suddenly you felt extremely guilty.

You ignored him last night when he texted, and you were just now seeing the bags under his eyes and the mess of his hair. He really was sorry, and he really did want you.

“Wow.”

It was all you could manage. You blinked, blinked again, and opened your mouth to try and force more words out.

“I don’t even know what to say. Since college? Really?” You scrunched your nose up.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and that’s all you have to say?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. But the edge of his lips quirked up in that smile you’ve grown to love. You missed it. You missed him.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—wow. Words seriously can’t describe what I’m feeling.” You started. “I guess everything would be appropriate. You make me feel every emotion possible, and it’s the best thing ever because I’ve been trying to force that with men for so long. But you, you do it so naturally. And you always have.”

A slow smirk spread on his face. “Are you implyin’ what I think you’re implyin’?” He took another step forward. You drank up the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the intense heat in his eyes. It made your stomach dip low, and a smile widened on your face as well.

“Would you like to find out?”

He laughed, and you felt true happiness for the first time in a while. “I would.”

His large hands dipped to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips and his did the same, both of you parting them and letting your eyelids flutter shut. You met in the middle in a sweet kiss filled with the pining that had been going on for months. A small breathy gasp escaped you as your arms came to rest on his chest, and he let out a guttural growl against your lips.

You pulled off of him, a smile playing on your lips. “Thomas,” you warned, feeling his hands secured tightly on your waist.

“Hm?” He hummed, drunk from the kiss. You laughed, kissing him sweetly again.

The moment slowed and time seemed to stop. It was only you and him left, holding each other and murmuring your affections between kisses.

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.

Hey, roomie! ch. 8?

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, stupidity, second hand embarrassment

Words: 2.6k

A shocking realization hits you after an encounter with Lafayette.

Notes: erm yea

“You’re talking to shit-bury now?!” Laurens screamed across the counter, causing some heads to turn and glare at him.

“Keep your voice down, god. And what is with you altering names to have shit in it?” You grumbled, flushing warm from embarrassment.

“I thought Jefferson was bad! Now you go out and—and…” he trails off in disbelief, tugging at some of his curly hair.

“You’re acting like I just ran over your dog. Seriously John, calm down.” You grunt, motioning for him to settle. “And besides, Thomas said there’s nothing between us anyway.”

“Did he?” Lafayette gave you a confused look.

“Uh, yeah,” you take a swig of beer.

“That’s not what he told me,” he shrugged, making a mental note to ask Thomas about it himself. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but then decided against it.

“I still can’t believe that happened,” Hercules piped up. You rolled your eyes.

“It’s in the past now. We’ve both decided to move on.”

Lafayette stares at the wooden table beneath him, gears turning in his head. You were about to ask him what Thomas really said, but John’s ruckus prevented you from doing so.

“You have horrible taste in men, Y/n. I mean, c’mon, who’s next? Charles Lee?” Laurens scoffed.

“I’m insulted you think I’d stoop that low,” you put a dramatic hand over your heart.

“Considering the guys you’re going for now? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. He laughed, almost as if he was challenging you.

“Okay guys, let’s calm down,” Hercules held out his hands to try and mediate the argument. Both of you completely ignored him with glares sent in the other direction. By then, you had forgotten all about what Lafayette had said earlier.

“You don’t even know anything about Samuel other than the little high school drama you had. Get over it, he was sixteen!”

“He shouldn’t have been such a suck up to Principle George then!”

“Maybe don’t try and overturn him??”

“Principle George was such an asshole! If you went there, you’d be trying to overthrow him too,” he slammed his hands on the table.

“All I’m saying is he’s a nice guy. He invited me to go out to dinner with him in a few days! Let me be happy!” You seethed.

“Nice guy?! You barely know him! You’re already going out with him?” You were opening your mouth to bark back how the hell else are you supposed to get to know him, but the booming sound of Mulligan’s voice demanding you both shut the fuck up stopped you.

John sent one final glare your way, lowering into his seat. You stuck your tongue out at him, childish as you are.

“Does Thomas know?” Lafayette asked. He had been awfully quiet throughout the whole ordeal.

“What, about Samuel? No, not yet. Haven’t told him.” You reply. He nods, mumbling something in French. John must’ve understood because his eyes went wide and he whipped his head to you.

“Ne lui dis pas, connard!” Lafayette hissed. Whatever he said must’ve been effective, because Laurens backed down, saying something frantic in French to which Laf replied in a hushed tone. You caught little snippets that you couldn’t translate despite the two years of French you took in high school.

Va-t-il lui dire?

Il allait bientôt.

Ne l'aime-t-elle pas?

“Are you guys gonna tell me what you’re saying? I’m feelin’ a little left out here,” you complain. “I also don’t appreciate you talking about me when I’m right fucking here.”

“They do this all the time with Hamilton,” Hercules sighed, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”

—

You hadn’t spoken with Peggy since the coffee shop incident. It was starting to feel a little lonely without her; you hadn’t realized how clingy you could be. It’s only been two days, but that was still enough for you to feel bereaved. In the span of those two days, you came to a frightening realization.

She was mad at you.

For what reason was beyond you. You tried to retrace your actions or words to see where you might’ve gone wrong; it all led back to that day when Samuel came up to you.

He was starting to become a reoccurring name in your life, wasn’t he? You started talking to him more and more, pushing down the fact that you would have to face Peggy eventually and own up to whatever you did so wrong.

When you tried to call her, she texted you she was busy and to call her later. You made a mental note to call her after you called Samuel. After chatting back and forth for the time without Peggy (he was no replacement, but he called you pretty so he would do), you deemed it acceptable to start calling him.

The moon was shining, the couch was incredibly comfy, and you had the whole apartment to yourself. It had been only 30 minutes on call with Samuel. You managed to compliment his British accent four times, saying how much you loved it. It just made you feel like a bigger fraud, cause deep down you knew Southern accents were your favorite.

The door softly clicked open while you were mid laugh. Thomas quirked an eyebrow, an exhausted smile growing on his face.

“I come bearing gifts.” He held up two smoothies from Tropical Smoothie Cafe. A wide grin appeared on your face, jumping up from your spot on the couch.

“One second, Sam,” you say, going on mute so you can thank Thomas.

“Who’s on the phone with you?” He asked, curiosity in his voice, and if you listened close enough you’d hear the hint of jealousy as well.

“Samuel. I don’t think you’ve met him yet,” you reply, taking a sip from the smoothie he got you. It was your favorite: blueberry bliss. He must’ve remembered from the time you mentioned it once in conversation. “Thank you.” You beam.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he puts on a smile, his eyes lingering on you as you walk back to retrieve your phone.

“I’ll go to my room. Thanks again, Thomas.” You said, leaving him to go to your own bedroom.

You missed the scowl that formed on his face. Who Samuel was, he didn’t know. And why were you giggling so flirty with him? He’d have to ask Lafayette to see if he has any details.

“Sorry, that was my roommate,” you grin sheepishly although he can’t see it.

“No worries!” He chirps, “Thomas you said his name was, right?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a little weird that I have a male roommate but it’s only temporary.” You say. When you mentioned it earlier to him, he honestly didn’t seem to mind. Of course you didn’t tell him about the…incident, but he doesn’t need to know about that.

You’re not about to ruin something good. Something real.

You realize you were staring at the smoothie cup, in another world while Samuel rambled on about something you didn’t even know. You were too preoccupied in your own thoughts, twirling your finger around the rim.

“—ou there? Y/n?”

His voice snaps you out of your daze, and you scramble to reply, setting the cup down and turning away from it.

“Yeah, sorry,” you breathe out.

“Okay, good, anyway I was saying—“

You stopped listening from there. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interesting or anything, you just couldn’t find yourself to keep attention on him. Maybe you were just fatigued.

Or maybe he just wasn’t Thomas.

—

“I’m sorry, Peggy, for whatever I did.” You blurted the moment she picked up the phone. There was silence on the other end, along with some shuffling. It heightened your senses in a way. The fan was buzzing louder than normal and blasting cool air, the muffled chatter of Thomas in the other room leaving you wondering who he’s talking to, the weight of your blanket on your body.

“This is a shitty way to apologize. Over the phone, I mean.” Her tone is even and steady, not holding much distinct emotion.

“I—Peggy, please, I said I was sorry. I don’t even know what I did,” you blurt, growing increasingly frustrated. You took a deep breath in, you didn’t want to fight any longer with her.

“It’s not what you did to me, Y/n. It’s what you’re doing to Thomas, and the fact you can’t see that.”

“Wh—I talked things out with him like you said. He told me about—“ you paused, unsure of what you could reveal, “some personal business.“ you huff. She lets out a deep sigh, and you can almost hear her pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Look, I have things to do. When you finally figure it out, come talk to me. In person. But for now, focus on getting things together.” She states before hanging up, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

Figure what out? It made zero sense. You haven’t done anything to Thomas, and anything you did do you apologized for. You literally confronted him about the problem, and he confided in you about his hospitalized mom. He stated that you were the only person he’s told! If that’s not good enough for Peggy, you don’t know what is.

Your jaw slacked open as you calculated what she could be referring to. Was it because you’re talking to Samuel now? You know that Alex and them have history with him in high school, but surely she can’t be that disgusted with Seabury that she hates you for it. It was all so frustrating and confusing.

Thomas’s voice got louder and you focused your attention on it, slightly shuffling closer to the wall to get a better listen.

“Laf, if I have to intimidate someone I will—“

That was the only sentence you could make out. The rest was too muffled, and he must’ve realized how loud he was talking because he seemed to quiet down. Key takeaway: Lafayette has some information you might be able to use.

He has been in the middle of this situation since he came over, and maybe if you bought him enough chocolate, he would consider revealing secrets to you. Maybe then you could get to the root of the problem, figure out what you may be doing wrong with Thomas, and maybe Peggy confided in him too. Lafayette was the man to turn to, basically.

The next morning came around quicker than you thought it would. You had planned to train hard that morning, mostly to distract yourself from the negative emotions eating away at you, breaking you apart piece by piece.

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and you were already lacing up your running shoes. It was a brutal routine you lived by daily; wake up, run, work, sleep, repeat. Day in and day out. You seldom skipped runs. They were your meditation, your peace, your mental clarity.

Some have called you insane for enjoying the feeling of your lungs burning or the searing pain in your shins and calves and quads. Those people couldn’t understand grit, you figured. Grit and determination and drive and passion.

Somewhere in the middle of your four mile run, it started pouring rain. Events of rolling your ankle like last time flashed your mind, and you made it a point to choose your steps carefully. Even though you had to end early, it was refreshing to get out there and let your thoughts disintegrate.

You arrived back around 7:45 am, drenched in rainwater and sweat. Surprisingly, Thomas was awake. He seemed to be moving about the apartment in a frantic manner, and froze when he saw you.

“You’re back,” he breathed out, eyes trailing up and down your figure. The water made your gray shirt stick to your form; you were just grateful you hadn’t worn white. He swallowed thickly and shuffled a little closer to you.

“Yeah. Came back early since it started raining,” you shrugged. Droplets of water streamed from your hair down your face, and you were accidentally creating tracks of water in the house.

He frowned, taking your hand into his. “You’re freezing. Go shower and change into some warm clothes. Don’t wanna catch a cold like this, sweetheart,” he muttered the pet name almost solemnly.

“O-okay,” you stammered, a little flustered at him grabbing your hand. He cleared his throat and released it, letting you go to rinse off the freezing rainwater.

The hot water stripped away all your troubles. Mentally and physically. Upon stepping out, you realized you forgot to grab a towel, and none were stashed in the cabinet. You swore under your breath, debating your options.

You sighed since there was only one thing you could do.

“Thomas?” You poked your head out of the bathroom, careful to cover up and not flash anything.

“Yeah?” He called from the living room.

“Could you get me a towel?”

He’s silent for a second before responding with a breathy yeah, and moves to find you a towel. The embarrassment from this situation crawled inside your skin as you waited for him. Not long after, he came stalking down the hallway, holding two towels. His eyes widened slightly, and he snapped his gaze to your face to avoid any awkward confrontation.

“Here,” he sticks out the towels and you reach your arm out to grab them, muttering a mortified thanks. He nods, pivoting quickly as you shut the door.

Your skin flushed a shade darker, visible or not, you could feel the heat. Maybe it was just steam from the scorching hot shower that fogged up the window, or maybe how close you got to being completely naked in front of Thomas.

It was probably the latter.

—

“Lafayette, my friend, my pal, my buddy. I need your help.” You gave him a sheepish smile. He gave you an expectant look as if to say why have you showed up to my door in the middle of the day.

“With?” He opens the door wider for you to enter.

“Thomas. Peggy is still mad at me and she said it’s because I’m doing something wrong with him and I just—I don’t know what I'm doing wrong. And I heard him talking to you last night, so I know you know something.”

His face paled a little and his shoulders stiffened. “What all did you ‘ear?”

“Like, one sentence. All I heard him say was your name and he would intimidate someone. Don’t know who he was referring to.” Your face morphs into confusion as you recall the memory.

“Jesus, you are even more dense than I thought,” he sighed.

“Pardon?”

“Y/n…Mon ami, it’s too obvious. How can you not see it?” He shook his head gently.

“See what? What am I missing?” You pleaded for him to tell you.

“I do not want to spoil it for you. All I will say is you are ze first girl Thomas has ever told us about.” He reveals. “You must leave now, ami. Good luck.” He shoos you out of his apartment, not in a rude way but what he said left you confuddled.

You were the only girl Thomas has told them about.

That thought sent butterflies flapping in your stomach, along with the tingling, jittery sensation of when you have a crush and you find out they like you back.

Oh.

Oh no.

Hey, roomie! ch. 7

thomas j. x reader

A breakdown leads to a breakthrough, and a new guy enters the equation.

Wc: 2.5k

Warnings: like sickness/grief/angst idk how to describe it. Lots of crying. Me being extremely lazy to proofread/edit!!

Notes: I listened to exit music (for a film) while writing this

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You rush to his side, worrying at every step. Your arm wraps around him for a light, comforting hug, to which he stiffens under.

“It’s personal. And you’re drunk.” He hiccups.

“If this is about the kiss the other night, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s not about the kiss. Just…go to bed Y/n. Okay?” He urges. You blink, staring at him, letting your hand fall from his shoulder. You slowly get up, nod, and move toward the exit, giving him one final glance over your shoulder. His lips held a deep frown and you wanted so badly to wipe the tears falling from his cheeks.

“We’ll talk about this when I’m sober,” you mutter, exiting the room.

If the cocky, arrogant man you knew was breaking down, that meant something was seriously wrong. It didn’t occur to you that not talking to him would fuck him up so badly. There’s no way you could’ve predicted it would have this effect on him; if you did you wouldn’t have done it.

If you knew what would happen, what would you have done instead?

A conversation you had with Alex years ago flashed in your head. You were upset because you had gotten into a fight with Peggy, and having no one else to confide in, you turned to Alex for support. He was the most poetic of the group, the most emotional and gave the best advice. It was only natural that you would seek moral support from him.

“You cannot undo the moves but you can make the next step better,” he’d told you. The quote replayed in your mind over and over like a broken record, feelings of unbearable grief swallowing you whole.

The night moved slowly. You could hardly sleep because you knew the man only separated by a wall was in pain, and he wouldn’t let you help him because of some alcohol in your system. Eventually, you knocked out, and woke up somewhere around 9 the next morning. Not as early as normal, but you were running on 5 hours of sleep and a hangover.

Your head pounded, body ached, and nausea surged from your stomach. After wallowing in discomfort for a moment longer, you pulled yourself out of bed and hustled to the bathroom. A quick shower had you feeling refreshed, but the banging in your head hadn’t ceased.

Then you remembered Thomas. The memory of holding him while he cried flooded your brain, and your heart immediately felt heavy from it. He never communicated what was actually wrong, just said it was personal with no specification.

Throwing on an oversized magenta sweater that most definitely wasn’t yours, you rushed out to speak with him. A soft four knocks on his door sounded from your knuckles. No response. You sighed, cracking the door open. He might still be sleeping, especially if he was crying all night.

But he wasn’t there.

You swore under your breath, searching the rest of the apartment for him. There wasn’t a trace of him except for the half-drunken pot of coffee that was lukewarm. You debated on texting him to see where he’s at, but decided against it since you figured he was probably at work.

—

“So do you wanna fill me in on what happened?” Peggy gave you a pointed look, sipping the coffee she ordered.

“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” you gave her an apologetic look before diving into the story. You gave her every detail, from start to finish, noting how in the moment you felt this innate urge to lean up and kiss him. After you finished, you deliberately told her you weren’t thinking, and you hadn’t meant to.

“And you’ve been avoiding him? This whole time?” She plays with the rim of her mug, her hypnotizing green eyes narrowed at you.

“Well…I mean, yeah, I don’t really know how to react to this situation. I’ve never accidentally kissed a man who I hate. Crazy as it sounds, but it is my first time.”

She rolls her eyes at your joke. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

“I’d hope so. But you need to make it right. Y/n, I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but he clearly wanted it too if he kissed back.” She says, reaching across and putting her hand over yours.

“But what if…what if he was just desperate? Like, maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing, it was just a natural thing that happens when someone kisses you?” Her thumb rubbed back and forth across your hand.

“Nobody being randomly kissed will kiss back. They’ll push the other person off and try to fight them—at least that’s what I’d do.” She offers a small grin, pulling her hand off of yours.

“Ugh. This is too much,” you bury your head in your hands, “I tried to talk to him this morning but he was gone. And I tried last night, too, but he was crying and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” You admit.

She blinks. You didn’t tell her that part. “Oh. I didn’t know about that.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna try and talk to him later tonight, if he’s there. He usually never is, not for these past few weeks.” You sigh.

She furrows her eyebrows, a deep frown morphing on her face. “Are you sure there’s not something deeper going on? I don’t know that much about Jefferson, but I know he wouldn’t cry because his roommate is ignoring him.”

“Like I said, he won’t tell me anything.” Your jaw clenched.

“Maybe he’s—“

“Excuse me, I’m awfully sorry to interrupt your conversation,” a foreign voice spoke, cutting Peggy off. Literally foreign, he had a British accent. You snap your head up to the source, locking eyes with bright blue ones. You quirk an eyebrow as he offers a shy smile.

“I just couldn’t help but notice your beauty, and I wanted to know if I could have your number?” He asks.

A surprised expression hits both you and Peggy’s face. The man was quite handsome, having brown hair, somewhat pale skin, and piercing baby blues. He was well built, probably a good couple inches taller than you or around the same height. The navy blue jacket he wore complemented his eyes nicely.

“Uhh, sure,” you respond. Even if you didn’t pursue him, it couldn’t hurt to give him your number. He seemed polite. He lets out a breath of relief and pulls out his phone, to which you take and quickly type your number in, along with your name, then send a text to yourself.

“Thanks. I’m Samuel, by the way,” he sticks out his hand for you to shake, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah—I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you, Samuel,” you smile, glancing at Peggy. She had a disapproving look in her gaze, but forced herself to smile anyway.

“Right then, I’ll let you ladies get back to your conversation.” With that, he leaves.

“Seriously?” Peggy growls. You blink in surprise.

“What? All he wanted was my number. Not like he’s asking me to marry him or anything.” You put your hands up in defense.

“I—really want to say something that I shouldn’t,” she sighs, standing up. “I’m gonna go. You should talk things out with Jefferson.” She says it more like a demand rather than an ask, and you scoff as you watch her exit the coffee shop. The same advice Lafayette had given you. Do they not realize that you’re trying? You tried last night and you tried this morning, and failed both times.

Was she really upset because you gave a guy your number? It’s not every day that cute men walk up to you and give you their number. It would be kind of rude if you told him to fuck off, you’re having a difficult situation with your male roommate who happens to be extremely attractive that you also happened to kiss.

And it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong by giving another guy your number. You’re still single, you haven’t been on a date with Thomas or anything; all you did was interlock lips with him for a couple seconds. Besides, Thomas has been with plenty of women.

Also, you and Thomas aren’t even like that! Neither of you have confessed any sort of feelings, so nothing would likely come of your relationship. It was just a slip up. Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it will feel true.

—

The rest of the day was spent working, or exchanging texts between Samuel. He was proving himself to be a sweet guy, funnier than you thought he would be, and incredibly talented. You mostly chatted about random things, just getting to know each other better. He revealed that he went to the same highschool as Alexander and them, which was a crazy coincidence. You’d think going through Angelica’s old yearbook that you’d have seen his face.

Your boss had assigned a couple extra projects for you, but you weren’t all that mad because it provided a good distraction. When the sun dipped below the horizon and the moonlight shone through the window, he still wasn’t home. In the late hours of the night, after work when he normally arrives home, he was out. You assumed that he went straight to the bar after work, even with it being a Monday night.

After cooking dinner and eating by yourself, you stayed put in the kitchen. You were determined to speak to him tonight and set the record straight, and if you had to wait all night, you would.

The door softly creaked open and clicked behind him. The jingling of keys hit the counter, and an exhausted breath left him. He froze when his eyes met yours.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“No,” you lie. “But can we talk?”

He hesitates, but then reluctantly joins you across the table. He waits for you to speak.

“First, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…Y’know,” you wave your hands around, forming your mouth into a thin, awkward line.

“What, kissed me? Yeah, you shouldn’t have. You were right, Y/n, it was a mistake. Let’s move on.” He stands abruptly, and your heart pangs with guilt and sorrow.

Ouch. His acknowledgment hurt, but at least you were on the same page now. It wasn’t supposed to happen; he said so. Peggy was wrong about her interpretation of the story. Although you wondered what he must’ve told Lafayette because when you spoke to him, he emphasized that you communicate with Thomas.

“I’m not done,” you manage to squeak out. He raises an eyebrow then sits again, impatiently waiting for you to finish.

“If you were crying because of me last night, I’m double sorry. I never meant to make you feel upset.” You search his eyes for any hint of emotion.

“That’s not why I was crying.”

You stare at him. If that wasn’t it, then what was? “Oh. Why were you, then?”

“That’s not your business,” he says, almost a little coldly.

“Please, Thomas? Just talk to me. I’m trying to make things right here.” You plead. He stares at you, contemplating his next move. Then, he sighs deeper, hanging his head.

“You know a couple of weeks ago when my friends were over? And I kinda freaked out on you?” He starts. His voice is shaky, like he’s been holding this in for a while. You nod, staying silent to let him have his dialogue.

“Well, I got a text from my mom, sayin’ she was just diagnosed with leukemia. Said it was serious, and she’d be gettin’ treatment soon.” He inhales sharply.

“I’m so sorry…I didn’t know,” you move next to him, wrapping your arms around him in a comforting manner.

“No one does. I haven’t told anyone ‘cept you,” he admits. “The other night when you came home and asked me to teach you to dance? I was crying. She got put in the hospital and doctors say she’s been getting worse and worse—“ he stops.

“…Is she…?” You reluctantly ask, voice hardly above a whisper. He shakes his head, and you let out a breath of relief. His eyes started to water, and he blinked back tears. You let him collect himself for as long as needed.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to put on you,” he breathes out shakily. You gently rub your thumb in delicate circles on his shoulder.

“No, don’t be sorry. This is a lot for you to be keeping in. I’m here for you, Thomas,” you reassure. He leans into your embrace, relaxing in your warmth.

“The doctors say she’s getting worse,” he continues, “but with treatment, she has a good chance at survival. I’m just so worried for her. I don’t know what I’d do if…” he trails off.

“Don’t think that, Thomas,” you mutter. “She’ll be okay. And whatever happens, you can get back up from. You are the most stubborn, resilient person I know.”

“This is so weak of me,” he whispers breathlessly.

You furrow your eyebrows. “Since when was having normal human emotions weak? Your mom is literally in the hospital. It would be weird if you didn’t feel sad!”

You found it sweet how he let his guard down for you. His tough, cocky persona cracked and he allowed himself to be vulnerable around you. Part of you wondered if he did this with other girls; an almost jealous thought that you fought down.

He lets out a bitter laugh, wiping his eyes. A small smile cracked on your face upon hearing him show at least a little happiness. Hearing someone laugh after crying is a beautiful experience.

“Thank you. Not sure how much longer I could’ve kept that in.” He finally wraps his strong arms around you as well, burying his head in your shoulder. You stay like that for a moment longer, holding each other.

He reluctantly pulls off, and you let your hands drop from his torso. He gazes into your eyes, examining your features. You were so close you could see every detail about him. The freshly shaved stubble, his deep brown eyes that looked ethereal under the perfect sunlight, his near-flawless skin. The thumping of his heart increased along with yours. Your breath hitched when his eyes flickered to your lips once more.

You cleared your throat, awkwardly backing up when the staring contest you held became too intimate. Couldn’t have a repeat of last time, right?

“You uh, should get some rest. And eat if you haven’t. There’s some leftovers in the fridge,” you say, brushing off your (his) sweater. He quirked an eyebrow, glancing at the magenta fabric you adorned.

“Is that my sweater?”

Hey, roomie! ch. 6

thomas j. x reader

Word count: 4k

Alex and Eliza’s wedding leaves you questioning your poor decision making.

Warnings: John Lauresds bro. Swearing per usual. Me being too lazy to edit/proofread/add italics 😜

Notes: bro this is the most I’ve written for a chapter I’m so proud. Took me only two days as well (which might explain if it’s shitty but ignore that)

“Thomas?” Your voice rings out in the quiet apartment. “I need a favor.”

You gingerly shut the door behind you, setting your bag on the counter. There’s some shuffling in his room, and he walks out a few moments later.

“What’s up?” He sniffles. His eyes had a hint of red puffiness.

“So you know the w— are you okay?” You stop yourself abruptly upon noticing his eyes.

“Yeah, I got something in my eye so I was rinsin’ ‘em out,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him, but ultimately buy into his story.

“Alright…anyway, you know how Alex and Eliza’s wedding is coming up?” You say and he nods. “Well, I’m one of the bridesmaids and I—wow, this is harder to ask than I thought.”

He gives you a confused look. “Is it somethin’ bad?”

“No! Just kind of..awkward? Almost?” Your voice goes higher at the last part. Now he’s interested, his body language said so. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, curiosity peaked in him.

“Spit it out,” he urges. You huff and roll your eyes.

“I need you to teach me how to dance. Slow dance, to be exact.” You rush.

He blinks, like the gears are turning in his head. When they finally do, a wide grin spreads across his face. Your breath hitched as he took a step closer.

“I can do that. I’m a real fine dancer, sweetheart, and an even better teacher,” he winks. “Who you plannin’ to dance with?”

“I don’t know, it might be written on cards for us, but my hope is Laurens or Hercules.” You shrug. He thinks to himself for a moment.

“Sure, sure, I know them. Both hate me I think?”

You laugh, and the smile he previously wore brightened again. You know Thomas wouldn’t be invited to the wedding or able to go anywhere near it since him and Alex are mortal enemies. That fact didn’t bother you, you knew Thomas could be an arrogant asshole majority of the time, but at least he was willing to help you.

“Maybe a little,” you grin. He shakes his head, still adorning the smile you’ve grown so fond of.

“Y’all been talking about me or somethin’?” He quirks an eyebrow. You feel your face flush red, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the hot embarrassment radiating from your skin.

“Well—not exactly, you just happen to come up in conversation sometimes.” You say. Not technically a lie, just choosing your words as carefully as possible to make it seem like he’s not all you talk about.

“Oh yeah? And what do these conversations entail?” He tilts his head.

“Just how much of a dickhead you are. Nothing new,” you sigh. He sputters out a laugh and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. Another smile finds your lips, more confident this time.

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckles, “but do you seriously not know how to dance?”

“No, I’ve never really needed to.” You shrug, internally grateful he changed the subject back to the original topic.

“Damn shame. Dancing is fun, ‘specially line dancin’.” He gives you a big toothy grin.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“Sugar, I’m southern, you don’t just learn. You’re born with it.”

You sometimes forget Thomas originated from Virginia. Born and raised, he told you. His parents raised him on a farm surrounded by forest, taught him how to tend to crops, and he was enrolled in the highest quality school they could find. It ended up being a private school, where he excelled in academics and lived in books the moment he could read. It would explain his love for agriculture and science.

“Fair enough. I suppose all rednecks prioritize slow dancing with their cousins to ensure a great marriage,” you tease.

“Hey you watch yourself, not all southerners are in incestual relationships.” He glares at you.

“The fact you had to defend not all says a lot.”

—

You decided that the following day, he would teach you all you need to know. He claimed it won’t be hard for you to pick up since you’re smart and dancing is straightforward. Just follow the other person's lead, which in this case it would be Thomas.

When the next night rolled around, you were suited lazily in pajamas and socks while dinner cooked. No point in being dressed up since it was just practice.

“Alright, so the first thing is positions.” He says. You both stood in the kitchen, your meal baking in the oven for the next 20 minutes. He started a playlist of slow dancing country songs, playing them softly in the background.

He pulls you closer to him, causing a light gasp to escape you. He chuckles, muttering for you to relax, and you eventually do. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, standing so close to you that you could smell the familiar cologne.

“You’ll have your hands on my shoulders while I keep mine on your waist.” He explains. You bring your hands to his shoulders, holding onto them as if your life depended on it. “Not so tight,” he chuckles. You loosen up your grip and take a breath in.

“Now let’s step to the rhythm. Forward left, right, step together, then step back with right, back with left, step together. Easy enough?”

“None of that made sense, but I’ll try my best.”

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured. “Just follow my lead, you’ll pick up on it real nicely.” He gave your waist a gentle squeeze and started stepping to the beat. He leads you, patience in his eyes and with every step.

You fumble over your feet a couple times and take some wrong turns, but he doesn’t belittle you or stop. Instead, he redirects you and keeps it moving. It was hard to ignore how intimate this was. Your arms wrapped around each other, him staring down at you and you fixated on your feet. It would’ve been way scarier had you been gazing into his dark brown eyes, admiring the smooth skin and black curls that framed his face.

“You’re doing great,” his low voice met your ears, his lips almost grazing the side of your face from how close he was. Your heart leapt in your throat, your movement stuttered and he tightened his hands to instruct you where to step.

After a few more runs of the same pattern, you grew confident, finally tearing your eyes away from your feet and up to him. His heavy stare was already fixed on you, a look of adoration and softness in his eyes. Just as you imagined, your palms grew sweaty and you grew increasingly nervous, yet he remained calm.

His demeanor soothed you. He was so cool and collected, like this was all natural, like you’d done this a thousand times before. Before you knew it the song came to a close and his movement slowed. When you came to a complete stop, you were so immersed in the story behind his eyes. The way the light shone upon him, the way it seemed like time stopped and you were the only people left in the world.

The way his eyes flickered down to your lips, and the way yours did the same. The way you were leaning in subconsciously, hands moving to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you met him in the middle, in a gentle kiss. It sent electric shocks through your entire body—months of pining poured into one kiss. He immediately pulled you closer, not breaking the softness behind your lips against each others. His hands dipped to your lower back, and you stiffened.

That’s when you realized what you were doing.

You pushed off of him, a shocked look on your face.

“I…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” You curse, untangling yourself from him and taking many steps back. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “That was a mistake.”

A pang of disappointment stabbed him, strangled his heart, and completely shot down any idea he had of pursuing you. It hurt to hear you consider kissing him a mistake.

It hurt you, too. To say it out loud, even if you weren’t entirely sure you meant it. You pivoted, a regretful expression consuming your features. His eyes lingered on you a moment more, and silently, he brought his fingers up to gently touch his lips where you had kissed him.

Dinner was awkward. The rest of the night was quiet, actually. You decided to bring your dinner to your room, eating in there and regretting every action in the past couple hours. It was just now settling what had happened.

You shared a kiss with the man you deemed ignorant and annoying, and the worst part is you liked it.

When you exited your room to set your dish in the sink, he was sitting at the table. Alone. Eating in silence, save for the clinking of metal against metal. It sent another pang of sorrow through your heart, and your eyes met his. He held eye contact, refusing to back down. It was you who gave in and looked away, shamefully retreating to your bedroom.

—

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Alexander.”

Cheers erupt as Alex swiftly pulls Eliza in for a loving kiss. You fought back the tears that swelled in your eyes as you clapped for them. When they pulled apart, they seemed in their own little world. So infatuated with one another that nothing could break the intense gaze they had fixed.

The week leading up to the wedding was agonizingly slow. It was quiet. Always quiet. You would speak to Thomas when necessary, but this time it was you avoiding him. The guilt you felt was too much, it gnawed away at your stomach until there was nothing left. The memory of that night replayed over and over and over like a broken record. When Alex and Eliza kissed, it flashed in your mind again.

You couldn’t help it. Thomas Jefferson occupied 90% of your thoughts, and the other 10% were spent thinking how horrible you were.

The wedding reception was better than you anticipated. Sure, anytime you danced you thought back to Thomas, but hopefully speaking to the groom or John would lift your spirits.

When it did come time to the slow-waltz you had prepared for on that faithfully awkward night with Thomas, everything he taught stuck because you breezed through the dance floor with John easily. You shared a few laughs for the poor soul that was forced to dance with Lafayette, watching the man stumble over his partner's feet and mutter a string of apologies.

You did exactly what Thomas instructed. Hold onto his shoulders while he holds your waist, and step in sync, forward back forward back. It was incredibly simple. You glided through the floor until the song came to an end, and you separated from Laurens.

The first dance started, and you retreated off to the side, a glass of half-drunken champagne in your hands. You bore your eyes into the glass, so consumed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man approaching your side.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Y/n,” a silky voice spoke. You whipped your head up to the call of your name to be met with deep chocolate eyes.

“Aaron Burr,” you grinned. “How long has it been?”

“Since college, I presume. How are you?” He joins next to you, leaning against the wall as you did.

“Pretty alright. A little tired, but that’s nothing new. How’s Theodosia?”

Theodosia was Burr’s, everyone knew it. Even when she was dating an exchange student, you would see them lingering behind the staircase, his hand in hers. You weren’t sure if they had officially started dating or if they were still playing the charade, but it wouldn’t be long until they did.

“She’s well, thanks for asking. Would you like me to buy you a drink?” He asked.

Aaron Burr, always so punctual and well-mannered. You became affiliated with him through connections with Alexander. It wasn’t until you met the man yourself you became quick friends. He was a quiet man, but easy to talk to. He hadn’t much personality, but he was kind, and you could sense behind the walls he put up there was a flame of passion ignited in him. That flame was visible when he talked of Theodosia.

A couple sips in, you found yourself immersed in conversation about educational reforms. His eyes light up and he sat up straighter as he talked about the statistics of kids who aren’t able to read, and how he hopes to change that by suggesting a new curriculum for schools. Aaron Burr was one for deep, long talks, usually about politics or the economy. You respect him for it.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here. I know you and Alexander are more frenemies than anything, and you’ve had your…disputes,” you say.

Burr goes quiet for a moment, nodding and averting his gaze.

“Indeed. But he invited me, and it wouldn’t be proper of me to turn it down because of a few arguments.”

Proper, he says. If a few months ago your enemy (Thomas Jefferson cough cough) invited you anywhere, you would snarl at him and flip him off. It was honorable how Burr would put all of that aside to support his colleague on his day of union.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr with the lovely bridesmaid!” A drunken voice stumbles behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“You flatter me too much, Laurens,” you glance at Burr before swiveling around. “Been a while. Since fifty minutes ago, to be exact.”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he carelessly throws his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “We haven’t hung out enough!” You pat his back in a friendly manner, and watch as the rest of the gang pulls up. Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and the groom himself. The alcohol must’ve been settling into his system for him to not count the dance you shared earlier as enough.

“Alright, John, pull yourself together.” Alex chuckles, putting a hand on his dear friend's shoulder. Laurens pushes off of you, still wearing a tipsy grin.

“Congratulations, Alexander,” you say. He gives you a nod of courtesy, his eyes shifting to the man next to you.

“Burr, I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” He says, a genuine shock in his voice with a hint of amusement.

“I wanted to say congratulations and drop off my gift. And maybe catch up with Y/n here.” He gives you a grin. You smile back.

Feeling the tension, Laurens speaks up again. “Burr, are you still seein’ Theodosia on the side? Real nice girl,” he stumbles over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning in closer than he should be. Aaron grimaced but didn’t push him off.

“I should go,” Aaron stands up, glancing at you as an apology.

“No, stay! Ignore how they’re acting, John is just drunk,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Don’t group me in with zem, I ‘ave done no wrong,” Lafayette laughs.

You take Alexander’s pleading glance as your hint to leave and take the rest of the boys with you. He wanted his time to converse with Burr himself, so you had no choice but to respect that and give them space. You suggest going to dance since Laurens won’t stop complaining about how you’ve been ignoring him all night, when you literally haven’t.

“I don’t think that’s how you dance, John,” Hercules snorted as he watched the laughing stock fumble over his own feet.

“Dancing is expressive! There is no right or wrong way!” John retorts, his Carolina accent slipping through. Hercules sighed and left him to his own devices and turned back to you.

”He’s hopeless. This is just like Angelica’s wedding.”

You share a laugh as he twirls you, his hand resting on your waist as you step together. Lafayette saw John making a fool of himself and decided to join him, since he knew he had horrible rhythm and would embarrass himself if he was the only one dancing funny. But Laurens had enough liquor to not care what others thought.

“The dresses you made for us are really beautiful. And comfortable, too,” you compliment, glancing down at the blue dress you wore. It was professionally made by Hercules himself, considering his line of work being fashion design.

“Thank you. It looks even better on you,” he beams, brightening at your praise.

“Oh, stop,” you waved him off. “Are you still into powerlifting? I’ve been meaning to lift more but I don’t have a gym buddy—“

“Y/n! Mon ami! We ‘aven’t talked all night, what is zat about?” Lafayette cuts you off, stealing you away from Mulligan. You give Herc an apologetic smile and let Lafayette whisk you away from the larger man.

“We haven’t. Do you want to get another drink?” You offer. He nods eagerly and follows you to the bar.

Not long after, the other men made their way over to join you. They seemed to have calmed down, a light chatter amongst the group. The topic had changed rapidly from one to another.

“Y/n, have you ever actually been in a long term relationship with anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your boyfriends,” Hercules asks, his brows furrowed.

“Eh. Not anything super serious,” you shrugged. For some reason, you couldn’t help but think about—

“I thought you were with Thomas, non? Especially after you kissed him,” Lafayette spoke up. Your stomach dropped.

“How did you know about that?” You pale. His eyes flew wide open and he realized he said too much.

“Wait wait—what?! You kissed Jefferson?” John shouted out as if there wasn’t a room full of people, some of whom hated the man in question.

“Shh! Not so loud, asshole!” You shushed him frantically.

Both Hercules‘ and Laurens’ jaws were hung wide open, genuine shock plastered on their faces. You shot daggers at Lafayette, who winced and bowed his head in guilt.

“I thought zey knew…” he mumbles an apology. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Explain, elaborate, expand on this please,” John begged, leaning across the table.

“I—it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to…” you swallowed thickly. “He was teaching me how to dance, and I guess I got so caught up in the moment I wasn’t thinking, so I leaned in and kissed him.”

“Well, did he kiss back?” Hercules snorts.

You open your mouth, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. Thomas did kiss back. With more passion than anyone had kissed you before, that was the second worst part. Is the possibility that he wanted it and you shut it down, calling it a mistake.

“I’m not answering that.”

“He did! Jesus Christ—y/n, he is the enemy! Just wait til Alexander finds out you kissed Jeffer-shit!” John hops up, slamming his glass against the table. Lafayette hurriedly stood with him, pulling him back.

“Non, non, Alexander does not need to know. Ze lady does not want him to,” he urges.

John narrows his eyes bitterly, muttering some incoherent drunken thoughts under his breath. You huffed and told him to calm down, to which he retorted when Jefferson was publicly shamed for his heinous crimes against women he would. How that made sense to you, you didn’t know.

“Lafayette, can I talk to you? Alone?” You grit your teeth together. He winced once more, already knowing what it would be about.

“Of course, chérie,” he nods.

You find a secluded area outside of the reception where no one would bother you or overhear your conversation.

“Why the fuck would you tell them that!” You hissed.

“I apologize, madamoiselle, it must ‘ave been the alcohol.” He dips his head.

“Why do you even know about that anyway? What has Jefferson been saying?”

“Well…I’m not sure ‘ow much I can say.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“You’ve already spit my business to them, what more can you say?!” You scoff.

“Alright, alright, he never said anything bad.” He motions his hands in a way for hopes of mitigating your uproar. “He called me the other night, freaking out because he told me you kissed him. He said he wasn’t sure ’ow you felt about him but he—“ he suddenly cut himself off.

“He what? C’mon, Laf, this is serious.” You bit the inside of your cheek, impatiently tapping your heel on the concrete.

“—he…said he was upset because you called it a mistake. Said it felt hurtful.” His voice was lowered, solemn and scanning your reaction.

Your eyes softened. “Oh.” That was all you could manage. You didn’t enjoy the feeling of knowing you hurt someone; quite the opposite. It just made you feel like a bigger piece of shit for avoiding him, but in all fairness, what you did was completely out of character and it’s been tough sifting through your emotions.

“He said he wished you would talk to him.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Y/n, you need to talk to him.”

You stare at the ground, a swirl of negativity churning from your stomach to your brain. Guilt, shame, resentment all muddled into one.

“Let’s go back inside,” you mutter softly. He nods, the windows to his soul filled with worry.

—

“When were you gonna tell me you kissed Thomas?” Peggy found you at the bar, a sincere hurt in her words.

“I…was going to, eventually,” you muttered, taking another absent-minded swig of beer. “Not on Liza’s wedding date, but here we are.”

It was true you didn’t want to distract from Alex and Eliza’s wedding by your own romances taking the spotlight. It wouldn’t be fair to them, so up until Lafayette blurted it out, you planned on keeping it secret. Just a little longer, you told yourself.

“Well you haven’t! I had to find out from John Laurens pulling me aside and gossiping about your affair with Thomas!”

“Jesus, who else knows?” You stammer over your movements, almost spilling the beer in hand.

“Almost everyone. Word spreads around fast.”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” Your hands fly up to your head, gripping any hair you could. “I need to go. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You stress, hugging her tight. She sighs, melting into you and patting your back.

“You’d better explain yourself. I think it’s best if you resolve things with Thomas. Lafayette filled me in on the details.” She explains.

“Y-yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. Promise.”

You rush to find Eliza and Alex, hugging them both and wishing them congratulations. You knew they both knew about the kiss, but thankfully they didn’t bring it up, although you could see Alex almost did. He physically had to fight back whatever words played on his lips, and Eliza must’ve sensed it too, because she lightly smacked his side. After finding the rest of the crew and wishing them a goodnight, and telling Laurens in particular to suck every dick ever, you called an Uber.

The ride home was quiet, as the driver wasn't much of a talker, but neither were you so it wasn’t a bother.

Stumbling up the stairs (the elevator never got fixed), fumbling your keys in the door and creaking it open, you called out into the empty apartment.

“Thomas! I—can we talk?”

Stillness, quiet, nothingness. You opened your ears, shuffling near his room, and that’s when you finally heard some movement.

“Thomas? If you’re indecent or with a girl tell me now because I’m coming in,” you exclaim, waiting two seconds to no reply and then pushing the door open.

Thomas sat at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He sniffled, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. That’s when you realized it.

Thomas was crying.

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. 4

thomas j. x reader

Thomas invites his friends over, and after a heated argument, Peggy suggests an emotion you didn’t think plausible.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some cussin’, Lafayette being lafayette

bro why can I not write anything over 3k words wth 😭😭

“I’m gonna have some friends over tonight,” Thomas states, peeking his head into your room. You looked up from the book you were reading, Can’t Hurt Me, and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, how many friends?” You asked.

“Only two. They’re nice, I swear,” he reassures after observing the weary look on your face. You let out a small huff when he ultimately shuts the door before you can get another word in.

Things have been different since that night you helped treat his wound. He’s been softer, more careful with his words. He would still flirt shamelessly with you, but the tone in which he did so changed. It went from just spewing out the first words that came to mind to carefully crafted compliments, each one specific to the day. Like when he pointed out how the navy blue sweater you wore matched your personality. An odd thing for him to say, but you thanked him nonetheless.

The shift was very subtle. You had to search for it to notice it (not that you were paying more attention to him or anything, haha), and when you did, you found it in almost every conversation. His hand is almost fully healed now, but he’d likely have a scar when the bandage finally comes off.

You finished your chapter and picked up your phone to check your messages. Peggy had been asking about plans for the weekend, which you still had to get back to her about.

Peggy: we still on for sunday?

You: u know it ;)

She’s been asking for weeks now to go shopping with her for some new clothes, and you’ve been putting it off. Mostly because you don’t have enough money, partially because shopping isn’t really your favorite thing to do, but you know she loves it, so for this one time you’ll suck it up and go with her.

An hour passes by and before you know it, Thomas’s friends occupy the living room. The distinct chatter of an unfamiliar voice wasn’t suppressed from the thin walls that separated your room from the living room.

You endured it at first, but as the night progressed, they just seemed to get louder and louder. A part of you wanted to scream at them to shut up, but you knew that wasn't logical, so you settled on walking out and calmly asking them to tone it down.

When you entered, Thomas immediately lit up at the sight of you, looking ecstatic to introduce you to his friends.

“Y/n! Nice of you to join us,” he laughs, pulling you towards the group before you can protest. That might’ve been the first time you’ve heard him use your name.

“Y/n?” A familiar French voice echoed. Your eyes darted to the source—Lafayette. He was someone you were well acquainted with; with him being close to Alexander and the sisters, you connected through that.

You’ve hung out before with Alexander’s group—John Laurens, Lafayette of course, Hercules Mulligan, and occasionally the sisters. You found him to be quite the charmer; he knew when to fight and when to comfort another soul, which you seriously respect.

“Lafayette! I didn’t know you were coming over.” There was a pleasant surprise that came with this statement. A smile curved on your lips as you moved to give him a hug. The other men, one of them who you did not yet know the name of, watched as you reunited with Lafayette.

“Zis is a surprise to me too, mon ami. When he said he was rooming with Y/n I didn’t realize it was you.” He pulled away from you but kept an arm on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, how do you two know each other?” Thomas cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced between you and Lafayette. More specifically to Laf’s hand placement.

“Mutual friends, but we’ve been hanging out more,” you reply. He nods, an indiscernible look on his face.

Your eyes caught the dark headed man who sat idly on the couch, a quiet demeanor about him. He wore a light gray Nike sweater with basic blue jeans, and a simple dog tag necklace. Despite his easily observable introvertism, he held himself with confidence. Almost like he knew he was a hard motherfucker. He had amusement in his eyes when they caught yours.

“…Anyway, this is James. James, this is Y/n,” Thomas said. You smiled and stuck out your hand for him to shake.

“Pleasure to meet you.” James grinned politely.

“Always nice to meet people who identify closely with Thomas,” you teased. Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, ami,” Lafayette snickers, a mischievous smile curled on his face. Thomas shoots him a look as if to tell him to quiet down, but your interest was already piqued. And Lafayette isn’t one to quit talking because someone wants him to.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” You raise an eyebrow and turn to Thomas.

“Just about ’ow p—“

“—Not important,” Thomas cuts Lafayette off, scrambling between you. “Just how fun you are to annoy.”

“And how smart you are,” James speaks up. Your eyebrows fly up in shock. Thomas thinks you’re smart?

“Okay, I only said that because she’s able to keep up with me verbally,” he defends. A scowl is directed to James for betraying him. Madison puts up his hands in defense and chuckles. Thomas can keep his composure, but even you could see the frantic shift in personality.

“Not what it sounded like,” Lafayette said in a sing-song voice. You stifled a giggle, causing Thomas to direct a glare at you now.

“Don’t laugh at me, sweetheart, can’t you see I’m hurtin’ here?” He groans.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you think I’m smart and whatever Laf was gonna say before you so rudely interrupted him.” A playful smile adorns your face.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he grumbles, averting his eyes from you.

“You should join us,” Laf offers, diminishing any awkward silence that followed Thomas’s last comment. Thank god for outgoing people.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude. I just came here to,” you pause, remembering you came here to tell them off, “get a glass of water.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding, ami! Your presence is always welcome,” he reassures, putting a gentle grip on your shoulder. Your features soften and you weigh your options. If the other two were okay with it, then maybe you would stick around for a little while, but you don’t want to overstay boys’ night. “Ze boys don’t mind, right boys?” Lafayette turns to Thomas and James with a pout on his face.

“Thomas wouldn’t mind at a—ow!” James starts but Thomas smacks the back of his head.

“No, we don’t mind,” Thomas says.

“Wonderful! You can drink and play Wii sports with us, then,” Lafayette cheers. Thomas’s eyes flicker to the hand that stayed firmly on your shoulder, yet he remains silent.

—

It didn’t take long for you to get tipsy. They kept enticing you to drink as the night progressed, and after so many rounds of Wii bowling, you needed it.

In all your time spent knowing Lafayette, he never mentioned that he is a god at sword fighting. You considered yourself pretty good at that game, but almost immediately after playing against him, he had your Mii wiped out into the water. He demolished Thomas and James as well, and eventually you ruled that game off limits because he was so cracked at it.

James, quiet as he is, somehow managed to get four hole-in-ones at golf. Maybe he practiced often, or maybe he was just fucking weird, but that man was freakishly good at golf.

Thomas was bragging earlier about how he was the ‘King of Bowling.’ After playing against him for a few rounds, you realized why. The strikes he managed to cultivate piled up, at one point he had a streak going. After each bowl he would rub it in your face how much better he is, to which you kindly suggested that he suck a dick.

You, on the other hand, vanquished them in power cruising and table tennis. Basically, whatever they lacked in, you came out victorious. You found yourself having more fun than you thought you would, especially since it was Thomas you were hanging out with. James wasn't bad, in fact, under any other circumstances you would consider being his friend. Lafayette was great as always, and you stuck close to him throughout the night.

After playing every possible Wii Sports Resort game, you sat in the living room just chatting.

Thomas was across from you with James next to him, and you sat leg-to-leg with Laf. He kept an arm draped around your shoulder in a friendly manner. The conversation darted from one topic to the next, but currently the main idea was college stories.

“What about that time you got pepper sprayed in college?” James asked Thomas, a devilish smirk on his face. You let out a gasp and Lafayette started laughing loudly.

“Okay—it’s not what it sounds like,” he addresses your signal of distress, “I was walking to a frat party and using a shortcut which happened to be through the bushes, so when I emerged she screamed and immediately pepper sprayed me.” He elucidates.

A wave of laughter swept over the group, and your stomach started hurting the more he tried to explain himself. You know he's not a bad guy and wouldn’t do anything like that, but the stressed tone and look on his face was too much to not laugh at.

“Didn’t she have to help you find the bathroom so you could wash your eyes?” James said through fits of giggles.

“How else was I supposed to find it? I was blinded for fucks sake!” He groans, throwing his head back.

This recalling led Lafayette to go on about how he got beer thrown at him in a bar. “All I’m saying is I wasn't wrong, his political views of France were incorrect and I politely pointed that out.” His French accent seeped through his words.

You giggled, leaning into his chest as his arm tightened around you. You didn’t catch the way Thomas’s jaw clenched.

“Must’ve been not polite enough if you got beer thrown at you,” you said with a smug grin. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“What I said was not important, okay?”

“Sure, sure, because you’re never in the wrong ever. Like that one time with Alex when you were playing rock paper scissors and lost but—“

“I did not lose! What is paper going to do to a rock in a real life situation, huh? Ze rock will grind up ze paper and therefore I win!” He cuts you off to loudly defend his stupidity.

“That’s not how it works!” You laugh, pushing him playfully. James was watching this whole ordeal with amusement, a wide grin on his face.

“Okay, uh, it’s getting late guys. How about we call it a night?” Thomas chimes in, checking his phone.

“It’s only 10:32,” you reply with furrowed eyebrows. He swallows thickly, seeming like he just bit back venomous words.

“Non, non, he is right chérie. We should be leaving,” Lafayette assured you. He seemed to be picking up the hint that Thomas was not happy, and when he realized he still had his arm around you, he pulled it off. Lafayette and James stood, saying their goodbyes before leaving.

“Dude. Why did you make them leave early? We were having fun,” you huff. A muscle flickered in Thomas’s jaw.

“Just ‘cause, okay? Don’t push it, god,” he snaps. You stare at him, anger building up in your stomach, waiting to be released.

“The fuck? What crawled up your ass?”

“Jesus—can you just accept the fact that we’re all tired and it was time for them to go? Why do you have to keep instigating shit?” He erupted. Your eyes widen in shock and your mouth hangs open until you regain composure.

“No, you’re tired. Lafayette, James and I were fine. Great, even! Til you fucking decided that it has to end because you want it to!” You accused, pointing a finger and shoving it into his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he said calmly, his voice low. The switch from shouting to stillness in his voice was violent; it scared you. Your finger dropped from his chest and you took a step back. “Let’s end it here and go to sleep. Goodnight.”

And with that, he left. He left you wondering what got him so riled up. And the way he said ‘sweetheart’ was cold, it didn’t send that fluttery feeling into your stomach like it normally does. It was harsh. You wanted to scream at him and run in and fight him; but you didn’t.

You sighed angrily and retreated to your room, fists still clenched with resentment.

—

“I don’t know why he’s acting this way, Peggy. He was actually being sweet to me, but it seems like the moment I met his friends, he switched up.” You complained to your friend, hauling around the bags of clothes she bought.

“How was he yesterday? Usually men just need some space to cool down after an argument like that,” She said. The ordeal happened Friday night, and you were shopping with Peggy on Sunday. On Saturday, he did his best to avoid you, ignoring you when in the same room and responding in short, one word answers.

“He’s been cold. Distant. Yesterday he gave me the silent treatment,” you scoffed. “Like seriously, what is he, twelve? Since when was he incapable of having adult conversations and talking things out?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He could still be processing his thoughts, and it might be a lot for him to try and process yours, too. Let alone voice his in a convo.” She suggests.

This was another reason you love Peggy so much. She always challenged your words like a true friend would. She didn’t just mindlessly agree to everything you were saying, no, she forced you to think about your words or actions and reflect. She really did make you a better person just by being in your life.

“Hm. I guess that could be possible. What should I do, then?”

“Give him time. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s jealous, so I would just show him you don’t mean anything more than friendship with Lafayette.” She expands.

“Wait wait wait—what? Jealous?” You stutter, stopping dead in your tracks. Some people walking behind you side eyed you after you brake-checked them.

“Yeah? He sounds like he’s jealous because you’re close with Lafayette. Don’t you like Jefferson, anyway? Why are you so shocked?” She gives you a confused look.

“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about liking Thomas? He is not someone I am attracted to.” You furrow your eyebrows, continuing to walk with a deep frown on your face.

“It seems like you do. You talk about him a lot, I just kinda figured you had a crush on him or something.” She shrugged.

“A crush, ha! You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious. Every time I talk to you, you always somehow bring him up. Oh, Thomas did this, Thomas said that, y’know? It gets to a point…” She trails off.

This genuinely came as a shock to you. It didn’t ever occur that when you complain about Thomas, others might take it the wrong way and assume your attraction for him.

“I can assure you, Thomas is the last person I would ever like,” you say. That's one thing you’re certain of. Right?

Hey, roomie! Ch. 3

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, nongraphic depictions of blood/injury, second hand embarrassment

Thomas helps you ease into talking to guys.

Word count: 2.6k

“If you want to get better at talking to guys, you just have to go out and talk to them.” Thomas walks beside you in Central Park, scoping out any single men looking to mingle.

“That’s way easier said than done.” You cringe, following his gaze to a man reading on a bench.

“You’re gonna have to get comfortable with rejection, sweetheart,” he stops, putting his hands on his hips. You keep your gaze focused on the lonesome man immersed in his book.

“Ugh—but I don’t know what to say…” You took a step back, accidentally hitting Thomas’s chest. He puts a hand on your shoulder and turns you to look you in the eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s gonna suck, but if you want to improve you have to be comfortable with discomfort. Just go over and ask him what he’s reading. Say you thought he was cute and wanted to know if you could get his number. I’ll be sitting over there,” he nods to a fountain, “come find me afterwards. I’ll be picking up women of my own, so don’t rush it.” He winks, pushing you out slightly and patting your back.

You took a deep inhale and marched over to the guy. You nervously sat by him, but he didn’t budge. He kept his eyes on the printed words.

“Uh, hi,” you started off, turning to face him. He looks up, a little surprised to see someone talking to him. “I saw you reading and I thought you were cute, a-and wanted to know if I could maybe get your number?” You fiddled with your hands, struggling to keep eye contact.

He looks genuinely shocked that you said that, but with a polite awkward smile and laugh, he spoke. “I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend. But thank you anyway.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Have a nice day,” you quickly stood, power walking to where Thomas was sat at the edge of a fountain, observing the interaction between you and the guy.

“So?” He asks when you reach him.

“He has a girlfriend,” you sigh, taking a seat next to him. “Thomas, that was so awkward. It actually might’ve been the worst attempt to pickup a guy I have ever tried.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad. Sure, you looked a little nervous and you fidgeted, but unless you said something weird—“

“I literally stuttered! That’s embarrassing!” You exclaimed, covering your face in pure horror from the interaction. He laughed loudly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“But you still did it! That takes courage,” he says in an attempt to comfort you.

“What about you? Did you find any women to pick up?” You quickly change the subject to him in hopes of distracting yourself.

He shakes his head, giving a halfhearted shrug. “Nah, didn’t really see anyone interesting. Let’s go find someone else, shall we?” He grins, standing up. You sigh, following after his lead in the park.

After talking to two more guys, you got one number. One outta three ain’t bad. Granted, you don’t know if you’ll text the guy that often since he seemed a little boring. You gained more confidence than you thought you would, and really you had Thomas to thank for that. He was your wingman, hyping you up and coaching you on what to say or do. And throughout your messy attempts, he was patient. It struck you how odd it was that he could go from so incredibly annoying to kind in one day.

“How about we call it a day?” You plead after he starts searching for someone else. He glances down at you, back to the crowd, then shrugs.

“Okay. Your call, sweetheart.” He says. You let out a sigh of relief. It was all starting to get overwhelming—your sweater was itching and your palms were sweaty and you really needed to pee. You were just ready to go home.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, checking his watch and seeing that it’s 12:30. The feeling of hunger that you’ve been pushing down bubbles up and your stomach rumbles. You perk up and eagerly nod.

“Yeah. There’s a cheap pizza spot not far from here if you want?” You offer, pointing in the vague direction of where Pizza Co was located. He nods, grinning and falling into step next to you as you start walking.

The walk was pleasant. It was a nice day, and conversation flowed surprisingly easy. You didn’t know you had so much in common with Thomas; he loved gardening and philosophy, as he quoted Aristotle on “a friend to all is a friend to none” when the topic of his dislike for Alexander Hamilton came up. He was also a huge science nerd, which you figured from being his lab partner in college. For a good five minutes, he yapped on about the Jovian-Plutonian Gravitational effect where Sir Patrick Moore discovered that Pluto and Jupiter would weaken Earth’s gravitational field at 9:47AM in 1976. In simpler terms: people would be able to float around and objects wouldn’t be affected by gravity for a solid minute.

“Well…did it work?” You asked, genuine curiosity sparked in your voice. A mischievous grin lit up on him and he chuckled.

“No. It was an April fools prank, but that didn’t stop people from calling in on the radio show to report that they felt it. Some say when they jumped at the perfect time, they floated across their backyard like balloons.” He explained. You couldn’t miss the passion that was in his eyes. The way he talked so excitedly about this phenomenon as if it were real, and the way he talked about other similar incidents like when the BBC claimed they discovered a colony of flying penguins.

He even showed you the video that went along with it, depicting penguins launching off the ground and flying to the Amazon rainforest and hanging with toucans!

“No way people believed this. You can literally see the editing when they fly.” You laugh as he puts his phone back in his pocket.

“Some did. Well, anyone stupid enough to believe penguins have wings big enough to propel their fat little bodies off the ground.” He beams.

Before you know it, you reach Pizza Co and he holds the door open for you. Once you order your greasy slice of pepperoni pizza, you pull out your wallet to pay, but Thomas stops you.

“I got it,” he smiles, handing a ten to the cashier and ordering another slice of pepperoni. You huff, wanting to protest but the cash was already out of his hands. He gives you a smirk and winks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say after receiving your comically large pizza slice on a crappy brown paper plate.

“I wanted to. Relax, just enjoy the pizza,” he waves his slice around in front of your face, laughing before taking a bite.

You roll your eyes and eat your pizza, the blended flavors melting on your tongue. If heaven were a taste, this was it. That, or you’re just really hungry and anything would be good right now.

—

“Okay, how about this one. Chris, 27, he’s looking for new friends and someone to maybe cuddle with.” You cringe as you read the last line, then show Peggy a picture of him.

“Nah. Swipe,” she laughs, her nose scrunched up and you raise your eyebrows, swiping left to read the next profile.

You were currently at Peggy’s apartment that she shares with her boyfriend, who was out for a business trip. Her sisters were on the way since this was supposed to be a girls’ night, and you were counting on them to show up because they had all the booze.

After swiping left on most and right on a select few men, you got a match. Eli, 24, and three miles from you.

“He’s cute,” Peggy comments and you bite your bottom lip, typing out a message to him. You went back and forth with casual conversation, most of it boring. Something inside you didn’t want to look for other men today. You just didn’t feel like it, oddly enough. So you turned your phone off.

“Not interested in him or what?” Peggy gives you a confused look.

“Nah. I’m more interested in you,” you smirk, shooting her a playful wink. She cracks a grin and shakes her head softly.

“Glad you finally came to your senses. Let’s kiss.” She fake flirts, doing a kissy face and leans in. You laugh and push her away, standing up to get a glass of water.

The doorbell rings and she perks up, hopping to the door and swinging it open. “Angelica, Eliza! Come in, come in. Party’s just gettin’ started,” she smiles, opening the door wider for them to enter.

You greet them with a wide smile and brief hug before getting everything all set up. Movies, snacks, alcohol, and blankets. This was going to be the best rewatch of How to lose a guy in 10 days in history.

Right when they were at the scene where they’re in the bathroom and kiss, your phone buzzed. You ignored it, assuming it would just be your iCloud telling you to update your storage. Then it buzzed again. Okay, either iCloud really wants you to make some changes or someone is a double texter.

You sigh, flipping the phone over, going to silence your notifications but the name caught your eye. Thomas. What did he want? He knew you were at girls’ night and you told him not to bother you.

Thomas: do we have any rubbing alcohol and gauze

Thomas: pls respond

You: There’s rubbing alcohol in the bathroom cabinet

You: are you okay?

You furrowed your eyebrows, worry overtaking you and your ‘Mother Mode’ (as Peggy likes to call it) kicking in.

Peggy irritably told you to get off your phone or take it in the kitchen, to which you muttered an apology then silently stood up and paced to the island counter.

Thomas: yea it’s just a scratch

Thomas: is there any possible way you could bring home gauze when you get back?

You: I’ll stop by cvs

Another sigh escapes your lips, different from the one you heaved earlier. The other was frustrated, annoyed, and ready to tell off anyone who was double-texting you. This one was impatient, anxious, and confused. Saying it’s just a scratch wasn’t much help to ease your nerves. He could be seriously hurt and just not telling you—which was most likely because you don’t need gauze for a scratch.

“Who is that?” Angelica appeared behind you, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she smiles sheepishly, refilling her cup with the spiked punch Eliza made.

“Thomas was asking if we had rubbing alcohol and gauze,” you respond, tapping your fingers nervously against your thigh.

“Oh. Is he okay?” She paused, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I don’t know, he said it was a scratch but I don’t believe him. Should I head back? We don’t have any gauze and I told him I would pick some up on the way,” you ramble, not realizing that Eliza and Peggy had entered as well. You heard an ad for insurance playing in the background.

“What’s happening?” Peggy asks.

“Y/n is debating if she should go home right now since Thomas is hurt and needs gauze,” Angelica replied for you.

“Uh oh. What happened?” Eliza winces, crossing her arms across her chest as she leans against the counter.

“I don’t know—he didn’t tell me.”

“You seem worried, maybe it would be best if you go. The movie's almost over anyway, and we’ve all seen it before,” Eliza reasons. Her sisters nod along and murmur in agreement. You sigh, biting your lower lip. If you left now you would miss the rest of girls night and you weren’t sure you wanted to ditch them like that, but if Thomas was seriously injured you might.

Despite your distaste for Thomas, if he was hurt (or anyone for that matter) you would help. Especially if they came to you asking for help. So instead of dwelling on the past and your silly emotions, you sucked in your breath and nodded.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, we can always do this again, right?” You acquiesce, grabbing your tote bag from off the counter. The other girls smile and give you short hugs so you could leave quicker.

The moment the door shut behind you, they immediately started talking again.

“I forgot she was rooming with him.” Angelica blinked.

“I know, I need to make sure Alex didn’t get into a fight with Jefferson or something,” Eliza joked, texting her fiancé off to the side.

—

“I got the gauze, Thomas, where are you?” You call out in the eerily silent apartment. There’s some shuffling before his voice rings out.

“I’m in the bathroom,” he replies. Instantly you knew something was seriously off. His tone was different than his usual laid back demeanor.

You rushed over and found the door wide open. There were a few drops of blood littered on the floor, and when your eyes met the sink where he held his bleeding hand over, your stomach dropped.

He gave a pathetic, squirmish smile as you moved over to him.

“Jesus—what did you do?” You immediately move to examine his hand, removing the soaked cloth that he held to it.

“Well,” he starts, “I was getting a drink of water and accidentally dropped the glass. It cut me when I tried to clean it up.”

You glare up at him. “Thomas, did you use your bare hands to pick up shards of glass?”

He forms his lips into a thin, awkward line. A sheepish smile spreads across his face. “Guilty.”

“You fucking idiot.” You sneer, grabbing the gauze and unfoiling some. “I was worried about you. Wash off the blood and I’ll wrap and disinfect your hand,” you sigh, and he follows your instructions.

“‘M sorry love, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he muttered.

“It-it‘s fine. Wash your hands, Thomas.” You whispered.

There was a long moment of quiet, where the only sound between you two was the running water and occasional wince from Thomas. While he did that, you put some rubbing alcohol on a wash rag.

“Hold still,” you instruct, gently dabbing the wash rag on the cut. He hissed, instinctively pulling back but your harsh glare brought him right back. After, you apply some ointment to help it heal and then wrap it in gauze, gingerly touching his wrist to signal when to turn. More examination shows he has cuts on the tips of his fingers, too, but you’d worry about that in a second.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and look up at him. He was already staring at you, and if you had to guess he’s been looking at you the whole time. His eyes delicately scanned over your features.

“Thomas?”

“Hm?” Your voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he straightens up, glancing at his now bandaged hand. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Yeah. It’s fine just don’t—use your brain next time you break glass, okay?” Your breath hitched mid sentence when you realized how close you were to him, and you backed up, wiping your hands on a towel.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment more, watching you scramble out of the bathroom.

For the first time since moving in, Thomas had actually managed to leave you feeling flustered. And this time, he wasn’t even trying to.

Hey, roomie! Ch. 2

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, not proofread

After another failed date, Thomas offers some pointers.

Word count: 2.5k

alrrr guys ch 2 done 🥳 thank y’all to anyone actually reading this it means a lot

“Thomas! Did you put my white socks in the washer?” You yelled, pulling out the now pink Nike socks.

“To be fair, you trusted me with your belongings.” He held his hands up in defense with an irritable smirk on his face that made you want to punch him.

“I’ll be sure to remember that next time,” you say through gritted teeth. He laughs, leaning against the wall as he watches you move clothes from a beat-down washing machine to the even shittier dryer.

Week three, already off to a bad start. So far you’ve rolled your ankle during a run because it unexpectedly started pouring, you had to run back in the rain with a sprained ankle that sent jolts of pain through your feet with every step, Thomas won’t stop bothering you, and now all your white clothes are pink because he couldn’t complete a simple task. You even asked him as nicely as you could (so, not calling him a shithead in the process.)

He seemed to get some sort of satisfaction in your misery. It was all just a game to him. He was the cat and you were the mouse, running in circles of pissing each other off.

You sighed, turning on the dryer and pivoting to face him. He was met with your death glare burning a hole in his head, which only made him grin wider.

“Don’t look so happy, Jefferson,” you growled.

“I’m not happy. I’m devastated. My favorite person in the whole wide world is upset with me; now is not the time to feel joy.” He quickly turns his smile upside down and laced his words with sarcasm. You rolled your eyes, pushing past him.

“I don’t have time for your shit. I’m going out,” you grunt. He perks up.

“Where to?” He trails after you, plopping on your bed as you scoured your closet for a casual dress.

“Uh, none of your business?” You scoff, raising an eyebrow at him. He huffs, kicking his foot outward and shifting on the edge of your bed.

“I just wanna know. What’s the harm in tellin’ me, sweetheart?” He pouts.

“The harm in telling you is the potential situation you go with. Can’t have that happening.” You give him a pointed look and he fights back a smirk.

“I won’t follow you. Promise. I planned to stay up gaming with James, anyway,” he quickly defends himself. You give him a suspicious look but decide to just tell him. It won’t hurt to have someone know where you’re at just in case anything goes wrong, right?

“Okay. I’m meeting up with a guy at a bar,” you say, pulling out the familiar black dress and brushing it off.

“Again?” He gapes before furrowing his eyebrows. You give him an offended stare. “I mean, didn’t you just go out with a guy like, three days ago?” He rambles.

“Yeah, so? Don’t slut shame me. I want to have a long-lasting relationship and the only way to do that is to get out there and search.”

“Uhm, I wasn’t slut shamin’ you, but alright. Who’s the lucky guy?” He scoots forward, intently observing you pick out the perfect heels.

“His name is Gary.” You respond quietly.

“Pfft—Gary? The hell kinda name is that—that’s stupid. His name being Gary is a red flag in and of itself.” He laughs, causing your eye to twitch.

“Lay off, Thomas. He’s a sweet guy,” you grunt. He was seriously testing your patience today. “What are you still doing in here, anyway? Go, scram, skidaddle,” you shoo him off and he stands, holding his hands up defensively.

“My bad, just wanted to spend some time with you. How horrible of me, I know,” he states before backing out, shutting the door behind him. You sigh and get changed into the black dress and heels, doing your makeup and hair afterwards to get all dolled up.

—

“Hey! How are you?” You said with a bright smile when Gary found you in the bar. He looked quite handsome. His blond hair was neatly laid to the side and had a slight wave to it, and his piercing blue eyes captivated you.

“I’m good. My, don’t you look pretty?” He grins, opening his arms for a hug. You embrace him and start up some small talk, mentioning things you chatted about online and expanding on those topics. He seemed pretty interesting and didn’t show many red flags. So far so good.

After ordering a few drinks, he suggested doing shots. Bold move, you like it. Or was he just trying to get you drunk so he could take you back to his and lay you on his bed? You couldn’t tell. But he was paying and he smelled nice, so you didn’t really care.

When the end of the night rolled around, you were having a great time. You felt like you got along perfectly. He was sweet and funny and charming, and you thought he liked you, too, but when you asked if he wanted to do this again (or more) he grimaced, looking around awkwardly.

“Listen, you’re really great, but I feel like we would be better friends than anything, you know?”

Ouch. Did you say something wrong sometime during the night?

“Oh. Okay, sure.” You frowned, clutching your purse a little tighter. He hugged you again to let you down easy and then left to his car. A sigh escaped your lips.

Another date failed, and this time it was something wrong with you which you couldn’t shake. How come you can never keep a guys attention for longer than an hour? Are you acting too easy? Too hard to get?

A frustrated groan left you as you called a cab.

The moment you got back, you slammed the door and stomped to the couch, aggressively shoving off your heels and carelessly throwing them on the floor.

“What are you slammin’ doors for?” Thomas walked out of his room, an irritated frown on his lips. You really, really didn’t want to deal with him right now.

“He just wants to be friends. Friends! I mean, c’mon! What am I doing wrong?” You groaned, crashing back on the couch and covering your face with your hands.

Thomas shifts his weight, his frown turning to an uncomfortable one. He opens his mouth to speak, furrows his eyebrows, closes his mouth. Then he opens it again. “Y’know, I can help you if you want. Get a guy, that is.” He adds on quickly.

You stare at him, mind a little fuzzy from the alcohol you ingested. “What d’you mean?“

“I mean I know what guys like. I can give you some pointers, maybe coach you on what to do or say or how to act. You interested?” He slowly moves closer before gently sitting next to you, his knee brushing yours.

You let your mouth hang open for a moment as you knit your eyebrows, weighing your options. On the positive side of this offer, you could possibly be able to land a real man with any advice he gives you. He could be bullshitting and accidentally giving you horrible advice just to ruin your chances with some other man, but the way he’s staring at you so patiently leans you otherwise. He seems genuine. On the contrary, you’d have to actually spend time working with him to learn anything. You’d have to let him call out your mistakes which would be a blow straight to your ego.

Swallowing your pride, you know which decision to make.

“That would be helpful,” you mutter, and a wide grin spreads on his face.

“Great! We can discuss this further tomorrow. For now, you need to get some rest. And shower, you smell like vodka,” he grimaces, his tone teasing you.

“Don’t tell me what to do, asshole,” you mumble under your breath as you stumble over to the shower. He laughs airily, watching you fumble over your own feet.

—

“Did you forget to buy strawberries?” You call while bent over searching the fridge.

“No,” Thomas replies with minimal concern in his voice, “they’re in the bottom drawer. Just look, sweetheart, you’ll find ‘em.”

You roll your eyes, swinging the bottom drawer open and pulling out the plastic cage of fresh strawberries.

It was a messy Saturday morning. You had woken up with a slight hangover, but it didn’t affect you too much. Just a headache and light nausea, nothing a little rest and ibuprofen couldn’t fix.

Thomas had gotten up at a similar time as you since you slept in, and now he joined you in the kitchen for a late breakfast/early lunch. He sat at the small table, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

You fixed his and your breakfast consisting of eggs, avocado toast, and fruit. He thanked you as you slid his portion across the table to him.

“So, tell me, what went wrong?” He asked, taking a hefty bite of avocado toast.

“I don’t know, that’s the worst part. In my opinion, it was going really well. But when we were outside and I asked if he wanted to do this again, he said I would make a better friend than anything,” you sighed, recalling the memory of being rejected.

He furrowed his eyebrows, pursing his lips and thinking momentarily. After a second, he nods, “well what’d you do to make him think that?”

“Wha—dude, I thought you were gonna help me figure that out!” You huff.

“Whoa, chill out, I don’t know all the details so I gotta ask.” He motions his hands for you to calm the fuck down, which provokes you to narrow your eyes at him. “How did the conversation start? Give me exactly what happened from beginning to end.” He instructs, leaning in with all ears.

“Well first, we said hi, he hugged me and said I was pretty,” you started, trying to recount your conversation with him. If you had been looking for it, you would’ve noticed the slightest flicker in Thomas’s expression when you said you hugged. “Then we ordered some drinks. Talked about each others interests, some stuff we talked about over text like his love for football, although I don’t really care for it too much—“

“Ah, stop right there. When he was talking about football, did you look uninterested or change the topic?” He cuts you off.

“Uh, maybe a little? It’s hard to remember, ‘cause like I said, I don’t give a shit about football so I didn’t listen that intently.” You shrugged, biting into a strawberry.

“Well there’s your problem. If you don’t give him your full attention even on stuff you don’t like, he’s not gonna give you his,” he claims. Your eye twitches.

“So I need to be a better listener?”

“Exactly,” he smiles, “you’re already getting it.”

You roll your eyes, stuffing some blueberries in your mouth. He winces, setting down the toast he was halfway through.

“Maybe don’t roll your eyes too much. Or shove food in your face.” He recommends.

“I only act like this around you because I don’t care what you think,” you rebutted, raising your eyebrows.

“Wow. I’m hurt, princess.” He puts a hand to his chest dramatically, although his tone was mocking.

“Don’t call me princess.” You warned. He laughed, putting his chin in his hands.

“Well then—tell me what I should call you.”

“Call me my name.”

“Ooh, I dunno, I think sweetheart has a nice ring to it. Or maybe mon petit chou—Lafayette taught me that one.” He beamed, giving you a toothy grin.

“I know what that means, that’s stupid,” you rolled your eyes. What kind of pet name is ‘my little cabbage?’

“Hey, don’t insult French culture like that. I love France.” He frowns.

“Don’t care.”

“You know, you should really start being nicer to me. I am helpin’ you out here, after all,” he advises. You let out a dramatic groan, sinking into your seat.

“When I actually have a boyfriend, I will.”

—

You hummed, waiting for Peggy to arrive at the Starbucks you so often frequent. It was a peaceful Sunday morning, not too many people crowded the cafe but just enough to where it felt lively.

You had just finished a run, and already had plans to meet up with Peggy around 8 for coffee, so you decided to push yourself further and just run to the Starbucks. When the door flashed open, your dearest friend walked in and your day instantly brightened.

Her coffee was already sitting waiting on the other end of the table—you knew exactly what she liked so you went ahead and ordered it for her: an iced blonde vanilla latte with whole milk and extra vanilla.

“Awh, you already ordered for me? How sweet,” she cooed, taking the seat across from you. You couldn’t hide the grin that spread on your face.

“Well, I know how bad you suffer from crippling anxiety when it comes to ordering food, so I thought I’d be nice and not let you stutter over asking for whole milk.”

She scoffs, “Way to ruin a good thing. Anyway, how ya been? Jefferson been treating you nice?”

“He’s been okay,” you shrug, “he’s actually helping me out with something. And he initiated it.”

“Oh? Do tell.” She raises her eyebrows, leaning in curiously.

“So you know I’ve been trying to land an actual relationship,” you lean in as well, “and the other night I was frustrated because Gary rejected me. Anyway, Thomas offered to give me some advice on how to talk to guys,” you explain.

“Interesting. He tell you anything helpful?” She asks.

“Eh. Just told me to be a better listener, nothing outstanding or thought provoking.”

“Well, if you ever need any more help, I’m your girl. You know I’ve been with my man Steph for 6 years now, if you’re having trouble keeping someone down,” She offers.

“Thanks, Peggy.” You smile softly.

After catching up with her and just chatting in general, you head back home with another coffee in hand for Jefferson. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to get him something since he is helping you out, and maybe you should be a smidge nicer to him. Not verbally, of course, you’ll always find a way to berate him, but at least show him you care somewhat through the language of coffee.

You enter and he hasn’t awoken yet, so you set the hot black coffee down with his name scribbled on it. He claims that this is his favorite way to drink coffee and all the sugar or milk additives take away from the rich flavors, but you have a theory that he’s bullshitting and secretly loves frappuccinos.

After a quick shower, he still wasn’t up, so you left to run some errands. While at the store, your phone dinged.

Thomas: thanks for the coffee.

Masterlist

Hamilton

T. Jefferson

Hey, roomie! | one two three four five six seven eight nine ten bonus snippet [COMPLETED]

In which you room with the most insufferable, arrogant man crafted by the devil himself sent to personally annoy you.

Always | one [COMPLETED]

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

High and Dry | one two three four [ONGOING]

When starting your fourth year of teaching at a new high school, you come face to face with your old friend-turned-enemy: Thomas Jefferson. To make it worse, he’s the other English teacher you’re supposed to work with the whole year. (Rewritten version)

M. De Lafayette

Baby I’m Yours | one [COMPLETED]

In which your best friend, and the man you’ve been in love with from the start, gets jealous at a bar over you. (Request)

J. Laurens

A Night To Remember | one two three [ONGOING]

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?

Requests are open! I cannot guarantee I will get to all of them or do them. But yk. Always nice to try, right?

Hey, roomie! Ch. 1

Thomas j. x reader

Modern au!

In which you room with the most insufferable, arrogant man crafted by the devil himself send to personally annoy you.

warnings: swearing, some sexual references, bad writing tbh (not proofread)

word count: 2.7k

Chat this is my first time using tumblr pls be nice idk what I’m doing

“This has to be a joke, right?” Are the first words that come out of your mouth the moment you lay eyes on your new roommate: Thomas Jefferson.

You despised him all throughout college. He was the biggest manwhore on campus, not to mention infuriatingly smart. You’d know because he used to be your lab partner. That’s how you became familiar with him and his affairs with the girls in your class. After meeting him for the first time, his name just became more and more common.

Rumors of how he slept his entire way around campus, flirted with any and every girl in sight circled around. In fact, the first day of class in freshman year, he strutted his way over as if he owned the place before slipping into the chair next to you, giving you a charming smile. It didn’t fool you.

“No jokin’ round here, sweetheart,” his southern drawl seeped through his words as he opened the door wider for you to enter.

You pushed past him with a glare. “Which room is mine?” You grumbled.

He blinked, a wide grin spreading his face. “Right this way. Unless you wanna sleep with me?” He offers with a sickening laugh. You grimace, nose scrunching in disgust.

“No, thanks. It’s enough that I have to live with you, I think I’d drown myself if we had to share a bed.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged, opening the door to what will be your cave for the next…however long. If only you had enough money to move out and find a different roommate—but alas, you already finalized the papers before doing any research as to whom you would be spending your days with.

What a foolish mistake.

With that, he leaves you to get all settled in. He offered a helping hand, which you shot down with an I don’t need your help and trudged boxes up four flights of stairs since the stupid elevator was broken down.

He watched with amusement when you staggered in, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead after the fifth box.

“You sure you got it?” He shifted on the couch, remote in his hand.

“Positive.” You heaved the heaviest and final box into your room, taking a deep breath before getting items unpacked. After a few hours of getting set up and picturing what your life will entail, you finally finished. Your bookshelf was stocked with all your favorites, your walls were covered in posters and pictures were strung on your bulletin board. The room was small, but you turned it from an asylum to a cozy Pinterest vision board in a matter of hours.

You admired your work, flopping on your bed and letting the stress melt away from your back. The peace you felt was soon swept away when a few knocks sounded your door.

“What?” You groaned, and the door creaked open. Thomas popped his head in.

“I got takeout if you’re hungry. Nice room, by the way,” he comments, eyes wandering around the room before he shuts the door.

—

“So, did you seriously not look into who you’d be rooming with?” Thomas asks, shoveling fried rice into his mouth. You shrug, taking a large bite of lo mein.

“I didn’t think I would room with anyone I knew. Especially not you.”

“You seem upset. I’m happy we’re roommates. Are you not?” He flutters his eyelashes, to which you scoff at.

“What do you think?” You snap, poking your fork at some chicken. There’s no way he’s genuinely looking forward to the next few months, possibly years, of hell.

“I dunno, I’d be thrilled to live with me. I think I’m great,” he flashes his pearly whites. Your eyes were getting tired of how many death glares you’ve sent him in one day.

“Congratulations on being the only person to think that,” you give a faux smile before stuffing more noodles into your mouth.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not that bad. You don’t even know me!” He pouts, giving you puppy dog eyes. A loud, airy laugh escapes you.

“After enduring your shitty attempts at flirting in freshman year? I think I know what type of person you are plenty.” A sharp grin adorns your face as you focus your eyes on the food before you. He huffs, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’ve changed, okay?” He mumbles. “I can flirt a lot better now. I can score basically any woman ever.” He claims, which causes you to pause to laugh again.

“No way! Any woman in her right mind would never go out with you.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a snarl creeping on his face. “I’ve been with more women than you have. I don’t think you have much room to talk.”

“Uh, probably ‘cause I don’t like women? Let’s use our brains here,” you mock. He rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean. You haven’t been with more than what, two guys?” He finishes up the fried rice and moves to throw the styrofoam box away.

“You been keeping track or something?”

He stammers, huffing and avoiding eye contact. “Course not. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“Whatever you say, Thomas.” You finish up your food as well and throw out the box, crossing your arms as you move back to your room. He sighs behind you, retreating to his room as well and leaving you to your own thoughts.

He was right about you not being with very many men, and that fact hurts. You’re 25 and still single. To be fair, he is too, but he still does get numerous women in his bed at night, and that’s just straight up unfair. It’s not like you weren’t trying to get a boyfriend, either. A goal you have is to settle down with the man you’d deem ‘the one’ and buy a house in a small town, have a couple kids and maybe a dog. The perfect life in your (and your parents) eyes.

The men you’ve met so far on dating apps haven’t been the dream you’re looking for. Don’t get me wrong, some of them were incredibly sweet, but not quite what you have in mind. However, you aren’t a quitter, so if you have to force yourself to find love, so be it.

—

The first two weeks living with Thomas have been as chaotic as you predicted it would be. He was just as lazy as you remember—so full of himself and cocky that he doesn’t believe he has to do real work. It infuriates you.

He officially makes the list of worst roommates in the world. He doesn’t clean up after himself, he lets his dishes pile up, he eats all the damn food, he blasts music too loud, and brings random women from bars home on Friday nights. And he isn’t particularly quiet either in the late hours of the night while you are trying to sleep. Soon after moving in, you figured out he was a night owl while you are an early bird.

It was nice to not have to see his face first thing in the morning, but every night he was banging around, watching TV or talking loudly to his friends. When you complained to him about this, he just gave you a smirk and said ‘what are you gonna do about it?’

He knew what he was doing. You knew what he was doing. You both knew it was all on purpose. So when you would stomp around in the morning while getting ready for your runs, it was payback. Although sometimes it would bite you, like that one time a girl he brought back accidentally fell asleep after they banged, so she slipped out in the early hours of the morning. Right when you were in the kitchen lacing up your running shoes. The horrified look on her face when she asked if you were Thomas’s girlfriend was priceless. After informing her that no, you are not dating Thomas, she let out a breath of relief and expressed how bad she would feel if you were, and thank god you’re not.

When you got back from your run and lifting session at around 9 am, he was finally awake and looked like he just rolled out of bed. His hair a mess and bags under his eyes as he brewed himself coffee. You told him about the incident from earlier that morning and he just laughed, stating, “don’t be jealous it’s not you. There’s always other nights for us.”

That sentence alone only added to your distaste for him.

Thomas is a natural flirt; any chance he gets he says something that makes you cringe and push him away from you. Sometimes while you cooked dinner, he would come up behind you and wrap his arms around you, holding him tightly to his chest and burying his face in your neck. Of course, you fought this back and sneered at him to get the hell off of you, to which he would laugh at and tell you to relax.

It was torture.

What’s worse is you’re so touch starved that for a millisecond it feels comforting. Then you remember whose arms are secured around your waist.

“Peggy, I don’t know how much of this I can take,” you sighed on the phone to your best friend, Peggy Schuyler. Peggy was always there for you throughout your toughest times. She’s seen you at your best and at your worst, and stuck with you despite everything. She’s loyal, and that’s one of the things you love most about her.

“It can’t be that bad. What does he do?” She says, shuffling around on the other end.

“Oh my god, he’s so inconsiderate. He rarely does his dishes, or buys groceries, and don’t even get me started on the women. It’s bad.” You complain.

“He sounds immature,” she comments.

“He is!” You say through gritted teeth.

“Y’know, Alex told me that he works with Thomas in their leadership group. Said he’s a real asshole to him. I don’t know why they hate each other so much, but Alexander probably has a good reason to. From what I’ve heard about him today…I dunno, I wouldn’t want to be near him either.” She rambles.

“He has every right to hate him. Did you know he ‘accidentally’ locked me out the other day? That asshole had such a smug look on his face when I had to ask our landlord to let me in. I didn’t mean to forget my key—it just, it slipped my mind,” you rant, growing frustrated.

That wasn’t a fun day. You had left to make a quick trip to your car and it slipped your mind to bring a key to get back in. You figured that he’d be there, but when you got up there and fumbled in your pocket before realizing you were missing the key, he didn’t respond to the pounding fist on the door. After calling and texting him multiple times to no reply, you growled and went downstairs to get the landlord to let you in. When you finally did, Thomas had just stepped out of the shower, wearing only sweatpants with his curly hair wet. Him being faced with your angry confrontation, he claimed he couldn’t hear you in the shower. You didn’t buy it.

“Are you serious? What a dick. I’m sorry, Y/n, I really hope it gets better.” She says softly, offering her condolences. You hummed boredly.

“Yeah, I doubt it will. I don’t think I could ever warm up to him.” You sigh, leaning your head back on your pillow.

“Just give it time. I’m sure you’ll open up to each other eventually.”

You grimace at the thought of becoming close with Thomas Jefferson. “Yeah but…I don’t want to associate with that asshole.” You say bluntly. She barks out an airy laugh.

“Honestly? That’s fair. But in all seriousness, everything will work out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it’s not the end.” She casually drops this insane quote on you, rendering you speechless.

“…Thanks. Did you just come up with that on the spot?” You asked.

“Hah! No, I saw it on Pinterest. It’s a good quote, glad I got to use it,” she chuckles to herself and you smile, shaking your head softly.

“Oh! I forgot to mention, I matched with a guy on Tinder and we’re going out tomorrow night. Damn, I was so caught up in my hate for Thomas that I forgot what actually matters.”

“Really? That’s great! What’s his name?” She beams, and you grin, rambling on about Clyde, a 26-year-old from Colorado who loves dogs, has brown hair, and is super fucking hot.

After ending the call on a positive note, you’re looking forward to the next day. It had your mind racing with the possibilities of what he might be like in person. You’ve been chatting with him for a few days now, and he seemed promising. He had a good sense of humor over text which was nice and he wasn’t too clingy.

You only hope he’s what your idea of him is.

—

“Where are you goin’?” Thomas quirks an eyebrow from the living room, his legs stretched across the couch and his phone in hand. His shirt was abandoned, leaving his bare chest for the world to see. Your eyes trailed down to his defined arms and abs. You quickly snapped yourself out of it, but it didn’t go unnoticed by him. You could tell from the smirk on his face.

“I’m going on a date,” you triumphed, a beaming smile on your face as you smoothed over your outfit. He scanned your appearance, pursing his lips and nodding to himself.

“Have fun, I guess,” he formed his mouth into an awkward line. You raised an eyebrow, observing the change in his demeanor. Normally he’d say something snarky, maybe hit on you, but I guess today was different. Maybe he’s not feeling it. Or better yet, maybe he’s decided to stop completely and leave you alone.

You clipped on your earring and head out the door—deliberately double checking you had your key with you. After driving to the restaurant you agreed to meet up at, you searched the sea of faces for Clyde. Upon spotting the handsome face you’ve grown to like, your eyes lit up and you made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you said humbly, sitting down across from him. He gave you a lazy grin.

“Hi. You look beautiful,” he comments. You blush, and thus the night begins. It was going good at first, that is until the waitress came around and he waved her off rudely. Red flag number one.

Red flag number two came when he started bragging about how he broke his exes heart, talking on and on without letting you get a word in. By that point you had lost any attraction to him. It sucked because he seemed like he would be worth it, but you’ve learned to not get your hopes up too high anymore. By the time the bill came around, you split it, and he didn’t tip the waitress. Instead, he complained about how horrible the staff is since they mistook our order for someone else’s, which they fixed immediately.

Safe to say you won’t be calling him again.

“How’d your date go?” Thomas calls lousily from the couch where he still sat. You sighed, running a hand over your face.

“Bad. He turned out to be a complete dick to the waitress.” You dropped your purse onto the counter and kicked off your heels, letting out a small sigh of relief.

He winced, inhaling sharply. “Yikes. Never a good sign in a man.”

“Exactly. It’s like, if you treat them that way, you would treat me the same if I was in their position, y’know?”

He nods, putting his phone down and watching you chug a glass of water.

“He was almost as big of an asshole as you are.” You laughed teasingly. He immediately huffs and rolls his eyes.

“And here I was, thinking you were finally warming up to me.” Despite that, his lips quirk up at the edges.

“Never gonna happen.” You raise your eyebrows, giving him a toothy grin before retreating to your room. He’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can win you over so easily for being attractive. This will be a long few months living with him.