Francesca‘s Master-list

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.”

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🫶🫶

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💕

Me when someone says 'wait for it', 'helpless', 'satisfied', 'congratulations', 'one last time', 'non-stop', 'what'd I miss?' etc knowing damn well they're just common everyday phrases and words:

(HELP earlier today my brother asked "what time is it?" and I yelled SHOWTIME and he gave me a weird look)

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

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

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 😝

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.

Hey, roomie! Final ch

thomas. j x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex (no graphic descriptions), way too much crying, yea

Crying, way too much crying, and finally it stops.

Wc: 4.5k

Notes: I love incorporating South Park into unrelated fandoms

You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t stop the hurt. All you could do was rush to the car and cry your little heart out, and maybe that’s all you wanted to do right now.

Everything was confusing and blurred, and you weren’t sure where to go or what to do. The sight of him shirtless with some woman he probably doesn’t even know the name of on top of him, kissing him and rubbing his chest disgusted you.

It should’ve been you.

You shuddered from the cold, blasting the heater and putting on the most angst-heart-just-broken song you could. Exit Music (For A Film) started, and you waited for the sobbing to die down so you would be in a good condition to drive.

God, of course this happened. Of course he didn’t actually care about you, of course he would go find someone to sleep with the moment you left. And to think you had something with him. To think that if you played nice for one fucking day he would realize how hopelessly in love he was with you.

It just wasn’t fair.

Your naivety and false sense of hope got the better of you. Every memory, every little detail came rushing back. Everything that made you feel special, all the butterflies and warmth that filled your stomach when with Thomas Jefferson.

The first time he offered you some advice, because he was genuinely concerned for you and wanted you the best. While at the park when he was so patient with you, and when he paid for your food. He rambled on and on about the things he loved because he felt comfortable around you. After he texted you when he hurt himself by picking up glass with his bare hands, you wrapped them up and the way he was staring at you so intensely sent shivers down your spine. The time when his friends came over and revealed he thinks you’re smart. He taught you how to dance and you had a moment in the kitchen. Was none of that enough to make him fall?

What about when he confided in you, and only you, about his mom? He cried into your shoulder while you held him, comforting him, whispering sweet reassuring thoughts while he broke down. When he informed you with tear-stricken cheeks that she was getting better.

Did that other woman do that for him? No, she didn’t, and she never will because the women he brings home are one-night-stands and will never have the true connection that you have with him. They’ll never understand why he loves macaroni and cheese so much or magenta, or why he only drinks black coffee, or why he’s so into philosophy and agriculture. They won’t ever know the genius he is; he’s fluent in French from the times you’ve overheard him on the phone with Lafayette.

And if he called them sweetheart, or darlin’, or sugar, it wouldn’t be the same.

It wouldn’t have the same southern ring that it had when he called you it. It just wouldn’t be parallel or even comparable. It would be meaningless.

It made you want to rip your skin off and crawl into a hole and just lay there, letting rain or snow or even hail overtake you. In all your years of living, you’ve never been this distraught about a man.

You’ve always been independent, self-assured and strong, and anytime life knocks you down you get back up and shove your middle finger right in adversity’s face.

But here you sat, hands on the steering wheel and driving with no goal in mind. No idea of what to do next or how to even deal with your emotions while Radiohead played behind all your sniffling. You were tired and cold and sad and you really needed a friend.

You needed Peggy.

—

Peggy swung the door open, first a bitterness in her eyes before they turned soft when they saw your broken state.

“Can I come in?” You croaked.

“Of course,” she sighed, “what happened?”

“Thomas. Thomas happened.” That was all you managed to get out before you broke into tears again. Why did it hurt so bad?

“C’mere,” she murmured, holding her arms out and engulfing you in a hug. It was everything you needed and more. The weight of being alone was finally lifted off your shoulders. You felt like you could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She gently rocked you back and forth, one hand at the back of your head while the other was wrapped securely around your back. You stayed like that for a good long minute. “‘M not mad at you.”

You stayed in her embrace until the crying stopped, and you were back to sniffling. She wiped stray tears from your cheeks after you pulled apart, leading you to the yellow couch to sit.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

You immediately ranted about your plan and how you told Samuel you were in love with Thomas, how well he took the news, and recalling how excited you felt at confessing. Then you got to the part where he was on the couch with another woman. A woman who was only in her red lacy bra and matching underwear, because of course Thomas would scope out a woman who wears a matching set.

“So you’ve finally figured it out, then?” She asked, which confused you and made you pause.

“Figure out what?”

She replied, “That you like him.”

“Oh. I guess so. Is that what you told me to figure out myself?”

A guilty smile spreads on her face. “Yeah. I know it’s kind of shitty of me, but I was tired of hearing about him with no action from you. Thought it would be best if you came to the realization yourself then banged it out with him, but I guess that part hasn’t happened yet, has it?”

Her use of the word yet made you blush, and you wiped your nose, looking down at the wooden flooring. “I suppose it hasn’t.” You uttered.

She barked out a laugh at that, patting your back. You cracked a smile, the kind where you’ve been crying and frowning so long that it was a huge relief to feel any ounce of happiness.

“But I can’t help but feel like I was an idiot for thinking he liked me back. I was so ready to go in there and tell him everything, then…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say the rest.

She frowned, “Y/n, he does like you. As much as I hate his guts right now, you will have to face him again eventually. I think you should stay over tonight.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, “If you’re offering. Brownie batter party? I really need something to take my mind off him for a while.”

A wide grin spreads on her face. “Nothing like salmonella and binge-watching South Park.”

The first brownie batter party you had was when her and Steph broke up for the first time. It didn’t last long, only about a week, but she cried so hard that night that you came up with the silliest ideas to comfort her. Thus, eating brownie batter and watching a show together was born. That show turned into South Park since it was so easy to laugh at and forget your worries.

Before you started, she offered you a change of clothes since you were still in a tight dress that grew more and more uncomfortable. Now equipped with red plaid pajamas and a baggy t-shirt that said “I paused my game to be here,” the real fun could begin.

The batter got made, you both grabbed copious amounts of it and put it in your own little bowls before popping the rest in the oven for later. If desperate enough, you could get through an entire tray of brownies in one night, and the way things were going, it would be one of those nights.

You had gotten through three episodes in season nine. The one where Butters sneaks into the girls’ slumber party as Marjorine, the egg one, and the one where Cartman tries to kill all gingers.

Whatever troubled you was gone the moment the intro started and you took your first bite of brownie batter. Until it was back when your phone buzzed. You groaned, pulling it out to check your notifications.

It was Thomas.

Shit.

“Thomas is texting me,” you mutter. Peggy raised an eyebrow and paused the show.

“What’s he want?” She leaned over your shoulder to peer at your phone, staring at the text you had pulled up.

Thomas: can we talk?

Thomas: I’m really sorry you had to see that

You left him on read, biting the inside of your cheek.

—

Thomas cursed after you left the apartment. The girl on his lap had crawled off, and the alcohol in both their systems only worsened the situation. He tried calling out for you, but you only muttered how you’re sorry for intruding, then walked out.

He pulled at his hair in distress, swearing to himself. He should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have had that girl over in the first place, but he assumed you would be gone longer and he really needed a distraction.

He had facts to face, after all.

You were with another man. Happy with Samuel, ready to impress him and kiss him when it should be Thomas you’re with.

He’s a fool for thinking that you liked him after all the gifts. After the way he’s seen you stare at him, your gaze lingering a little too long on his biceps to still be considered friendly. It didn’t make sense how you’d still continue pursuing a different guy after everything you’ve been through. After the kiss, after sharing secrets, after dancing and laughing and fighting then making up.

He should’ve known better.

Thomas figured that what the hell, he had nothing to lose since you were already gone. So he went out the moment Samuel’s car sped off, and he walked to the nearest bar. Nothing like turning to the bottle when life gets you down, right?

The pretty woman on his lap (who he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of) was eyeing him the moment he walked in. He’s not blind, so he walked up to her and introduced himself. It wasn’t long before she was on the way to his apartment, feverishly kissing him any chance she got.

It wasn’t the same as when you did, though. He couldn’t shake that feeling. All of while she was with him, he was wishing, imagining it was you.

“You should go,” he growled. The woman huffed.

“I don’t have a ride.” She stood, pulling her shirt over her head.

“I’ll give you money for an Uber. Please, just leave,” he urged as kindly as he could in that moment. She rolled her eyes, mumbling something about him being a buzzkill and to not waste a lady’s time like that. He ignored it and handed her a twenty and a five.

She took it without hesitation and left shortly after, leaving Thomas to collect his thoughts. He knew he needed to make it right. He wished he could tell you how he really felt, but if you were content with Samuel, he was willing to let you go and be happy.

“Lafayette, I fucked up,” Thomas paced around the apartment, cleaning frantically.

“‘Ow so?”

He picked up the clothes scattered about. “With Y/n.”

Lafayette heaved a sigh, ready to listen to whatever new dilemma was bothering his friends. “What happened this time?”

“I know, I know you’re tired of it but—Lafayette, she saw me with another woman.”

“Merde, c'est vraiment mauvais,” Lafayette blurted, eyes going wide although Thomas couldn’t see it. “‘Ow did that happen?”

“I fucking know it’s bad!” Thomas seethed. “Sorry. But she left on a date with some jackass named Samuel, and I was jealous and needed a distraction, so I found one.”

“That is horrible, mon ami,” Lafayette critiqued.

“I know,” Thomas groaned, then covered his face with his hands. “But I thought surely she was into me. Is she not? I’m so fucking confused.”

“She is, don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’m pretty sure she was going to reject him. That’s what Peggy told me.”

“Fuck, are you serious? You’re saying this after I screwed everythin’ up? I thought she was head over heels for someone other than me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil ze surprise for you!”

Thomas huffed again, putting his hands on his hips. He couldn’t argue with that. Lafayette was just trying to look out for the both of them and let their romance blossom naturally. He truly didn’t want to get in the way of that.

“Okay. Okay, but what am I supposed to do now? She ran out and I don’t know where she is.” Thomas voiced his concern, pacing around the living room. His eyes met the empty container of cookie dough ice cream you bought for him.

“Well, you’re just going to ‘ave to talk to her, ami,” he replied.

“No shit. What do I say to her?” He growled.

“First you need to calm down,” Laf started, “then just tell her how you feel. Be honest.”

Thomas sighed. It seemed like the most obvious advice in the world, but he’d take his friend’s words in and hold them dear to his heart. Lafayette was the most support he’s had other than James, who he would rant to, but only Lafayette knew you on a personal level as well.

He also knew Lafayette doesn’t have all the answers to his problems. He has to man up and face it himself; communicate with you everything he’s been wanting to say the moment you moved in. So he thanked Lafayette and hung up, fidgeting with his hands.

He knew he needed to talk to you. Hell, that’s all he’s been wanting to do, but you just keep running away. He tried to calm down the best he could, taking deep breaths in and doing some push-ups to burn the pent up energy.

After that, he pulled out his phone, clicking on your pinned contact.

—

“You need to not think about him. Turn off your phone, and let's just enjoy South Park and brownies,” Peggy said, taking your phone from your hand. You let her with little repercussions.

“Alright,” you frowned, eating another spoonful of sugar, oil, and E. coli. It didn’t help. Even while Cartman was singing “hand in hand we can live together, ginger or not we’re all the same,” your mind was still plagued with Thomas.

He was all you could think about.

Especially after knowing he’s thinking about you, too.

And that fact both thrilled and terrified you, because you wanted him to be thinking of you. You wanted him to lie awake that night, unable to think because the vision of you kept popping up. Because that’s what was happening to you, and you wanted him to go through it too.

Peggy sighed, and you noticed the tv was turned off. When did it turn off?

“Are you thinking about him?” She asks.

“Yep.” You mutter without hesitation. She frowned, shaking her head and mumbling nonsense under her breath.

“Do you want to go see him?”

“Nope.” Again, zero hesitation. Although you paused in your mind, because even though the thought of facing him sent dread coursing down your spine, you had to reconsider your response.

Did you really not want to see him, or did you just not want to face the facts?

The fact that he doesn’t want you, he never will, because he’s a player and likely won’t settle down. Not now, not ever.

“I think we should both get some rest. I’ll get you some blankets,” she says, taking her empty bowl to the sink. You finished off the last of yours and rinsed it out. Some rest probably would do you good, and lord knows you need it after all the exaggerated crying.

You moped your way over to the bathroom, taking one of the disposable toothbrushes she kept and brushing off all the sweets from your mouth. A low growl escaped you when you peered at your reflection. Your makeup was smudged horribly, mascara stained your cheeks, and your eyes were puffy and so red it could’ve been permanent.

God, you needed a refresher.

Cold water along with face wash helped your appearance, but did little in calming the storm brewing inside you.

When you walked back out, the couch was set up with sheets, pillows, and blankets covering it. You thanked Peggy with a tired smile. She truly was an angel; forgiving you so easily because you’re friends, and that’s what friends are for.

You just hoped you could face Thomas as easily as she faced you.

—

No response.

Thomas waited, and waited, and waited.

But you never replied to his text. It stressed him the fuck out, and he contemplated calling or texting until you responded, likely telling him to fuck off.

Even if you did say that, he’d be okay with it. Because he’d know you weren’t ignoring him and could acknowledge his existence. Instead, you did ignore him, and he had to sit-and-think-about-what-he’s-done.

It was torture. Excruciating, painful torture. You might as well waterboard him at this point. At least he would have the relief of knowing the bucket would empty—but with you? No. He wasn’t sure when it would end.

He didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned until deep purple bags formed under his eyes, until he damn near ripped out chunks of his hair.

It fucking sucked. And he knew if you had this drastic of an effect on him, you were really fucking special because he’s never felt this enamored with someone.

Once he saw you that first faithful day in freshman bio, you were all he could see.

You were all he wanted to see.

—

The shower at Peggy’s apartment worked better than yours. It had better pressure, warmer water, and was way more spacious. You could extend both your arms on either side of you and have to move to touch the wall. At yours, your hands would meet the wall at half-way extension. Hell, even her towels were better.

The feeling of hot water trickling down your back soothed you. For a moment, everything felt normal. All your worries were gone the moment her coffee scented body wash hit your skin.

You wrapped the fluffy towel around you and she gave you your washed clothes back to change into.

After adorning yourself in the spare clothes you left laying around her apartment, you sucked in your teeth and headed back to yours.

Anxiety nipped away at you as you drove back. But it needed to happen. It had to. There was no other way around it; not under, not over—you had to go through.

The door clicked open and you gently pushed it, careful to make as little noise as possible.

You weren’t sure how Thomas had handled it last night. Probably not as dramatic of a reaction as you, but a small, sick part of you hoped he did. The apartment was surprisingly clean, every dish was done and it was spotless. Well, except for the almost empty coffee pot sitting in the corner.

He didn’t immediately pop out, which you thanked the lord for. Instead, it was silent, so you shuffled to your room and locked it shut.

A deep sigh escaped your lips—then you froze when you heard it. Movement from his room. Fuck. If you stayed deathly still, maybe he wouldn’t notice?

Only he did notice you, he noticed you the moment you unlocked the door because the only amount of sleep he could get was at 2am for thirty minutes. Basically, he was running on guilt and black coffee.

The movement carried itself right outside your door, then the movement was your door. Or rather, the knock sounding on it.

“Y/n?” His crackly, deep voice sounded. “Can I come in?”

You sighed, swinging your legs off the bed and opening the door for him. Oh god, he looked like shit. So much so that you blurted it out. “You look like despair.”

“I’m aware,” he grunted.

“Sorry,” you murmured, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that last night. I didn’t think you’d be home ‘til late, I thought Samuel was makin’ you happy.” He cut right to the chase. No beating around the bush with this one. For some inexplicable reason, his tone was bitter and laced with venom when he said Sam’s name.

“It didn’t really work out with him,” you stated awkwardly. Weird, your throat was suddenly dry.

“Can we pretend like it never happened? Go back to normal, back to us?” He bit his lower lip.

“Us?” You barked out a laugh. “What do you mean, us?”

His face fell. And it wasn’t just an expression that time, his hopeful smile literally dropped and the shimmer of light fell from his eyes.

“Thomas, I—I don’t even know where to start.” You sighed frustrated. “You made me feel things, Thomas, things that no one has ever made me feel before. I really thought that you…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for you to finish. When you never did, he spoke up. “That I what?” He muttered.

“That you fucking liked me back. I was stupid for thinking it, I know. But I really hoped you did.” You inhaled sharply to fight back the closing of your throat. “Lafayette told me something the other day. Something I haven’t forgotten about, because it meant so fucking much to me and I haven’t been able to rid it from my thoughts yet.” You ranted.

“I know.” He whispered.

“What?”

“I know.” He echoed. “I know you spoke to Lafayette. I know about your plan to reject Samuel. I knew that you liked me the moment you stepped back in the apartment, looking so adorable like you normally do and holding my favorite ice cream.”

“Then why did you sleep with that woman?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I didn’t sleep with her.” He replied, taking a small step closer. “And I didn’t know about your plan then, before you ask.”

How could he tell what you’re thinking? He always knew what you were thinking. Not fair.

“I needed a distraction. I thought for sure you would get swept away by Samuel and come home with a giant grin on your face, saying how you were in love with him or somethin’. So I drank away my problems—not the best solution, I know. And look where it got me? It got me running on thirty minutes of sleep, standing in front of the girl I love, begging her to love me back.” He rambled.

You stare at him in shock, hand falling off the door handle, and jaw slacked open. This can’t be right. He didn’t just say that. There’s no way he—

“I never wanted that woman. I never wanted any of the women who I brought over, I spent each and every night wishin’ it was you. I know this will fuck up whatever we have now and possibly make living together hell, and if you want to move out I don’t blame you. But just know it’s you. It’s always been you, from the moment I first spoke to you in college, and it will always be you.”

Shit.

Now you were truly speechless. The man you loved, the one you spent every night with, just confessed his infatuation for you in complete detail. It made your stomach do flips the moment it all registered, and suddenly you felt extremely guilty.

You ignored him last night when he texted, and you were just now seeing the bags under his eyes and the mess of his hair. He really was sorry, and he really did want you.

“Wow.”

It was all you could manage. You blinked, blinked again, and opened your mouth to try and force more words out.

“I don’t even know what to say. Since college? Really?” You scrunched your nose up.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and that’s all you have to say?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. But the edge of his lips quirked up in that smile you’ve grown to love. You missed it. You missed him.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—wow. Words seriously can’t describe what I’m feeling.” You started. “I guess everything would be appropriate. You make me feel every emotion possible, and it’s the best thing ever because I’ve been trying to force that with men for so long. But you, you do it so naturally. And you always have.”

A slow smirk spread on his face. “Are you implyin’ what I think you’re implyin’?” He took another step forward. You drank up the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the intense heat in his eyes. It made your stomach dip low, and a smile widened on your face as well.

“Would you like to find out?”

He laughed, and you felt true happiness for the first time in a while. “I would.”

His large hands dipped to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips and his did the same, both of you parting them and letting your eyelids flutter shut. You met in the middle in a sweet kiss filled with the pining that had been going on for months. A small breathy gasp escaped you as your arms came to rest on his chest, and he let out a guttural growl against your lips.

You pulled off of him, a smile playing on your lips. “Thomas,” you warned, feeling his hands secured tightly on your waist.

“Hm?” He hummed, drunk from the kiss. You laughed, kissing him sweetly again.

The moment slowed and time seemed to stop. It was only you and him left, holding each other and murmuring your affections between kisses.

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 🥹