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fyeahmeninroyalnavy · 3 years

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#horatio hornblower/archie kennedy modern AU

Rain and Puffy Shirts

Dedicated to and prompted by my dear friend @professorlehnsherr-almashy

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Archibald Theo Kennedy, but my friends and family all call me Archie. I'm 27, a Critical Care flight paramedic for the NHS, and significant other to Horatio Edward Hornblower, also 27. He's an artist, and a very good one I might add. Everyone loves his paintings of tall ships and anything to do with the Napoleanic War.

He does allright for himself, well enough that he works from home. He can also sing and play the guitar, which he does for fun. And also to impress me.

We've been sharing a flat for the past three months but we've known one another for about a year. Most of that year we spent just as friends …

No doubt friends in serious denial.

I'm going to be sharing snippets of our life together, but don't worry, you'll be hearing from Horatio too, even though he’s extremely shy.

And now on to our story.

On a chilly Spring evening in London, Horatio and I attended a costume party given by a close friend, William Bush, or Liam as we call him. His home is just around the bend from our flat which is a good thing as we never drink/drive. Horatio looked incredibly gorgeous in his 18th century Royal Navy uniform. I wore one as well and our costumes were the center of attention that evening.

When Horatio had had enough of the party "he can only bear so much of them" we began our walk home. Rather I walked while he staggered. "I should have kept a closer eye on my boyfriend's alcohol consumption that evening but I was having too much fun playing with Liam's new dog Styles. As a result of my distraction Horatio had more to drink than he could handle, which isn't much at all.

"Come on Ratio, watch your step now."

"Horatio knitted his brows looking puzzled. "I am washing it, Arshie. Ekzacly why am I supposed to wash it?”

"So you don't fall, of course." The last time that happened I ended up playing Paramedic while off duty. You were quite the pathetic mess, as I recall." He smiled ruefully.

Horatio appeared puzzled for a moment before answering. "Ah yes, I merember now.

That really hurt! My nose looked awful and I was humilitated, all covered in blood and dirt. Ima bloody klutz!”

Archie snorted. "And you had only had a pint that evening too."

"Like I shaid, Ima bloody klutz!"

"You're my bloody klutz though." He squeezed his mate's shoulder fondly.

"Arshie, he responded, pulling his mate close and nuzzling his nose into a warm neck. Am I? Truly?"

"You know you are my darling, and while I don't mind if you're a bit unsteady I do mind if you get hurt." he answered.

"M'not going to. You won't let me."

As soon as he spoke Horatio tripped and nearly fell flat onto the pavement.

"Whoa, careful there! I can't have that sweet face spoiled by the footpath! He steadied him in strong arms. Since you definitely went over your limit tonight, I doubt you’ll be very happy come morning, my poor lamb.”

"But I'm reeeally happy rish now, my Arshie Bear, he slurred, an arm draped affectionately over his boyfriend’s shoulder. C'mere, you lil' snugglebunny, and give me a kish!”

He complied readily, never able to resist kissing those soft full lips. Even when completely sloshed, his Horatio's kisses were always like heaven. And Archie loved when Horatio was so open and unguarded, a very different man than most people knew him to be. He was a cheerful, snuggly and affectionate drunk.

He kissed the soft sweet mouth slowly and tenderly, making both of them hum with pleasure. When at last they parted he was rewarded with a happy, goofy smile that warmed his soul.

"I do love you sho very much my dearest,"he sighed.

"And I love you my sweet Horatio. I can express no kinder sign of love than this kind kiss.”

"Don't make me cry, Mr. Kennedy. I have a repu, repustation to uphold."

"Your reputation is safe with me. I'll never reveal what a sentimental fellow you really are, he replied as he brushed curls away from his mate's forehead. Archie glanced up at the gathering clouds anxiously. C'mere. I can smell rain and we need to get home."

Suddenly Horatio felt himself being hoisted over Archie's broad shoulders, his head upside down so that he was looking at the ground. He burst into peals of laughter. "Arsheee, put me down! I can waltz just fine, an I'm much too heavy. Wait a minute. What is thish we have here?"

He jumped suddenly and squeaked. "Ratio, leave my bloody arse alone!" There was another flinch and a squeal, followed by hysterical giggling from the offender.

"Can't. Ish really cute and ish right here where I can pinsh it!"

"You're incorrigible when you're drunk, you know that, right? And damned adorable as well."

"Can't help it if your bum ish so nice and pinshable. Ima pinsh it again!"

"Owww! That hurt! You're truly living up to your nickname tonight Honey Badger. Not caring and all that. And since you won't play nice I'm trying things a different way."

He swiftly shifted positions so that he was carrying his love in his arms, protecting himself from his cheeky offender.

Horatio merely grinned and wrapped both arms around his neck just as a cool rain began falling.

"Arshie, you can't possibly carry me like this!"

"I already am, my darling, long legs and all!"

"Have I ever told you just how much I love being held by you? "He nuzzled Archie's neck and kissed it.

Archie swallowed hard as a deep feeling of warmth and affection for the man he loved took his breath away. He stopped and stood still, just holding Horatio tighter and staring into those soft brown eyes, wet lashes impossibly long. He knew they should get moving soon, but the moment felt to precious to waste.

"And I love holding you." Pressing their foreheads together, he sighed contententedly, then began moving purposefully towards home.

Eventually they made it to their flat, completely drenched but happy.

Archie put Horatio down but kept one arm tucked around his waist for support as he unlocked the door to their flat.

"Let's get you into some dry clothing before you catch a chill."

On queue, Horatio began to shiver and his previously cheerful demeanor changed abruptly. His lips turned down into a pout, his brow furrowing.

"How'd I get sho drunk Arshee? Someone must of put a tot of rum in my Coke! Was it you?"

He snorted. "I would never."

"Will you help me? I can't make things work and there's two of you now. I’m going to regret this later, aren’t I?”

He smiled sympathetically.

"Probably. But I'm going to take very good care of you, so no worries, okay?" He helped Horatio to their bedroom, grabbed some towels from the cupboard and wrapping him in one helped him lie down on the bed. "I'll be right back."

He went into the kitchen for a glass of water and some aspirin, took dry boxers and a tee shirt from a drawer and returned to the bed.

"Here, take these aspirin and drink all the water. Archie lifted Horatio up and helped him drink. There we go. Now, let's get you into some dry clothing." He began tugging at the wet garments.

"Achee, you're taking all my clothes off! Horatio began to giggle. Take yours off too!"

"Another time my darling. You're a bit too inebriated for anything but cuddles I fear.”

"M'not. Please?"he whined.

"Let's just concentrate on getting you dry before you catch cold. I won't have you getting sick under my watch.”

A cross between a growl and a groan was heard but Archie just smiled and concentrated on his task. He was at his best as a caregiver; it was an integral part of his profession after all. But being allowed to care for his partner so intimately was everything to him. It had taken some work to get to this point in their relationship. And now that they were there, he cherished it.

"There we are! I think that's dry enough. Fluffy."

"I'm not Fluffy!" He playfully batted at his mate, smiling impishly.

"No? Perhaps if I brought you a mirror it would change your mind." He ruffled the dark brown ringlets affectionately.

Horatio shivered. "Will you hurry and get changed? I'm cold and I need you to keep warm. My Achee Bear, he mumbled sleepily. Love your cuddles."

"Of course. I'll be back in a flash.

Archie quickly undressed, dried himself, and changed. Horatio was chilled and his teeth were chattering, so his mate was in a hurry to join him. He pulled back the covers, got in bed, and wrapped his strong arms around his shivering partner, pulling him close.

"Is this better?"

Horatio sighed contentedly. "Much." He nuzzled into Archie's neck, murmuring nonsensical phrases.

"My poor Horatio, you're still cold as an ice lolly." He began rubbing his hands up and down his partner's back to generate warmth.

"Mmm, a melting one now. There's nothing in this world I love more than your hugs, my dearest. Or hearing you say my name. He smiled shyly and ducked his head. Well, almost nothing!"

Archie grinned in delight, blue eyes sparkling. He licked his lips and jutted out his chin in a cheeky little smirk. He kissed the tip of Horatio's nose, then pulled his head to lay against his broad shoulder. "Sleep now, darling. I worry that tomorrow will be a long day for you." He stroked the soft curls, relishing the silky texture.

"Mmhm, love you, Bear," he answered sleepily.

"And I love you. I'm here if you need me. Always."

The next morning:

Archie was cheerfully humming while making coffee, tea, and toast. He was still dressed in his boxers and a v neck tee-shirt, his feet bare. His handsome face was clean shaven, his golden hair neatly brushed, and his blue eyes bright and clear. The previous night's party and being caught in a downpour had not affected his mood and constitution in any way.

Horatio could never understand this as he hated mornings with a passion, needing his coffee and toast to begin functioning normally.

But today wasn't even a normal day. Horatio had had way too much to drink last night and along with Archie had gotten caught in a downpour.

His hair had gotten very wet and had been towel dried by Archie. As a result his hair was extremely fluffy and his curls were out of control. He had dark circles under his eyes and the beginning of a cold. Add to that a headache, nausea, and no coffee and you get one very grumpy Horatio Hornblower. He groaned loudly upon hearing his mate in the kitchen.

"Acheee, why didn't you stop me last night?"

Hearing his partner's distress call, he immediately made his way to their bedroom.

"Bad morning, Ratio darling?"

His mate huffed and scowled, his brow furrowing. He blinked his eyes, squinting.

"Looking for these, Honey Badger?" Archie asked cheerfully, handing his glasses to Horatio.

He accepted them grudgingly, placing them on his face as he mumbled "Damn your eyes, Mr. Kennedy."

Archie couldn't help but laugh. "Oh Horatio, what can I do to help, my love?"

The grumpy expression softened a bit. He slowly stood up and groaned.

"Just kill me now and get it over with please, he whined, wrapping his arms around his mate and slumping against him. I feel as if my head might explode."

"I truly hope that won't happen. I'm very fond of that beautiful head myself. Will rubbing it help?"he crooned, massaging the back of his neck gently.

"Mmhm, that's nice Bear" he mumbled into Archie's shoulder.

"Do you think you can manage some toast and coffee? You might feel better with some food in your stomach."

"Ugh, don't want to think of food right now, he groaned dramatically. Might puke!"

"Well, we can't have that. Let's go into the lounge and you can put your head in my lap while I have my tea. Yeah?"

He nodded, allowing himself to be led to the sofa. Archie settled him, carefully covering him with a soft blanket. "There. I'm going for my tea and I'll be back straight away."

"Okay. Don't be too long, Achee" he whined as he removed his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

"Oh, Horatio. You're so incredibly lovable when you're needy," he whispered to himself as he assembled a tray of toast, tea, marmalade, and butter. He decided to include coffee in case his mate changed his mind and a small beaker of ginger ale to help soothe a queasy stomach.

Setting the tray on a table he sat down and Horatio wasted no time plopping his curly head in his boyfriend's lap.

Archie smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Bear, will you, ahem, would you mind running your fingers through my hair?"

"You need not even ask, my darling."

As Archie ran the fingers of one hand through Horatio's curls, he took sips of tea and bites of toast with another, occasionally feeding small bites to his boyfriend. He knew he could get him to accept some food this way.

"You're like a baby bird, you know that don't you?"

Horatio blushed, smiling shyly. "C'mon Achee!"

"Don't go all coy on me now, my darling. It's only the two of us here and no one else. We can and should be totally ourselves, agreed?"

He nodded, reaching up to touch Archie's face.

"You make every part of my life all better. In every way imaginable. Even feeling as miserable as I do, I'm just... at peace I suppose you could say." There was a look of pure bliss on his face as he gazed up adoringly at his mate.

"Umm, I. Archie cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed. I... love making you happy, Horatio. Being here when you need me. Comforting you when you're upset or sick. Making you laugh and smile. He paused, grinning. Even dragging your drunk arse home in the rain and putting you to bed. That's all I ever want." Blue eyes stared into brown. Both had grown misty.

Horatio reached up and gently pulled Archie's lips to his, giving him the sweetest of kisses, telling him without words the depth of his feelings. When the kiss ended, he stroked Archie's cheek gently, still looking into his eyes.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been, babe. And I love you. So much." He caressed the lips of his mate slowly, tenderly.

"And I love you, my darling. My sweet, sweet Horatio." He took his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it reverently.

"Ahem, er, Archie?" A blush began to color his face as he smiled bashfully.

"What? Something you wanted, Ratio" he asked cheekily.

“There is. Let’s go back to bed.”

Archie wasted no time granting his wish!

Later that day

"Please tell me I didn't embarrass myself to the point of never being able to show my face again!"

Archie pursed his lips to keep from smiling as he patted his mouth with his napkin.

"Go on, say something at least! My lunch is sitting in my stomach like a lump of clay. I thought you loved me." Horatio scrubbed his hands across his pale face and groaned.

Archie couldn't help himself any longer and burst out laughing.

"You think you're so clever. Are you having me on about last night and what I did?"

"I wish I was but I'm not! It was, it was so unlike you, I just can't! My sides are hurting." Archie was wiping tears from his flushed face.

Horatio scowled and huffed. "You just wait Mr. Kennedy. Don't think me incapable of getting revenge."

"Listen, Horatio. You really did do everything that I said you did."

Brown eyes stared into blue.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Popping the buttons from your puffy shirt?"

"Mhm."

"And the comment about your Cutlass?"***

"Yes, especially that!" Laughter bubbled up again.

"Noooo! Achee? I don't think I care to know what else I said or did last night. I may actually die from embarrassment!" Horatio rose from his chair and began pacing.

Archie got up from the table and began clearing the dishes from lunch. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"Are you certain you don't want to know?"

Horatio froze and stopped pacing, rolling his eyes.

"Yes! No. I don't know! Damn't!"

"Everyone loved the pet names you have for me, by the way."

"Which ones?"

"Well, there was Archie Bear, Snugglebunny, and Sweet Cheeks."

"Noooo, why did I ever accept that second drink on an empty stomach? Horatio’s eyes suddenly went wide. What about the other name? The naughty one? What must everyone think of me?”

Archie decided his poor partner had had enough ribbing by the look on his pale face and crossed the room, taking him firmly by the shoulders and leading him to sit down on the couch in the lounge. Then he sat next to him, put an arm around his shoulders and made direct eye contact with him.

"I got the distinct impression that everyone thought you funny, adorable, relaxed, and having fun. And probably in love. It's a good thing Horatio. Everyone is happy for you. And for me. You don't have to worry about a thing, okay? He pulled him into a tight hug. I’m sorry for teasing you.”

"S'okay. Not your fault. I already felt sick, then I started overthinking things. You know how I get." He returned the hug affectionately.

"I do know, but next time I won't tease when you're hungover with a cold coming on."

"It's fine. Slowly a sweet smile replaced the frown. You can't help being the most cheeky man in the Uk if not the entire world. I love you anyway."

Archie beamed with delight and plopped himself on Horatio's lap.

***And I love you. My Honey Badger."

“Wait, did I call you the name? The naughty one?”

“I’ll never tell!”

#horatio hornblower #archie kennedy #modern au #fan fic #archie/horatio #hornblower #fluff #my fic tag #horatio/archie

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

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initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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deja-you · 4 years

Text

foreign affairs | part three | d.c.

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 5.3k

author’s note: this is the last chapter of this series! it’s been so much fun writing this for you guys, hope you’ve enjoyed it. fair warning, this chapter/ending is pretty melancholic.

trailer | previous

Although his grandmother had wanted him to be, Lafayette wasn’t Catholic.

Like any other Parisian, he might attend a special Christmas or Easter service, but he wouldn’t call himself a Catholic. His grandmother had always wanted him to be more devout in his faith. Since his father had died when he was young and his mother was a young woman just starting off her political career, his grandmother raised him for the most part.

She was an organist and would play for different churches every weekend, never finding a church she liked well enough to stay very long. His grandmother had even taught Lafayette to play a few songs. At one point, she had bought Lafayette a crucifix on a chain to keep with him.

It wasn’t one of those cool, sleek chains you would see people wearing proudly. It was a silver chain with dark beads on it, something you might see an old lady wearing. A silver chain with a tiny Jesus on a tiny cross. He had lost it almost immediately.

Lafayette had always had a habit of misplacing items. In high school, he had conveniently lost his homework on multiple occasions. He was always losing just one half of a pair of socks. Could you imagine how stupid he looked walking around with one black sock and one white sock on? He couldn’t even remember how many times he had woken up hungover with no idea of where his wallet or keys were.

The point is, Lafayette was a grown man who was used to losing things. Yet, no matter how many items he lost, he still wasn’t prepared to lose Y/n.

And yes, he knew it was all his fault. Everything seemed to be his fault these days. Lafayette wasn’t even denying that he had made another huge mistake. What kind of idiot sleeps with the secretary of the girl he was in love with? Seriously, why did I write such an idiot?

It had been eight years since Paris. After all this time, Lafayette was just as proficient at destroying his relationship with Y/n as he had been when they were younger. You would think that he would learn from his mistakes, or Y/n would have been able to forgive him, but no. Maybe they were young and stupid then, but they were still very much young and very much stupid.

Lafayette had made a stupid decision. If it hadn’t been clear to him the night before, it was blatantly apparent to him the next morning while Sybil was getting dressed.

“Last night was a mistake.” He cringed at his words as soon as he said them. Last time he had woken up next to a girl and told her it was a mistake, it didn’t go so well.

“Not in a bad way, I mean,” Lafayette quickly amended. “I am sorry, was that rude to say?”

Sybil gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read. “No, it’s alright. I agree with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “it was unprofessional, and by the looks of it, it didn’t help you get whoever she is off your mind.”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking at the bed or the floor or the window or at anyone but her. “You are right. I just... Anyway, this can’t happen again.”

“No, never. It was a bad idea to begin with,” Sybil muttered.

There was a silence that fell between them, neither of them knowing what to say until Lafayette awkwardly said, “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Right, right. Are you going to Congresswoman L/n’s election night party?” It was more of a way to fill the silence than actual curiosity.

At the reminder of Y/n, Lafayette had to stop him self from outwardly groaning, but he couldn’t help but grimace. If things with her hadn’t been messed up before, they definitely would be now.

“I should attend that, shouldn’t I? I’m just not sure Y/n will want me there.”

“You are a major donor,” Sybil pointed out. “It would make sense. If you and the Congresswoman don’t get along, why do you come around the office so often and make contributions?”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that, and his silence was telling. Suddenly everything clicked for Sybil. The frequent visits to Congresswoman L/n’s office. The disappointment on his face when she had told him Y/n specifically didn’t want to talk to him. The woman Sybil had asked him about last night. The way he called her by her first name.

“Oh no. The woman you’re in love with is Congresswoman L/n, isn’t it?” Sybil pieced it together.

Lafayette’s mouth hung open silently, his eyes told her she was correct.

“I never would have kissed you if I had known. I never would have done a lot of things with you if I had known. My boss? Please tell me I’m wrong about this.”

“You’re not.”

She groaned. “And it was so obvious, wasn’t it?”

“It’s obvious?”

“Of course! How did I not realize until now? I don’t want to get in the middle of anything, I just didn’t know.”

“You’re not getting in the middle of anything.” Lafayette shook his head. “I ruined any chance I had with Y/n long before last night. I really think she wants me out of her life this time. I should get on the next plane back to France, shouldn’t I?”

“Are you asking me, your one night stand, for advice?” Sybil said. “Not going to lie, this is a first for me. You’re going to miss the election night party if you leave.”

“Does it matter if I go to this event? Y/n doesn’t want to be with me, showing up to a party isn’t going to change that.”

“Look,” Sybil said firmly, “if you really love her, does it really matter if she wants to be with you or not? If you love her, you should want what’s best for her and her career, even if that means she still doesn’t want to be with you.”

He bit his cheek and thought her words over. “I get that, it’s just...”

“It’s your decision. Regardless of whatever happened between the two of you, she could use your support at the election party. Think about it, okay?”

John Adams was going to win the race, he had been ahead in the polls for weeks now. Thomas Jefferson had run an admirable campaign, well, as admirable as a campaign could be that outwardly trashed congress members in the media. Y/n never took his insults personally, even though she knew Jefferson wanted her to.

Tonight she wasn’t going to let thoughts of Jefferson get her down, even though the news anchors on the television would continuously bring him up. Tonight was going to be a big win for the Democratic party. Jefferson was trailing Adams in electoral votes, and there were only a few states left to be accounted for.

Y/n has spent most of the night talking with voters and showing off some of her bartending skills at the venue they had rented out for the election party. She was having a lively conversation with a single-mom when Lafayette walked in the door. Suddenly, it was like she had tunnel vision. Everyone else was dark and blurry, but everything about Lafayette seemed to be vibrant and in focus.

Since the last time she had seen him, Y/n had been doing her best not to waste her time thinking about him. Not that it was an easy task to do, Lafayette had a way of being memorable. Still, Y/n had bigger things to focus on than an old flame.

Now election night had finally rolled around. No politician was bothering Y/n because they were too focused on the presidential election or their own reelections. And at this time at night, the polls in Y/n’s district had closed. There was no more campaigning she could do at this moment, so she had nothing to distract her from her former best friend who was staring at her from the other side of the room.

Saying a brief apology to the woman she was talking to, Y/n began weaving her way through the crowd until she was standing a foot a way from Lafayette. Her red lips formed a cordial smile, and to any onlooker, it looked like a kind greeting between two acquaintances.

“I didn’t think you would show up,” Y/n said cooly.

He bit the inside of his cheek and tilted his head to the said ever so slightly. “I almost didn’t. I know things have been awkward between us lately, but I wanted to show my support for your success. No matter what happens between us, I’m always going to have your back Y/n.”

Her mouth parted slightly, a little surprised and touched by his response. When she didn’t respond, Lafayette quickly added on, “but I can always leave if you don’t want me here.”

“No, no.” She closed her mouth and shook her head. “No, stay. I want you to stay.”

A small smile began making its way across Lafayette’s features. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Nathan had appeared at Y/n’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Nathan said, adjusting his glasses. “Good to see you could make it, Monsieur de Lafayette. You think I could borrow the Congresswoman for a moment?” He turned to face Y/n. “They’re about to call your election.”

“Of course, I’ll see you around, Lafayette.” She gave him another smile before Nathan ushered her to the front of the room where a local newscaster was announcing the results for her district.

The room went quiet and the volume on the tv was turned up. The anchor smiled at the camera and announced, “...and it looks like Representative Y/n L/n has won her reelection campaign by a large margin. Horatio Gates trailed the congresswoman by...”

Y/n wouldn’t know how much she had beaten Horatio Gates by until the next moment. Everything after the anchor announced she had won reelection went unheard. An upbeat victory song had begun playing somewhere in the room, yelling and cheering warmed Y/n from her toes up to her head. Her mouth hung open for the longest time, and before she knew it, she was pulling the nearest person, Nathan, into a tight hug.

At some point, reporters had swarmed the venue and Y/n began giving out answers to all the questions they threw at her. There were a lot of congratulations and thank yous going around, and Y/n nearly lost herself in all the wonderful chaos. There was more wonderful chaos when John Adams was announced the next president of the United States later that evening, but Y/n hadn’t even been given enough time to soak in her own victory.

Don't follow men out to the street at 3 a.m.

The election party officially ended at midnight, but that didn't stop people from staying for a few more hours. At 3 a.m. there were maybe five people left at the party. Now that most people were gone Lafayette decided he would approach Y/n one last time.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure I congratulated you on your win again before I head back to France,” he said.

Y/n blinked. “You’re going home?”

“Early tomorrow morning.”

Y/n’s mouth hung open slightly, but she didn't say anything. Lafayette gave her a thin smile, a polite nod, and then headed out the door.

He had already exited the venue when Y/n processed what had happened. Not heeding my earlier warning, she followed Lafayette out onto the street at 3:00 a.m.

“So that's it, then, is it?” She called after him. “That’s the end?”

He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “The end of what?”

“The end of us. You're just going to leave?”

“Us? What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I regret what I did? That I'm sorry? Because I've already tried that.” He sounded exhausted. “You are just tormenting me now. Do you know how much this is hurting me?”

“You?” Y/n couldn't believe he was acting like the victim. “This is all on you. I can't count how many times you’ve hurt me

“What, you think I don't know that I messed up? You think I don’t regret the decisions I made every day?” Lafayette ran a hand through his hair. “Chèrie, I've used every kind of soap I have, and I still don't feel clean.”

The raw honesty in his words struck both of him deeply. A heavy silence settled between them. Eventually Lafayette reached into his pocket and pulled out two items. He desperately thrusted the objects into her open palm.

“I've been holding on to those for years. I don't want to keep them any longer.”

Y/n looked at the items he had given her. One was an old, worn ticket from a concert. The other item was a necklace. The one she had worn on their one shared night together. Y/n thought she had lost it and never expected to see it again.

“I dated lots of women when I was younger,” he admitted. “It never ended well. I've never been good at being sincere. Every relationship I've been in I ruined. You want to know why we never dated? Because I loved you. To the moon and back.”

“To the moon and back?” She repeated.

He nodded. “I loved you since I've known you. I couldn't let you be another girl I ruin things with. I guess everyone knew we were in love with each other except for us. Even Molly figured it out. That's why we broke up.

“Why didn't we ever tell each other?”

“We were just kids,” he suggested. “We spent all our time watching lovers in rom-coms tell each other what we were too afraid to tell ourselves.”

Y/n stared at the items she held in her hand. She let the ticket and the necklace fall from her hand onto the dark street below.

“This doesn't change anything.” She shook her head. “You walk in dreams. Dreams of what once was, what could have been, and what never will be. You hold onto the tangible things a ticket stub from our first concert, the necklace I lost years ago. You hold onto these objects because they make your dreams feel a little more real. Something you can touch or see, but in the end? It's all in your head.”

“What are you saying, Y/n?”

“Lafayette, I don’t doubt for a second that you loved me. Maybe you still love me. It’s just not enough to make up for all the ways we’ve hurt each other. I’m tired of being hurt, okay?” Y/n tugged at the sleeves of her coat, trying to find the words to tell him what needed to be said. “I’m finally happy and successful. I’m changing the world.”

“I knew you would. I always knew you would.”

In the next few months, Y/n would replay that evening again and again in her mind until it would drive her to the brink of madness. “Out of sight, out of mind” was a proverb Y/n wouldn’t understand until four months after the election night, when the words Lafayette had spoken to her on the street seemed like an eternity ago. When a year passed, that night seemed almost like a figment of her imagination now.

Besides, Y/n didn’t have a lot of time to think about events that had conspired over a year ago now. She had legislation to pass and funding to allocate. There was never a slow day in D.C.

“Y/n, you saw what Fox News said about you this morning?” Nathan asked, setting down a cup of coffee.

More focused on the steaming cup of coffee that had been set down in front of her than anything Nathan had said, she gave him a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. Was it anything new?”

Nathan considered for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not really. They were just informing the public that you’re a radical leftist who wants to abolish ICE and free healthcare for all.”

Y/n scoffed. “They figured out I wan’t to keep families together and take care of the health of millions of American citizens? Oh no.”

“You’re not bothered by any of this?”

“Well, they’re not wrong? By all definitions, I am a radical leftist.” She shrugged and pulled the warm cup of coffee closer to her. “Besides, anyone who’s watching Fox News already has a biased opinion toward me. We’ve got bigger things to worry about, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed. “For one thing, France announced its support for your foreign aid bill. If your bill gets passed, they pledged to match whatever amount we’re spending on foreign aid.”

This seemed to wake Y/n up in a way that her coffee just couldn’t. “Really? That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’ve lined an interview up for you and a French diplomat in an hour downtown. You ready to go?”

Y/n sat up straight in her chair. “You really sprung this on me! Nathan, I haven’t had anytime to prep.”

He rolled his eyes and handed her a thick binder. “It’ll just be a few questions, mostly just to show the public a picture of you and a French official side by side. You can handle any questions, you wrote the damn bill. Besides, we can prep in the car.”

Y/n figured she had no points left to argue, likely Nathan’s intention. Begrudgingly, she followed Nathan out to the front of the building and they got into the backseat of the car. They began going back and forth, Nathan asking her questions on the foreign aid bill, and Y/n responding with well articulated answers.

“See? I told you you had nothing to worry about,” Nathan said in the elevator, finally closing the binder.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “That’s because I’m just magnificent and well-spoken.”

“Yes, yes you are. You’re going to kill this interview.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They began walking over to a small hair and makeup set up, and Y/n froze when she saw who was already on set laughing with the interviewer. She turned on her heel and jabbed a finger into Nathan’s chest.

“You didn’t tell me Lafayette was the French diplomat!” She hissed.

Nathan’s mouth fell open in mock surprise. “Did I forget to mention that to you? How silly of me.”

“Nathan, I swear to God. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I had known Lafayette would be here!”

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you, huh?”

Y/n scowled at him. “I haven’t spoken to him in over a year, and last time we spoke, well...”

“I know you’re not on the best terms. Maybe this will help bury the hatchet.” Nathan suggested.

“Nathan, we need to can--”

“Oh dear, it seems I’m getting a call. I should really take this. I’ll see you back at the office, Y/n.” He motioned to his phone that was clearly not ringing and retreated back to the elevator.

After quietly cursing Nathan under her breath, Y/n resigned to her fate and allowed for some intern to touch up her hair and makeup. When they were done, she was ushered onto set in a seat next to Lafayette and across from their interviewer, J.P. Martin.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Congresswoman L/n.” J.P. Martin said with a disarming grin. “I’m glad you could make it to this interview on such short notice.”

She forced a smile, “thank you for letting me discuss my foreign aid bill.”

Y/n could feel Lafayette’s lingering gaze on her skin, but she refused to take her eyes off the interviewer in front of her. J.P. Martin said something else flattering that Y/n didn’t take to heart, then someone on the crew began to count down, then they were rolling.

“Today I’m joined with Representative Y/n L/n and Ambassador Lafayette to discuss L/n’s foreign aid bill,” J.P. looked straight into the camera with a wide grin. “Before we get into the details of all that, it’s my understanding that Representative L/n and Ambassador Lafayette have a history. Is this true?”

She froze in her chair. How had this interviewer find out what happened between her and Lafayette? Would this be a scandal she found in the newspaper the next morning? In all the time she had taken with Nathan to prep for this interview, she was already caught off guard by the first question.

“Yes, this is very true. Y/n and I go way back. We met when she was studying abroad in Paris and quickly became close friends,” Lafayette said. Y/n finally glanced over at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Well how about that?” J.P. directed his next question at Y/n. “Was it intimidating being friends with President de La Rivière’s son?”

Y/n was feeling more relaxed now after the initial shock. “At first, yes. Of course it was. I’m pretty sure I tripped over my feet the first time I met President de La Rivière.”

“You didn’t!” J.P. said with an amused gasp.

Lafayette chuckled and nodded. “She did. I remember my mother asking me afterwards why I was friends with that awkward American.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” J.P. was positively beaming.

“I think my mother understands now that Y/n is the youngest woman serving in the United States Congress,” Lafayette was subtlety pointing out Y/n’s accomplishments. “And speaking as her son and an official ambassador from France, I can confidently say President de La Rivière was impressed with Y/n’s foreign aid bill.”

“So impressed that the French government has promised to match the amount the U.S. is spending if the bill gets passed.” J.P. turned to face Y/n, his expression turning more serious. “Tell me, Congresswoman, why do we need to increase the amount of money we spend on foreign aid? We’re already spending 39.2 billion on foreign aid.”

Y/n smiled when he asked this. Really smiled. These were the kind of questions she had prepared to answer, and she knew she had Lafayette to thank for the topic change. “J.P., most Americans think 10% of government spending should be spent on foreign aid.”

“Yes, that seems reasonable,” J.P. nodded.

“39.2 billion might seem like a big number,” Y/n continued, “but that’s less than one percent of our federal budget.”

“Is that true?”

The rest of the interview went fairly well. Y/n had intelligent answers to each question J.P. asked, and Lafayette was there to assure J.P. that France was in full support of Y/n’s bill. Before she knew it, J.P. was saying they were out of time and thanking both her and Lafayette for coming to the interview.

The crew began to disperse quickly once the interview had commenced. Now that the interview was over, the realization that Lafayette was standing beside her begun to sink in. She loved the idea of walking off the set and never seeing him again, but unfortunately, they were both headed in the direction of the singular elevator.

“I assume you’re going to the lobby as well?” Lafayette asked, pressing the down button on the elevator.

Y/n nodded. “I am.”

The elevator opened and Lafayette gestured for her to step in first before following behind her. They stood in silence for a moment. Y/n hated how slow this elevator was moving, a fact that she hadn’t noticed on the ride up.

Finally, Y/n caved and she spoke to fill the silence. “I didn’t know you were back in the United States.”

He gave her a sideways look, doing his best to hide a smile. “I’m the French Ambassador to the United States now, Y/n. Did you really not know that?”

She clicked her head and shrugged. “I might’ve read it somewhere, I guess I just forgot. I’m a busy person.”

“Oh, I know.”

Y/n turned to face Lafayette and considered him for a moment. “I suppose you’re a busy person as well, now. How’d you get this gig, nepotism?”

Lafayette laughed and leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Believe it or not, I’m extremely qualified. I’ve served as a representative for France in the EU for a couple years, worked in the state department, long with other places.”

The elevator finally opened up to the lobby, but now Y/n wasn’t ready to end their conversation. “Huh. I guess I forgot that you’re actually a pretty intelligent person under all those layers.”

“Layers of what?” He asked with an amused grin.

“Layers of stupidity.” Y/n shrugged.

Lafayette chuckled and held the door open for her. “I guess that’s fair.”

“It’s more than fair,” Y/n sighed. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “So what is it that ambassadors actually do? I’ve always been curious.”

“A lot of ceremonial gifts and handshakes,” Lafayette admitted. “But very important handshakes. I met with President Adams last week, and I’m headed to meet with Washington at Mount Vernon now.”

“Sounds luxurious. Maybe I should’ve considered becoming an ambassador if it meant I get to spend time with President Washington.”

He paused. “Well, meeting with Washington is more for personal reasons than anything to do with being an ambassador.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “I forgot you were best friends with every prominent American.”

“You’re not wrong,” he grinned. “Can’t help it that everyone loves me. Democrats and Republicans. I’m planning to have dinner with Jefferson next month. And I used to be best friends with the illustrious Representative Y/n L/n.”

His words were teasing, but he noticed when Y/n tensed when he said “used to be.” She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, Lafayette cleared his throat and asked, “What’s next for you?”

She considered him for a moment before responding earnestly. “The Oval Office, eventually.”

“Really?”

“Are you surprised?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not really. I always knew you were destined for great things, Y/n.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes, in fact,” Lafayette reached into his pocket and took out a checkbook and a pen. “Let me be one of the first investors to your presidential campaign.”

He handed her the check he had just written. Y/n stared at the check she had been handed, still not entirely processing the extra zero written on the dotted line.

“Is this a joke?”

“No, it takes a lot of money to run for president.”

“I know that, but why would you…” She trailed off, then narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “This is just you trying to win me over by spending absurd amounts of time and money on things you don’t actually care about. I’ve seen this before.”

“You’ve seen what?”

“This exact scene.” Looking around seemed to solidify Y/n’s conception. They were standing on a sidewalk. Maybe Y/n and been young and naïve in the past, but now she knew how to recognize patterns. She recognized this one. How many times before had the pair of them ended up on a sidewalk together? And how had it ended for Y/n each time?

She counted five times now. The first was the day she had met him. It was Paris, and he had a completely disarming smile that made Y/n trust him immediately.

The next time it was late, both of them were drunk, and they were laughing in the dark while they waited for a cab to drive by.

The third time was in New York, ice cream cones in both of their hands and heartbreak on the agenda. That night she had remembered especially well.

The fourth had been about a year ago now, and although she had tried to forget it, it had been burned into the back of her mind like a scar that would never heal.

This would be the fifth time, and this time she knew better.

Each sidewalk rendezvous went the same way. Every time. And worse yet, they always ended the same.

“What is this scene?” Lafayette asked, genuinely confused.

“It starts innocent enough, doesn’t it? Just two friends on a sidewalk. But this is how it goes,” she laid out the scene for him. “You’ll reach into your pocket and pull out a cigarette. I’ll tell you how unhealthy it is, but you’ll smoke anyway. We’ll smile and laugh, until it gets to the point where we don’t want to be friends anymore. Then you’ll lean in and kiss me, or, at least, I’ll be wishing you’d kiss me.

Not such a bad scene, is it? Except every time it ends the same. You’ll wake up in someone else’s bed and break my heart. I’m just so tired of letting you do this to me! I’ve finally figured you out, and it’s not going to happen again. You’re my best friend, Lafayette, but I can’t keep letting you hurt me.”

When she had finished her rant, a quietness settled between the two of them. Lafayette watched her carefully, waiting to see if she had anything else to say, but it seemed that she had gotten everything off her chest now.

“That’s not what’s going to happen this time,” he finally said.

She looked into his eyes to figure out if she really believed him. Did she really want to believe him? “No? How can you be sure?”

“There are a few things in your “Lafayette breaks Y/n’s heart” equation that have changed. First of all, I stopped smoking a while ago,” he informed her.

Y/n was beyond surprised. For as long as she had known him, he had always been a smoker. It was part of his personality and was synonymous with his name. If there were two things that she was sure she could count on, it would be Lafayette smoking cigarettes and breaking her heart. Had he really quit?

“Second,” Lafayette continued on, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“You’re not?” She almost sounded disappointed.

“Not this time. We learned our lesson, didn’t we?” He sighed, adjusted his jacket, and let his eyes fall to the cement at his feet. “You’ve ruined me. I’m never going to be able to love anyone the way I love you. And God, I love you so much.”

His heart felt heavy, like it was sinking further and further into his chest and he didn’t know if he would be able to find it again. There was a moment of silence to mourn something that had been lost. “You know I love you. You know that, right?”

Another certain truth. “Of course I do.”

“Good. I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know. I love you, and I can’t tell you how much I hate that that isn’t enough.”

She smiled. The kind of smile you give when you know that something lovely is coming to an end. Sometimes there is nothing you can do but smile.

His voice was tender when he spoke again. “No one ever told me that being in love would hurt this much. Am I a sadist for wanting to love you more?”

“No, darling, you’re just a romantic. That’s the worst we could be.”

Lafayette nodded because he couldn’t find it inside himself to smile. His town car showed up to take him to the airport at that moment. He bit the inside of his cheek, considering the different things he had enough time to say. Lafayette shook his head when he came to the decision that there was nothing left to say. He had already made it to the car and opened the door when he changed his mind.

“You know,” Y/n addressed Lafayette once more. “This might be crazy, but no matter what happened between us, I always thought it would be you and I in the end.”

Lafayette paused and pulled away from the car. He hesitated before making his way to Y/n. He gently held her chin between two fingers, looking her deep in her eyes as if he was searching for her soul.

“To the moon and back, remember?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then parted from her and got in the waiting car.

Not everyone gets the fairytale ending you see in movies. But they loved. Really loved. And that was enough.

Real love isn’t like the movies. No, it’s painful and warm and terribly strong. Mostly it’s good.

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woulddieforperrytheplatypus · 4 years

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My mind was plagued with thoughts of the episode where the kids think Perry laid an egg and the comic where Perry saves a baby platypus from Doof, and that got me thinking: what if Perry was actually a dad to a baby platypus? One possibility is that Perry wouldn't want his child to become an agent at such a young age and would rather have his kid decide if they want to do it when they're older, but I believe that either way, the young platypus would inherit Perry's anthropomorphism.

oh my god I’ve never even thought about Dad!Perry before 🥺 I thought his relationship with the Flynn-Fletcher kids was wholesome but that has some real potential to become the superior relationship

obligatory “read more” to save everyone who doesn’t care how I feel about Dad!Perry

Okay first I gotta ask how we think this would happen. Is it the egg from Perry Lays An Egg that hatches, except it really is a baby platypus and Perry ends up taking it in because no one else can? Or is it Perry taking one of Doof’s platybabies home? Or is it trans!Perry laying his own egg? Or Perry has sex with another platypus (that’s such a weird thought lmao) and somehow he becomes the sole guardian of the egg? As the numero uno “Perry is an asexual demibiromantic platypus” stan, I kinda like the first or second one, but I also feel like the platybaby should be related to him? But at the same time Phineas and Ferb is all about how family don’t end in blood so maybe that’s not important?

Anyways onto Dad!Perry because holy shit I’m excited to explore this

I’m gonna start at the end of the ask by saying that I feel like anthropomorphism isn’t genetically inherited; I feel like it’s something that’s taught. It’s kinda a nature vs nurture type thing so I guess it’s more a psychological debate than anything, but if I had to channel my inner English teacher and draw evidence from “the text” (aka the show), I gotta bring up the koi from Attack of the 50 Foot Sister that were just kinda vibin in the neighbors’ pond at the beginning of the episode and then Monogram had to make them agents to avoid a lawsuit and by the end they were saving Perry’s ass? Which is relevant to literally nothing except that I think any baby animal Perry raises, regardless of whether or not they’re related to him by blood (or even by species), will probably turn the lil baby into an anthropomorphic lil platybaby just because of all the human and human-like influences

And now the elephant in the room (cue OWCA Files Agent E joke): how does OWCA react to the news? Which I guess is really a follow-up question to how OWCA finds out in the first place. I think we can all agree that Perry won’t want to tell them. It’s not like he sees the other agents as friends that he wants to invite to the baby shower. But Monogram would want to know if there’s a new player in the Flynn-Fletcher house not that he knows who lives there now; that’s Carl’s area of expertise. Would he have to tell them? Is there a protocol for that? Especially if it’s just an egg he picks up from The Tree™ in the backyard. That’s basically just getting a new pet, right? And sure, Monogram would want to know, but is Perry legally obligated to tell him is the question.

But Monogram has to find out one way or another, and given that Perry is the best of the best, Monogram is going to want his kid in the club. Perry would 100% say no, too, but I don’t know if it would be because he wants his son (yes it’s a boy platybaby no I don’t know why) to have his own say in his future; I think Perry would consider OWCA too dangerous for his son. I mean, we saw what happened when Phineas, Ferb, and Candace got mixed up in his job: they were almost eaten by a goozim and the tri-state area was almost taken over by an evil dictator. He would definitely want to keep his son out of that scene if he could. At least all the dangers at home are Phineas-and-Ferb-sponsored, and unlike OWCA, they would make sure he didn’t get hurt.

Buuuut Monogram is also a dumbass and doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, so he’d keep pushing. It has to be a well-known fact around OWCA that changing Agent P’s mind about anything is not an easy feat, so maybe when Monogram realized it was a lost cause, he’d try to go around Perry’s back? Maybe while Perry was at work, he’d head to the Flynn-Fletchers’ house (or send Carl again like Undercover Carl) to try to get the platybaby alone? He could explain what OWCA is and that he would make a perfect candidate. I doubt Perry would have told his son about OWCA in any detail yet other than the fact that he works there and that’s where he goes every day, so this would all be new and interesting. And then Perry either comes home when Monogram or Carl is talking to his son about OWCA or his son brings it up himself, and Perry is fuming because he made it very clear that he didn’t want OWCA anywhere near his family.

And now I can’t help but wonder if that would cause bigger problems between him and OWCA? What if that’s his breaking point, and he just flat-out quits because if they can’t respect his very few boundaries, he doesn’t owe them anything? And assuming the platybaby didn’t come from Doof, maybe that’s how they meet? Somehow he finds out that the reason there’s a new agent working his case is that Perry’s out on “permanent paternity leave” or something, and word gets back to Perry somehow (maybe Pinky heard it through the grapevine and told him? idk) that Doof wants to meet him? And Perry’s kinda wary buuuuut at the same time, Doof isn’t his nemesis anymore. If you take OWCA out of the equation, aren’t they just friends?

WAIT A SECOND

IMAGINE HOW NORM WOULD REACT TO SEEING A BABY PLATYPUS

I DON’T KNOW WHY

BUT NORM WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS BABY PLATYPUS

and Doof would get kinda annoyed because “He came here so I could meet the baby, you know,” and usually that’s enough to convince Norm that he’s doing something wrong, but this time Norm is just like, “But I love him?” And Doof expects Perry to back him up and he probably should but at the same time, his son looks so happy with Norm? Without OWCA’s training, he still has that platypus aspect to his personality that comes from both his animal instinct and how the Flynn-Fletchers treat him, so he’s just kinda snuggled up in Norm’s lap and Norm is just petting him?

And this is probably after he’s shown some human-like features and Doof knows that he’s about as human as Perry, so he asks, “Does he like being pet?” and Perry nods because duh of course he does and Doof just kinda looks at him for a moment and he’s like, “Do you like to be pet?” and Perry just fuckin decks him because no he does not yes he does and Doof just nods like, “Okay, fair enough.”

AND THEN VANESSA WALKS IN???

and she had absolutely no idea this was happening she’s about to go drop her stuff off in her room for the weekend and Norm’s like, “Look at my new friend!” and Vanessa thinks it’s gonna be something stupid but she walks over and sees the baby platypus and she starts freaking out because holy shit Perry is that yours? and obviously she needs to know literally everything there is to know about him because this is her nephew now and she will not take no for an answer.

And I feel like OWCA really wouldn’t like this? I mean, Perry completely severed ties with them over this platybaby, and now he’s bringing his son over to DEI at least twice a week to see his former nemesis? And idk what they would do about it because I don’t think there’s an actual protocol for this, but Monogram is Very Sensitive™ and he won’t stand for this.

Also and I’m totally just spit-balling here but what if, because the platybaby is kinda also being raised by the Doofenshmirtzes (and the Flynn-Fletchers but idk if that would make much of a difference here bc he has to pretend to be a mindless pet around them like his dad), he gets the best of the human and animal experience all in one, without all the shit Perry had to deal with from OWCA? And what if that somehow leads him to be able to speak? I don’t quite know how that would work, mostly because I don’t really know what prevents Perry from speaking, but we already went into that back in May so I’m not gonna go there again lol

okay I’m pretty sure it’s been over two hours since I started working on this ask but I can’t help it because this is literally such a cute idea fjdshflakfa I don’t even know if I’d be content reading this like I feel like this is just something I want to write. I kinda want to see how Phineas and Ferb would treat him, and if they’d treat Perry any differently now that a) he’s a dad and b) there’s a new platypus for them to love. I also want to see how Candace would handle probably falling in love with the platybaby but still getting annoyed by Perry. I really want to see what Vanessa and Norm’s relationship with the platybaby would turn into. Idk so much about the Doof/platybaby relationship though; I feel like I’d be more interested in how this affects the Doof/Perry dynamic instead. Something about Doof makes me think he wouldn’t be as easily swayed by the platybaby as everyone else, but the fact that Perry would now be a dad just like him would probably make him unreasonably happy. And that’s not even touching upon how different life would be for Perry now that he has a son, and he would obviously adore the little guy with his entire being, but, like, he has a son? How is he supposed to deal with that?

also I really should’ve given the platybaby a name to make this more readable and it’s a little too late for that but I hereby decree that his new temporary name until such time as this fic gets written is Horatio (unless y’all wanna hit me up with your platybaby name ideas because I would love to see them?) so welcome to the Dwampyverse, Horatio :,)

#not gonna lie i don't remember what Horatio was up to in Hamlet but I do remember that he was my favorite character in the play lol #look i have an ask #fic idea?#perry the platypus

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adultswim2021 · 3 years

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Space Ghost Coast to Coast #87: “Dreams” | January 11, 2004 - 11:30 PM | S08E06

There is no doubt in my mind that Space Ghost is one of the most underappreciated comedy series of all time. For a show that is so screamingly hilarious, it sure is ignored. Hell, the creators of Space Ghost don’t even appreciate the goddamn thing. It makes it all the more special for those of us who love it. This episode of television, which I regard as a comedy masterpiece, sits on IMDB with 35 votes total. Not only is this an exceptional episode of Space Ghost, it also happens to *sorta* be the series finale, and it’s also the single-most profane episode of Space Ghost in existence. It deserves your respect, goddamn it.

In this one, Space Ghost cobbles together a charity organization for the sole purpose of one-upping Zorak and Moltar. He demands an animal be booked as his guest in order to elect it as the org’s cute mascot. Space Ghost winds up with Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog.

For those of you who require context: Triumph is an intentionally cheesy dog puppet with a vaguely ethnic accent who makes old-school but also very profane roast-style jokes at his various targets. He was an intentionally one-note character featured on Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Triumph developed enough of a cult following that he wound up recurring pretty regularly. Most notably on Conan he got kicked out of the Westminster Dog Show for humping some of the dogs and generally being a nuisance. My favorite remote he did was where he made fun of nerds waiting in line to see Star Wars Episode II.

In 2003 Triumph released an album which came with a DVD which featured a cameo from Conan O’Brien saying the c-word (cunt) and the recently disgraced Horatio Sanz deep-throating a dildo. That, presumably, is why Triumph is on this show: to promote this album. He keeps trying to steer the conversation to “get to the plug”, and referring to his “beautiful singing voice” There’s a small number of Space Ghost guests who show up genuinely believing that they’ll be allowed to plug their project and that the episode will air in a timely manner. Like Adam West or Fred Willard, this is in fact one of those.

What makes this episode so goddamn funny is that there’s an undercurrent of the Space Ghost staff aggressively trying to undercut Triumph’s shtick. Triumph is almost always the most outrageous character in any given room, and people almost always have a hard time contending with the barrage of fast-paced/profane insults that Triumph supplies. The editing may have had a hand in this, but here we see Triumph doing roughly what he does, but Space Ghost is too boneheaded to really let it effect him. Space Ghost, true to form, misunderstands almost everything Triumph says, taking it at face value. When it finally dawns on him that Triumph is breaking taboos he is briefly shocked. But when Zorak lies and tells him that “money came in” from Triumph’s transgressions he is suddenly motivated to childishly repeat Triumph’s vulgarity.

When Moltar tries to put his foot down he casually breaks an actual network taboo: he says “they will shut us down for that shit. I mean stuff.” completely unbleeped. Not sure what the status of “shit” is on adult swim these days, but in 2004 I don’t think Adult Swim was technically considered it’s own network yet (I’m hazy on the details here, but there was a turning point where Adult Swim ceased to be programming that simply aired on Cartoon Network and was actually registered legally as a network unto itself that shared space with Cartoon Network). So, allowing shit to play on what was still legally considered a children’s network was a pretty big deal. I don’t even think Turner allowed swears that harsh to appear on Adult Swim’s website.

The show escalates beautifully and ends with a song about “retardos”, while Space Ghost inexplicably holds up a Dexter’s Laboratory branded foam finger, a detail I’ve never noticed until this viewing. It is breathtakingly dumb. I love this episode so much.

There are a lot of great lines in this that I’m intentionally leaving out. The length of this write-up might lead you to believe I’ve revealed the entire episode. I haven’t! There’s so many great jokes in this. This begins what I like to think of as the finale trilogy. There are two more quasi-episodes of Space Ghost coming up (not counting the GameTap episodes because they suck or The Room interstitials because that’s so far out from the series true end that it’s practically a reunion special). One is an abandoned episode they aired in an unfinished state. Then comes the tenth anniversary bumpers the Sunday after Space Ghost’s big birthday. But I’ll talk more about that when the time comes. Okay? Alright? Damn!

I forgot to say this earlier so I’m just tacking it on here: my wife and I literally quoted this episode in our wedding vows. It was the “You will lick my shiny boots, for you are now my dog on a leash.” line. This isn’t a joke.

MAIL BAG

Here’s more FUCKING FUCKS writing me dumb shit and wasting my valuable time. Damn. Dang it!

I'm in a minority here but while I loved Home Movies I think it diminished by the time Season 4 rolled around that I think it's straight up overall bad. So much so that I feel you can tack on the camera drop ending to any of the other season finales and have a better show. I don't know why exactly. Is it because H. Jon Benjamin has a writing credit for this one and McGurk is wackier than ever? Did Brendon Small just run out of childhood experiences to mine from? I dislike it.

Huh I wouldn’t go that far OBVIOUSLY. So far I’ve liked a hundo percento of Season 4 even though it’s just two episodes. haha “Aw, who’m I tryinta fool? it’s just two episodes.”

I like the Sonic Guys. Their keen sense to pinpoint the exact craveability of every new Sonic item as well as their overall familiarity and comradery leave the viewer ready for fun and ready for fun: the Sonic way. And if you don't like that, buddy, then you are an Adbusters Stooge.

More like “ready for run” because I would use my feet to get away from their tires, because they’re tired!!!

Do you think the Sonic Guy ever dry over to Popeyes when the cameras aren't rolling. What do you think they would get. If I were them I would get the chicken: it's tender, it's juicy, it has cajun seasonings.

I think they would go there and say stupid cutesy shit like “extra chicken please :D :p” and a teenager would call them n*88*s and they’d commit suicide that night. But what a way to go

Don't give up on ephemera week!, The blog was super fun last week. And it's just a nice way to end the blog after a year of spankworthy stuff. It will be less special if you just pepper them in now and then. How many venmo bucks would I have to pay for you to keep it that way?

What a swanky message to get. I do think Ephemera week will be pretty hard from here on out because 2004 is about where I ended my initial research for this blog and the prospect of doing more of that to give a fairly complete overview of each year would just be too much. I’d much rather just slide it in. You’ll love seeing me slide.

What are your big wishes for 2004?

what the fuck am I supposed to do here? Wish for something to happen in a year that already happened? Do I get to transport myself back there and do this wish all the way back then? Or do I simply feel the butterfly effect of it having had happen in 2004. What the fuck kinda fucked up shit is this anyway.

#space ghost coast to coast #adult swim #adultswim2021

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cutiepisenpai · 4 years

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Gifted part 10

Spencer Reid X F!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, sexually suggestive themes

Y/N and Spencer were in the elevator going to the parking garage leaving Quantico having just got back from a case. “I really think you should stay at my apartment tonight.” Spencer says as they make their way to the parking garage. “No way. It’s not like you have said that everyday since we came back to work.” Y/N says with a smirk. “It’s a safety precaution. You haven’t been sleeping.” “You aren’t the authority on sleep, your sleep schedule is all out of whack.” She says getting into the car. “I may not have the most consistent sleep schedule but if you don’t feel safe in your own apartment you’re not going to get any rest.” She hated that he was right, they both had the same issue with getting enough sleep. “Fine but I have some conditions. First, I need to go to my apartment to get some things. Second, we are going to get real food at a grocery store. I don’t know how you survive on take out. And lastly, we are having a movie night. How does that sound?” “As long as I know you are safe I’ll go along with your crazy demands.” He says. “Don’t call them crazy demands, I am not an unsub.” They stopped at Y/N’s apartment so that they could get the things she needed and went to the grocery store. “Alright grab a cart and let’s go.” She says to him. She walks him through the store picking out produce and adding it to the cart moving around to the meats. “Do you have soy sauce at your house?” “I have soy sauce packets.” He answers and her eyes narrow at him. “What it’s soy sauce just in packets.” “I’m just going to act like your answer was a simple no and go from there” “While walking the aisles Spencer grabs sugar filled snacks and places them in the cart which Y/N keeps putting back. When he gets Cap’n Crunch to place in the cart she stops, “Okay what’s with the sugar coma you are trying to achieve?” She asks. “What do you mean this is good?” “Cap’n Crunch rips your gums. Of all the sugary crap you have grabbed so far this is by far the worst.” “You act like you eat so healthy. How much salt do you consume from pickles, chips, and nuts.” He says smugly. He looks into the cart noticing the snacks he placed in were gone. “Hey you took my snacks out.” He says, his voice rising. “I said real food Spence not processed sugar coated crap.” He pouts at her comments. “Okay fine here is what we can do, we can get all the things and I will bake cookies. You can keep your gum ripping cereal that will be your personal problem. We can also buy popcorn and ice cream but that’s it.” Y/N says and he smiles. “By the way if we looked at our entire week day by day my salt consumption is not as great as your sugar consumption. What kind of cookies do you want?” “Chocolate chip and snickerdoodles.” He says. “Both huh. Okay but only because you’re cute.” She says. “Alright last thing we need is ice cream and we can leave.” When they get back to Spencer’s apartment they unload and put away all of the groceries.

After showering and changing, Y/N is in Spencer’s kitchen making fried rice. He gets out of the shower using a towel to dry his hair when he turns the corner and sees her there cooking. “That smells good.” He says coming up behind her. “Of course it does. I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with the smell of home cooked food in this apartment.” She laughs out. “I might not be a good cook but you have cooked here enough that I am familiar with it. You have told me enough about eating real food.” He says mimicking hand gestures she has done before. She turns around facing him and wraps her arms around his shoulders and he places his hands on her waist. Y/N’s smile is beaming at Spencer. She is so happy with him even when he is being overprotective and a condescending know it all. “What’s that look?” He asks. “I just realized something.” “Are you going to tell me what or keep this new found knowledge to yourself?” He asks. “I think I’ll keep this to myself just for a little while. Okay?” She says, smile getting brighter than she thought possible. “Okay.” “Alright let’s eat.” After finishing their dinner they are discussing what they should watch. “One episode of Doctor Who, just one.” Spencer pleads. “Fine” She mumbled, flopping back on his bed. He jumps on the bed hovering over her with excitement. “Really?” He asks. “Yea. It’ll make you happy and you’re extremely persistent so…” He leans down placing kisses all over her face. She starts giggling, breaking into full laughter. “This is going to be so amazing. You’ll love it ok I’ll be right back.” He says before jumping out of the bed and running out of the room. He comes back with the first season box set of Doctor Who, “Ok this is the original Doctor Who that aired from 1963 until 1966, he explains.” “Oh this is going to be a journey.” Y/N responds. “There are only one hundred and fifty eight episodes in the original Doctor who. You have watched two hundred and fifty three episodes of the twilight zone multiple times.” “It’s the twilight zone, you can’t knock the twilight zone.” She argues. “Your arguments make no sense.” He says sitting down next to her waiting for the title screen to show up. “Are you ready?” He asks “As I will ever be.” and he starts the first episode. Two hours later Y/N is asleep with her head in Spencer’s lap as the credits for the fourth episode scroll across the screen. “You weren’t supposed to fall asleep.” he chuckles in a whisper moving the hair out of her face. He slides his legs out from under her, moving her to lay on the other side of the bed before going to the other side lying beside her.

Y/N is standing in a ditch with Morgan. It's quiet, unsettling quiet considering they are outside and there is no buzzing of bugs. The air is still Morgan’s mouth is moving but no sound comes out. She sees him walking up the steep slope out of the ditch so she follows. When they reach the top she sees Morgan looking around. What is he looking for? And then she feels it no pain just the impact it was almost like she got punched but there is no one there. Then it happened again she couldn’t react. It was all happening too fast. She can feel something shaking her, a faint voice calling out to her, her surroundings shift around her fading into darkness. She opens her eyes, it's blurry and dark she can feel that her face is wet. She can hear someone talking to her faintly, it’s getting louder. “Y/N ssh, it was just a bad dream. It’s just a dream, it isn’t real.” Spencer is talking to her holding her face in his hands trying to wipe away the tears as they fall. She tries to talk but it comes out as a crying whimper she can feel the back of her throat closing as she begins to heave out shallow breaths. Spencer is trying to get her to sit up to take deeper breaths but she can’t get her body to move feeling paralyzed. Seeing no other option Spencer lifts her up setting her back against the headboard of the bed. “Lift your arms above your head. It will help with the breathing. Deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth as slowly as you can.” Spencer says helping her raise her arms and trying to keep her as calm as possible. A few minutes later her crying hadn’t completely ceased but she was breathing at a more regular pace and had regained more control over her body. “I’m going to go get you some water. I’ll be right back.” It was a statement but he still waits until she nods before hurrying out of the room not wanting to leave her alone for too long. When he gets back into the room she seems calmer wiping the tears from her eyes breathing evening out. He comes to sit down in front of her glass of water in hand. “I’m sorry.” She whispers, voice horse from the crying, it was the first clear thing she had said since waking up. “It’s okay you have nothing to be sorry about.” He says, he moves to set the water down on the nightstand. “I didn’t know your nightmares had gotten this bad.” His voice is low. She attempts to clear her throat but it is so dry from the crying she picks up the water to take a drink. “I don’t… I don’t think it was a nightmare. I think it was a memory.” She says hand going up to rub the scar, it was a bad habit she had developed but Spencer has seen her do it enough times that his hand immediately goes to grab hers pulling it away. “What is the memory of?” He asks. She can see it so vividly but all of the information isn’t there. “Um.. I was in a ditch with Morgan at a crime scene I think but there wasn’t any sound and when we left we got to the top..” She trails off not wanting to say what happened next. “You got shot?” He asks, he knows what happens next or rather what happened next that day he heard Morgan tell the other side of that story. She nods in response not sure if the words would even come out. Spencer moves so that he is sitting by her side and wraps an arm around her ushering her body closer to his. “What can I do?” He asks. “Just talk please about anything.” He can do that, the team hates when Spencer rambles on about whatever random topic presents itself but even before Y/N would follow along listening intently usually adding in her own tidbits. “The “Windy City” name has nothing to do with Chicago weather. The term was actually coined by a nineteenth century journalist who referred to the fact that it’s residents were “full of hot air”... No number before one thousand contains the letter “A”... Cap’n Crunch’s full name is Horatio Magellan Crunch and it had been pointed out that he only has the bars of a Navy commander but the company held its ground stating that captaining the S.S. Guppy with his crew makes him an official Cap’n in any book...” “The fictional character of the worst cereal ever made is arguing the legitimacy of his rank?” She interrupts. “He is a Cap’n and his cereal is great. We can have a bowl now to prove it.” “Ripping my gums and the roof of my mouth to shreds eating cereal is going to be a hard pass for me.” She says she hasn’t moved but she is more relaxed than before. “Do you want to talk?” He asks “What about?” “The dream” “There wasn’t more to it than what I already told you.” She says. “How many times have you had that dream? Or memory? Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?” Y/N bites her lip avoiding his eyes and with a deep sigh, “None of the memories have been that clear before so I’m not sure but it might be the reason.” She says. “I’m sorry you remembered that.” He says, “It was traumatic which might be why it came through so clearly.” She turns burying her head in the crook of his neck, mumbling incoherently. Spencer pulls her in closer hugging her tighter. “How does ice cream sound?” He asks. “Sounds like a good idea” She continues mumbling into his neck making him laugh but neither makes a move to get out of the bed. “Should I go get the ice cream and come back to bed?” He asks, rubbing circles on her back. She lifts her head to look at him. “No, I know you hate it when I eat in bed lets go.” She says grabbing the throw blanket from the bottom on the bed wrapping it around herself. Spencer follows her to the kitchen. “Cone or bowl?” He asks. “We should have gotten waffle bowls, it's the best of both worlds.” She begins to pout, “Bowl, please” Spencer takes out two bowls placing them on the counter scooping a generous amount of ice cream into each bowl sitting one in front of her. She stares down at the bowl slowly spooning ice cream into her mouth. She looks up and furrows her eyebrows seeing Spencer staring at her. “What” She asks, licking ice cream from her lips. Spencer blushes a deep red having been caught staring lost in a fantasy. “Um… nothing sorry.” “Seriously, what’s up?” “Really it’s nothing, just a little distracted.” He explains. “By me eating ice cream. Why would that be distracting?” She asks, sticking another scoop into her mouth while humming.” Spencer’s pupils dilate, his breathing becomes heavy and he licks his lips. “Oh” Y/N chuckles, breaking into full laughter, if her smile and laughter wasn’t so beautiful he might have been upset about it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, it was just unexpected.” She continues to giggle. “It’s ok I’m just glad you feel better.” She scoops another spoonful into her mouth keeping eye contact with Spencer while licking the ice cream off the spoon. “Oh come on.” Spencer groans at the sight and Y/N starts laughing loudly. “Is there something you would like to discuss?” She laughs with a wink, she gets up walking over to Spencer getting as close as possible without touching him looking up at him. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone react to ice cream like that?” “Are you trying to kill me?” He asks. “We hunt killers if I want to kill you. I know how to do it.” She teases. “That was rhetorical” “I know” Spencer leans down to kiss her, it is a sweet kiss he places his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. “ You taste sweet.” He says, pulling back from the kiss. “You do too.” “What do you say we go back to bed?” “What are you implying, Dr. Reid?” “Words from a wise woman I need to sleep more and I suggest that you get more sleep as well.” He says placing a kiss to the top of her head. “Look at you taking self care seriously. So back to bed?” “So long as you’re okay with it.” “And what about the nightmares?” “I’ll be there to keep you safe.” Spencer says.

Taglist:

@itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @groovygoob

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #criminal minds #fluff

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amalthea9 · 4 years

Text

Styles x Happy Second Meeting

Managed to write Styles and Happy’s second meeting! Thank you SO MUCH to anyone who takes a peak, especially anyone who reads it that I tagged! Love to all me lads! <3

@ariel-seagull-wings @dci-softy-edgelord @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @captain-dad @fyeahmeninroyalnavy @horatios-harem @countessofedrington

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The following afternoon, Styles tells Matthews he’s going back to Neptune's Daughter, as casually as he can.

But Matthews smirks and says he wouldn’t mind going back.

“That Miss Happy is a lovely woman!” Matthews remarks. “And I do believe she took a shine to you, Styles!”

Styles rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah...sure,” Styles replies, clearly not believing Matthews.

They arrive at the tavern, and as the men approach the bar, Styles looks around for Happy. But he doesn’t see her serving the tables or at the bar. So he assumes she’s with a client, a sting of disappointment hits Styles that he has to wait to see her. When he gets the attention of Mrs. Miller, he sees her smirking as she approaches.

“Had fun with Happy, did ye?” she quips.

Styles doesn’t bother to respond to her remark and simply puts the money for two hours on the table.

“Would you please let Happy know I’m here?”

Mrs. Miller takes the money as she informs Styles that Happy is with another client but that his time is up in another five minutes. Styles nods and orders some ale, as does Matthews. They take seats at one of the tables and enjoy the music and company of the other sailors. But Styles’ is unusually quiet, and Matthews can tell that Styles does fancy Happy, though he won’t admit it to himself or others.

When Happy hears the knock at her door, Miller is not only telling the man his time is up, but that Happy has another client waiting. Happy’s heart skips, for the fourth time that day, hoping the next client is Styles.

She’s polite as possible to the other man as she hurries him out. Opening her door to let the sailor out, Mrs. Miller stands to the side, smirking at Happy.

“Your ugly sailor's back,” Miller begins, and Happy doesn’t hide her excitement. “Paid for two hours. I’ll send him up in 10 minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in 5,” Happy replies, beaming.

“Goodness!” Mrs. Miller scoffs. “Never seen you this excited to see a client before! Am I missing somethin' that makes him special?”

“Yes,” Happy replies, a touch of coldness in her voice. “You are. He’s not ugly for one thing...not to me.”

Happy closes the door without another word, and Mrs. Miller shakes her head as she goes down the stairs.

She makes her way back to Styles and tells him Happy will be ready in about five minutes and Styles nods. Within those five minutes, Styles' mind replays the events of yesterday and finds himself remembering Happy’s smile, laughter, bright olive green eyes...

"Styles?"

Matthews' voice wakes Styles from his thoughts and he looks to his shipmate.

"Miller said miss Happy would see you, didn't ye hear?" Matthews asked. "Or does Miss Happy already got your head up in the clouds?" He mused with a smirk.

Styles mumbled something like a thank you to Matthews, then left the bar and headed up the stairs. Matthews smiled to himself as he watched Styles go up.

"Already taken with her, he is," he said to himself and chuckled.

Styles took a deep breath and exhaled as he knocked on Happy's door.

When it opened, Styles saw Happy's expression was one of annoyance and his heart sank.

"Where have ye been, Mr. Styles?" Happy demanded sternly. "I've been waitin' all day for ye!"

Styles had frozen when he saw her annoyed expression, but upon hearing her demand, he sighed with relief and smiled.

And as soon as Happy saw that sweet smile, she couldn't keep up the act any longer.

She smirked and giggled as she grabbed his hand and pulled him gently into her room.

"Well, I suppose ye did keep yer promise, even though I had to wait longer for ye this time." Happy mused as she led Styles over to the bed to sit.

"I know, Miss Happy," Styles began. "Sorry about that."

Happy slapped his knee as if to scold him.

"Just Happy, remember?" She reprimanded. "And it's alright, I'm just glad ye came back."

"Well I promised didn't I?" Styles smiled. "And a sailor keeps his promises!"

Happy smiled brightly and chuckled, and Styles' smile grew to see it.

"Now then," Happy began, rising from the bed. "I'm gettin' an ale for meself, can I get ye anything'? On the house o' course."

"An ale for me too please, Happy," Styles replied with a nod.

Happy nodded and left to fetch the drinks. As Styles sat on the bed, staring at the door, he still wondered at how all of this was happening. Happy enjoyed his company. Yes he paid her, but she had paid for another hour with him yesterday. She seemed genuinely interested in becoming his friend, but that seemed far fetched for a man like Styles. He had never been good with women, and the idea of love returned by another was something he'd only known once. And that was a distant memory of a much younger man. Nowadays, he paid for a woman's time, and for a while he had paid for the sex too, but when he reached his 30s, paying for sex became tiring. So he didn'tdo it often. He had resigned to be alone and unloved.

Maybe he was being taken for a fool by this woman…

But he'd rather not think about that right now. He would rather just be here with Happy and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, with a smile and laughter that made his heart flutter.

Happy returned with the drinks and handed Styles his ale as she sat herself down next to him on the bed.

“So then, Mr. Styles,” Happy began cheerfully.

“Sean,” Styles said, cutting her off. “I’m...me first name is Sean.”

Styles smiled shyly at her as he said this, then looked away and took a drink from his ale.

Happy beamed at him as he shyly sipped at his ale.

“Sean…” Happy repeated softly.

To hear Happy say his name made Styles’ heart flutter worse than just seeing her smile. He didn’t really know why, perhaps because of how he could see her beaming face out of the corner of his eye as she repeated it.

“A pleasure to meet ye, Sean Styles,” Happy chuckled, putting forth a hand for Styles to shake.

Styles chuckled at this gesture and switched the hand that held the ale so he could shake her hand. He shook her hand once, but before letting it go, he decided to kiss the back of her hand.

Happy giggled softly, amused that he did better this time than he had yesterday. And seeing the genuine sweetness in his sea green eyes warmed her heart.

What was it about this man that made Happy wish to be around him as much as she could? Did he know that she truly did enjoy his company? She would do her best to convey that in her actions.

Styles’ smiled as he released her hand and took another sip of ale.

“I know that yesterday,” Styles began softly, looking to the floor as he spoke. “Ye didn’t want to talk about yourself...but...I would like to hear a bit about ye today.”

Happy smiled warmly at Styles as he spoke. It had been a long time since a client had asked to know more about her.

"B-but if that's too much I.." Styles began nervously as he looked to Happy.

"No no, Mr. Styles," Happy smiled, shaking her head dismissively. "I mean...Sean,"

she said sweetly.

"I'll tell ye whatever ye like, because I'd say ye earned it."

Styles looked at Happy curiously.

"Because ye came back to see me," Happy elaborated. "Yes, ye be payin' for the time, but still. Ye came back to see me as I had asked of ye. And that's an act that earns a kind gesture from me. Which includes me talking more about myself."

Styles felt a pang of sadness in his heart just then. He was afraid that Happy thought that he only came back because he had the money to pay for her time.

"I would've found a way to see ye..."

Styles' voice was low and soft as he said this, and his eyes looked to the ground, his thumbs rubbing the rim of his mug.

Happy felt her heart skip a beat.

Sean was different. That kind of 'different' she hadn't experienced in so many years. The different kind of man that puts his heart into his words.

She smiled softly and took a sip of her ale as she spoke.

"So, about me," Happy began softly.

"Me father was a merchant. I don't remember him much, I was very young when he was lost at sea. But mum always told me he was a good man."

Styles nodded thoughtfully. Glimpses of memories ran through his head just then. All the times his father beat him within an inch of his life, or worse, his mother.

"I take it...yer father was not.." Happy said quietly, noticing the slight change in Styles' demeanor.

"No…" Styles replied quietly.

"Then I hope he died alone," Happy said flatly, taking another sip.

Styles smiled at Happy’s bluntness of disdain, and he nodded.

"I hope he did too. But I had left home as soon as I could join the navy."

Happy nodded thoughtfully and wanted to ask about Styles' mother, but she also didn't want it to be a painful question.

"I do know that...my mother was proud of me for joining the navy." Styles commented softly, his gaze distant.

“I know she was, Sean,” Happy smiled softly.

Styles nodded as he spoke again.

“I went back to say goodbye to her, and luckily, me father was at the tavern drinking. I remember her smile, despite her cut lip and...black eye. ‘I’m so proud of you, Sean.’ she said. ‘You’ll be a fine sailor, you will.’ We hugged and then, I was off.”

There was a sad silence for a moment, before Styles nearly whispered.

“I didn’t see her after that day…”

Happy said nothing, there was nothing to say. She set her ale on the bedside table, and gently rested her hand upon Styles’ nearest to her. She kept her eyes on his hands that held his mug. Styles felt warmth in his heart, letting himself believe that Happy’s act of comfort was genuine. He released his mug with one hand and took her hand into his, keeping his gaze on their hands.

“I lost my mother to plague…” Happy whispered. “I was fourteen…”

Styles squeezed her hand, remaining silent for a moment.

“But just like your mother,” Happy began again, a small smile on her lips. “She was a good mother, and she did her best by me.”

Styles smiled a sad smile as he nodded slightly.

“I’m sorry about yer mother though..” Styles said, his voice low and gentle.

He let his gaze come to Happy’s face, and he saw that she was smiling gently at him.

“Thank ye, Sean,” she said kindly. “But they’re both in a better place now, I believe. And that’s something to smile about.”

Styles nodded and his smile became more cheerful at Happy’s words, and Happy squeezed his hand before releasing it. Though if she had been honest, she enjoyed how large and warm his hand was compared to hers and didn’t want to let go.

"Did ye come here after…?" Styles began, then felt he was being too intrusive. "Sorry, Happy…"

"No no, Sean!" Happy assured him with a shake of her head. "Nothin' wrong with asking that! I had to live on the streets after losing mum, but I managed it! Then at sixteen, I found this place. Mrs. Miller took me in as a server and I earned me keep that way for a time. The 'other' work came a bit later. Now I work off me debt to her for takin' me in."

Styles nodded as he finished his ale and set it aside. He looked back to Happy and saw that she had a thoughtful expression on her face as she gazed off into the nothingness.

"Happy?..." he asked softly.

"It's a funny thing…" Happy began quietly. "There's been nights that I have hated myself for...doin' this kind of work…" She smiled sadly as she said this, and Styles was about to say something.

"But then again," Happy began again, and her smile was warm. "I may not have met ye if I wasn't here."

Styles smiled warmly in reply.

"And I'm thankin' my lucky stars that ye were here."

Happy chuckled softly and there was a contented silence between them for a moment.

Downstairs, they could hear the band beginning a song, and Happy began to hum it absent-mindedly.

"I don' think I've heard that song before, " Styles commented softly.

"Ya don't?" Happy inquired. "It's one of me favorites to sing."

"Would you...sing it for me now?" Styles asked shyly.

"Wha?! Without accompaniment?" Happy chuckled.

Styles looked away, a sudden sheepishness coming over him.

"I mean...if you don' want to," he began quietly.

"I didn' say that, Sean," Happy chuckled. "I'll do me best without the music."

Styles smiled that ‘toothy’ grin that made Happy smile all the more. Happy rose from the bed to stand before Styles. She cleared her throat with exaggeration, making Styles chuckle, then began.

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas,

With never a fear of drowning.

And gladly ride the waves of life

If you would marry me.

No scorching sun nor freezing cold

Will stop me on my journey.

If you will promise me your heart

And love me for eternity.

My dearest one, my darling dear

Your mighty words astound me!

But I've no need for mighty deeds

When I feel your arms around me.

But I would bring you rings of gold,

I'd even sing you poetry.

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me.

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry.

I only want your hand to hold,

I only want you near me.

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming.

Through all life's sorrows

And delights,

I'll keep your laugh inside me.

I'll swim and sail a savage seas,

With never a fear of drowning.

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!"

As Happy laughed and curtsied, Styles clapped and whistled.

"That was wonderful, Happy!" Styles exclaimed happily.

"Oh you're too kind, Sean Styles," Happy chuckled as she resumed her seat next to him on the bed. "It's much more fun with a partner to sing with, and with the flute. But I'm happy ye liked it nonetheless!"

"I loved it, Happy!" Styles replied enthusiastically. "I could hear ye sing all day!"

Realizing that might have been too forward, Styles turned his face away and cleared his throat nervously.

But he felt Happy’s hand gently on his knee, and he turned back to see her eyes shining and a soft smile was on her lips.

"I'll never refuse singing for ye, Sean Styles," Happy stated sweetly.

Styles couldn't stop the flip of his stomach at her sweet words, and he mustered a smile as best he could.

"An' now it's your turn!" Happy announced cheerfully. "I want to hear a sea shanty!"

Styles scoffed and shook his head.

"You don't want to hear my singin', Happy," he began. "Ye would throw me out for sure."

Happy’s heart sank once again to hear Styles bringing himself down.

"I'll throw ye out if ye keep that nonsense up," Happy stated, with a sad tone to her voice.

Styles looked up to see the genuine sadness in Happy's eyes and it seemed to him that this wasn't an act from her. She genuinely wished for him not to put himself down in front of her.

Styles smiled a soft smile and nodded.

"Yes ma'am," he said. "No more of that nonsense. I'll sing for ye."

Happy beamed and clapped her hands in delight.

Styles chuckled, saying she's probably already heard all of the ones he knows. But Happy told him to just sing one he enjoys. Still seated and looking off into the distance, he began.

"Now we are ready to head for the Horn.

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Our boots an' our clothes boys are all in the pawn.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away!

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Man the stout caps'n an' heave with a will.

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Soon we'll be drivin' her 'way down the hill

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away,

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O.

Soon we'll be warping her out through the locks,

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Where the pretty young gals all come down in their flocks,

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away

Way, hay, roll an' go

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored

To be rollicking randy dandy-O

We're outward bound for Vallipo Bay!

Way, hay, roll an' go

Get crackin', m' lads, 'tis a hell o' a way

To be rollicking randy dandy-O

Heave a pawl, o heave away

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away!

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!"

Finished with the song, Styles looked to Happy with a smile.

Happy applauded him with joyful enthusiasm.

"Oh that was wonderful, Sean!" Happy praised him, her smile bright.

Styles nodded a 'thank you' as he chuckled softly.

"Can ye teach it to me?" Happy asked excitedly. "I picked up the chorus well enough, but can you sing it again so I can work on learnin' the rest?"

Styles smiled as he replied.

"Only if you help me learn the song you sang for me afterwards."

Happy pretended to spit in her hand and then offered it to Styles, grinning.

Styles chuckled as he mimicked her actions and shook her hand.

The rest of their time was spent teaching each other their songs. And as both sang and laughed with each other, Styles couldn't recall the last time he had been so genuinely happy.

Nor could Happy recall either. And she knew the time was coming to an end soon.

How dearly she wanted Styles to stay…

And how dearly he wanted the same…

But the knock on the door came, and both their hearts sank.

Happy remembered then that tomorrow was Styles' last day on shore. Her heart raced as they both got up from the bed, but she kept her composure as best she could.

"I'm so happy to see you again, Sean," Happy said, smiling at him.

But Styles could see the sadness behind the smile, because he felt it too.

"So am I to see you again, Happy," Styles replied with a nod.

They stood facing each other now, and Styles wanted to say something more. He wanted to tell her how happy she made him feel. How he would stay and visit until she kicked him out.

But his tongue felt stuck in his mouth and no words came out.

Besides, doubts still played in the back of his mind that Happy even wanted him to stay longer. Or see him for a third time even. Regardless, Styles was out of money he could spend, which made him even more miserable and unsure what to say.

"Well, I...I should be…" Styles mumbled, his legs feeling heavier than ever before.

Happy watched as Styles turned and started towards the door. She didn't want to be forward, but she also didn't want this to be their last exchange before he left for sea.

"Oi now!" Happy called out, smiling. But there was a slight tremble in her voice even as she smiled.

Styles stopped, his heart quickening for a moment as he heard her call out to him. He slowly turned back around to face Happy, his expression anxious.

"You can't be leavin' like this, Sean," Happy smiled. "When will I see you again?"

Styles knew that he shouldn't have tried to just leave, but now he would have to confess that he was out of expendable funds and couldn't see her tomorrow. Which made his stomach turn with anxiety. He didn't want to let Happy down...ever.

"I don't know, Happy…" Styles began in a low and sad tone.

He couldn't even look at her right now, and Happy’s heart hurt to see this.

"I don't have...any more"-"oh I'm not workin’ tomorrow!"

Styles looked up to see Happy’s soft smile as she cut him off. She had also stepped up to him as she had interrupted him.

Styles looked at Happy with confusion, and Happy quickly explained.

"We get a day to run errands if we have any," Happy began. "And I happen to need to visit the market tomorrow for some supplies for the kitchens. As well as the tailors for some supplies for dress repairin’."

Styles felt his anxiety melt away as Happy told him this, and he smiled and replied.

"I'd be happy to accompany you on your errands, Happy," Styles replied.

Happy giggled at his choice of words, and nodded.

"Tomorrow at noon, meet me here," Happy instructed, smiling bright.

“Tomorrow at noon,” Styles nodded, smiling brightly in return.

With that, Styles took Happy’s hand in his and kissed it sweetly, and then left the room. Happy felt her heart swell with excitement, so thankful that she got to see Styles one more time.

Styles made his way back down the stairs, all smiles, and saw that Matthews and Oldroyd still remained at their table.

When Matthews saw Styles approaching, he greeted him with a cheeky grin.

“Ah! Our Romeo returns at last!” Matthews teased.

“Oh shut it, Matthews,” Styles retorted with annoyance as he took a seat.

But Matthews could see a smile was still on Styles’ lips and the older sailor chuckled to himself.