jestersprivilegee

Latest Posts by jestersprivilegee

COOKING SO HARD RN. UPDATE EITHER TONIGHT OR TMR

To let everyone know:

Updates (for High and Dry & A Night to Remember) will be slow for these next couple of weeks. Summer is almost here so itll pick up then but the writers curse is hitting bc I just got harassed lol. Anyway thanks for the support from everyone! Stay safe 🫶

*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😭)

Not my usual posts but i felt pretty proud of this one 😝😝

Also for anyone wondering — I’m working on another ch. of high and dry but it might be a week or two before it’s out !! tyyy

Genuine question here, how do you feel about Steve Lacy (if you listen to him ofc)

I listen to a few of his songs, I think he’s pretty good. Not my fav but still fire 🔥

oh em gee it’s Friday, HOW WAS UR AP TESTED YO

actually really good, I think I got a 5 but I’ll update y’all when scores come out 😝

I loev high and dry bc I have problems with my mom so it’s like “guys this is so me” I say as I bury myself in a hole and cry to Radiohead. I LOVE YOUUU WRITER!! MWAHHHH!!

no bc I have literally NO problems w my mom at all, me n her are super close so idk why I chose this to be the lore 😭😭 anyway crying to Radiohead is so real 😜 LOVE U 💋💋💋

High and Dry | ch. 4

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, lowk me being a therapist for myself

Wc: 3.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do these arguments consist of?”

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

Your lips tugged downward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like to think it does.”

“Yeah, I know you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

High and Dry | ch. 3

thomas j. x reader

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

Wc: 3k

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I’m sorry, mom, I—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Nervous. Excited. Kind of dreading it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “How’d you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” You raised a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. This was gonna be a long year.

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its 3am in my country, i just finished your roomates series with thomas and can i just say it's genuinely the best fanfiction ive ever read im literally in tears

That being the best fanfiction you’ve ever read is wild but thank you 😭😭 let me yap real quick: it still astounds me how people genuinely like my work bc chat like I’m just some random highschool girl I feel so proud of myself for creating things 🥹

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

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

When do u think chapter 3 of high and dry is coming out? I LVOE IT SM !! NO RUSH!

THANK YOUU but erm tbh it might be a little bit I have very few ideas ☹️☹️

High and Dry | ch. 2

thomas j. x reader

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

Wc: 2.7k

Holy moly this took longer than expected

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

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

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

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

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

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

It broke you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He missed his best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Funny,” you scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad you finally noticed.”

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

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

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

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

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

The silence was deafening.

It was always, always silent in your life.

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

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

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

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

High and Dry | ch. 1

t. jefferson x reader

Warnings: swearing, chronic overuse of italics

Wc: 3.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lee?” You questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And wow, he outdid himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Endearing. I like them,” you finished.

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

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

“See you around.” He confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for a fresh start.

This is literallt the sweetest thing ever to know people are thinking of me 😭😭 I LOVE U TOO SUKI!!!

Yeah I’m like “that’s bae” and then I pull up a screenshot of my tumblr mutual (is that what u call it here? Im an ao3 glazer…) anyway @jestersprivilegee LOVE U 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

K so y’all might be a little upset with me but I am rewriting High and Dry

The original was very poorly planned and I literally could not write any scenes because I had nothing.

So I’m gonna rewrite it to almost the same prompt, but altered to better fit a story

Thank you for your support🫶🫶

A Night To Remember | ch. 3

j. laurens x reader

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

Wc: 2.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?” He raised an expectant eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you grew up in South Carolina?”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It provoked feelings you didn't want to address.

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

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

“Is it Pam’s little friend group?”

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

“I—how did you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pause. Did he just say his fucking turtle.

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

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

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

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

“Orden para John!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abby: How’s everything with John?

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

Abby: Anything happen between you and him yet??

You: girl no

Nothing is going to happen

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

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

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

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

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

hey twin omg I just showed ur Lauren’s fic to a friend and she’s reading it rn 😊 I HAVVVEEE to promote my fav writer ofc’!!

This is so sweet thank you 😭😭 it’s still crazy to me how people actually enjoy my writing

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

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

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

A Night To Remember | ch. 2

j. laurens x reader

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

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

Wc: like 2.9k?? I think??

John Laurens hates flying. Absolutely despises it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He let out a light scoff. “How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you watch it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

First class is way nicer than economy. Way nicer.

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

Pitifully so.

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

“John,” you whispered, turning to him.

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

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

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

He didn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

“How—how’re you feeling?” You yawned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was only one bed.

A Night To Remember | ch. 1

j. laurens x reader

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

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

Wc: 2.6k

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

You were overwhelmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?”

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

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

“E-excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butterflies. Lots and lots of butterflies.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As much as you wish it was?

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

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

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

A pause disrupted the flow of conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Six,” you corrected.

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

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

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

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

“Sir?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

Hey pookie 😊 when are you coming back ☹️☹️☹️

COME BACK THE KIDS MISS YOU

(Only when you feel better ofc!)

Hello children, currently I’m working on a Laurens fic but we’ll see how it goes. Thank y’all for your patience and support 🫶

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

Or a celebrity au.

insanely real

the dread i feel each time i remember i won’t ever in the peak of the hamilton fandom when the obc was still touring and fandom culture was at its peak peak like you guys are SO lucky that era looks so much fun and each time i see an obc backstage video i simply can not watch like it brings me horrid nostalgia cause i wasn’t able to participate

lord what I’d give to be in the hamilton fandom in 2016-2018

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 🫶💕

Baby I’m Yours

m. de lafayette x reader

Warnings: swearing and not proofread writing

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

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

Wc: 4.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If the shoe fits.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay, mon amour?” He asked.

Fuck, there’s that stupid nickname again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worrying about a man?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maria,” she responds.

“Thank you, Maria.” You smile, “Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m back,” you chirped.

No response.

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

“Perfectly fine,” he grunts.

“Whoa, what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…No. He shouldn’t be mad, anyways.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I see. Wait, he’s married?”

“Engaged,” you correct.

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

Then you thought back to Maria in the bathroom. ‘Take the first step even if it seems scary.’

Her words echoed in your mind. You needed to go for it like she said. But first, liquid courage.

You downed a shot and stood, strutting over to Lafayette and grabbing him by the arm. He gave you a confused look, but didn’t resist when you pulled him away from his friends.

“Could we go back to mine and talk? There’s things I need to tell you,” you bite your lower lip.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” he frowned.

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, “I’m gonna head out then. Goodbye, Lafayette.”

“Wait,” he stopped you from walking off. “I’m not gonna let you walk home by yourself. ‘Ts not safe.”

The urge to smirk tugged on your lips, and you fought it back. You both said your goodbyes to the rest of the group. Laurens shouts out ‘use protection!’ to which you both ignore before walking out.

There’s a tense, thick silence between you. It was almost palpable. The chill of the night air made you shiver, and he just barely pulled you closer to him.

“Lafayette,” you start once you see your apartment complex come into view. “Tell me the real reason why you’re mad.”

“‘M not mad,” he mumbled.

“So then, what is it? You’ve been acting weird since I got back from the bathroom.”

He didn’t reply. You neared closer and closer to the apartment.

“Lafayette?” You called out, impatiently waiting for a response. Anything, something. Even a squeeze of the hand would’ve been nice, but he was unresponsive.

“I just—“ he cut himself short, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t like when you flirt with other guys.”

“Okay, first of all, I wasn’t flirting with him—“

“But you touched him. I saw it,” he countered.

“Because he was showing me his engagement ring. Lafayette, the man is about to get married, I was just excited for him.” You snort. He falls silent once again, processing your words. “And why are you so jealous if I talk to another man? It’s like anytime somebody comes five feet within my vicinity, you become some overprotective b—friend.” You refrained from accidentally referring to him as your boyfriend, as much as you wish you could.

“I wonder, amour, I really do.” He sassed, rolling his eyes. The way he called you the pet name held weight to it, too.

“Stop it,” you growled. Both of you stood outside the building, nothing but the pale moonlight and broken street lamps illuminating you.

“Stop what?”

“Deflecting the fucking conversation! I’m trying to communicate with you here, and you’re not listening!” You finally snap.

He stares at you, wide eyes and shock written on him. It wasn’t often that you truly got pushed to breaking point, and you seldom swore at him. He didn’t know how to react, really. But god, you being mad at him did something to him words couldn’t explain.

“Y/n,” he spoke, voice low and gravely, “I ‘ave tried to make this as obvious as possible.”

“What?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. He wasn’t referring to everything everyone has ever told you, right? That couldn’t possibly be! Was he alluding to the very real feelings that plague his mind every time he’s near you?

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he swallows hard, taking a step closer to you. The cold air nipped at his nose, making it flushed red.

“No, Lafayette, I don’t. So fucking tell me,” you seethe.

He sighs, murmuring something in French before cupping your face and smashing his lips against yours.

Ah. So that’s what it was.

Without hesitation, you kissed back. Your arms found their way to his neck, and one of his hands stayed on your jaw while the other moved to your lower back, pulling you in closer. Time seemed to have stopped at that moment. All passion and years of yearning were poured into one moment.

He may not have been your first kiss, but he was the first kiss that mattered.

When he pulled off, breathless and now kiss-drunk on top of alcohol-drunk, he looked ethereal. “I’m in love with you, amour, and I have been for so long,” he confessed.

Once again, frozen in time. He stared into your eyes, waiting for a reaction. When you didn’t, you could feel panic seep from him. He loosened his embrace on you and a regretful worry stirred on his features.

“Mon Dieu, I’ve messed everything up now, ‘aven’t I?” He swore, dropping his hands completely from you.

That’s all it took to snap you out of your daze.

“No! No, you haven’t messed anything up. Lafayette, I—“ you grabbed his hands again, pushing closer to him. “I feel the same way. I’ve loved you since the moment we first met, and this whole time I’ve been wondering if you felt the same.”

“Seriously?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded, smile growing wider with every passing second.

“You’re saying we could’ve done this earlier?”

You laughed, shaking your head gently. “Maybe it was meant to happen at this moment.” You leaned in and kissed him sweetly, shorter this time. He smiled into it, and when you pulled off it only seemed to brighten.

“So can we make this official? You’ll be mine?” He asked with a hopeful squeeze of your hands.

“I’ve always been yours, Laf.”

—

“We should mess with them,” you said while riding the elevator up to Laurens’ apartment. It had been a week after you and Lafayette officially got together, and you both agreed to keep it on the DL for a while.

“‘Ow so?” He asked, intrigued.

“Well, they always pressured me into confessing to you. Maybe we can pretend like we’re still friends and just be extra touchy with each other,” you shrugged.

He grinned, eyebrows shooting up. “Let’s do it.” He held his hand out and you took it, interlocking fingers as you approached the door.

A few swift knocks for the door swung open, and Hercules greeted you with a loud welcome. “The lovebirds have arrived! Come in, come in,” he opened the door wider and you stepped inside. Everyone else already seemed to be there, laughing, drinking, eating, and having a good time.

Lafayette kept his arms around your waist the whole time, earning you looks from the Schuyler sisters and Alex. None of them knew they were being fucked with, and their reactions to it made it so much better.

While you all sat on the couch, scrolling to find a good horror movie to watch, you sat in between Laf’s legs, him holding you close in a comforting manner. Once again, Eliza shot you a knowing look, and you just shrugged.

Laurens and Hercules finally came to an agreement on watching Get Out, and somewhere in the first ten minutes, you got up to get a refill.

Naturally, Lafayette trailed after you to the kitchen. The moment you were both out of earshot and sight, you burst into fits of giggles. The rest of the group, however, had a more serious reaction.

“So we all agree we need to get them together soon, right?” Laurens spoke quietly. Everyone hummed in agreement.

“It’s agonizing watching them pine for each other,” Alex said.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.” Eliza got up.

“And I’ll talk to him,” Alex said, following her into the next room over where you and Lafayette were.

When they walked in, however, you were wrapped in each others arms in a kiss. They gasped, and you both scrambled off one another, a guilty smile forming on your face.

“What’s going on here?” Alex spoke, breaking the stunned silence.

You shared a look with Lafayette, smiling even wider than before and struggled to contain your laughter.

*flowers* And now we wait😼

(happy valentine's 👍)

HAPPY VALENTINES!!! I’m currently working on a laf/reader bc I’m lowk getting tired of writing for Thomas 🥰🥰 HOPE Y’ALL HAD A GREAT DAY❤️💕🫶