"Is It Really Fake?" ( Thomas Jefferson x Reader)

Hamilton Girl

"No."I say, crossing my arms. "Suit yourself."he shrugged. I looked as he turned his back to me, burying himself under the covers. "You still awake?"I ask. "As a Jefferson can be."he replied, his voice muffled. He whispered something I didn't really hear. "Ah-What?"I ask. "Uh-Uh, nothing."he answered. "I just can't sleep."he repeated. I got closer under the covers beside him, my face heating up instantly. He rolled over, laughing at my possibly-red face—((black people don't blush))—as he pulled me into his arms. "I love ya."  Southern Frick.

"I love you more."

"Touche impossible.(Utterly impossible.)"

"Why's that?"

"Because even though I have an ego bigger than your plate of ribs, I still have lots of love for you."

"Awww, look at my Lover Boy being sentimental."

"Look at my Flirty Princess bein all non sentimental, even though she wants to be~"he cooed.

Our lips collided against each other.

"I don't like sentiment."

"Sure you don't. But my sentimental words plant  you in cement."Thomas teased, his hands softly rubbing against your (face) cheeks. I kissed him. "L-lets just go to sleep."I mumbled. "Nah, I'd rather stay up and cuddle with you."he mumbled in reply, pulling me closer. "No."I say. "Please Y/n?"he said. "Grab a suitor."I respond—-James told me that Thomas had many suitors while he was away, almost slept with the whole female population of France—remembering that had had millions of other women who loved him. "Now Y/n,dear, don't be like that."Thomas said. "But it's true, ain't it?"I ask. "You had many suitors when you were away?"Thomas sighed. "Yes."he admitted. "But—, none of them could make me refrain from poppin' Alexander Hamilton in the mouth like you can."he chuckled.

"That's because I'm his daughter."

"Everyone has flawless skin;curves; beautiful eyes,-and lips,and an incredibly amazing personality , but you're the only person that can hum the song of the drunken revolutionaries and make it my new favorite beat."

"You mean the song my father and my uncles song never sang unless they were like—really drunk?"

He nodded. "How do you know that song?"I ask. "You sang it to me when you were tipsy."he said.

"When?

"Just now."

"Ugh. I'm not singing it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not my song."

"So what? I've never got to hear you sing."

"You don't deserve to."

"No?"

"Not a single quarter note."

"Well you're a music fan."

"I may know a few keys on the piano."

"Now you've definitely have to sing it for me."

"No. Erase the thought from your mind."

It went on for hours. So when he begged to the point where I could refuse....

I played for him.
Then I sang for him.

((00:22 or you can just listen to the whole thing. Your choice))