#hamilfics

You murmured against his skin as you mounted him, your black-lined eyes half-lidded and the stink of alcohol unmistakably heavy on your breath.

He knew this was just a one-night stand. A rebound. And he was perfectly fine with that. Your ex, Alexander Hamilton, had actually grown a pair big enough to come crawling back to Eliza, the woman he cheated on, leaving you to rot in your head for weeks on end.

You had planned on sulking around your apartment watching Friends reruns and binging on ice cream. Thomas had suggested getting drinks.

“He told me he would make it right with me.” You had sobbed into your multicolored drink, tears smudging your mascara somewhat. Your dark-skinned companion tried not to stare too much, but found that he couldn’t help it. You were mesmerizing even when you looked like a blotchy raccoon. His heart clenched. “He said he envisioned a future with me! A family an-and kids!”

“Hamilton’s an idiot, [F/Name].” He murmured matter-of-factly, instinctively using his thumb to wipe your tears away. He felt her skin jump at the contact. “He had the most scintillating woman in New York City, and he let it go. It’s his loss.”

His breath hitched when you looked up at him through damp lashes, still managing to look enticing despite crying for over three hours. His mind went into overdrive, desperately trying to keep the trickle of feelings at bay.

He watched with controlled interest as you worried your bottom lip, his heart beat pounding loudly in his ears. He can’t allow himself to give in. It was better this way, he chanted in his head like a mantra.

But oh, how her eyes shined iridescent against the dark.

“Would you have done the same, Thomas?” You whispered, leaning into him ever so slightly. His control was hanging by a thread. “Would you have left me like he did?”

He stared into your eyes once more, losing himself in them as he all but gave in to his desires.

“Never.” He whispered, voice strained and thick with want.

You closed the gap between you two, pressing your lips hungrily against his. You needed the friction, the intimacy. You wanted to feel wanted. And when you reached completion late into the night, your head thrown back in bliss as his hands still gripped your hips tightly, you’d like to think you were.

You never saw him around in the weeks following your drunken tryst. It was as if he never existed. He wasn’t in his apartment, or his favorite bar, or the library. You even tried visiting his workplace, but all you got was his secretary telling you he had opted to work from home.

Oh.

The silent walk back to your apartment was filled with sniffling and attempts to choke back your sobs, going through your memories of that night.

Did you say anything wrong? Was the sex bad? He had seemed so eager to bed you, and the morning after was spent lazing around and cuddling his apartment. What did you do? What changed that night after you went home?

You tried to ignore the tightening in your chest as you reached the front steps of your apartment building, but there was only so much you could do to reign in your emotions. Collapsing onto the steps, you sobbed uncontrollably into your hands.

Why is this happening to you? Didn’t Thomas like you? Didn’t Alexander like you? Did anyone like you?

“[F/Name]?”

You looked up from your pathetic, curled position, tears still streaming down your cheeks. Your heart seemed to heal instantly as you recognized those head of curls.

“Thomas.”

Thomas Jefferson was not an emotionally intelligent man.

He was cunning, and crafty, and wise beyond his years. But you’d be damned to think he was, in any way, in complete control of anything that doesn’t involve his head.

After your pity romp, he was a mess. The moment you kissed him had opened the dam that held all the things he felt for you at bay. It flooded out into every kiss, every stroke, every breathy moan he made because of your ministrations. It seeped into everything he touched.

And he was terrified.

He wanted to be with you every second of every day so badly it hurt. He wanted to care for you, support you. Be the reason for your smiles and laughter. The need to be yours never used to be this intense. It was jarring.

So he left.

It was much easier to be your friend. He could occasionally flirt with you without consequence, and you could spill every thought and opinion to him when even Alexander had trouble wheedling it out of you. Nothing was complicated, nothing was at stake. You both worked better that way. It was better that way.

Wasn’t it?

A month had passed, then two, into his self-imposed isolation and he began to doubt himself. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had let himself overthink your situation. But…

God, he was a jackass.

He had left you. You came to him in your hour of need and he took advantage of it. He left you for dead after being so intimate with you. You needed him, you were in pieces. And he left you.

You probably hated him. No, he was sure you hated him. With everything he’s done, he wouldn’t be surprised. He left you after explicitly saying he wouldn’t.

He’s definitely fucked up this time.

Grabbing his jacket, he made his way to the door. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or how to do it, he just knew he needed to make this right somehow.

You nervously picked at the assortment of flowers on your lap, your stomach churning with anticipation and nerves. Of course, you’ve practiced this whole thing plenty of times before. But actually being here, today, was definitely more than you bargained for.

“Hey,” You turned your head to acknowledge the voice, smiling slightly as you see the familiar face of James Madison. “It seems like almost everyone is here.”

The smile on your face was shaky at best, the anxiety in your eyes shining through. “Yeah? That’s-that’s good…”

James smiled at you reassuringly before stepping into the backseat with you. His warm presence enveloped the car, giving you a slight confidence boost. “You’re nervous.”

You laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s normal.” He answered, taking the bouquet from you before you pluck all the petals out. “What’s worrying you?”

“God,” Exhaling, you looked up, tears inexplicably welling in your eyes. “I don’t- This is insane. I never would have thought…”

The man beside you simply nodded in response, letting you have the moment to express yourself.

“Two years ago, I never would have imagined…” You trailed off, fanning your face in an attempt to blink back tears. “He’s everything I’ve hoped for and more, James. I-I’m scared that I’ll wake up and find myself on the front steps of my old apartment again…”

You were seated on a park bench, sun shining like a halo on you, as Thomas watched you laugh. Your hair fluttered gracefully as you threw your head back. He smiled, memorizing every curve and hollow of your face. He reveled in the fact that he was right. You were beautiful through and through.

His hand wandered slyly to your thigh, making you turn to him with an unreadable gaze. He smiled innocently, those pearly whites of his shining unabashedly. You rolled your eyes as your hands found his and laced your fingers together.

How could he have been that lucky?

He leaned over and whispered in your ear, causing you to turn red and shift in your seat. He pulled away to look at you, his eyes darkening with desire. Oh, how he wished to be the friction in those jeans you wore.

You leaned in to press a passionate kiss on his lips, your hands coming up to cradle his cheeks. He pulled you closer by the waist, nibbling on your bottom lip gently before separating.

With the grace of a cat, he pulled you up with him and brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face, murmuring how he wanted to get you home and in bed as soon as possible.

How could you have been this lucky?

James led you to the huge cathedral doors, your gown flowing easily around you, while the veil you wore drifted to and fro at every move you made.

“Are you ready, [F/Name]?” You looked up as a fresh pool of tears made its way to your eyes.

“Thank you, Jemmy… For everything.” You whispered, throwing your arms around him in a tight, tearful hug. He returned the hug just as fiercely, your head tucked under his chin.

“I would never leave you alone like that, [F/Name].” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion and an edge you couldn’t describe. “Now go, Mulligan is waiting to walk you down the aisle.”

Nodding, you reluctantly let go of the man you had quickly considered a best friend within the two years you’ve known each other for. Straightening your back, you walked through the cathedral doors, entering the small lobby just before the main hall.

“And [F/Name].” James called out, causing you to turn slightly while Hercules fussed with your gown. “Remember, this is real. It’s real, and you deserve this.”

You beamed at him, watery and emotional, before being led away.

James stared into the cathedral, watching you float down the aisle like a cloud. Your back was turned to him but he could feel the happiness radiating from you as you passed friends and family.

A few seconds later, without as much as a turn of his head, he called out a name that hasn’t crossed his lips for a while now.

“Thomas.”

Without missing a beat, a figure loomed behind the smaller man before taking his place beside him.

“James.”

The Virginian, like his companion, stared straight into the cathedral, watching you finally reach the man who had helped you pick up the pieces. The man he saw making you laugh that day at the park. The lucky bastard who now gets to spend his days with you, build a family with you, grow old with you. All the things Thomas could now only dream about.

“Gilbert will make her happy.” James said, as if hearing the other man’s thoughts. They always did have an unnerving knack for reading the other. Thomas rolled his eyes.

“He has the most scintillating woman in New York City. Of course he’ll make her happy. He’d be an idiot not to…”

The other man said nothing, merely coughing into his handkerchief as silence fell over the pair of them.

“You know why she’s taken such a liking to him, right?”

Thomas opted not to reply, instead choosing to watch you recite your vows. He knew you were beautiful even on a normal day, but today you were simply breathtaking, even from his perch by the large, ornate doors. What he wouldn’t do to be the man standing at the altar with you.

“You left a bad taste in her mouth, Thomas.” They continued to watch the wedding, watched as you exchanged rings, watched as the priest gave people like Thomas a chance to speak. “Gilbert… He’s just like you. Only, sweeter.”

Silence filled the air of the cathedral as they waited for anyone to protest the union.

Thomas finally turned to James, his eyes brimming with tears as a few already trailed down his cheeks.

               “Thomas…you…” she started.

               He choked and grit his teeth, unable hold back the tears as they welled up in his eyes and poured down, scalding his cheeks.

               “A-Angie…” he squeaked, falling forward to wrap his arms around her form like a vice and burying his head against her chest, seeking some anchor.  She was startled; he’d never showed this vulnerable side of himself to anyone…not even her.  Still, she brought her hands up and gently rubbed his bare back.

               “Thomas….shhhh…it’s okay.  I’ve got you…” she said.  He sobbed against her breast.  She said nothing, just continued to rub his back calmly and to gently massage his head through his curls.  That always soothed him.

               Thomas struggled to regain some semblance of his sanity.  He still could hear her voice ringing in his ears, mixed with the shattering of glass.  Why? Why was she haunting him now? After all this time?

               Why couldn’t she leave him be?

               “I can’t…I—“

               “Shhh…it’s alright.  Just breathe Thomas.  I’ve got you, breathe…” Angelica said softly, before humming a gentle tune her mother often sang to her and her sisters as a lullaby.  And it took a while, but she soon felt Thomas’s breaths start to even out against her form.  She smiled softly and continued to rub his head before quietly singing the lyrics of the French melody she knew so well.

               Thomas had his eyes closed as he took in the warmth of his companion, along with the steady, strong beat of her heart.  He synchronized his breathing with hers.

               A beat.

               He opened his eyes.

               “….You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, his actions contradicting his words as he seemingly tightened his grip.  Her lips pressed into a thin line.

               “I’m here because I want to be,” she said gently. His head shook against her torso.

               “No I….this…it’s not fair to you.”  Or to her.   “I-I’m taking advantage of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “I AM, Angie! Damn-it!!  I brought you into this when I shouldn’t have!  I—“

               “Stop it.  Don’t patronize me and act like I didn’t have a voice in this, Thomas.  I’m not some fragile flower.   That’s what’s fucking wrong with men nowadays—you all think everything revolves around you. Don’t you know me at all by now?  I’m with you because I chose to be here.” she said.  Her voice was tight, but not angry.  There was silence and he could only chuckle.

               She was right.

               He then took a breath and closed his eyes as he tried regain control of his emotions.  It only made things worse as he could see Martha behind his eyelids. He let out a shuddering sob.

               “…I promised her I wouldn’t have another…” he couldn’t finish his sentence.  God, he felt like he was betraying her.  Angelica pulled her arms back and gently took his shoulders in her hands, pulling him to sit upright.  She then took his thin face in her fingers and pressed her forehead against his.  She gave a small smile.

               “God, your heart is so sensitive,” she said. That only made him shudder more.

               “Shhh.  Thomas. You still love her.”

               “I-I’m sorry, I….”

               “Don’t apologize.  What kind of soul mate would you for her be if you didn’t?” she asked. His eyes grew wide and he glanced up at Angelica.  She shrugged and continued,

               “I could never take her place.  I wouldn’t want to.  I’m not her.  She’s lucky to have had you.  I came to term with the fact long ago that you will truly, always be hers.”  His gasped at this and shook his head, grasping Angelica’s hands.

               “N-no Ange, you—I“ but she cut him off, shaking her head.

               “We could never have what you two had, and that’s okay.  ….I’ll…I’m willing to take whatever you can give me.  I only hope she trusts me with your heart as much as you have,” she added, squeezing his hands.  She brought her left hand up to his face again and leaned forward to press the gentlest of kiss against his lips, a warmth that she held before pulling back with a soft smack.  She pressed one more to the corner of his lips.

               “She would want you to be happy.  Don’t patronize her either, even in memory. Women don’t like that, even from the beyond,” she said, a light tone in her voice. The tears came even faster as Thomas took Angelica’s face in his hands and frantically meshed his mouth against hers heatedly.  He wrapped her form in his arms before burying his face against her neck and allowing himself to sob against her skin.

               He didn’t deserve her.

               He hadn’t deserved Martha.

               Why did God bless a wrecked demon like him with two cherished angels in his lifetime?

Literally, it’s just coffee. Get out of bed, you freak.

“Great encouragement, there.”

Your first instinct after escaping the bundle of sheets was to go and make a cup of coffee, but you had to stop yourself. Coffee with Lin, right. Breakfast, then?

Grabbing your first post-deadline read from the empty space on your bed, you flip it open to your current location and read it while getting some of the quiche you’d made yesterday out of the fridge. For the next half hour, you’re curled up on the couch with a new fantasy novel that you’re supposed to be reviewing and sending in a blurb for. Well, it was really due a week ago, but the author’s a friend of yours who pushed back the date because he knew you were turning in the last edits of your book.

When it gets to a few minutes past nine and you get to the end of the chapter, you close the book, abandon the plate on your coffee table, and go spend the next thirty minutes trying to look cute but not trying to look like you’re trying to look cute because then Lin would think you’re trying to impress him which you’re totally not doing but it also totally is. The coffee shop is only a couple blocks away, but you leave half an hour early anyway, plugging in your earbuds and turning on the audiobook of Neil Gaiman’s newest release as you lock your apartment door and head out.

You had planned to be the early one. And you were still early, but as you pushed the door to the coffee shop open, you saw Lin leaning on the counter, chatting with the barista.

Double checking your phone, you confirmed that you hadn’t entered a parallel world and you both were 15 minutes early for your date. Not date. Coffee . . . meeting? That’s too formal. Fuck it.

You thought about just slowly backing out of the shop and walking around until it was closer to 10, but a familiar face walked out from the back of the store. “[Y/N]! We thought you’d gone missing. It’s been so long since you’ve stopped in!”

Juliette, the owner, was walking toward you with arms wide. You chuckled as the older woman embraced you. Over her shoulder, you saw Lin had turned towards you.

God, I thought he attractive in an airport. This isn’t fair.

You pulled out of the hug and looked at the woman who had single-handedly supplied you with enough caffeine to get through your second book. “I’ve missed this place, believe me. Editing in an airport lacks both good music and good coffee.”

“Are you still drinking the same thing?” Juliette walked her towards the bar with her hand between your shoulders. You nodded. “I’ll get it started for you. And it’s on the house because I’m happy you’re back.”

“You don’t need to do that, Juliette. I can pay for it, really.” But she wasn’t having it, so you slipped a $10 bill into the tip jar as she turned to start the coffee.

“I do think you failed to mention you were a regular here.”

Oh, right, Lin. “This is where I lived and breathed while I was working on the second Labyrinth book. I came here every single day and sat in that seat by the window with my laptop.” You turned to face him properly since the first time you came into the café. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “You’re early.”

“I’m going to pretend not to be offended that you sounded surprised when you said that.” You shook your head and took the coffee from Juliette over the counter. “Thanks, Jules,” you thanked the woman.

Juliette was hardly behind the counter anymore—she was always either at the register or in the office at the back—but she always seemed to be around whenever you stopped in for a drink, and every time, she insisted on making your drink herself. “You sure you don’t want anything, sweetie?” she was looking at Lin expectantly, “it’s on the house if you’re with her.”

Lin ordered and insisted on paying, but Juliette refused because any friend of [Y/N]’s is a friend of mine.

It was no surprise to you that Lin was a busy man. Honestly, that wouldn’t be a surprise to most people who were at least aware that the internet existed that Lin-Manuel Miranda was a busy man. Being as such, he could only stay for a little over an hour in the little coffee shop before needing to leave.

“We should do this again. Soon,” Lin was checking the time one last time before he stood up to leave.

“Definitely.”

“Could you do the same time next week?”

After a second of running your schedule over in your head, you nodded, “For sure, I’ll see you then,” and you stood to hug him goodbye.

And so it went for the next few months. Every Tuesday at 10 AM, you and Lin would meet at the café a few blocks from your apartment. You’d talk about your lives, your terribly embarrassing pasts, and your aspirations. I mean, I literally wear a bracelet that says What Would Neil Gaiman Do? so if I could someone looks at me the way I look at Neil Gaiman, I’d be content. — I just want to keep making a difference. I don’t want to be just “the Hamilton guy” forever. I want to take that and use it for good.

Jen was sure you were meant for each other. “There’s more than one way to have a soulmate, y’know? You can be soulmates with someone without falling in love and having ten kids.”

“There’s no world in which falling in love means having ten kids, Jen.” You were lying on the couch in your apartment while Jen was sitting on the floor with her laptop. The two of you were supposed to be working, but the idea of work had flitted away from the both of you once she asked if she could schedule a meeting for Tuesday morning.

“You know what I mean,” Jen set her laptop on the coffee table with the screen pointed towards you, calendar open, “you two are, like, kindred nerds.”

Barking out a laugh, you turned towards the screen, looking at the tentative schedule for tour dates. “Wow, thanks for that one day off in the middle of this two-week tour.” It was twelve cities in thirteen days, and Jen had one travel day on day seven so that you could get from Texas to Seattle without losing your goddamn mind.

“Do you wanna whine about it or do you wanna sell books?” Jen grabbed the laptop back to lock in the dates with the bookstores. “What would Neil Gaiman do?”

“Sell books,” you mumbled, grabbing your phone and walking into the kitchen. “Do you want tea?”

“Ooo, yes, peppermint please.”

“Herbal tea freak,” you muttered, pulling the singular box of caffeine-free tea that remained in your kitchen for Jen and only Jen as you turned on the kettle. Upon unlocking your phone, you saw a few messages.

There was one from your mom, a few from your longtime best friend who was coming to New York in a few weeks, old messages from Jen that you’d never opened, and about six from Lin. He was a texter because he was busy. You hated texting and had been notoriously bad about not answering messages since you got your first phone in college.

From Lin: 12:27 PM

Can’t do coffee tomorrow, meeting w Lac

From Lin: 12:27 PM

He’s only in NY for a few days and he only had two hours for me in all of it

From Lin: 12:40 PM

You have to get better at responding by the way

From Lin: 1:58 PM

At least tell me you didn’t have a heart attack at hearing we couldn’t have coffee tomorrow

From Lin: 2:02 PM

[Y/N]???

From Lin: 2:24 PM

Could you do dinner this week? I don’t want to go another week without seeing you

To Lin: 2:45 PM

Shit. Sorry. I was in a meeting with Jen about tour-book stuff. Dinner sounds great! I have meetings pretty much every day but my evenings should be free.  

From Lin: 2:47 PM

SHE LIVES! How about Friday? 7?

“Are you dying in there?” Jen called.

You shook your head, pouring the water into two mugs. “Some of us have big girl tea that doesn’t require the water to cool down before actually making the tea. This is your own fault for drinking shitty tea.”

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while you were walking back to Jen, a mug in each hand. “Someone’s popular today. It kept going off during the meeting. How did you not hear it?” You shrugged nonchalantly and went back to grab it.

From Lin: 2:48 PM

Or I could do another day, but Friday’s probably easiest

You smiled before typing in a response.

To Lin: 2:49 PM

Friday works!

“What are you smiling at?” Jen rested her head in her hand and batted her eyelashes at you. “Is it the Music Man?”

“Why does that look automatically accompany a question about Lin?” She just batted her eyelashes in response, a smile now on her lips. “It is, but it’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“Oh, please, tell me, [Y/N], what am I thinking?”

“I don’t want to know.”

“You’re going on a date with Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

“It’s not a date.”

“It’s dinner, on a Friday night, at seven o’clock. It’s a date.” You shook your head and turned back to your laptop, where you saw the all-knowing face of your longest friend. Morgan, the girl who you’d met in gymnastics class at five, had been by your side for every big event in your life. You’d both grown in the same shitty suburb of Chicago, had gone to school together, gone to college together, and inevitably separated when you went to New York and she stayed in Illinois.

Now, she was living out her domestic dream. She’d always wanted to be a teacher, a wife, a mom. Now she had all of that, and she was so happy. Her husband was being an angel and letting you steal your friend away from her family for a week so that you could spend time with her for the first time in ages.

“Charlie, get out of that!” Morgan was yelling at her son from the computer, who was off-screen being a messy child, you were sure. “Hey, sorry, [Y/N] but I gotta go. Make sure to send me pictures of what you’re wearing though. I require outfit approval.”