Rain On Me Your Sweetness

TWW one-shot, Sam x Ainsley, just a smidge post-series. While @actuallylukedanes​‘s birthday is technically over now, this fic is a belated gift by request.

Summary: A new administration…a new chance at something more. Pure fluff with sequel potential. “Why did he suddenly feel like he was pulled right back to being that kid in the Mess who couldn’t even carry food up stairs without dropping it, because he thought his coworker was pretty?” 

Cross-posted on AO3; additional notes can be found there.

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anonymous asked:

Sam Seaborne/Ainsley Hayes headcanons

This is keeping in mind that i’m on season four and still know that Sam leaves. I feel like so few people ship it based on where i’ve looked.

  • Ainsley is the one Sam is engaged to at the end of the series
  • Ainsley periodically leaves passive aggressively smug post-it notes at Sam’s desk when she hears he’s done something wrong.
  • Sam keeps a rotating stock of candy, and granola bars in his desk should she ever stop by
  • They spent their first date arguing over where they should go for dinner, and had to settle for burgers at a place by the Georgetown campus
  • Donna relentlessly gets on Sam’s case about asking Ainsley to dinner until he does, the bullpen applauds
  • Ainsley’s pregnancy cravings absolutely terrify Sam, and he makes sure the mess has stuff put by for her when they work late
  • Her parents weren’t huge fans of his but he was so polite when he went to meet them that they for the most part ignored his spot on the senior staff. It was remarkable considering he broke two toes getting their luggage up onto the front porch, and was in a lot of pain.
  • She’s the one who proposed to him, after two whole glasses of wine. She did it again sober just because she thought it was cute to see him trip over his answer. They only agreed on it when he asked on his own, they spent a weekend on Nantucket for a boat race and it was the most preposterously cliche’d thing Josh had ever heard of when Sam told him. Donna hugged them both and dragged Ainsley off to talk possible venues for the engagement party.

effie214  asked:


  • I go back and forth on this, but sometimes I feel very strongly that she’s the fiancee he mentions in Transition. He’s making up the thing about her having to take the bar again because wow Josh is already kind of stressed so he should probably wait a little while to tell Josh that he’s going to marry a Republican.
  • Otherwise something along the lines of this fic happens.
  • They have a golden retriever named Winston.
  • She proposed to him, not the other way around. (He kept chickening out because, well, he’s done the engagement thing before and it didn’t work out well that time.)
  • Her first item of business as First Lady is to hire an all-night pastry chef. Because reasons.
  • Sometimes they have dance parties in the oval office.
  • The steam pipe trunk distribution venue is not used as office space during the Seaborn administration. It is, however, a place they use to escape every so often.
  • When Ainsley told Sam she was pregnant with Penelope, he passed out. (They had been trying, too. She makes fun of him for that a lot.)

allstartstofade  asked:

Sam/Ainsley, 4

She tastes like the rum they snuck into the eggnog. Her cheeks are pink where he sweeps his thumbs across flushed skin, and she can’t stop laughing into his kisses. 

They’re in his office. The lights off and blinds shut between Toby’s next door. Music and voices spill in through the closed door, and the lights from the White House gardens outside turn her hair from bone white to gold. 

“Sam,” she laughs and bites at his lip. Her eyelashes fall thick and heavy over lidded eyes. 

He kisses her again because he wants to look at her here in his office, in the dim light from outside, wants to burn the image of her into his mind. 

Her face in his hands feels so lovely. 

anonymous asked:

#16 for sam/ainsley pls? :-)

16 “It’s okay.  I couldn’t sleep anyway.”


He liked that he could hear North Carolina in her voice. Maybe it was the three years at Duke that made him romanticize it just a little, or maybe it was her. But the combination of the sleepiness and the southernness filled his mind with the imagery of a sky full of southern stars.  



She sounded less sleepy now and more surprised. He was surprised to find himself feeling a little sad that she was surprised. He didn’t know why he did. It be strange if she didn’t sound surprised, given that it was the middle of the night and they didn’t really know each other all that well. 

“It’s late, I’m sorry. 

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” 

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he whispered. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” 

“Why couldn’t you?” 

“I asked you first.” 

He thought he could here a hint of a smile in her voice. 

“And I asked you second.” 

It wasn’t his best retort, but it would do. On a moonless Virginia night it would do. 

“I’m a Republican, Sam, according to you I shouldn’t be able to sleep at night.” 

“I never said that.” 

He was hurt, but he kept it out of his voice. 

“Did you think it?” 

He didn’t have an answer for her.  He’d never thought it about her specifically, no, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. 

“So why can’t you sleep?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? Everyone hates me.” 

“You mean in the White House.” 

“No, I mean in Bolivia, but what you said is true too.” 

He smiled at her sarcasm but he didn’t laugh. 

“I fired them, Ainsley.” 

“It’s not just Joyce and Brookline. You’re not stupid, Sam, don’t pretend you don’t know. I’m a Republican in a democratic administration. I’m regarded as a spy at worst and an idiot at best.” 

“It’s not everyone, Ainsley.” 

She softened a little. 

“I know. And that was so kind of you, and Josh and Toby and CJ, but I have other people I have to work with everyday.” 

She paused for a long moment, but he sense somehow that she wasn’t finished. 

“It’s not just the Democrats, Sam.” 

For the first time all night she’d said something that surprised him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“When I told my friends that I took this job… let’s just say I don’t think they’re my friends anymore.” 

He didn’t know what to say. After a while, she spoke. 

“You never answered my question. I answered yours, now you tell me. Why can’t you sleep?” 

He laughed softly but it was hollow. 

“It’s kind of the same thing, I guess. We look at each other like enemies.” 

“Only on Capitol Beat.” 

“I don’t just mean you and me. I mean Republicans and Democrats.” 

He fell silent for a moment. The speechwriter in him had three more examples, but he kept them to himself. He’d already gotten to the important part. 

“I don’t want to be enemies, Ainsley,” he whispered. 

“Are you talking about you and me now or is it still Republicans and Democrats.” 

“You and me. I don’t want to be your enemy.” 

“Me either,” she said in that southern voice that was starting to sound sleepy again. 

“I’d rather be your friend.” 

The word hung in the air. Friend. Was that what he wanted? 

He opened his mouth to add to it, though to add what he didn’t know, but she spoke first. 

“Me too.” 

Me too. She meant friends. 

“Okay,” he said, and he didn’t think he sounded disappointed at all. “Friends, then.” 


She yawned. 

“Sam? It’s been nice talking to you but it is still the middle of the night…” 


Friends. She wanted to be friends. It was something, he supposed. 

“Goodnight, Sam.” 

They could be friends. 

“Goodnight, Ainsley.” 

herebird  asked:

ainsley/sam, jazz age au

She’s got a voice most don’t think she’d have with one look at her. She’s tiny with too long blonde hair and too big blue eyes, and a voice that’s raspy. 

He likes watching her when the day is to long. 

Her smile curls at the edge, her eyes meeting his, and there’s something there that’s beyond her singing on the stage. 

earnmysong  asked:

(740): At the funeral we'll say nice things, like "She was delightfully extreme, psychotically wonderful, and could probably drink all you fuckers under the table." (414): That's literally the perfect eulogy -- oliver/felicity or sam/ainsley

I have a bunch for Oliver/Felicity and this just seemed so perfect for the bipartisan OTP that I couldn’t resist! Hope you enjoy, bb!


“I don’t understand why I have to be the one to give the eulogy.”

At her husband’s overdramatic complaint, Ainsley turns and focuses her best exasperated look in Sam’s direction. The full effect is lost on him as he’s currently peering into the fridge, examining the stack of available take out containers.

“She was the senior senator from California. You’re the junior–now senior–senator from California,” she reminds him. “It kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Selecting his desired leftovers, Sam places the box from their favorite Italian place on the countertop and closes the refrigerator door. Only then does he turn and give her his full attention, insisting, “But she’s a Republican!”

“I know.” Ainsley eyes the take out container and wonders if there are still leftover breadsticks in there. “I’m a Republican, in case you haven’t forgotten.”

“Trust me, I never do.” He shakes his head before he puts the take out box in the microwave and sets the timer. “I’m thinking I can say something like: Senator Williams was delightfully extreme, psychotically wonderful, and could probably drink half of the Senate under the table. That should work, right?”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” she nods, waiting for the chime that announces the microwave is finished. She walks over beside him and confirms that there are, in fact, breadsticks left over, before taking one for herself. “Except,” she says, punctuating her statement by allowing Sam access to the rest of his leftovers, “you know you can’t actually say any of that.”

Ainsley smiles because she knows Sam wouldn’t say those things even if he could, not when she’s seen him spend hours perfecting the graduation card for low level state administrator’s children and stressing over the exact wording of a birthday message for her great uncle who had Alzheimer’s. She can’t blame him for letting off a little steam, though. Senator Williams had not been the friendliest of senior senators, especially when Sam first took office, and speaking as a fellow Republican, Ainsley herself had been pretty terrified of some of Williams’s ideas.

“Maybe you should call Toby,” she suggests. “He’ll help if you ask him.”

Sam nods in understanding. “I think I will,” he agrees, abandoning his leftovers as he walks over to the kitchen table to retrieve his phone.

She picks up a fork and is getting ready to start in on Sam’s fettuccine alfredo when she hears Toby’s exclamation of “But Senator Williams was a Republican!!” echoing loudly through the kitchen.

Ainsley thinks it’s a good thing she loves her husband (and his friends) as much as she does.

anonymous asked:

Sam and Ainsley

  • Who wakes the other one up with kisses: Sam does it more, though Ainsley is prone to doing it too.
  • Who cooks for who: Sam tries to cook when he can (almost went on a health ramble then realised he ain’t Chris Traeger) and Ainsley wants to make the effort but she’d happily live off pastries if she could.
  • Who is the morning person/night person: Both are pretty great at being awake anytime of the day/night.
  • Who is the romantic one: Sam (bless his heart)
  • Who is the top when it comes to sex: Usually Ainsley.
  • Who would lead in ballroom dancing: Sam
  • Who is the more cuddly one: Sam at first, but once she finds herself totally comfortable around him (which doesn’t take long), Ainsley takes over.
  • Who is the one to most likely pick the movie they watch: Both - when they can, movie nights occur with a film from each of their choosing.
  • Who is the one who would pay for dates: Sam, but not without protest from Ainsley.
  • Who is the one who would initiate a quicky during classes: Ainsley more, but Sam’s initiated the odd time before.

anonymous asked:

sam & ainsley “Ooh…someone’s got a tummy ache.”

better late than never, right anon? I’ve never written Sam/Ainsley before so I hope this is okay! I’ve never written Ainsley before at all so I’m pretty much winging it on her speech pattern. I hope you see this and like it!! 

Sam looked up as his wife walked into the kitchen. 

“Did she throw up?” he asked. 

“Yes, vomiting occurred.” 

“This is your fault, you know,” Sam said, pointing an accusing finger at Ainsley. She glared at him. 

“How is it my fault?” she complained. 

“You and your eating habits and your always having cupcakes and cheesecake lying around,” he explained. 

Ainsley opened the fridge and began rooting around inside. 

“You’re the one who gives it to her,” she countered. 

“Only when she asks! I’m weak to the powers of cuteness.” 

Ainsley was still rooting around in the fridge. 

“Outfoxed by a two-year-old. Not at all surprising for the democratic party.” 

“What are you looking for in there?” Sam asked, abruptly changing the topic. 

“Are you aware as to whether or not we are currently in possession of any gatorade?” she asked. 

“What do you need gatorade for?” 

“When a child is vomiting repeatedly one is supposed to provide her with fluids and electrolytes,” she said tersely. “Which you would know if you ever paid attention to the pediatrician.” 

“Isn’t pedialyte specifically designed for this? Why don’t you just giver her that?” 

Ainsley was now at about minute five of the great search for gatorade. 

“Pedialyte is disgusting and not something which I would allow any child of mine to consume.” 

“You’re doing your nervous thing,” Sam said softly, abruptly changing the topic for the second time. 

Ainsley slammed the refrigerator shut. 

“There’s no gatorade in here.” 

“I think we have some in the garage, but it won’t be chilled.” 

“I can put it on ice,” Ainsley said, deliberately trying to keep her sentence structure simple. 

“Okay,” Sam answered. He continued to lean against the wall, staring at his southern, republican wife. 

Ainsley stared right back. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Would you please go to the garage and get the gatorade?” she complained. 

“Right!” Sam jumped up from the wall. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of blue gatorade. 

“Thank you,” Ainsley said tightly. She filled a sippy cup with the blue liquid and dropped in a couple of ice cubes. 

“Ainsley, you’re upset about something,” Sam said gently. “You only talk like this when you’re nervous. What is it?” 

Ainsley sighed heavily. 

“This is the first time she’s really been sick,” she said. “Colds, ear infections, we’ve done that, but this is all new.” 

“Isn’t it impressive that it took two years?” Sam asked. 

“Don’t try to credit your superior genome,” Ainsley warned. 

Sam, who had been about to speak snapped his mouth closed. 

“I still think it’s from the cupcakes,” he tried. 

Ainsley rolled her eyes. 

“She’s running 102.” 

“Or… possibly a virus,” Sam shrugged. “You know, one of those.” 

Ainsley picked up the sippy cup. “I’m going to give this to her now. Are you coming?” 

Sam followed his wife to the living room where his tiny blonde daughter was lying on the couch looking absolutely miserable. 

“Ooh…someone’s got a tummy ache,” he cooed. 

The toddler glared at him. 

“Can you drink a little of this for me?” Ainsley asked, offering the sippy cup. 

The girl considered for a moment, then nodded and grasped the cup with both tiny hands. 

“Good girl,” Ainsley smiled. 

Sam stroked his daughter’s hair but turned to face his wife. 

“She likes you better,” he complained in a whisper. 

“It’s probably because I’m a republican,” Ainsley answered with a smirk. 


You know, you insist government is depraved for not legislating against what we can see on the newsstands, or what we can see in an art exhibit, or what we can burn in protest, or which sex we’re allowed to have sex with, or a woman’s right to choose, but don’t you dare try to regulate this deadly weapon I have concealed on me, for that would encroach against my freedom.