jestersprivilegee

[jestersprivilegee]

Guess who just got an iPad and can do digital art now.

THIS FUCKING GUY ☝️☝️☝️ EXPECT FANART IN THE NEAR FUTURE

[jestersprivilegee]

High and Dry | ch. 8

t. jefferson x reader

Wc: I think 2.9k?

Lotta holiday talk for these next few chapters. Yes I know it’s not thanksgiving or Christmas sue me (also sorry to those who don’t celebrate!! I couldn’t think of anything else cus there’s specific scenes that need it to be holiday, but just wait y’all I got a plan)

Happy friYAY (depending where you live)

Avoiding Thomas had become a game, and you were determined to win it.

For five-and-a-half weeks, you had successfully dodged your counterpart at every turn. If he was walking down the hallway when you needed to, you’d find a different route. If he was making copies, there’s too much paper being wasted anyway! Wherever he was sitting in a meeting, you’d find the furthest possible spot away from him.

The only exception was lesson planning. And even then you kept it short. Half the time you’d just create your shit on a shared google slide and let him figure it out (which he wasn’t super happy about, but he wanted this space so he can’t complain). Your conversations were kept strictly work-related; anytime you felt it steering towards social or personal life, you’d redirect it back to the task at hand. He didn’t call you out on it, but it clearly got to him from the way he’d huff and sigh anytime he’d ask about your day only to be met with one word responses.

Somehow, you managed to do this all the way until thanksgiving break. Or at least until the Friday right before break.

You couldn’t avoid him too much longer at the staff thanksgiving/potluck/party. It wasn’t like you were planning on staying a while anyway, work-related gatherings like that always got boring from the criminal lack of booze.

“You’ve made it to the break without quitting. I’m proud of you, I wouldn’t have made it this far working alongside Jefferson!” Hamilton smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while you walked to the workroom, where the ‘party’ was being held.

“It hasn’t been easy,” you sighed, “but I haven’t spoken to him that much these past few weeks, so it’s been bearable. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t quit in the first week.”

After getting called into Washington’s office and feeling like shit for being rude to Thomas, you gave him plenty of space, just as he requested. The only thing eating you alive was the fact that you never apologized. It added to the shame, the humiliation you suffered. So you avoided him all together, since looking him in the eye was a particularly difficult task.

“Regardless, I’m glad you stayed. And I’m also glad you brought those crappy sugar cookies,” he said.

“You either love ‘em or you hate ‘em,” you hummed, opening the door to the workroom and letting him step inside first.

Everyone who you expected to be there was there. Your large friend group in one corner since the Schuyler sisters were the newest addition (Alex had started dating Eliza a couple weeks after they hooked up at the bar. She turned out to be one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met, and you quickly became close friends), Thomas’s friend group in another. Other staff members were littered throughout the spacious room, people you wouldn’t talk to other than polite hellos.

You set the cookies on the counter with the rest of the desserts. There was enough food to feed a small village, ranging from various cultures and carefully crafted dishes to the Walmart-produced cookies you brought. It made you a little insecure to bring something so little, but they were pumpkin pie flavored. Practically calling your name in the grocery store, begging you to purchase them.

Thanksgiving had never been a big deal. It’s not like you celebrate it with family, anyway; your mom is in a mental hospital for fucks sake. And with no other living family to celebrate it with, you never got the chance to truly enjoy it. It was just another holiday. Another meaningless break from the strenuous school year. The same goes for Christmas, which winter break is only two weeks after fall break. Not that you're complaining. A week off, then two weeks later, another two weeks off? That’s something you can get behind.

You scanned the food options, looking for one thing in particular. Mac ‘n cheese.

More specifically: Thomas’s mac ‘n cheese.

If it was as good as you remember (aka, his mother’s recipe), you would be devouring as much as possible. Any time you’d go over to his house as a kid, you’d beg for his mom to make the dish. It was that good. She never did tell you the recipe despite your years of asking, but maybe, just maybe, Thomas used it. And maybe he would tell you. If you play your cards right, but the cards you got right now ain’t looking so great considering the poor relationship with him.

“Do you have any plans for the break, Y/n?” Eliza appeared next to you, an exhausted smile on her. Must’ve been a rough day.

“Binge watch Netflix and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s,” you joked, which earned you a pity laugh.

Alexander joined his girlfriend's side, snaking an arm around her waist.

“You’re not visiting family?” She asked, the smile she wore turning to one of concern.

How awkward. They didn’t know about your mother. To be fair, you never told them, so how could they know?

“Probably not,” you answered after a beat passed, “I don’t have any family. None in New York, at least. My mother is down in Virginia, and I have yet to call her.”

“So you’re spending it alone?” Eliza’s eyes filled with concern, sadness, and empathy.

You shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. My mother has never been big into holidays, so I didn’t grow up celebrating them. It carried with me to adulthood, I guess.”

“I’m the same way,” Alex empathized. “I'm an orphan, so I’ve never had a family to celebrate with. Closest I’ve ever gotten are these work parties,” he chuckled dryly.

“Alexander, that’s so sad!” Eliza turned to him, a pout on her red lips. ”You’re coming home with me and my sisters for dinner. Y/n, would you like to join us, too? We have plenty of seats at the table, and you’re always welcome,” she offered.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m okay. Really,” you sheepishly declined. “I’m going to talk to my mom and maybe go down to visit her. I appreciate the offer, thank you, Eliza.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “if you ever change your mind, though…”

You shared a laugh, and shook your head. Alexander looked thrilled to hear Eliza would be dragging him to her family dinner, as he wouldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. They got their portions of food and snacks, finding a spot at the table after promising to save you a seat.

With a tiny sigh, you glanced in Thomas’s direction. His eyes met yours, because of course he would already be watching you. Instead of looking away like you did, he excused himself from James and Aaron, strolling over to you, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

The smell of his cologne hit you, warm and comforting and forest-y. “Hi,” you replied. He took his stance next to you, leaning against the counter. “Something you need?”

“Do I have to need somethin’ in order to speak to you?” He asked, his gaze almost challenging. Being met with silence, he continued speaking. “I just wanted to talk to you, see what your plans are for the break.”

“Why do you wanna know?” Your eyes narrowed. The flicker of annoyance in his jaw did not slip past like he hoped it would.

“I’m tryin’ to be nice here, Y/n, create some small talk.” He frowned. You’ve had this conversation many times before, and it was evident that both of you were tired of it.

Sighing and swallowing your pride, you shifted to face him fully. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my plans are yet.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Never thought I’d hear you admit I’m right about somethin’.” He teased, folding his arms over his chest. That burgundy sweater looked particularly good when he wore it.

“Don’t get used to it,” you scoffed. “Do you have plans you’re dying to tell me about or something?”

He gave an awkward shrug, the confidence he previously had faltering. “Nothing noteworthy. Just visitin’ family for dinner.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember you telling me about that. You’re not thrilled ‘cause it’s overwhelming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, some other factors, too. They’ve been on my ass lately about my career and relationship choices, so it’s tough showin’ up still as an English teacher and still single,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized, “that sounds frustrating. Not being supported by family members.”

A low hum rumbled from his chest, and he wiped his hands on his sweater. “Yeah, well, they’ll get used to it. These are the decisions I made and I’m happy with the direction my life has gone, whether they support it or not.”

At least he had a family whose opinions mattered.

“I like your attitude,” you paused, “Y’know, I was thinking earlier about the mac and cheese your momma used to make. Used to be my favorite part about going to your house as a kid.” A nostalgic smile spread on your lips, a warm fuzziness in your chest. Thomas shared the same experience. You continued, “do you, by any chance, have that recipe?”

“‘M sorry, can’t tell you that, darlin’. Family secret,” he winked. “Although I did bring some. Sure, it’s not nearly as good as mommas, but it’s pretty damn similar. All these years of makin’ it and I think this is the closest I’ve gotten.”

He pushed himself off the counter, motioning you to follow him to the dish he prepared. It was already halfway eaten when he uncovered it, and holy shit it looked delicious. Memories of sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by a loving family consisting of only sisters flooded your brain. His older sisters, Jane and Mary, would always sit together, gossiping away from the rest of the group. The smell of fresh baked sourdough and sweet potatoes would waft in the air, and an apple pie would be sitting in the oven.

Last time you saw his momma, she was pregnant with a boy. Unfortunately, your friendship ended before you got to enter that chapter of Thomas’s life with him. Such a shame. You would’ve loved to be apart of that babies life as much as you were involved in Thomas’s.

“I have been craving this ever since middle school.” Your eyes lit up in excitement and you snatched a plate. “Jefferson, consider this the only compliment you’ll hear from me, but you are amazing.”

He beamed with pride, wearing a giddy, toothy grin from your praise. “Been waitin’ to hear that all year. First you admit I’m right, then you finally acknowledge I’m amazin’. Two in one day. Make it three?”

“As if,” you huffed, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. “When I said jefferson, I meant your momma for creating this delicacy.”

“Funny, ‘m pretty sure you said ‘you are amazing,’ if my ears don’t deceive me.” He smirked, earning a sharp glare from you.

“Your ears doth deceive,” you grumbled, shoving some pasta in your mouth. Damn. It was fucking phenomal.

He bit his lower lip, anticipating your reaction with big, hopeful eyes. “So? Just like mommas?”

“Mhm, just like mommas,” you nodded, covering your mouth since it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. His parents are where you learned that mannerism from, actually. “You sure you can’t give me the recipe? I won’t tell anyone, I pinky promise.”

His proud grin grew wider as he shook his head. “No can do. You’re not technically part of the family, and momma gave me strict instructions to keep it within our family. She’d have my head if I gave it away.”

Thomas knew that his parents considered you to be family. He did have a teensy little lie going that misled them into thinking he wasn’t single, but he’d die before admitting that to you. Regardless of his complex relationship status, his parents had always loved you like you were their own, and that love never faded. Even after all these years.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.” Your eyes narrowed, as if you were plotting to steal the fucking Krabby Patty secret formula.

“Hah, good luck doin’ that,” he snorted.

It seemed like the moment you had something else to say, your phone rang. With a disappointed sigh, you pulled it out, about to silence it but the caller ID prevented you from doing so.

It was your mom.

“Shit, I gotta take this,” you muttered, “save me some pasta please.” You handed him the paper plate, rushing out before he could utter another word.

Thomas’s eyes followed your form until it disappeared from behind the door. A small frown tugged at his lips. He had seen who was calling. He knew the history with your mom despite being private about it recently. Sure, you’d mention her here and there, maybe call her from time to time, but you never said anything deep. And he couldn’t just outright ask. You weren’t at that stage of closeness yet, there was still some lingering anger from… well, everything. There always seemed to be some sort of tension hidden beneath the surface, like something hadn’t been fully let go, or something wasn't being acknowledged. It was discouraging, to say the least.

When you said your plans weren’t decided, he wanted so badly to invite you to spend thanksgiving with him and his family. There were a few instances when you did during childhood. He’d have your mom over as well, and it would be like a small extra addition to his already oversized bloodline. But it was comfortable. They enjoyed having you as much as you enjoyed being there. And then it stopped.

He shook his head, unfreezing so he could scoop a hefty portion of macaroni onto the half-eaten plate. Then, he followed after you, finding the hallway empty. You must’ve gone to your classroom.

—

“I-I don’t know if I can make it, Mom, I’m swarmed with work right now.”

You paced around the cluttered room, the palms of your hands growing sweaty. She had asked you to come down to Virginia to visit, but truthfully? You still weren’t ready. As much as you practiced and talked through your feelings with Suzanne, the years of therapy didn’t seem to do much for this moment.

Of course, you felt like a horrible trash can of a human being for continuously putting off visiting her. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved to have her child come down at least for the holidays. Even if said child was still recovering from the trauma of having her as a mother.

“Of course,” she mumbled, disappointment and sadness evident in her tone. “It’s alright, honey. I’d just love to see your face again, to hold my child.”

Guilt tore you apart inside out. Grimacing, you spoke, “I’m sorry, Momma. I promise I’ll come home for Christmas.”

She was silent on her end for a moment. There was a faint beeping noise coming from somewhere in her ward. “…You promise? You won’t give me another excuse when the time comes?”

God, the excuses you cultivated every time to procrastinate seeing her piled up. It was predictable. “I promise I won’t give you an excuse. I’ll be true to my word this time, I swear. It’s only another month, which I know may seem like a long time, but it’ll go by faster than you realize.”

“Okay, baby, I trust you. Will you call me over your break? Let me know you’re okay and we can talk?”

“I will. How is your medicine working for you?”

“It’s good, it’s good. I’ve been takin’ it consistently now, and I really have noticed a difference,” she expressed.

You smiled in relief, and for another thirteen minutes, she spoke about how recovery was going well, and how she’s changed. Even listening to her speak, you could hear how much more energized she was. She was taking control over her life.

After hanging up, you leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. A hand came up to run over your features. It took a lot of fuel to converse with her. She was a curveball; you never knew if she would lecture you the whole time, cry, or tell you how much she loves and misses you. Perhaps that’s why you’ve always put off visiting her.

Three soft knocks sounded on the door, and a short moment after, Thomas walked in. He held the plate piled with macaroni and other foods he knew were your favorite, as well as a sheepish smile.

“Hey. Figured I’d bring you somethin’ since I’ll be headed out soon.” He handed the plate to you, where you set it down on the desk.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

A comfortable silence followed. Thomas was deep in thought; you could see the conflict etched between his eyebrows, the concern tightened in his jaw. He wiped his hands on his sweater again. The words he truly wanted to come out caught in his throat, and instead he stuttered backwards.

“Uhm, I should go. Have a great break, Y/n,” he stammered.

You watched him step backwards, pausing before softly speaking. “Have fun with your family, Thomas.”

With that, he awkwardly nodded and disappeared. You glanced down at the plate filled with all your preferred foods, even one of the pumpkin-pie flavored cookies you brought resting on top of an actual slice of pumpkin pie. Your favorite kind.

[jestersprivilegee]

and we love to see it 👏👏

The image of hope

The image of protest

[jestersprivilegee]

Thanks for tagging me 😊😊

1. Art

2. HAMILTON

3. Health/nutrition/fitness/weightlifting

4. History (American or art specifically)

5. Books

I have no clue who to tag 😭😭

@superrrr-silly-annie @sam-aint-here @demonsradio

I saw this meme going around on twitter and I think it'll be perfect for this account.

List 5 topics you can talk on for an hour without preparing any material.

[jestersprivilegee]

I AM GOING TO START WRITING FANFICS!!!

I need some help to know where to start. I'm fine with writing about pretty much anything, but i may only write for characters i know since it's easier on my part. Also, i will strictly only write character x reader fics as that is just what i prefer to write. Also, i apologize that i might not do female characters and may lean more onto the side of male/masculine characters since that's what i prefer to write.

Please don't be shy to request something! I'll pop my rules down below along with some fandoms/characters that i can write for!

RULES

I don't do r@pe, descriptive SA (if the readers' backstory includes that truama, it won't be detailed)

I do not write for specific racial groups or specific appearances as i want all readers to be included

I don't feel comfortable writing (Y/N) as a male/masculine figure. This includes Transmasc and (amab) no matter the gender identity. I apologise, and i have no intention to offend anyone i just don't feel comfortable writing in the perspective of someone i don't have experience as or knowledge in the perspective of.

If i say no, then please don't bug me

If i do not reply, do not spam. I will get to you as soon as i can.

If you have a problem with any of these, then don't interact.

Some fandoms/characters I'll write for

Hamilton

Thomas Jefferson

Marquis de Lafayette

John Luarens

Philip Hamilton

Charles Lee

Alexander Hamilton

(I'll also some of the actors if requested)

Marvel

Bucky (and his other alter egos 👇)

James Buchanan Barnes (40's bucky)

The Winter Solder

Steve Rogers (and his various evolutions)

Loki Laufeyson

Doctor Strange

Peter Parker (specify which one)

Miles Morales

Miles G. Morales (prowler)

Hobie Brown

Harry Potter/Hp Universe

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Draco Malfoy

Newt Scamander

Tom Riddle

Sebastian Sallow

Ominis Gaunt

Garreth Weasley

MHA

Request and you might receive. There are too many characters in mha, so just ask ig.

If you have a character i haven't listed, then don't be afraid to ask. As i said, I'm fine with writing pretty much anything, from hardcore smut to fluff to angst.

Hope people actually see this, lol

[jestersprivilegee]

[jestersprivilegee]

Could you write one about Jefferson where they all work in a bar? (All the characters from Hamilton in this case.

One Of These Nights (Drabble)

t. jefferson x reader (fem)

Listen to one of these nights by the eagles it’s a really good album and song

Wc: 1,599

A/n: Y’all we’re gonna ignore how this request was from February and I’m only just now getting to it LMAO my bad

The smell of whiskey and dread swarmed you as you clocked into your shift.

Wednesday afternoons at 3 were always slow. There were two customers on a good day, and it felt like you were getting paid to just fuck around.

Jefferson’s eyes lit up when he saw you, a smile growing on his face. “There she is. Was beginnin’ to think you wouldn’t show.”

You shrugged, grabbing the apron that was a required part of uniform, “yeah, well being ten minutes late doesn’t matter when I have no tables.”

An airy chuckle escaped him while he rolled up his sleeves. “I’m glad you’re here. Hamilton was driving me insane, and I could use your company.” He watched as you struggled to tie the apron behind your back, and instinctively moved to your side. “Need help with that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you sighed, letting him take the strings. His fingers grazed over your back, sending chills down your spine and butterflies in your stomach. It didn’t help how he was taking his sweet time, too, ensuring he tied the perfect bow. Despite being turned around, you could sense the playful smirk on his lips.

He swallowed thickly, pausing for a moment before stepping back. “There you go,” he muttered.

That right there. Those little moments where he faltered to leave your side, the lingering touches and stolen glances—they all added up to something much, much bigger. Every tiny action sent your mind spiraling, so much to the point where you found yourself craving his presence.

“Thanks, Thomas.” You smiled, glancing around the restaurant. Hamilton was refilling a glass, Burr was congregating by the bar where Madison was, Angelica and Eliza were gossiping by the host stand as usual. No one was in your section. “I don't suppose the kitchen will give me some fries? I’m starving.”

“Never hurts to ask,” he said, following you to the kitchen. His hand had found its place on your lower back. The touch was so natural it slipped right past the both of you, it was almost automatic for his hand to be resting somewhere on you. Waist, back, shoulders, hips—knees or thighs when you were sitting together. It was routine, ritualistic.

Laurens and Lafayette were messing around, their laughter filling the air while Peggy shook her head at their antics. She smiled upon seeing you, putting down the marker she was using to write dates on produce. “Hi Y/n!” She greeted warmly.

“Hey, Peggy,” you grinned. Peggy was always so sweet to everyone, that innocent smile never seeming to leave her features. “Just came here to bother them for some food.”

“Oh, shit, the lovebirds are here! You want us to make you some spaghetti so you can Lady and the Tramp it? Or perhaps a milkshake you can share?” Laurens snickered.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating up, and suddenly you were hyper aware of Thomas’s hand lingering on your back. “Shut up, I just wanted to see if I could get some fries.” A flustered huff left your lips.

“Hmmm… I don’t know, ami, we’re pretty busy right now,” Lafayette teased.

“Bullshit, I know for a fact you haven’t done anything other than smoke out back and fuck with the other servers,” you scoffed. “Spare a girl some fries, please?”

Between the batting of your eyelashes and the guard dog behind you glaring at them, the two men had no choice but to give in.

“Fine, fine. Only because we love you too much to say no.” They sighed, scooping some fries into a large basket. You snatched it with a sly grin.

“Thanks, you guys are the kindest assholes I ever met,” you said, shoving a fry in your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You want something, too, princess?” Lafayette pointed his spatula at Thomas.

“Fuck off, I’ll just share with her,” he growled, walking away with you while the men laughed even louder.

Peggy waved goodbye with the same sweetness on her, which you reciprocated. The two moron cooks muttered under their breaths about you being the devil in disguise and Jefferson being uptight. Thomas glared at them over his shoulder, which shut them up in a heartbeat.

You peered out to your section, and seeing as there was no change, you plopped the basket on a table tucked away in the corner. Jefferson glanced around, making sure Washington wouldn’t see them slacking off before taking a seat across from you.

“For how cheap we make these things, they’re pretty good,” you commented. Jefferson hummed in agreement, stealing some fries from the basket.

“Yeah, they aren’t bad.” He mindlessly chewed on a fry, his gaze trailing over your features.

“So what’s happened now with Hamilton?”

“He was being a smartass, per usual, and I called him out on it. It escalated to be a little louder than inside voices.”

You giggled, “smartass about what?”

He sighed, wiping the grease from his fingers on a napkin. “Who knows. It started out with how we clean the tables, then ended with us shoutin‘ at each other in French because we ran out of insults in English.”

“Oh lord,” you snorted, “it astounds me how Washington hasn’t fired y’all yet.”

“He got real close to it once.” Thomas leaned back into the cushioned booth. “We were in the middle of a fight about God knows what when Washington called us into his office. He was so fed up with our shit, I for real thought my time here was over. But Hamilton, being the little shit-stain suck-up he is, somehow managed to talk him outta any drastic punishments. Now, you won’t hear me sayin’ anything good about Alexander other than the man has a way with words. I’ll give him that, and that’s all he’s gettin’.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice, ready to gossip. Thomas knew that look on your face all too well, the lopsided smile and the gleam in your eyes. He loved it. “Right? Have you heard the things he says to Eliza on break? ‘You engross my thoughts too entirely to allow me to think of anything else.’ Like, okay Romeo.”

Jefferson snickered, leaning in closer as well, a jolt of excitement sparking from his face being so close to yours. He could see every minute detail ranging from the curl in your eyelashes to the lip gloss that perfectly complemented your complexion. “It’s crazy because we all know she likes him anyway. They aren’t exactly subtle in their attraction towards each other.”

“Peggy told me they go out back to makeout.”

His eyes widened. “No, seriously?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. In fact, I—“

“Y/n! Jefferson! I don’t pay you to sit around and flirt all day!” Washington appeared out of nowhere, already yelling.

“Sir, there’s no one in our sections,” you replied politely. Washington would shout and scream all he wanted, but inside he was a big softie and wouldn’t actually fire you and Thomas. Not over something so insignificant like sitting and talking.

“Doesn’t matter,” he scoffed, “find something to clean. Did you finish your side work?”

You sighed, glancing at Thomas who was suppressing a laugh. “No, sir. I’ll get on that right now.”

“Good. And stop eating on shift,” he ordered before walking away.

The moment he was gone, Thomas burst into laughter. It’s cliche, but it really was music to your ears. It was a record you never wanted to end, a song you’d replay over and over until it was all you knew. How could he sit there and laugh and look so handsome? And why couldn’t you call him yours yet?

His voice broke your trance, bringing you back to the present moment. “Don’t you just love when he drops in like that?”

You hummed, “oh yeah. My favorite thing about working here.”

“Awh, but I thought I was your favorite thing about working here?” He pouted, falling into step with you.

Ah, the playful banter was back. “You’re right, he’s my second favorite thing about working here. Nothing could top seeing your annoying face every day, Thomas.” You bumped your hip against his.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when he smiled; it was your favorite image, the only thing you ever wanted to see. He truly was the highlight of this job. Thomas and Peggy were the only people keeping you sane in this damn building. The days they weren’t there were the worst ones.

“Mm, and here I was, thinkin’ we were havin’ a moment,” he teased.

“Thomas,” Madison called, signaling him over.

A small sigh slipped past his lips, and he glanced down at you, disappointed about having to leave your side. “I should go see what those idiots want now,” he said. “Hate to cut this short, ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I think someone just got sat in my section, anyway.” You shrugged, grabbing the notepad and pen from your apron pocket. “We can gossip more later. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Thomas.”

He chuckled, “lookin’ forward to it, always.”

After parting ways, he found his place by James and Aaron, his gaze still lingering on you, watching the sway of your hips and every movement made. Madison and Burr exchanged a knowing glance. Their lovesick coworker still had yet to confess, and it was killing them to watch you interact.

“When are you gonna tell her how you feel?” Madison asked, wiping the counter down so he looked busy.

Thomas hummed, keeping his focus trained on you. “One of these nights, James, one of these nights.”

[jestersprivilegee]

What are you not comfortable with writing? Like are there any boundaries with requests?, if there are please list them.

(Ps, loving a night to remember and also loving high and dry)

(Thank you so much pookie😛)

OK SO:

-I’m not comfortable with smut or anything too freaky, I’ll do kissing but that’s about it

-no dead dove or anything weird like that. I mean if that’s what ur into I won’t judge but I’m not writing it

-The thing that got me for the other request was it teetered a little too close to cheating, or at least the way I interpreted it, which I just couldn’t get by idk. Like I couldn’t bring myself to post it even though I lowk cooked 💔

-not a big fan of love triangles tbh or polyamory, I find it hard to write so I js avoid it all together

-major character death. It’s too sad I need happy endings in all my fics 😞😞

If I find anything else, I’ll update this list. But this is what I got for now, thank you for asking !! Send requests in, ask and you shall receive. Side note: I’m trying to update every Friday now or at least once a week

[jestersprivilegee]

this is my first time requesting so i apologize if the format is bad or too specific 😓

could i request a fic where y/n n thomas have a terrible break up, like i mean screaming matches and tears, and y/n ends up leaving and going to thomas’ best friend’s place, layafatte (who secretly has had a crush on y/n for ages) and lafayette comforts her and they end up getting a bit frisky (just making out n stuff) but y/n counts this as a mistake cuz he’s her ex’s best friend and she runs away, but later they end up getting together (if u don’t want to do this i understand)

Lowk so torn between doing this, bc I’m already at 2.7k words but it’s also kind of iffy for me?? I don’t know, like I don’t feel fully comfortable with it but I also got so far so it’s like might as well? Ugh I hate overthinking things.

I really appreciate the request but I probably won’t finish this one 😞 and the format isn’t bad at all! Y’all can write whatever u want in requests, as detailed or as vague as you desire.

If y’all have any other requests (specifically for lafayette) feel free to send them in bc I really want to write for him, and I’m sorry anon for not being able to follow thru w this one💔💔

[jestersprivilegee]

Chat imma need y’all to be honest:

Do I make y/n seem like a certain race?? I try my best to keep it as neutral as possible but I feel like sometimes things may slip yk? But ik it’s common in x readers where the author uses descriptors that pertain to white features, and I want my work to be as open as possible. So if I ever make that mistake someone PLEASE call me out on it so I can correct it 😭

[jestersprivilegee]

High and Dry | ch. 7

t. jefferson x reader

Is a newspaper club really that serious, anyway?

Wc: 3.5k

A/n: chat I finished Abbott elementary a couple days ago. Holy moly it was so good. It helps that I love shows with short episodes like that (hence why I have a south park fic up on my ao3 but yk 😝) enjoy 😊

“So you wanna tell me what’s going on between you and Ms.Eliza?”

Hamilton groaned, an embarrassed hue of red tinting his cheeks. You snickered while taking a seat next to him. It was Monday after school; the teacher's workroom smelt like burnt paper and coffee as usual, with an extra dose of exhaustion.

“I do not need you in on my love life, too, I already have the guys on my ass. Especially John.” He frowned, his hair looking disheveled despite it being put up in a ponytail.

“Hm, unfortunate. Speaking of John, he owes me twenty bucks,” you beamed. “And c’mon, there’s never any interesting romance stories happening here at Hudson! I need some drama, some fun.”

He scoffed, his face dropping, “so my relationship status is mere entertainment to you? Wow, Y/n, I thought you were better than that.”

“What? Don’t give me that look,” you grimaced, taking a sip of water.

He pondered for a moment before a sly grin spread on his lips. “So I heard Jefferson brought your wallet to your apartment.”

“Yeah? So?” You gave him a nasty side eye, trying to act cool.

“You wanna tell me what that was like?”

“He just stopped by to drop it off, that’s all. Wait, how did you even hear about that anyway?”

He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “A little birdie—“

“Was it Lafayette? Goddamnit, I knew the French were untrustworthy,” you interrupted, muttering under your breath that last part.

Alex huffed, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. “The French are not untrustworthy, but yes, Lafayette is the birdie in this situation. He made it sound quite dramatic, really… Je te jure, je te jure!” He mocked.

“Ugh, what did he say?” Now it was your time to groan and slide down in your seat from embarrassment. Oh how the tables have turned.

“I don't know, you tell me what you told him about Eliza and I?” He challenged, that familiar flame in his eyes when he gets passionate about something.

Your back straightened, and you held your hand up in a defensive way, “I didn’t say anything other than to ask you about Eliza.”

Right when he was about to quip back, the door swung open. John, Lafayette, and Mulligan entered, their faces lighting up when they saw you and Hamilton sitting together. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. Lafayettes eyes immediately caught yours, and he grinned, which scared you because it was the type where he was either about to tease you relentlessly or interrogate you for information (even though he called you yesterday asking about Jefferson. You hung up the moment Thomas’s name left his mouth).

“Alexander, Y/n! We were just speaking about y’all,” John clapped his hands, gracefully sliding into the seat next to Alex.

“Funny, we were just doing the same,” you narrowed your eyes, “where’s my twenty bucks?”

Laurens grumbled, pulling out a crisp twenty and forking it over. “Here, you leech.” There was a mild disappointment in his eyes when he glanced over at Alex.

“Can’t believe you guys bet on me. And I can’t believe you bet against me, Laurens!”

John shrugged, “you’ve been talking about her for so long without making any moves, I figured it wouldn’t happen anytime soon.”

Hamilton feigned a look of hurt while you pocketed the cash. “If it makes you feel any better, I had faith in you, Alex. I got twenty bucks to show for it, too.” You smirked, winking at the two men who collectively groaned.

“Mon ami, you never told me what ‘appened with you and Thomas,” Lafayette jumped in, his hand coming to the back of your chair.

Everyone’s eyes were fixated on you. The pressure was a little overwhelming, and your hands started to sweat. There was nothing to be nervous about; nothing happened between you and Thomas other than y’all talked for a bit and he left. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Why are you acting all weird about it? Nothing happened. I invited him inside, we talked for a bit, then he left.” A frown tugged at your lips. How did you get on defense while they’re playing offense?

Alexander narrowed his eyes, “be careful with him, Y/n. If he hurt you once he can hurt you again.”

Lafayette shot him a glare as if to tell him to quiet down. “Don’t listen to him, ami, he’s just projecting his own hatred.”

“Guys, I know, okay? Nothing will happen. I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but Thomas and I are just coworkers, nothing more,” you said.

Hercules cracked open a soda can, hopping to sit on top of the counter. “None of us said you were anything more than coworkers with Thomas.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Okay, asshole, y’all were implying it.”

Mulligan laughed, taking a drawn out slurp of Diet Coke. He was the type of guy to choose diet over zero sugar, which to most isn’t a big difference, but he swears up and down that diet tastes better. You beg to differ, having claimed it tastes like butchered cherry-flavored medicine.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Y/n,” Hamilton said. “If you have any problems with him, you know I got your back. And speaking of problems with Jefferson, did you know he—“

“Oh god, not this again,” Hercules grunted.

You gave the men a quizzical look. Alex was quick to fill you in on the latest dilemma involving the devil himself.

“He’s actively going against my idea to get a newspaper club set up. Isn’t that criminal?” Alex threw his hands up dramatically, his eyebrows knitting into deep concern.

“Do people still read the newspaper?” You mumbled. Lafayette and Hercules shook their heads no when Hamilton wasn't looking. He was too worked up about Jefferson protesting his notion for a newspaper club. Maybe it was a little deeper than just the club, but who knows what goes on inside the mess that is Alexander’s mind.

“Do people still read the newspaper?” He repeated, “Yes! I do!”

You shared a look with the other three men.

He continued his rant, “And these kids will enjoy being a part of documenting what goes on in this school! What we would be doing is providing online and printed forms of written reports, updates, and stories regarding Hudson. All we’re asking for is a little bit of funding to get it started, but Jefferson is completely against it.”

“Don’t we already have a broadcast club? It’s pretty similar, no?” You asked, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. The last thing you wanted was to be on Alex’s bad side, so you’d likely go along with this idea either way.

“It is not at all the same.” He dropped his tone lower, calmer, “Y/n, don’t honestly tell me you agree with Jefferson. You don’t think this club is a good idea?”

“Well—I never said I agreed with Thomas,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t get why he’s so against it?”

“He thinks the extra funding should go towards something ‘better.’ Not that he’s proposed any other ideas.”

The familiar laugh of Thomas echoed outside the workroom. Once again, when you speak of the devil, he appears. Him, Burr, and Madison entered, briefly pausing when they saw the other occupants. You avoided Thomas’s heavy gaze, especially the feelings that came with it.

“What’re you scheming, Hamilton? You look like you’re plottin’ my murder,” Jefferson mocked. His eyes shifted between you and Alex, narrowing ever so slightly at the duo.

“Don’t spoil my plans by figuring them out, Jefferson.” Alex spat his name with such venom that even you felt insulted. “Can never have good things, I swear…”

“They’re talking about ze newspaper club and how you’re against it,” Lafayette chimed in.

“Still on that, are we?” Thomas sighed heavily, sharing a glance with Madison and Burr. It occured to you that you haven’t actually had a conversation with them before, only polite nods in passing. Or glares. Depends on the day.

“I’ve already told you, Hamilton, it’s a poor use of money. My colleagues and I have decided to vote against it, if it makes it far enough to be a plausible decision.” There was a smugness in the way Thomas spoke. You weren’t too fond of how he was treating this—treating Alexander.

“And I don’t believe you have anybody voting for you,” James said. His voice was deep and coarse, like he was dealing with a bad illness. It wasn’t exactly how you expected him to sound, but when he occasionally coughed into his hand, it made sense.

“I’ll vote for you, Alex,” you blurted.

All eyes on you. It was especially nerve-wrecking with Thomas thrown in the mix.

John stood, “me too.”

“So will I,” Hercules added. It was like that scene from Radio Rebel when everyone started claiming that they were radio rebel—

“It’s four against three, Jefferson,” Alexander crossed his arms triumphantly.

“Your vote doesn’t count, dipshit, it’s three against three. Besides, Lafayette hasn’t voted yet. He could vote for the very clearly wrong and idiotic option or go with the logical choice.” Jefferson flashed a handsome smile.

You hated it. Forget everything you said the other day, he was being a jackass, and you despised him for it. Rage bubbled in your chest. Pumping through your veins was a rekindled loathing; your blood was a simmer but now it was boiling. He had no reason to act so complacent, so pretentious, so shitty towards your friend. And for what? To deny him a little bit of money towards a club that would only benefit the students?

Lafayette's eyes widened, and he stuttered out a response. “I—I don’t want to make any big decisions right now, mon ami,” he chuckled nervously. He could feel the tension beginning to rise. How splitting it must be to have this thrust upon him. Torn between friend groups, not knowing who to favor, because either way it’s a lose-lose situation. Unless he doesn’t vote at all.

“And is it really idiotic?” You piped up, eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. Thomas’s interest piqued, and he crossed his arms. How could he be so intimidating and so hot at the same time? “I mean, it sounds like Alex is trying to do some good for this school. I don’t get why you’re being so intransigent.”

“He’s doing good by using our limited resources to create another club that’s basically a copy of a different club?” Thomas scoffed.

“The money could go towards something everyone benefits from, not just a handful of kids who want to write a newspaper,” Burr pointed out, his demeanor calm.

“Like what?” Hamilton’s voice was starting to raise in volume from frustration. Wouldn’t be long until he was yelling, and once he does, the whole room will erupt in shouting.

“Better lunches, more books, supplies—just to name a few,” Aaron listed. Thomas smirked, taking some steps closer to you and Alex.

“Admit it, Hamilton, it’s a crappy idea. You don’t have to be right all the time, y’know. And you can quit actin’ like you’re the smartest person in this room.”

Alex went quiet, rage flowing in him. Shit, it must’ve transferred over to you, because you were fuming. But you knew deep down that Jefferson was right; it would be a poor use of money. That doesn’t mean he gets to be a dick about it. The next words left your mouth before you could process your emotions.

“Why don’t you fuck off, Thomas?” You snapped.

His eyes went wide, and his grin got even wider. “What, don’t like me bein’ right? You don’t gotta take his side ‘cause you have a distaste for me.”

Him quoting your usage of the word ‘distaste’ was the cherry on top. “No, I don’t like how you’re being an asshole about it! You can be right and be nice, but you’re doing what you always do and rub it in everyone’s face!”

The room went silent. Thomas blinked, hurt sharpening his features. You realized you said too much. Although when everyone was staring at something—rather, someone—behind you, it caused you to turn around, coming face to face with Principal Washington. Fuck.

“You two, in my office. Now.” He demanded, his voice cold. He walked out, and it was astonishing how he kept his composure so collected.

“Good job, L/n. Now we’re both in trouble,” Jefferson grumbled, his shoulder bumping yours as he made his way to the door.

You sighed heavily, running a hand over your face in embarrassment, dread, and guilt. Everyone’s eyes were still locked on you, anticipating your next move. Alex put a hand on your shoulder, a worried crease in his forehead. How had you let your emotions get this out of control? You were doing so well, but it seems like the moment a disagreement arises, you get so hot headed that you erupt.

“Hey, it’s okay, Y/n,” Alex said softly.

“It’s not…” you muttered, stepping out of his grasp and leaving the workroom quiet. You heard their hushed whispers the moment you left, though. So obviously talking about you behind your back. It reminded you of high school.

—

“I have gotten numerous reports regarding your behavior towards one another.” Washington sat with his hands clasped together. You always knew he was intimidating, having seen him get onto other teachers at the school, but being on the receiving end of his stare was quite different.

“At first, I was willing to let it slide. Figured whatever unresolved conflict you have would work itself out. Clearly, I was wrong,” he scolded. “You need to find a compromise. You’re supposed to be the adults here, not the teenagers. These kids look up to you, and the example you’re setting for them is swearing and calling each other names?”

Thomas glanced at you, but your eyes were glued to the table. Shame and regret was all you could experience, and you were the embodiment of it, too. Washington continued to lecture, talking about how it’s unacceptable for this kind of behavior to continue in the workplace. Whatever happens outside of school is none of his business, but the moment you step into these doors, all drama must get left behind. His words hit like a truck. It was a necessary and blunt sobering.

“Now, I ask that you try to distance yourself as much as possible. I know it’s difficult considering you’re working side-by-side, but I would hate to have to report this to HR and have them handle it,” he warned.

“Yes sir,” Thomas nodded, “we’re deeply sorry for our actions. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” he turned to you, “Miss L/n?”

Your head snapped up, realizing he was waiting for your apology as well. “I uh—we won’t do it again, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” Washington smiled, leaning back in his chair. ”You may go. I hope to not see you two under these circumstances again. Especially you, Miss L/n, considering this is your first year teaching here.”

”No sir,” you mumbled, stepping out with Jefferson as he held the door for you.

An exhausted, frustrated sigh left you. The back of your neck was starting to ache from being stressed. More importantly, the stressor was standing two feet away from you. All you wanted was to get away, to create space between your bodies so you wouldn’t get violent again. The confrontation was enervating.

You started walking back in silence. It was tense, so thick to the point where you couldn’t breathe (or was that another anxiety attack from being yelled at?). Whatever it was, you made a mental note to discuss it with Suzanne. Thomas kept his focus on the hallway ahead of him, making no move to glance in your direction. His face was twisted into a troubled discomfort, a scowl hinting at his lips. Even with you staring up at him, his gaze was unwavering, and he swallowed thickly to stop himself from looking at you.

“I thought you‘d changed,” he whispered, breaking the stillness in conversation.

“What?” Your voice cracked, split between anger and remorse.

He chuckled dryly, “God, don’t I feel dumb? I really thought that after our little talk at your place, you’d change. But you’re still the same person you have been, and I’m an idiot for believin’ anythin’ different.”

His tone was acrimonious. You could hear the affliction in his voice, and see it in his eyes. The deep cocoa-brown color served as a layer to the pain and longing in them, but when he finally reciprocated the eye contact, you saw the effect of your words on him.

All you could do was stand there, completely speechless. His words stung more than they should. It'd be a lie if you said you didn’t deserve it. You weren’t sure how to respond, your brain hadn’t caught up to that point. It was still stuck on the idea that he had belief in you—that he was rooting for you to be better, and you crushed it and spat on it. All because you couldn’t control the way you responded to adversity. How could you let the actions of another person affect your inner peace?

Look how it turned out. You let emotions overpower intelligence. And for what? Because there was a sprinkle of conflict?

“Let’s just give each other some space, yeah?” He was the one to break the silence. Your eyes trailed over the curve of his nose, the flicker in his jaw, the frown tightened on his lips, all the way back up to his gaze.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He lingered next to you for a moment, hoping for some sort of apology, but seeing as you wouldn’t say much else, he entered back into the work room. Physically, you walked in a couple seconds after him, but your mind was stuck in the hallway. It was suffocating.

Alex found you, pulling you to the opposite side of the room. You stole one final glance at Thomas as he exited with Madison and Burr. He refused to look at you.

“What happened?” Alex asked in a hushed tone.

The discomfort cleared from your throat, and you forced a response. “Uhm… Washington told us he’s gotten reports about our behavior, and basically told us not to do it again,” you paused, “Thomas was disappointed in me. He thought I changed, but he said I’m still the same person I’ve always been.”

Lafayette shared a worried look with Alex. He took a tiny step back. “I am going to talk to Thomas,” Lafayette whispered before stepping out, giving you a nod of reassurance. John and Hercules were silent throughout the whole ordeal, not knowing what they could input. This was more of a you and Hamilton type thing.

“I can’t believe Jefferson said that to you,” Hamilton furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t let him make you feel bad, Y/n. He’s full of shit. We all know that. You did the right thing in standing up for me, even if you may have taken it a little far.”

Guilt panged in your chest once more. If Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson’s biggest hater, says you went too far—you went too far. He must’ve noticed the shame that engulfed you, because he quickly added on, “That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person! We’re all human, lord knows I lose my temper way too often,” he laughed, patting your back. “I’ll have to swallow my pride, but we might have to take the loss on this one.”

“We tried,” John chimed in, standing next to Alexander as he put a hand on your shoulder as well. “Y’all are relentless, let me just say that. I would be terrified to go against you two in an argument.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group, almost out of pity.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll try to stay calm next time. I just get so worked up, y’know? Especially when it comes to Jefferson.” You said.

“You have a good reason to,” Laurens nodded, “but it’s not worth the energy when it gets you in trouble like that.”

You groaned. “Ugh—I know, I hate how he gets to me so easily. But we agreed to distance ourselves, so hopefully it’ll get better.”

They seemed to be satisfied with the resolution of creating space, as they gave their final inputs before finishing up the conversation. Still, your thoughts continued to circle around the damage you did to Thomas—more specifically, how he looked when the words left your mouth. When you called him an asshole because your mouth talks faster than your brain does. And in the hallway, he was genuinely hurt by your actions.

You hurt another human being.

That thought alone was unsettling, to say the least. What’s even more unsettling is knowing that you can’t go back and undo the moves. The game keeps going, even if you fuck up or make a mistake. The only thing you can do is keep moving forward, keep pushing despite all the setbacks. Even when the setback is you.

[jestersprivilegee]

You should watch abbott elementary if you haven't already! It kind of gives off similar vibes to high and dry

Ooh fr?? I’ll check it out and get back to y’all chat 😼😼

Update: been binge watching it, I NEED Janine and Gregory to get tg bro HURRY UP

Update #2: WHY DID LESLIE ODOM RANDOMLY SHOW UP?? Mr burr sir what are you doing here 😭😭

Update #3: s2 ep17 HAS to be a reference to Hamilton, cause ain’t no way Jacob standing up on the desk and saying “the room where it happens” ISNT a reference. Also they say legacy quite a lot, and Aaron burr is literally in it sooooooo

[jestersprivilegee]

High and Dry | ch. 6

t. jefferson x reader

warnings: the usual, idk why I even add this part anymore tbh

wc: like 2.7k

a/n: pretty short chapter. Wanted to get something out. Anyway shoutout to ruby for giving me some ideas 😝😝 also if y’all have feedback or anything you’d like to see, please feel free to share w the class!! I love hearing whag y’all have to say and I want this story to be as enjoyable as possible. We’re in this tg right gang?! (Team on 3, 123 team!! Sorry)

The hangover took a couple minutes to really hit.

When it did, it hurt like a motherfucker. Your head was throbbing, the soles of your feet hurt because you had passed out in your heels, and nausea bubbled in your gut. It was torture.

You groaned, sitting up and tugging at the straps of your dress, desperate to feel some relief from having slept in the tight material all night. When it was off, the first thing you did was find the baggiest t-shirt you could, and use the bathroom. Everything was painful, and you thought you didn’t drink too much last night. Granted, after the game with Thomas and them, you decided to let loose a little. Even staring into your reflection was painful.

The mascara you had was now smeared, mixing with your eye bags to accentuate the exhaustion, you didn’t even want to deal with the mess that was your hair, and you desperately needed a shower. You reeked of alcohol.

Taking a warm shower, changing into something comfortable, and drinking a shit ton of water with some ibuprofen helped. You still hated your past self for ruining your Saturday morning, but the memories were worth it. All you could do now was fall back on the habits you put in place on mornings, or when things get particularly rough. Eat something nutritious, drink water or coffee, and relax.

Although the memory of Thomas flooded you, interrupting the meditation practice. A frustrated groan escaped your chest, wondering why he was consuming your thoughts. Why the lingering touches and the butterflies you felt every time your eye caught his plagued you. He was infiltrating your mind, and you really fucking hated it. Was it perhaps that you’re so touch-starved, even the mere presence of a man was enough to send you into a spiral?

Deeming it useless to attempt clearing your mind, you walked over to rummage through your purse on the couch. Since you fell asleep the moment you hit the cushions, you hadn’t got the chance to plug your phone in at all, leaving it on two percent. Something about your purse felt particularly light, though. Like something important was missing. But you couldn’t—

“Oh fuck!” You yelped. The wallet that held your ID, credit and debit card, and any other important form of identification was missing.

Panic settled in your chest. Suddenly, you were wide awake. No more headache, no more stomach pains, only anxiety. Your breathing became ragged and short. Aren’t panic attacks so fun? Not being able to breathe because the worst case scenario is the only thing you can think of?

You scoured your apartment, your dress, hell—even your shoes for any sign of it. Nothing. Not a trace. Either you left it at the bar, or someone stole it. Neither of those options were ideal. Someone could potentially be stealing your identity right now and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Alexander, did you see my wallet last night? I can’t—I can’t find it,” you rushed, tugging at your hair.

“Whoa, calm down, breathe,” he said. His voice was gravelly from just waking up. “I didn’t see it. Maybe ask Laurens?”

“Fuck, I did! He didn’t see it either!” You cried. There was some shuffling on the other end, and it was muffled, but you heard Alex tell someone he was talking to you. “Who are you with?”

He paused for a considerate amount of time. “Eliza,” he finally spoke in a small voice. “Have you asked Lafayette?”

Eliza? Did they hook up? Which if they did, you won a bet because last night, you told John they would get together by the end of the night. If not, then you’d give him twenty bucks. Looks like he owed you some. Ignoring the fact that Alexander was in bed with Ms. Schuyler, you responded with a shaky, “No. No, I’ll ask him right now. Has Eliza seen it?”

He inhaled sharply, and you could practically hear his face flush a deeper shade of red. “Uh—no, she hasn’t. I’ll—I’ll talk to you later. Good luck, I hope you find it,” he stammered, and a second later hung up.

You paced around your apartment, waiting for Lafayette to pick up. When he did, he sounded grumpy, sick, and tired all at once. You felt bad for the Frenchman, but then again, he did rob you of your money since he won. So you weren’t too concerned with the state of him at this very moment. “Lafayette, did you see my wallet last night? It’s gone, and I think I might’ve left it at the bar, or someone stole it. I’m freaking out right now, man!”

“Non, ami, I do not know what ‘appened to your wallet, I am sorry,” he sighed, seeming to wake up a little more. It was clear he was way more hungover than you or Alex were. “‘Ave you tried—“

“Yes I’ve tried talking to everyone!” You abruptly snapped. “I’ve asked the entire goddamn staff at this point, asking around looking for my wallet!”

He was quiet for a moment, growing agitated with your rudeness, but gave you compassion since he knew how panicked you must feel. You realized your mistake in screaming at him since he was trying to help. There was no point in yelling, and you only felt guilty for doing so. “Sorry,” you muttered, “I’m really stressed. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.”

“It is okay, mon ami,” he said in a gentle tone. “I was going to ask if you called ze bar yet? They usually take up any missing items like wallets, purses, phones—you name it—and keep them safe.”

You coughed in embarrassment. It was so simple; call the bar and they’d likely have it. Why wasn’t that your first response? Right when you were about to squeak out a thanks, three short knocks on your door caught your attention. “Hold on—someone’s at my door. Better have my fucking wallet, whoever it is,” you grunted, earning an airy chuckle from Laf.

Standing in the hallway of your apartment building was none other than Thomas Jefferson himself. “It’s Thomas,” you spoke, peering through the peephole.

“Oh? What is Thomas doing at your apartment, Y/n?” There was a smugness in the way Lafayette teased you.

Rolling your eyes, you began unlocking the door, “you should ask Hamilton what Eliza was doing in his bed. Talk to you later, Lafayette. Thanks for the help.” With that, you hung up, rendering Lafayette speechless. And stirring up new drama, because why not?

“Thomas,” you said, opening the door. He was wearing a coffee-brown hoodie with gray sweatpants, and something felt intimate about seeing him in such casual clothing. Domestic, almost. It was annoying how good he looked even after a night out. “What are you doing here?”

He scanned your messy appearance from running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You left your wallet at the bar last night. Figured I should return it.” He replied simply, holding out the upcycled denim wallet.

Oh.

Jefferson had it this whole time. And he didn’t text you or anything to let you know he had it?

You must’ve been standing there like a deer in headlights for a solid minute, because he raised an eyebrow, shifting awkwardly.

“Everythin’ alright? This is yours, ain’t it?” He asked, his smile faltering to a nervous one.

“Yeah—sorry,” You blinked, snapping out of it and taking the wallet from him, checking to make sure everything was in there. “I’ve been worried about this all morning. Called just about everyone we know,” you chuckled.

He nodded, taking a glance into your apartment, curious at what your home looked like. Before your brain could catch up, you found yourself blurting out an invitation. “Do you want to come inside? I have some coffee brewed if you’d like some.”

Thomas’s eyebrows raised in surprise at your hospitality, but accepted, stepping in when you opened it further for him. “Nice place,” he whistled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks. Sorry, it’s a little messy, but—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” he cut you off with a chuckle. “My place is way worse, trust me.”

His words were reassuring, and your shoulders relaxed. Why you were so worried about what he thought of you was a mystery. You shouldn’t care what he thinks at all, and yet here you stood, fretting over the cleanliness of your living space. “Right—um, do you want some coffee?”

He smiled, “That would be nice.”

While you got him a cup of coffee (subconsciously choosing the nicest mug you own), he examined the studio. All the earth tones, plants, decorations, and pictures strung up were so you. Fuck, it even smelled like you, and he never realized how much he enjoyed coconut and vanilla. He strolled over to a wooden stand that was adorned with framed pictures and trinkets. His eyes glossed over the photos of you with your mother, most of them being childhood photos. What caught his eye the most, however, was the frame that was turned down; shunned away from seeing the light. Forbidden to be remembered.

“Thank you for bringing my wallet to me, I don’t think I said it before,” you spoke, feeling the need to entertain him somehow.

He hummed, picking up the picture. “‘T’s no problem at all, darlin’. Happy to help.” There he goes again with that stupid nickname.

Thomas’s heart clenched as he realized the photograph faced down was of you and him, on the last day of Freshman year. He dragged his thumb over the memory of eating ice cream together, a soft, nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. The moment after the photo was taken, you dropped your cone on the concrete. He shared the rest of his cup with you. He was never much of a cone guy, anyway.

“You still like your coffee black?”

His head snapped up, and he set the photo down. Thomas left it standing up this time. “Yep. ‘M surprised you remember that.”

You gave him a half-hearted shrug, averting your gaze. “I remember more about you than I’d like.”

The cup made a screeching noise when you slid it across the table to him. He mumbled a thanks, taking a seat across from you. “That feels like an insult.”

“Mm, it might be.” A teasing grin found its way on your features.

”Wish you wouldn’t be so hostile, darlin’. Are you ever gonna stop hating me?” His tone wasn’t accusatory. More so tired, exhausted from playing this game. He wanted it to end.

“I don’t know what you’re wanting me to say, Jefferson. That I was wrong?” You scoffed, the grin slowly fading.

“No, that’s not what ‘m wanting from you,” he frowned, “I just don’t want to continue being the villain when ‘m not the same guy from high school.”

Well, that was a door you didn't want to open. Not right now at least.

“Hate is a strong word,” you mumbled. “I wouldn’t be serving you coffee and inviting you into my home if I hated you. Mutual distaste would be a better classification.”

“Mutual?” He echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. He took another drawn out sip. How he managed to enjoy black coffee had always been repulsive.

A tense silence fell over the two of you. He scanned your home again, still uncomfortable at sitting down and having coffee with you. It felt like it was crossing so many lines, it felt like it was moving too fast in getting you to warm up to him, and it felt like it would all come crumbling down. He knew this would be a one time thing. That he’d have to leave because you’d kick him out, but to him this was progress. You weren’t being overly rude or insulting him at every turn; you invited him inside and offered him coffee! Sure, you still didn’t like him, but admitting you don’t hate him is a step forward.

“Y’know, I didn’t think you’d move to New York of all places,” he broke the silence.

Your eyes flickered down to how he ran his finger over the rim of your coffee mug. “I didn’t either. But Virginia was unfulfilling. I needed something more.”

“Do you feel fulfilled?”

“Kind of. There’s always something that’s missing. New York is a lot different than Charlottesville, especially the people, but I enjoy it here,” you finally answered. “What about you? I thought you moved to France for good.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I only went to France because my parents wanted me to study abroad. They stayed in Monticello to take care of the family, and I lived with my sister for a while. When I finished college, I moved up here.”

A knit formed in your eyebrows. “Weren’t you going to become a lawyer? At least, that’s what I remember you telling me.”

He inhaled sharply, unwanted memories and feelings flooding him. “That was the plan. My parents had my whole career mapped out, but I fell in love with teachin’, so I switched majors.”

“Hm, and how did they take that?”

He chuckled, but there was no humor behind it. It was completely dry, uncomfortable, pain-filled. “You’ve met my parents. How do you think they’d react?”

The way your features softened didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Oh. You still keep in contact with them, right?”

“Yeah, of course. ‘M actually goin’ down to visit for the holidays. Not that I’m particularly thrilled to do so.”

You tilted your head, “No? I guess with such a big family, it gets a little overwhelming.”

He shrugged awkwardly, leaning back in the chair. “A little is an understatement. Mom and Pop get real pushy about—“ he paused, looking conflicted. “Nevermind. I should probably head out. Thank you for the coffee, Y/n.”

Part of you wanted to tug him back down, ask him to finish his sentence, to let him pour his heart out and rant, but you didn’t. He was visibly uncomfortable in the way he wiped his hands on his hoodie and glanced around. Urging him to open up when he isn’t ready wouldn’t be a great option. “Sure,” you whispered, watching him head to the door.

He stole one final look at you, giving a firm nod before leaving.

—

“She invited me inside, James. And she willingly made me coffee,” Thomas ranted, one hand on the steering wheel while the other hung out the window, letting the cool air in.

“That’s great,” Madison coughed, “it sounds like she’s coming around just like I predicted. Who’s right, per usual?”

Jefferson turned into his parking garage, finding his usual spot and sitting there while he spoke to his best friend on the phone. “Hah, don’t get ahead of yourself. I can tell she’s still hesitant to open up. She’s always been that way, never openin’ up to anyone. It used to take me thirty minutes to get her to admit she was feelin’ sad, and a whole ‘nother thirty to admit why.”

“Hm. Well, again, just keep trying to talk to her. If you show her you trust her, she’ll trust you. That’s how relationships are built.”

“See, you’re real wise when you apply yourself, but eighty percent of the time you’re a dick. Why is that?” Jefferson teased, a smirk evident in his voice, even across the city.

“Because anytime I try to be helpful you call me a dick. I’ll talk to you later, Thomas,” James snorted, hanging up the phone after his friend laughed out a goodbye.

Thomas replayed the conversation from earlier over and over in his mind, rethinking his choice of words and your responses. It really wasn’t a bad talk. The walls you put up were slowly starting to crumble; he knew the old you well enough to know those same habits would carry into adulthood. James was right about continuing to talk to you. It would take time, but he knew he could earn your trust again through little consistent efforts.

After all, the stonecutter who hammered away at his rock, perhaps a hundred times without cracking it, will eventually split it into two at the hundred-and-first blow. Yet he knew it was not the last blow that did it, but all that had gone before.

[jestersprivilegee]

new high and dry chapter was so cute i loved it sm !!! so happy to see you updating and i just wanted to let you know that you're one of my favorite authors and i hope you're doing well :)

YALL ARE WAY TOO SWEET I’m actually kicking my feet and giggling rn 🤭🤭 I hope you’re doing AMAZING

[jestersprivilegee]

High and Dry | ch. 5

t. jefferson x reader

You go to a bar and he teaches you how to play pool.

Warnings: swearing, if you can’t tell I have no idea what its like to drink or go to a bar OR play pool

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: thank y’all for y’all’s patience!! enjoy

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view,” you read. Thursday had come quick and Friday had come even quicker, letting you get to the second chapter. “Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”

The quote was a classic. When people think of Atticus Finch, that’s what pops into most of their minds. Even in your own life, you did your best to give compassion and empathy to everyone, envisioning what they must be going through when something happened.

Well, everyone except for Thomas, that is.

You hadn’t put much thought into his experience with you. What he might be feeling every time you shun him away, what his thought process is when responding to your petty comments, why he acted the way he did all those years ago and why he’s acting like this now—it wasn’t taken into consideration by you at all.

Should you consider things from his point of view? Probably. That’s what Suzanne would tell you. In a dark, repressed corner of your mind—no, your heart—that’s what it’s screaming at you to do. Yet for some bizarre, inexplicable reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

In more exciting news, Friday meant that you would be going out with all your new friends. Getting whiskey bent and hell bound was enjoyable every once in a while, and Lord knows you needed a drink. Something to take the edge off. Your mind was consumed by the event happening later in the day, so much that you could hardly focus. Having friends to actually hang out with, who wanted to hang out with you, was way more exciting than you remembered.

Lafayette and John had talked about it all through lunch, hyping it up and sharing as many stories that they could recall. They talked about all the people that usually attended, some of which you haven’t met before, who to avoid when drunk or tipsy, etcetera etcetera. There was one teensy, tiny problem though.

Thomas would be going.

Him, and whoever the fuck this Madison girl was, cause they mentioned her name, too.

There was still a flame of jealousy that ignited in you, which you hated because you shouldn’t feel resentment over some poor girl who was friends with Jefferson. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to her, either. Regardless of who he decides to mingle with now, you refused to let Thomas ruin your night. Avoiding him would be the safest bet although he’s unpredictable and might decide to infiltrate your night himself. Still, you wouldn’t let him have power over your mood. That’s no way to live.

“Ah, you made it! Welcome to ze party, ami,” Lafayette’s thick French accent greeted you, a warm smile on his face and a half empty glass already in his hands.

The Vera Cruz was the type of place where regulars knew each other's stories better than their own. Scents of stale beer mingled with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and a dried floral air freshener struggling to keep up. There was a worn out pool table tucked in the corner, illuminated by a dim overhead light and a flickering neon sign.

An vacant stool was next to Hercules, so you swiftly snagged it after saying hello to everyone. The whole gang was there, as well as a few other teachers you recognized playing pool or occupying other tables. No sign of Thomas yet (not that you were looking for him or anything haha).

“Well don’t you look lovely,” Hercules grinned, resting his elbow on the wooden counter.

“Thanks, you look great per usual,” you shot a sweet smile his way, your hands grazing over the casual dress clinging to your hips. Your eyes flickered to the full glass of beer resting lazily in his hands. “Thought I was late based on how much Lafayette has already drank, but it looks like you only just started. The French really know how to have a good time, huh?”

“Oh, no, this is my second one,” He chuckled. “You’ll figure out pretty quickly how heavy drinkers we can be.” A playful wink was sent your way, and you fumbled over your response.

“Noted,” you said.

Alex stumbled over to you, swinging his arm over you and Hercules. “Y/n! I was just talking about you,” he grinned. He wasn’t tipsy, more so a little mellowed out by the substances he consumed. “We were just about to do shots, before a certain someone gets here. I need to be out of it to handle dealing with him.”

You shared a laugh, spinning to face him. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“I never lie,” he shrugged with a sly smile, “you should join us. I promise you it’ll be fun!”

With a reluctant grin, you nodded. The last time you did shots with someone must’ve been in college, when you were young and full of ambition. Somehow that got lost to depression. “I’ll trust you this time,” you said, following him to where he and John were sitting.

“Yikes, you’re making a big mistake in putting your trust in him,” John laughed, sliding a couple shot glasses to you and Hamilton.

“Ey! Don’t ruin this. Someone finally believes in me. It’d be nice if you’d show that same trust, too,” Alex pouted.

Laurens narrowed his eyes, shifting to where he was facing Alex. “Now, you know I’d do anything for you, Alexander. Don’t give me that shit.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes, the playful banter between them making you feel a tinge out of place. You know that feeling when you’re hanging out with two people who are clearly closer to each other, and they already have their own inside jokes; they laugh with each other so freely that you can’t help but feel awkward? That’s what you were experiencing.

The familiar feeling of missing out.

At some point, your name was called out, snapping you from your trance. They held up their shot glasses, a fiery determination beaming in their smiles. You weakly held yours up too before taking a shot at the same time as them. The liquid burned as it trickled down your throat, prompting you to grimace by accidentally letting it sit on your tongue for too long. John and Alex were hyped up, slapping each other on the back, their laughs mixing with the other voices in the room.

“God, I haven’t done that in forever,” you said, pushing the glass away from you. Your nose was scrunched in disgust, still not over the bitter taste of the alcohol. “Almost forgot how shit it really is,” you laughed.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you’re already done! We’re just getting started,” Laurens said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You winced. “I think one was enough for me.”

Some cheers were heard from other teachers, signaling someone else arrived. When you craned your neck to see who entered, and to your disappointment, public enemy #1 filled your view. Thomas Jefferson, along with a tall, dark bulky man you hadn’t seen before.

You turned back to the duo, a shared look of dread between all three of you.

“Still want to refuse that second shot?” Alex teased.

“I don’t know, I might have to take you up on it now.” A breathy laugh escaped you as anxiety churned in your stomach. You just had to pray he wouldn’t come up and talk to you, but knowing your luck? It would probably happen.

Thomas and his unfamiliar buddy found their way over to a table with a bald, shorter guy who you encountered in passing. Aaron Burr, you think it was? You remember Alexander briefly talking about their frenemy-like relationship. How it started out good, amazing even, until Burr got jealous about all the attention the young teacher was getting. Some feud involving Jefferson happened, and they haven’t spoken since. Damn shame.

“Who’s the guy he’s with?” You asked, leaning against the counter while all three of you stared at them.

“That’s Madison. I’m surprised you don’t know him, I feel like they’re always together,” Alex commented.

Hold on. You thought Madison was a girl? There was no way you seriously felt an ounce of jealousy over a guy who just happened to be called Madison by everyone, with no one using any sort of pronoun to distinguish him. “I thought Madison was a girl?” You voiced your thoughts aloud.

Both Alex and John burst out into laughter at the pure confusion on your face. “James Madison is very much a guy,” he chuckled, patting your shoulder.

“Why not just call him James then?” A pout formed on your lips.

“There’s a James Monroe here, too, everyone just calls him Monroe. It’s easier that way,” he shrugged.

The moment you glanced back at Thomas, you were surprised to see he was already staring dead at you. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, a flicker of familiarity. Immediately, your stomach dropped, and you turned towards Laurens. He looked a little confused and concerned at the sickness in your face.

“He’s staring directly at me,” you whisper-shouted. His eyebrows raised up and like the dunce he is, he peered in Thomas’ direction. “Don’t look!” You seethed, grabbing his arm.

“Sorry!” He winced, ducking down a little. Over the chatter, the rhythmic clicking of 8-ball, and old Rock and Roll playing, you heard the distinct laugh of Thomas Jefferson. “He was staring at you.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” you sighed. “Let’s just ignore him. Maybe he’ll get the hint and leave us alone.”

“He’s coming this way,” John whispered.

Your eyes shot open. “What?”

“Fancy seein’ you here, Y/n,” Thomas smirked, his hand coming to rest on the back of your stool while he towered over you. A scowl appeared on your face when you turned to look at him.

He was wearing a deep purple sweater that hugged his muscles perfectly, as well as a simple gold chain and watch that screamed he was well-put together. Something about him in that outfit, something about that signature scent of cologne he always wore made you swallow hard, and was it hot in here? Because why did your cheeks feel so warm?

“I did get invited, so…” you muttered, trying so hard not to focus on the fact he was standing so close that you could see every individual detail ranging from his lips to the dark, espresso colored eyes that were now trailing down to your dress. Wait. Was he checking you out?

“Run along now, Jefferson, she’s hanging out with us,” Hamilton intervened. Thomas quirked an eyebrow, straightening up.

“Oh, I’m not here for her. I came to say hi to Lafayette. Just thought I’d be polite and stop to say hello to a colleague.”

“You’ve said it, so now you can go,” you spat. Why were you being so bitter? Your nose scrunched up in disgust at how ugly you were being, because when were you okay with being unkind to people? Even to those you don’t like?

“No need to be so hostile, darlin’,” he laughed airily. The use of the pet name sent a chill down your spine. “I actually wanted to see if either of y’all would be up for a game of 8-ball? I think the pool table just opened up.”

You glanced at Alex who grunted, waving you off. “That’s all you, Y/n, I will not be partaking in this.”

“I’ll play,” John chimed in, looking at you since Alex ruled himself out. He had already found his way over to the Schuyler sisters’ table to flirt with Eliza. Hamilton had told you about his infatuation with her, describing how he’d been leaving her heartfelt letters to try and win her over. By the way her hand was on his arm and how she was giggling before he even said anything, it was working.

You sighed begrudgingly, “I guess I’ll play.”

“Perfect!” Thomas’ face lit up in a beaming grin. “Losers have to buy the other drinks. I’ll go get Lafayette to be my partner.” He walked off to find Lafayette while you and John made your way over to the pool table.

“Can’t believe I agreed to this,” you muttered under your breath. Laurens patted your back sympathetically, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey, at least you have me as your partner? I’m amazing at 8-ball, so you have no reason to worry. Your bank account will not suffer on my watch.”

A shared chuckle broke the bitterness in you, and suddenly this game didn’t seem so bad. Thomas dragged Lafayette over, a genuine smile on his face. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him genuinely happy since high school. He looked good when he was smiling.

Before you could say anything, Thomas said something to Lafayette in French, and damn. You knew he moved to France for a few years, but you hadn’t heard him speak the Romance language before. It clicked something within you. And you hated yourself for it, because why were you drooling over Thomas Jefferson speaking French?

Lafayette’s eyes widened at whatever Thomas said, and he answered in a hushed tone, glancing between you and him.

“You catching anything they’re saying?” John whispered.

“No idea,” you hummed. “Thank god you’re good at this game, because I have no idea how to play.” You admitted.

John looked away sheepishly, a guiltiness in his posture. “About that…”

“Hold on—you told me you’re good at this game!”

He paused, pursing his lips. “So I may have been exaggerating a tad.”

“John, I swear to fucking god if I have to buy Jefferson shit—“

“I know how to play a little bit! I’m just not… particularly great. But I promise I can help,” he assured you, his hand motions becoming animated.

“You better not sell.”

A devilish grin slowly spread on Lafayette's face, and he nodded to whatever Thomas said. The two finally broke from their side conversation. You were still hung up on the butterflies that filled your stomach as Jefferson walked towards you, churning with anxiety at knowing virtually nothing about pool.

“Ready to lose?” Thomas held a cocky demeanor, wiping his hands on the sides of his sweater. A nervous habit he still practiced. Weird how you remember the little things about him.

“As if. I will die before I ever pay for you,” you scoffed. While you were distracted in shit talking Jefferson (knowing full well you’d lose), Lafayette was whispering with John, although you couldn’t catch any of it.

“Hm, that’s too bad. For future reference, I like my whiskey neat, or a tequila sunrise if I’m feelin‘ like a rockstar,” he teased. You briefly glanced at his arms when he crossed them, ignoring the thoughts screaming that he was hot. Blame it on the alcohol.

“Was that a reference to The Rolling Stones and the Eagles?”

His smile widened. “Only you’d know that.”

Laurens cleared his throat, breaking the banter with a nervousness in the way he held himself. “I think I’m gonna partner with Lafayette instead, so that it’s fair.”

You paled. “Wait, what? I thought we would be partners?”

He gave you a weak shrug, glancing at Thomas, then Lafayette. “Figured since neither of us know how to play, we should split with the people who actually do.”

A frown tugged your lips. They had to have planned this or something. There was no way that all the whispering they did wasn’t about you. Before you could protest further, the Frenchman himself stepped forward. “Why don’t we get zis game started, oui?”

Right when you weren’t looking, Lafayette shared a nod with Thomas, flashing him a brief smile. Thomas’ hand found it’s way on your lower back as he bent down to whisper in your ear. “Guess you won’t be buyin’ me anything, huh?”

The simplistic touch of the curve in your back was electric. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Part of you resented yourself for fretting over the graze of his fingertips. “Don’t look so disappointed,” you glanced up at him.

He hummed, straightening up with that smug smirk still lingering on him. “Mm, I won’t be. There’s always hope for the future.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed in response. Still keeping his hand placed on the dip in your back, he gently led you to the table, leaning his other hand on it.

“Let us get a practice shot in,” he said to the opposing pair, who nodded in return. “You know how to hold the stick?” He asked.

Embarrassed, you bit your lower lip. “Vaguely. I’ve only ever played once, and let’s just say it didn’t end too well.”

Thomas chuckled, grabbing the cue stick and giving a demonstration on how to properly handleit. “Hold it at your hip with your dominant hand. Your back hand should be perpendicular with the cue,” he explained. For some odd reason, you found yourself staring at the way his broad shoulders strained against his sweater, how his hand gripped the stick. Once again, your thoughts circled back to the idea of him being really, really fucking handsome. Infuriatingly so.

“You should be aligned with the cue ball. Make sure you’re holdin’ the stick usin’ your thumb and index finger, and maybe your middle if you want more power. Watch me.” He lowered himself so he was eye level with the ball, leaning forward. He slid the cue stick in the V-shaped opening between his fingers, seeing a flicker of tension in his forearms before he loosened himself.

Hm. Why were you suddenly drooling?

He pushed the stick forward, effectively hitting a solid into a pocket for demonstration. Thomas straightened up, wearing a satisfied smile as Lafayette rolled the balls back to him. “Your turn.”

You took the cue, inhaling sharply and attempting to push down the nervousness bubbling in your stomach. You lined yourself up like how Thomas said, bending over to be eye-to-eye with the sphere. A huff of disagreement escaped him, and you glanced up to see him knitting his eyebrows in concern.

“You’re a little stiff, darlin’, relax,” he commented. The pet name seemed to fly right past him naturally. He came to your side, placing his hand near your tricep to readjust your form. He didn’t say anything about the way your breath hitched, but you knew he noticed it.

With more correct form, you took a deep breath before sliding the stick across your fingers, hitting the ball just shy of the pocket. “Damn,” you winced, standing up straight with a frown.

“‘Ts alright, no sweat,” he reassured, “try again.”

He watched with patience as you lined up with the cue ball once more, biting your tongue to focus. This time, it went in.

“There you go! You got it,” he grinned. You found a sense of pride swelling in your chest at the praise.

“Now are you ready to play?” Lafayette whined, and the sound of his voice broke the moment between you and Thomas. There was a pang of disappointment when you realized other people were there, and it couldn’t just be you and Jefferson hanging out like old times.

“I suppose,” Jefferson sighed. He glanced at you one final time before moving to help set up the game.

—

The game had ended up in a loss for you and Jefferson. Surprisingly, you made a pretty good team and worked nicely together. But considering how little experience you have, it made sense that Lafayette and John came out victorious. Unfortunately for you, that meant buying them a round.

“Maybe next time, ami,” Lafayette snickered, carrying his drink that you paid for over to Hercules.

“Thanks for the drink, losers!” John laughed as he found Alexander across the bar, still sitting with the Schuylers.

Thomas chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Assholes,” he breathed out. You had taken seats next to one another, loosely holding a drink of preference. “I can’t believe you put up with their shit.”

A snort escaped you. “I can’t either.”

Silence enveloped the conversation, but it wasn’t awkward. There was a hint of comfort in being in his presence again. It was so natural to be around him, not needing to say a single word to know he’s there. But you wouldn’t acknowledge that, because it was the alcohol making you feel all warm and fuzzy. Yeah. The shot and half a drink you’ve had. That’s it.

“That was fun,” he commented, “despite our loss. Which was totally your fault, by the way.” He teased, but there was a softness to him when he looked at you. He took a long sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” you finally responded, “I had fun. Didn’t think it’d be possible, but life continues to surprise me every day.”

A low hum of agreement rumbled from his chest. The night drifted into more drinks, more stolen glances, more dancing and laughing that you didn’t even notice how you left your wallet on the counter.

And you sure didn’t notice who found it, either.

[jestersprivilegee]

COOKING SO HARD RN. UPDATE EITHER TONIGHT OR TMR

[jestersprivilegee]

To let everyone know:

Updates (for High and Dry & A Night to Remember) will be slow for these next couple of weeks. Summer is almost here so itll pick up then but the writers curse is hitting bc I just got harassed lol. Anyway thanks for the support from everyone! Stay safe 🫶