cw : gn!reader, fluff, headcanons, reader implied to work with carl, swearing, mentions of carl being mean to reader, unedited, 695 words. requested !
â¶.â first of all, carl spends far too much time denying to himself the fact that he fancies you at all
â¶.â he only thinks about you so often because you're 'not as bothersome as everyone else' and it's rare that he can tolerate anyone as much as he tolerates you
â¶.â he tells himself things like 'well i only tolerate them because they have at least an ounce of common sense. usually. they're not even that great. just better than akram
â¶.â (akram has really grown on him but he won't admit that either)
â¶.â and of course, he's still pretty rude to you
â¶.â it's just far, far easier to be mean than anything else, especially when you've got him so confusedâthe other day he actually thought something quite nice about you and it caught him off guard
â¶.â and earlier he caught you dozing off during work, and instead of yelling at you, the only thing that crossed his mind was the word cute
â¶.â cute isn't even supposed to exist in his vocabulary outside of sarcastic jabs
â¶.â so yeah, maybe he fancies you just a bit, but what the hell is he supposed to do about that?
â¶.â unfortunately, carl probably tries extra hard to be mean to you once he does admit to himself that he has a bit of a crush
â¶.â and god, he hates that word; it feels so childish
â¶.â he looks for every little thing he can nitpick about you and then goes home more frustrated with himself for making you frown than anything anyone else has done all day long
â¶.â this is an impressive feat because he's very good at being frustrated with everybody else
â¶.â and even when he's trying not to like you by being so rude, he makes everything much more confusing for you because he's accidentally nice too
â¶.â he doesn't even think about it when he grabs you a hot drink along with his own on particularly cold mornings (of which are many) until he sets it down on your desk and you give him a surprised smile
â¶.â then he curses himself because he's done it again! you might start thinking he actually likes you
â¶.â yesterday he said the words "good. good job," to you with real sincerity. they had just slipped out, but you grinned at him
â¶.â and he grimaced because he couldn't decide between a frown or a smile of his own, because, what the fuck, carl? telling someone good job? and also, that smile is really very lovely.
â¶.â so, without intending to, carl becomes quite adept at sending you the most mixed signals possible, and it's not until months of strange pining on his end and a few less confusing hints from yours that carl is able to clear things up for you
â¶.â akram has told carl that you like him too. carl said, "shut the fuck up," and a few other not-so-nice things that included him denying you liking him and him liking you
â¶.â but, of course, those words stay very stuck in carl's mind until he quite literally can't handle it anymore
â¶.â so, he has resolved to, as one might say, make a move
â¶.â what move? carl has no fucking clue. it's been a very long time since carl has attempted to initiate anything romantic, and he doesn't quite remember how
â¶.â asking you to dinner seems dumb and cliche, but also like his only option, maybe?
â¶.â he sits on it for over a week, awkward and brusque around you the whole time, until he overhears you telling rose that you're tired of half-assed homemade meals and cheap pub food, but that you can't bring yourself to pay for anything nicer these days
â¶.â and instead of actually asking you out to dinner, he just tells you come with him one day after work
â¶.â you assume he's making you follow a lead with him, and spend the car ride pestering him about what you're looking for
â¶.â then he grabs a table for two, and you're furiously whispering at him, asking if you're supposed to be scouting the place out for suspects
â¶.â in true carl fashion, he's practically growling when he says, "no. i'm taking you out to dinner."
cw : gn!reader, fluff, mentions of being overworked, swearing, poorly edited, 648 words. requested !
summary :Â carl doesn't shove you off when you fall asleep on his shoulder.
if his stupid used ford hadn't broken down and the train to dunkeld weren't so strangely crowded, maybe carl would have never gone all soft on you. that's what he likes to think, anyway. whether he's the type to admit it or not, he'd have gone soft for you one way or another.
you slide into the seat next to him because there's no where else to go. it would be less awkward to be across from him, with one of those little tables between you to create at least one degree of separation, but those seats are all taken. so you're stuck with your briefcase hugged to your chest and your shoulders pulled tight to make yourself smaller and avoid brushing against the surprising large mass of carl's own shoulders. that might annoy him, and with him already extra pissed about having to take the train, you don't want to take that chance.
this plan is a poor one, as your shoulders quickly start to ache. it's completely unrealistic to keep yourself so tense for nearly two whole hours. you decide to relax, and consider yourself lucky because carl seems less bothered by you being sat so close to him than the way he lanky legs barely fit in the space between himself and the next seat. he keeps huffing and gruffing as he shifts relentlessly.
carl doesn't look at you when your shoulders slide down and press against his. even angled slightly away from him, your button up is constantly brushing against the fabric of his sweater. but the train trundles on and you become more concerned with your exhaustion than his proximity. you were stuck in that basement office until an ungodly hour last night, and you're now beginning to reap the consequences as your eyeslids droop and the monotony of the train ride. makes it harder and harder to stay alert.
so much harder that you slip into sleep without an ounce of awareness. for carl, on the other hand, it's quite impossible not to notice because you slump right onto him. the contact is soft and doesn't startle him, but he nearly growls and pushes you off the second he feels your head on his shoulder. he stops himself, though, when he rips his gaze from the window to see your sleeping face. maybe he's an asshole, but he's still observant; he probably noticed how tired and overworked you've been before you did, so it doesn't surprise him that you've fallen asleep.
and maybe he isn't a complete asshole, because something about your hopelessly tired expression and the way your eyelashes brush so sweetly against your cheeks stops him from waking you so brusquely. then he nearly moves to gently shift your head back onto your seat, a grimace on his face before he even starts, but the little sigh you give that precedes you nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder stops him from doing that too.
"fuck." he doesn't even risk swearing loud enough that it might wake you. that fact, which he is painfully aware of, makes him curse again. "shit." his voice is still quiet, though.
the hour that you sleep on him is the longest hour of his life. it takes over twenty minutes for him to relax his stiffened spine, and when he finally does, the shift makes you give another one of those sleepy sighs. which, in turn, makes him curse under his breath again.
he glances at you every once and a while, but he can't look for too long or too often without feeling strange. it's sort of like when jasper does something that's both mildly exasperating and oddly endearing. maybe that feeling is rare these days, but carl still recognizes it. and in this moment, he can recognize that the exasperation is probably targeted more at himself. the endearment, unfortunately, is reserved for you.
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