Genuine Question Here, How Do You Feel About Steve Lacy (if You Listen To Him Ofc)

A Night To Remember | ch. 2

j. laurens x reader

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

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

Wc: like 2.9k?? I think??

John Laurens hates flying. Absolutely despises it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He let out a light scoff. “How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you watch it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

First class is way nicer than economy. Way nicer.

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

Pitifully so.

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

“John,” you whispered, turning to him.

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

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

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

He didn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

“How—how’re you feeling?” You yawned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was only one bed.

Wait for it

I AM THE ONE THING IN LIFE I CAN CONTROLLLLL I AM INIMITABLE I AM AN ORIGINALLLLLL

ok seriously I’m working on a soulmate au rn, HOPEFULLY it’ll be out by tonight

Just so you know I WILL be waiting for whatever other works you work on‼️

Okayy 😭😭 I started a one shot yesterday and I’ll maybe finish it, I’m just trying to plan out ideas rn tbh (unless anyone has requests 😻😻)

High and Dry | ch. 3

thomas j. x reader

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

Wc: 3k

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I’m sorry, mom, I—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Nervous. Excited. Kind of dreading it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “How’d you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” You raised a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. This was gonna be a long year.

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

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

Francesca‘s Master-list

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

Hamilton

Thomas Jefferson (x reader)

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

Listen before I go (complete) - One

Alexander Hamilton (x reader)

What we leave behind (complete ) - One, Two

Jamilton (Jefferson x Hamilton)

Quiet evenings (complete) - One

High and Dry | ch. 4

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, lowk me being a therapist for myself

Wc: 3.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do these arguments consist of?”

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

Your lips tugged downward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like to think it does.”

“Yeah, I know you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ugh been thinking about red string of fate soulmate AU w Lafayette or Laurens … js a little idea. unless?

Or a celebrity au.

Hey, roomie! ch. 6

thomas j. x reader

Word count: 4k

Alex and Eliza’s wedding leaves you questioning your poor decision making.

Warnings: John Lauresds bro. Swearing per usual. Me being too lazy to edit/proofread/add italics 😜

Notes: bro this is the most I’ve written for a chapter I’m so proud. Took me only two days as well (which might explain if it’s shitty but ignore that)

“Thomas?” Your voice rings out in the quiet apartment. “I need a favor.”

You gingerly shut the door behind you, setting your bag on the counter. There’s some shuffling in his room, and he walks out a few moments later.

“What’s up?” He sniffles. His eyes had a hint of red puffiness.

“So you know the w— are you okay?” You stop yourself abruptly upon noticing his eyes.

“Yeah, I got something in my eye so I was rinsin’ ‘em out,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him, but ultimately buy into his story.

“Alright…anyway, you know how Alex and Eliza’s wedding is coming up?” You say and he nods. “Well, I’m one of the bridesmaids and I—wow, this is harder to ask than I thought.”

He gives you a confused look. “Is it somethin’ bad?”

“No! Just kind of..awkward? Almost?” Your voice goes higher at the last part. Now he’s interested, his body language said so. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, curiosity peaked in him.

“Spit it out,” he urges. You huff and roll your eyes.

“I need you to teach me how to dance. Slow dance, to be exact.” You rush.

He blinks, like the gears are turning in his head. When they finally do, a wide grin spreads across his face. Your breath hitched as he took a step closer.

“I can do that. I’m a real fine dancer, sweetheart, and an even better teacher,” he winks. “Who you plannin’ to dance with?”

“I don’t know, it might be written on cards for us, but my hope is Laurens or Hercules.” You shrug. He thinks to himself for a moment.

“Sure, sure, I know them. Both hate me I think?”

You laugh, and the smile he previously wore brightened again. You know Thomas wouldn’t be invited to the wedding or able to go anywhere near it since him and Alex are mortal enemies. That fact didn’t bother you, you knew Thomas could be an arrogant asshole majority of the time, but at least he was willing to help you.

“Maybe a little,” you grin. He shakes his head, still adorning the smile you’ve grown so fond of.

“Y’all been talking about me or somethin’?” He quirks an eyebrow. You feel your face flush red, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the hot embarrassment radiating from your skin.

“Well—not exactly, you just happen to come up in conversation sometimes.” You say. Not technically a lie, just choosing your words as carefully as possible to make it seem like he’s not all you talk about.

“Oh yeah? And what do these conversations entail?” He tilts his head.

“Just how much of a dickhead you are. Nothing new,” you sigh. He sputters out a laugh and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. Another smile finds your lips, more confident this time.

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckles, “but do you seriously not know how to dance?”

“No, I’ve never really needed to.” You shrug, internally grateful he changed the subject back to the original topic.

“Damn shame. Dancing is fun, ‘specially line dancin’.” He gives you a big toothy grin.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“Sugar, I’m southern, you don’t just learn. You’re born with it.”

You sometimes forget Thomas originated from Virginia. Born and raised, he told you. His parents raised him on a farm surrounded by forest, taught him how to tend to crops, and he was enrolled in the highest quality school they could find. It ended up being a private school, where he excelled in academics and lived in books the moment he could read. It would explain his love for agriculture and science.

“Fair enough. I suppose all rednecks prioritize slow dancing with their cousins to ensure a great marriage,” you tease.

“Hey you watch yourself, not all southerners are in incestual relationships.” He glares at you.

“The fact you had to defend not all says a lot.”

—

You decided that the following day, he would teach you all you need to know. He claimed it won’t be hard for you to pick up since you’re smart and dancing is straightforward. Just follow the other person's lead, which in this case it would be Thomas.

When the next night rolled around, you were suited lazily in pajamas and socks while dinner cooked. No point in being dressed up since it was just practice.

“Alright, so the first thing is positions.” He says. You both stood in the kitchen, your meal baking in the oven for the next 20 minutes. He started a playlist of slow dancing country songs, playing them softly in the background.

He pulls you closer to him, causing a light gasp to escape you. He chuckles, muttering for you to relax, and you eventually do. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, standing so close to you that you could smell the familiar cologne.

“You’ll have your hands on my shoulders while I keep mine on your waist.” He explains. You bring your hands to his shoulders, holding onto them as if your life depended on it. “Not so tight,” he chuckles. You loosen up your grip and take a breath in.

“Now let’s step to the rhythm. Forward left, right, step together, then step back with right, back with left, step together. Easy enough?”

“None of that made sense, but I’ll try my best.”

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured. “Just follow my lead, you’ll pick up on it real nicely.” He gave your waist a gentle squeeze and started stepping to the beat. He leads you, patience in his eyes and with every step.

You fumble over your feet a couple times and take some wrong turns, but he doesn’t belittle you or stop. Instead, he redirects you and keeps it moving. It was hard to ignore how intimate this was. Your arms wrapped around each other, him staring down at you and you fixated on your feet. It would’ve been way scarier had you been gazing into his dark brown eyes, admiring the smooth skin and black curls that framed his face.

“You’re doing great,” his low voice met your ears, his lips almost grazing the side of your face from how close he was. Your heart leapt in your throat, your movement stuttered and he tightened his hands to instruct you where to step.

After a few more runs of the same pattern, you grew confident, finally tearing your eyes away from your feet and up to him. His heavy stare was already fixed on you, a look of adoration and softness in his eyes. Just as you imagined, your palms grew sweaty and you grew increasingly nervous, yet he remained calm.

His demeanor soothed you. He was so cool and collected, like this was all natural, like you’d done this a thousand times before. Before you knew it the song came to a close and his movement slowed. When you came to a complete stop, you were so immersed in the story behind his eyes. The way the light shone upon him, the way it seemed like time stopped and you were the only people left in the world.

The way his eyes flickered down to your lips, and the way yours did the same. The way you were leaning in subconsciously, hands moving to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you met him in the middle, in a gentle kiss. It sent electric shocks through your entire body—months of pining poured into one kiss. He immediately pulled you closer, not breaking the softness behind your lips against each others. His hands dipped to your lower back, and you stiffened.

That’s when you realized what you were doing.

You pushed off of him, a shocked look on your face.

“I…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” You curse, untangling yourself from him and taking many steps back. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “That was a mistake.”

A pang of disappointment stabbed him, strangled his heart, and completely shot down any idea he had of pursuing you. It hurt to hear you consider kissing him a mistake.

It hurt you, too. To say it out loud, even if you weren’t entirely sure you meant it. You pivoted, a regretful expression consuming your features. His eyes lingered on you a moment more, and silently, he brought his fingers up to gently touch his lips where you had kissed him.

Dinner was awkward. The rest of the night was quiet, actually. You decided to bring your dinner to your room, eating in there and regretting every action in the past couple hours. It was just now settling what had happened.

You shared a kiss with the man you deemed ignorant and annoying, and the worst part is you liked it.

When you exited your room to set your dish in the sink, he was sitting at the table. Alone. Eating in silence, save for the clinking of metal against metal. It sent another pang of sorrow through your heart, and your eyes met his. He held eye contact, refusing to back down. It was you who gave in and looked away, shamefully retreating to your bedroom.

—

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Alexander.”

Cheers erupt as Alex swiftly pulls Eliza in for a loving kiss. You fought back the tears that swelled in your eyes as you clapped for them. When they pulled apart, they seemed in their own little world. So infatuated with one another that nothing could break the intense gaze they had fixed.

The week leading up to the wedding was agonizingly slow. It was quiet. Always quiet. You would speak to Thomas when necessary, but this time it was you avoiding him. The guilt you felt was too much, it gnawed away at your stomach until there was nothing left. The memory of that night replayed over and over and over like a broken record. When Alex and Eliza kissed, it flashed in your mind again.

You couldn’t help it. Thomas Jefferson occupied 90% of your thoughts, and the other 10% were spent thinking how horrible you were.

The wedding reception was better than you anticipated. Sure, anytime you danced you thought back to Thomas, but hopefully speaking to the groom or John would lift your spirits.

When it did come time to the slow-waltz you had prepared for on that faithfully awkward night with Thomas, everything he taught stuck because you breezed through the dance floor with John easily. You shared a few laughs for the poor soul that was forced to dance with Lafayette, watching the man stumble over his partner's feet and mutter a string of apologies.

You did exactly what Thomas instructed. Hold onto his shoulders while he holds your waist, and step in sync, forward back forward back. It was incredibly simple. You glided through the floor until the song came to an end, and you separated from Laurens.

The first dance started, and you retreated off to the side, a glass of half-drunken champagne in your hands. You bore your eyes into the glass, so consumed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man approaching your side.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Y/n,” a silky voice spoke. You whipped your head up to the call of your name to be met with deep chocolate eyes.

“Aaron Burr,” you grinned. “How long has it been?”

“Since college, I presume. How are you?” He joins next to you, leaning against the wall as you did.

“Pretty alright. A little tired, but that’s nothing new. How’s Theodosia?”

Theodosia was Burr’s, everyone knew it. Even when she was dating an exchange student, you would see them lingering behind the staircase, his hand in hers. You weren’t sure if they had officially started dating or if they were still playing the charade, but it wouldn’t be long until they did.

“She’s well, thanks for asking. Would you like me to buy you a drink?” He asked.

Aaron Burr, always so punctual and well-mannered. You became affiliated with him through connections with Alexander. It wasn’t until you met the man yourself you became quick friends. He was a quiet man, but easy to talk to. He hadn’t much personality, but he was kind, and you could sense behind the walls he put up there was a flame of passion ignited in him. That flame was visible when he talked of Theodosia.

A couple sips in, you found yourself immersed in conversation about educational reforms. His eyes light up and he sat up straighter as he talked about the statistics of kids who aren’t able to read, and how he hopes to change that by suggesting a new curriculum for schools. Aaron Burr was one for deep, long talks, usually about politics or the economy. You respect him for it.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here. I know you and Alexander are more frenemies than anything, and you’ve had your…disputes,” you say.

Burr goes quiet for a moment, nodding and averting his gaze.

“Indeed. But he invited me, and it wouldn’t be proper of me to turn it down because of a few arguments.”

Proper, he says. If a few months ago your enemy (Thomas Jefferson cough cough) invited you anywhere, you would snarl at him and flip him off. It was honorable how Burr would put all of that aside to support his colleague on his day of union.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr with the lovely bridesmaid!” A drunken voice stumbles behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“You flatter me too much, Laurens,” you glance at Burr before swiveling around. “Been a while. Since fifty minutes ago, to be exact.”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he carelessly throws his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “We haven’t hung out enough!” You pat his back in a friendly manner, and watch as the rest of the gang pulls up. Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and the groom himself. The alcohol must’ve been settling into his system for him to not count the dance you shared earlier as enough.

“Alright, John, pull yourself together.” Alex chuckles, putting a hand on his dear friend's shoulder. Laurens pushes off of you, still wearing a tipsy grin.

“Congratulations, Alexander,” you say. He gives you a nod of courtesy, his eyes shifting to the man next to you.

“Burr, I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” He says, a genuine shock in his voice with a hint of amusement.

“I wanted to say congratulations and drop off my gift. And maybe catch up with Y/n here.” He gives you a grin. You smile back.

Feeling the tension, Laurens speaks up again. “Burr, are you still seein’ Theodosia on the side? Real nice girl,” he stumbles over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning in closer than he should be. Aaron grimaced but didn’t push him off.

“I should go,” Aaron stands up, glancing at you as an apology.

“No, stay! Ignore how they’re acting, John is just drunk,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Don’t group me in with zem, I ‘ave done no wrong,” Lafayette laughs.

You take Alexander’s pleading glance as your hint to leave and take the rest of the boys with you. He wanted his time to converse with Burr himself, so you had no choice but to respect that and give them space. You suggest going to dance since Laurens won’t stop complaining about how you’ve been ignoring him all night, when you literally haven’t.

“I don’t think that’s how you dance, John,” Hercules snorted as he watched the laughing stock fumble over his own feet.

“Dancing is expressive! There is no right or wrong way!” John retorts, his Carolina accent slipping through. Hercules sighed and left him to his own devices and turned back to you.

”He’s hopeless. This is just like Angelica’s wedding.”

You share a laugh as he twirls you, his hand resting on your waist as you step together. Lafayette saw John making a fool of himself and decided to join him, since he knew he had horrible rhythm and would embarrass himself if he was the only one dancing funny. But Laurens had enough liquor to not care what others thought.

“The dresses you made for us are really beautiful. And comfortable, too,” you compliment, glancing down at the blue dress you wore. It was professionally made by Hercules himself, considering his line of work being fashion design.

“Thank you. It looks even better on you,” he beams, brightening at your praise.

“Oh, stop,” you waved him off. “Are you still into powerlifting? I’ve been meaning to lift more but I don’t have a gym buddy—“

“Y/n! Mon ami! We ‘aven’t talked all night, what is zat about?” Lafayette cuts you off, stealing you away from Mulligan. You give Herc an apologetic smile and let Lafayette whisk you away from the larger man.

“We haven’t. Do you want to get another drink?” You offer. He nods eagerly and follows you to the bar.

Not long after, the other men made their way over to join you. They seemed to have calmed down, a light chatter amongst the group. The topic had changed rapidly from one to another.

“Y/n, have you ever actually been in a long term relationship with anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your boyfriends,” Hercules asks, his brows furrowed.

“Eh. Not anything super serious,” you shrugged. For some reason, you couldn’t help but think about—

“I thought you were with Thomas, non? Especially after you kissed him,” Lafayette spoke up. Your stomach dropped.

“How did you know about that?” You pale. His eyes flew wide open and he realized he said too much.

“Wait wait—what?! You kissed Jefferson?” John shouted out as if there wasn’t a room full of people, some of whom hated the man in question.

“Shh! Not so loud, asshole!” You shushed him frantically.

Both Hercules‘ and Laurens’ jaws were hung wide open, genuine shock plastered on their faces. You shot daggers at Lafayette, who winced and bowed his head in guilt.

“I thought zey knew…” he mumbles an apology. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Explain, elaborate, expand on this please,” John begged, leaning across the table.

“I—it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to…” you swallowed thickly. “He was teaching me how to dance, and I guess I got so caught up in the moment I wasn’t thinking, so I leaned in and kissed him.”

“Well, did he kiss back?” Hercules snorts.

You open your mouth, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. Thomas did kiss back. With more passion than anyone had kissed you before, that was the second worst part. Is the possibility that he wanted it and you shut it down, calling it a mistake.

“I’m not answering that.”

“He did! Jesus Christ—y/n, he is the enemy! Just wait til Alexander finds out you kissed Jeffer-shit!” John hops up, slamming his glass against the table. Lafayette hurriedly stood with him, pulling him back.

“Non, non, Alexander does not need to know. Ze lady does not want him to,” he urges.

John narrows his eyes bitterly, muttering some incoherent drunken thoughts under his breath. You huffed and told him to calm down, to which he retorted when Jefferson was publicly shamed for his heinous crimes against women he would. How that made sense to you, you didn’t know.

“Lafayette, can I talk to you? Alone?” You grit your teeth together. He winced once more, already knowing what it would be about.

“Of course, chérie,” he nods.

You find a secluded area outside of the reception where no one would bother you or overhear your conversation.

“Why the fuck would you tell them that!” You hissed.

“I apologize, madamoiselle, it must ‘ave been the alcohol.” He dips his head.

“Why do you even know about that anyway? What has Jefferson been saying?”

“Well…I’m not sure ‘ow much I can say.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“You’ve already spit my business to them, what more can you say?!” You scoff.

“Alright, alright, he never said anything bad.” He motions his hands in a way for hopes of mitigating your uproar. “He called me the other night, freaking out because he told me you kissed him. He said he wasn’t sure ’ow you felt about him but he—“ he suddenly cut himself off.

“He what? C’mon, Laf, this is serious.” You bit the inside of your cheek, impatiently tapping your heel on the concrete.

“—he…said he was upset because you called it a mistake. Said it felt hurtful.” His voice was lowered, solemn and scanning your reaction.

Your eyes softened. “Oh.” That was all you could manage. You didn’t enjoy the feeling of knowing you hurt someone; quite the opposite. It just made you feel like a bigger piece of shit for avoiding him, but in all fairness, what you did was completely out of character and it’s been tough sifting through your emotions.

“He said he wished you would talk to him.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Y/n, you need to talk to him.”

You stare at the ground, a swirl of negativity churning from your stomach to your brain. Guilt, shame, resentment all muddled into one.

“Let’s go back inside,” you mutter softly. He nods, the windows to his soul filled with worry.

—

“When were you gonna tell me you kissed Thomas?” Peggy found you at the bar, a sincere hurt in her words.

“I…was going to, eventually,” you muttered, taking another absent-minded swig of beer. “Not on Liza’s wedding date, but here we are.”

It was true you didn’t want to distract from Alex and Eliza’s wedding by your own romances taking the spotlight. It wouldn’t be fair to them, so up until Lafayette blurted it out, you planned on keeping it secret. Just a little longer, you told yourself.

“Well you haven’t! I had to find out from John Laurens pulling me aside and gossiping about your affair with Thomas!”

“Jesus, who else knows?” You stammer over your movements, almost spilling the beer in hand.

“Almost everyone. Word spreads around fast.”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” Your hands fly up to your head, gripping any hair you could. “I need to go. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You stress, hugging her tight. She sighs, melting into you and patting your back.

“You’d better explain yourself. I think it’s best if you resolve things with Thomas. Lafayette filled me in on the details.” She explains.

“Y-yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. Promise.”

You rush to find Eliza and Alex, hugging them both and wishing them congratulations. You knew they both knew about the kiss, but thankfully they didn’t bring it up, although you could see Alex almost did. He physically had to fight back whatever words played on his lips, and Eliza must’ve sensed it too, because she lightly smacked his side. After finding the rest of the crew and wishing them a goodnight, and telling Laurens in particular to suck every dick ever, you called an Uber.

The ride home was quiet, as the driver wasn't much of a talker, but neither were you so it wasn’t a bother.

Stumbling up the stairs (the elevator never got fixed), fumbling your keys in the door and creaking it open, you called out into the empty apartment.

“Thomas! I—can we talk?”

Stillness, quiet, nothingness. You opened your ears, shuffling near his room, and that’s when you finally heard some movement.

“Thomas? If you’re indecent or with a girl tell me now because I’m coming in,” you exclaim, waiting two seconds to no reply and then pushing the door open.

Thomas sat at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He sniffled, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. That’s when you realized it.

Thomas was crying.