High And Dry | Ch. 4

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?”

---

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.

---

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. 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.

---

*Warning important question (my friend asked)*

Hello Kitty pajamas girl or a goth femboy?

😭😭😭

Uhhhhh I’m gonna say hello kitty pajama girl (I have no idea what this trend is tbh so i don’t know what my decision says abt me😭)

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.

---

The latest chapter should be labeled as murder for ripping my heart into shreds 💔💔

I’ll put it back together don’t worry 😉

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.

---

Ok SO I need y’all’s opinion (like the two people that will see this)

If you read my last fic, could you PLEASSEEEE give me some feedback or constructive criticism on how to improve my writing?

Like even if it’s just things you wished you saw more of (for example: longer dialogue, longer chapters, more personality for reader/characters, stronger storyline etc.) anything would help!!

If you wanna put it in the comments or dm me that would be very much appreciated 🫶

---

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

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

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