holy mother of god we caught him!

Three Days, Lafayette x Reader

Prompt: could you do a lafayette x reader soulmate au? thank youuu!!:

Word-count: 2,702 (THIS SPIRALED WAY OUT OF CONTROL)

Warnings: Cursing (the usual), mentions of alcohol consumption and drunkedness, period-typical sexism, etc.

Note: WELCOME TO DAY TWO. 

This thing literally spiraled out of my hands. I was supposed to sit down to write a shorter fic and I ended up writing the longest fic I’ve posted to date. 

I want to thank all of you for the lovely things you’ve been saying about the blog, like holy shit y’all are super sweet. 

Anyway, enjoy my reiteration of the Lafayette reincarnation, soulmate AU thing. Much love. xx


8th of November, 1780

The rain was cold on your face, and your skirts were no doubt ruined by now. You couldn’t find much in you to care.

How long you had stood there, with mud crawling up your shoes and socks, you didn’t know. The rain had been pouring for far longer though, that was for sure.

It was almost hilariously easy to go back to the party—the one being thrown in the honor of some scattered group of soldiers you knew but didn’t care about—if you wanted to. You didn’t want to; that was the entire point of the silent vigil you kept by the stables, letting the dirt and water thoroughly soil the dress your maids spent the better part of the week sprucing up and repairing of any running threads or loose hems.  

The Schuyler mansion glittered attractively in the distance, and in the cold, damp marsh of the stables, looked incredibly inviting. You knew, from experience, that the halls were warm with light and conversation. You knew that Angelica was probably (no, definitely) dazzling the room with her dizzying presence and slightly overwhelming charisma. You knew that Peggy was dancing the night away, the only sights of her you will catch a flutter of skirts as she was whisked away by some general or other. You knew that Eliza would be engaged in conversation with a handful of delegates, all of them staring openly at the middle Schuyler sister, who while not as handsome as the youngest or as openly flirtatious as the eldest, had her own brand of charm and youth that could ensnare even the hardest of hearts.

You knew that the entire galaxy that was held in that mansion, no matter how small, was falling in love with the fires residing in the darling sisters who inhabited it. (Angelica a powerful flare, Peggy a saucy ember, Eliza a tempered flame that sometimes caught you by surprise by how spiteful it could be.)  

The rain plowed on, relentless, and you managed to get impossibly more soaked than you were in the first place. The cold had, by then, long seeped into your bones, and desperate as you were to restore some kind (any kind) of body heat, your conviction proved far too strong to out rule the crawling, inside-out ache of the chill.

You were an oddity if there ever was one.

With the all-encompassing demand for freedom and revolution and warwarwar, you stood out as the white flag amongst the sea of red. Your parents were well-known pacifists, and you had been raised under a roof that promoted peace and quiet means of protest. However, as docile and gentle your parents were in displaying their views, you were…not.

The entire approach the Continental Army was taking was just all wrong.

“You can’t win our country through these means,” you had said that evening to one lieutenant, who had looked at you as though you were about to sprout wings and fangs.

“Girl,” the lieutenant had said (you never caught his name), carefully, like he wasn’t sure you quite understood. “We are in the middle of war.”

“It doesn’t have to be war,” you said earnestly, pleading that he understand what you were trying to say. But alas, as always, you were cast aside with a shake of the head and a scathing mutter.

You left the ballroom without so much as a goodbye to the sisters, something that gnawed at your guilt; the Schuylers were gracious enough to invite you to this ball after all, when everyone else had quietly shunted you away to some corner because of your views. But by the grace of God, standing in that crowded room, near so many people who had been so eager to cast you aside (both for your principles and your being a woman) was getting suffocating. (“You are a woman in a world that belongs to men, or at least so they think.” You remembered your mother saying to you. “You are unfortunately an example of what gentlemen hate the most, my darling; you are a woman with a brain she chooses to use and put on display.” Your mother smiled. “And I couldn’t be any more proud.”)

So you went, with a thunderous opening of doors into the howling wind and steady storm, and here you were.

The persistent quiet was broken by the click-clacking of hooves on wet gravel, and you looked up.

A carriage was slowly getting nearer. It was handsome and impressively ornate. Slightly ostentatious, in your opinion, but that was neither here nor there.

The horse drawing it cantered to a stop, and the door opened with a loud shout of laughter.

“My god, it’s pissing out here.” the voice closest to the door exclaimed, and with a loud squelch, a foot landed on the wet slush of dirt and pebbles. “Hold your coats over your heads, gentlemen, or risk facing the wrath of—“ he broke off, eyes landing on you.

“Nature,” he finished lamely.

You had stood up when you heard him step down. You knew who he was.

Alexander Hamilton squinted at you, at your dirtied dress, at the wet hair hanging around your face in sectioned clumps.

“Miss?” he called. You only looked on. “Madame over there! Are you all right, ma’am?”

Another voice was joining his calls. “Alexander, what is the meaning of this hold up?” It was a fellow soldier of Hamilton’s, you assumed. He wasn’t all that tall, and even from where you were you could see his freckles. “Holy Mother of God, is that a woman out there?”

“It is,” you heard Hamilton answer. “Ma’am! Are you okay?”

“My friends, we are already quite late. I do not think the general will appreciate our untimely appearance—“

Stepped down another soldier, this time tall and slender, easily towering over Hamilton and his companion. His voice was clear and pleasant, with the slightest hint of an accent interlacing his words. He, too, caught sight of you and was rendered silent. Between the four of you, the rain pounded on and was white noise.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle?” the tall one called. You looked at him, then. “What on earth are you doing out here in this weather?”

“Admiring the scenery,” you replied cheerfully, although the sarcasm was heavy and obvious in your tone.

The tall one looked confused. Hamilton, on the other hand, looked as if a sudden realization dawned on him quite abruptly.

“Ah,” he said, voice carrying in spite of himself (he never did learn how to keep his voice low), “I am guessing that you are of the Y/L/N family?”

You nodded, and this seemed to reaffirm Hamilton’s epiphany.

His freckly companion looked, to your rising anger, disdainful. “The pacifist nutters?”

The retort came out of your mouth faster than the crack of a whip. “Excuse me,” you fumed, “I’m afraid I do not know you sir, and I will not have a complete stranger strike an unearned insult at my family like that.”

The man shrunk behind Hamilton, who looked uncomfortable. The other, taller one, simply looked on in interest.

He was the one to break the silence once more. “Won’t you like to go inside the mansion, miss…?”

“Y/N,” you nearly spat.

“Miss Y/N,” he said, nodding. “You look a sight and you will catch a cold in this storm.”

You shook your head. “I’m perfectly fine,” You straightened, rearranged your skirts, although the endeavor was quite pointless. “Do not be concerned with me mister…”

“Lafayette,” he answered. A name to place on his face at last.

“Mister Lafayette,” you said, turning and preparing to walk away, before you felt the world spin on its axis and fall, fall, fall


When you came to, you were in the white, bare-faced room of a hospital. A nurse was pressing something wet and soft onto your forehead. You felt unbearably cold.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice spoke. “You’re up.”

It was Lafayette, standing against the doorway with his hands behind his back.

“You nearly gave all of us a fright back there,” he said, walking further into your room. You tried to get up, but the nurse stopped you.

“No moving quite yet,” she said, softly pushing you back into the covers. “You near contracted pneumonia out there, staying out in the cold for so long. How daft are you in the head, girl?”

You weren’t looking at her though, you were looking at Lafayette, who was smiling almost sheepishly down at you. (He was handsome, you noticed belatedly. Very handsome.)

It was the last thing you saw before you slipped back into the peaceful darkness of pseudo-oblivion.


9th of November, 1926

“Name your poison,” Slim purred as you hauled yourself onto a stool.

“For crying out loud, Slim, it’s nine in the morning!” you chided playfully, knocking a dainty knuckle on the bar top and laughing. “I’ll have a Champagne cocktail, switch out the bitters with absinthe.”

Slim smiled wryly. “And you call me an alcoholic,”

The speakeasy was already alive, even at the relatively early hour. Men and women were pouring in and rushing back out like a strong tide, and you were lucky enough to find yourself a spot on the coveted bar. Slim was nice, and he liked you, and he could spin up a good drink with nothing but orange bitters and gin, so you found that the long wait was quite worth it.

“Strong turnout,” you said as Slim made his way back to you, your drink bubbling happily in his hands. He passed the glass to you and you took a sip. The champagne was freshly opened, you could tell, and delightfully crisp in your throat, the tail-end of absinthe lingering on your tongue. You resurfaced and grinned at Slim, raising your glass. “I can see why,”

The absinthe did its job quite quickly and soon, after three or so glasses, you were spinning like a top on the dance floor, laughing and hollering and calling for more drinks. Slim, wisely, didn’t let you slip off with any more alcohol until you sobered up enough, but it was hours before you managed to do so.

“This is why you need to stop drinking so much,” Slim said as you slumped onto the counter, head in your arms.

“If I stopped drinking, who in God’s name is going to keep you in business?” you said, face still smushed into the crook of your arm. Slim laughed, slid you a glass of water.

“Not to alarm you,” he said as he gave you the glass, “but there’s a man who’s been eyeing you for the past hour. He hasn’t approached any other woman in the entire place.”

You grinned into your forearm, looked up. Slim was grinning, too. Subtly, he nodded towards a table that was occupied by the rowdiest bunch of men you’ve seen, which was saying something. Sure enough, you found a very attractive someone making eyes at you. From here, he looked slim, and even with the haze of smoke and the dim lighting and his loose clothes, you knew that he was fit. He glanced away as you turned to look at him, and after a while you faced Slim.

“Best make my move, no?” you said, emptying the glass and handing it back to him.

“Best,” Slim said shortly, although there was teasing underneath his terseness.

You sauntered over, your head feeling much clearer, and cleared your throat as you drew near. He and his friends caught sight of you, and they whistled as you approached. You smirked, groped around in your purse to fish out a long, thin cigarette.

“Excuse me sirs,” you said to the table at large but keeping your eyes on the one who caught your interest. He was, if possible, coloring an endearing shade of pink. “But do any of you have a lighter I could borrow?”

A broad-shouldered hulk of a man leaned over and offered you his. He lit it up, and you leaned, the cigarette in between your teeth and held steady by two fingers, never taking your eyes off of the brown-eyed, gorgeous man who seemed to be as interested in you as you were in him.

“Can you come with me outside? It’s a tad too stuffy in here.” you said, addressing only him. His friends were in uproar again, and he mumbled an agreement before shuffling out of his seat to follow you out of the speakeasy. On the way out, you caught Slim’s eye and threw him a smug grin.

“What’s your name, good-looking?” you said as you both climbed up the concrete stairs that hid the bar into the sticky, honey-glazed air of the Manhattan afternoon.

“My name is Lafayette,” he said, with the slightest hint of an accent.

“You foreign?” you asked, taking a drag and exhaling.

“French,” he said. A beat passed. “What’s your name?”

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll see.”

The two of you walked up the entire street, talking. At this hour, the city was starting to come alive with music, but the center of your gravity was firmly placed in Lafayette’s vicinity, and it was only when the two of you neared Broadway that you realized the hour.

“Drat, it’s getting late.” you cursed, looking at the clock that hung in one of the stores you passed by.

“I must be getting back to my friends now, as well.” Lafayette said, but you delighted in seeing that he seemed reluctant to leave. You didn’t want to go, either. “It was a pleasure to spend time with you, miss.”

You smiled at him. He really was something else. “I’d love to do this again sometime.” you said, not really caring that you were coming off as a bit too forward. (You were forward, and there was no shame in letting it happen.)

He grinned, a perfect, perfect smile. “I would love that as well.”

You walked backwards, eyes still fixed on him. “It’s Y/N,” you said, and he only looked at you. “My name. It’s Y/N,” You turned and walked, a feeling in your stomach that this won’t be the last time you’d see him.


10th of November, 2017

The day couldn’t get any shitter.

You had woken up late—for some fucking reason you had forgotten to set your alarm—thus making you miss the train. And now you had to wait for the next one. Hardee-fucking-har. You could take the bus, but at this point, taking the time to climb out of the subway and find a bus stop, the next train would be here and you just weren’t having any of that so you stayed in place.

Thankfully, the train appeared fifteen minutes later, and if you ran, you would maybe possibly make it to work on time.

You slumped into the first empty seat you could find, which happened to be next to this really tall guy with crazy curly hair that he had tied back in an attempt to tame it.

“Bad morning I take it?” the guy suddenly asked, taking you aback. You only nodded.

“The worst.” you said.

“Ah, I know the feeling.” he said, nodding sympathetically. He had some kind of accent, but it was barely there. If you had blinked, you would have missed it.

“It hopefully can’t get any worse, although knowing the universe, it could kick me up the ass when I least expect it, so I’d rather not jinx myself.”

He laughed. “You kind of just did.”

You groaned playfully. “Ah, shit.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry,” he said, paused, “have we met before?”

You shook your head. “No. I would have remembered.” You didn’t have the best memory, but you would have certainly remembered his face. It was hard to miss and even harder to forget.

“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat impressively and holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Lafayette. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N, and likewise.” you said, smiling and taking his proffered hand.

He grinned, and the warm tickle in your stomach was new and yet strangely familiar.