when you smile {philip hamilton x reader}

j a b s [MID-EDIT]

news flash: people of the fairer skin color from the south didn't actually have southern accents in the 17th and 18th century. WHAT? THEY DIDNT?! no. they didn't. southern dialects were only common among slaves who spoke in a creole or post-creole speech. remember, britain used to control the colonies, therefore, people there spoke in an english/english american accent.

ALSO if you're reading this chapter rn please know that's it's in the middle of editing, so a couple parts might seem incomplete.

November 2nd, 1800

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The clank of your leather boots that fit tight around your feet on the wooden steps of the boat made you realize that you had safely made it back to New York. It had only been a year that had passed, but it seemed far longer without the sight of your friends. Of course, you had made some acquaintances back in Paris, but they could never replace the few that you had in America.

Coming off of the last step, you stopped and looked around at the familiar scene: A flurry of people conversing with others, herders collecting sheeps and pigs onto boats for shipping, profanities being spoken and prostitutes stalking the ground, along with the stench of animal droppings mixed with the salty sea.

You were definitely home.

You turned your head back to Georges, who was absorbing his surroundings as well. It wasn't his first time stepping on American land, but his memory wasn't as chaotic compared to what he was seeing now. Holding your case as well as his own, he took a step towards you, arriving at your side. Your brother George, along with a servant from the boat walked passed you and to a carriage that was parked at the side of the road awaiting you. Georges caught up with your brother, getting lost in the crowded sea of humans but eventually finding his way to the carriage.

You took one more minute to yourself to look around at the world you once knew. Only a few things had changed: One being the election of 1800 just starting, with Jefferson against Adams. You hadn't known much about the two men or their ideas to choose a favorite, but with the popularity of them, you knew that tension was soon to rise.

Seeing that the carriage was ready to depart, you snaked your way through the crowd. You nodded your head once at the coach who kept the door open, closing it when you got in. Georges gave you a gentle smile as you sat down on the plush seats. George was across from the two of you, already busied with documents and letters. The jolt of the horse beginning to pull the carriage jerked your body slightly.

You played with the lace on your dress, one that Georges' mother had made for you. His mother had been almost like your own during your time in Paris. She had a very skilled hand, creating the most beautiful garments you had ever seen. She cared for you too, along with her other daughters, who also enjoyed your presence.

Georges captured your hand within his, clasping his fingers in-between your own. You returned the action, squeezing his gently.

The road was still unpleasantly bumpy as you remembered, having to brace yourself when the wheel rode over particularly large blocks of stone that comprised the street. You still held Georges' hand, his thumb lightly swiping back and forth on the back of your palm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw George glance at you and Georges' affection, smiling to himself. George was more than content about your relationship with Georges. Not only did he know that he would inherit money if you two were to wed, but he also knew that you would be happy spending the remainder of your years with Georges.

Your mind wandered off into familiar places: the wellness of your friends and the plans for the future. You began to ponder over your future years as of late, wondering if it would change or progress smoothly. You were so deep into your thoughts that you almost didn't notice the carriage going past the direction of your household.