Hamilton One Shots

Philip Hamilton x Reader

Name: Columbia

Pairing: Philip Hamilton x Reader

Prompts: "I might have had a few shots"- "Did I say that out loud?" - "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Time: Modern

Here we goooo

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You were rejected from your dream college. Fucking Columbia rejected you. So when you got the thin letter in the mail, your heart dropped. They don't send thin acceptance letters.

So you knew what was coming. You didn't even bother to look inside. You were not going to Columbia- the college you've dreamed about attending for years.

Philip was texting you. 

"Y/N did the letter come in the mail today?"

"It was supposed to come today, right?"

"Y/N?"

"Did it come in the mail?"

You ignored him. You didn't have the heart to tell your best friend that you were rejected. He was just about as excited as you for that letter to come. 

Your parents came home. "Y/N, come down for dinner!" Your mother called. "I'm not hungry!" You responded, trying to hide the fact that you've been crying non-stop for the past three hours. 

So you missed dinner. You didn't say goodnight to your little brother. You heard your mother knock on the door. "Y/N?" She asked. You rushed to the letter and pushed it under your bed before escaping to your bathroom and quickly turning on the shower. "I'm taking a shower!" You called, sitting down on the closed toilet seat. "Okay, honey; your father and I are heading to bed early tonight. Love you." 

"Love you!" You responded, and waited a full two minutes before shutting off the water.

Then you sneaked downstairs to your parents liquor cabinet, a place you've visited a couple of times before, but never when your parents were home. You grabbed a bottle of vodka, and dashed upstairs to your room and closing the door. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on your bed, you glared daggers at the thin envelope. Your rejection. The only sound you could hear were cars outside. 

You screwed off the top of the bottle, and began. 

An hour and half later, in a hazy state, obviously drunk, you were sitting against the door, headphones in your ears blasting some music you hated but was loud enough to drown out your sobs. 

Then the door opened. Startled, you scooted back and took out your headphones. Philip stood there, staring at you. He muttered a very very quiet, "Oh, no," looking down at his feet, before looking back at you and saying in the loudest voice he could without waking anyone up, "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

You smiled at him. "Yep."

He groaned, stepped in your room, and closed the door. Then he scooped down, pried the bottle from your hands, and put it on your nightstand. "You're drunk!" He exclaimed.

"I might have had a few shots," You muttered, before he took the headphones from around your neck and your phone and put them next to the bottle. "Get up." He instructed.

"Fuck no, Philip. How'd you even get in here?" I ask.

"You told me about the spare key, remember?" He explained, and held out a hand. "Get up." He said. 

"No." You responded, smiling up at him. You know you look really hot in purple? You think, looking at the light purple button-up he has on below his black sweatshirt. Doesn't he know that?