Hey Twin Omg I Just Showed Ur Lauren’s Fic To A Friend And She’s Reading It Rn 😊 I HAVVVEEE To

When are you gonna do a night to remember? I love that fic😭😭

It was on my mind this week but I want to get another chapter of high and dry out before I work on anything for ANTR 🫶 and tysm that means a lot💕

Come back the kids miss you💔💔

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

Ready for the next update 😼

I’m working on it 😭 I’m really struggling with this chapter idk why, but I’m almost done ‼️‼️

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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

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

You're skibidi (I think that's correct grammar😭😭)

YESS!! Because you’re = you are I’m so proud of you sigma!! 🥰🥰

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

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

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