An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 12/?
Fandom: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Characters: Claire Beauchamp, Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, William Fraser, Ellen MacKenzie Fraser, Brian Fraser, Master Raymond
Additional Tags: Time Travel, Magic, Alternate Universe - Magic, Loss
Summary:
Claire, a spirited fourteen-year-old, arrived in the rugged Scottish landscape in 1948. With the winds whispering secrets of the past, she embarks on a daring mission fraught with peril and perhaps foolishness. Driven by a heart full of hope and nostalgia, she is determined to seek out her only true love, believing that she can alter the course of destiny itself. The shadows of history loom large, yet she is undeterred, ready to confront whatever challenges lie ahead in her quest for a love that once burned bright.
Will she carve a path to success and uncover the elusive joy she seeks? Or will the relentless grip of destiny continue to bind them, plunging them yet again into the depths of loss and sorrow they have faced so many times before? The future teems with possibilities, where hope dances alongside the spectre of heartache, leaving them eagerly awaiting what fate has in store.
"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."
— Oscar Wilde
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: +18, smut, infidelity, fingering, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
He kept trailing kisses along her neck and shoulders while her fingers tightened in his hair, soft moans slipping from her lips. Jensen’s grip around her waist tightened as he pulled Irina onto his lap, making her gasp and laugh in surprise.
Her hands cupped his jaw, fingertips brushing through his beard before she caught his lower lip gently between her teeth, deepening the kiss a moment later in a dizzying mess of lips, tongues, and breathless sighs.
Jensen’s hands settled firmly on her hips, drawing her closer as she shifted against him. Her lips parted on a shaky breath while the kiss deepened, his mouth moving against hers with growing urgency. One large hand cradled the back of her neck while the other held her close, unwilling to leave even an inch of space between them. As he grabbed Irina’s ass with full hands, sinking her hips on his lap, she felt his growing bulge through his jeans, making her hips twist, rubbing her spot warm and needy on it, making her silk pajamas wet and her lips part in a silent moan, while his tongue slid against hers, deep and claiming, one big hand cupping the back of her neck while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to bruise.
- ”You sure?” – Irina whispered between gasps, opening her eyes and trying to focus on his features, her thumbs drawing small circles on his beard.
- “I think so..I mean yeah” – Jensen voice came muffed, his lips deep on her cleavage, pulling down her top’ stripes, exposing her breasts. His eager mouth latched on her nipple, his tongue, warm and wet sucking it softly then a bit harder, making her hips involuntary sink and rub her aching clit.
It took all her strength to focus again, placing both hands on the side of his face, lifting it to make their eyes meet. Her long dark hair was messily framing her flushed face, making Jensen smile without noticing, her eyes had that power on him.
- “Look at me big boy” – she held his face a tiny bit far from hers to make him focus on her words, not her lips. – “Are. You. Sure?” – Irina said word by word, taping his face soflty at each one, to make sure he was understanding.
- “I’m very, very sure” – Jensen ran his fingertips around her face, holding her chin up to place a soft kiss on her lips. – “Just a bit tense, I guess..or rusty” - He said grinning, his lips on her neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His hands kneading her breasts again, tugging at her nipples.
- “Oh, if that’s the case, allow me to help you loosen up a bit”– Irina whispered close to his ear, teasing him, then lifted up from his lap, making Jensen frowning slightly. She placed her hands on his knees, spreading them, and knelled between his legs, on the floor, eyes locked on his while she unbuckled his belt
– “Just close your eyes and relax, I take it from here” - Irina whispered as she released his already hard cock from his boxers, her breath warm, teasing the soft skin of its head, making it twitch.
Jensen hummed in approval, his lips forming into a lopsided smile, his eyes shutting as he rested his head back on couch, exhaling heavily, his voice husky under his breath
– “Alright, it has been a while..” - but he couldn’t finish the sentence, as Irina stroked him slowly, watching the precum spilling out of his tip. She placed her lips on the head of his cock, licking his slit. His fingers threaded through her hair as she took him in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head, taking him in inch by inch, until she reached his base.
- “Oh my...fuck, baby” - he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening.
Irina hummed around him, bobbing her head up and down, sucking him hard, moaning at the taste of him. He rolled his hips, thrusting up into her mouth, opening his eyes wide open, pulling her hair a bit tighter, to make her look up
– “Eyes on me sweetheart” - He whispered, as he cupped her jaw with his hand.
- "Mhm," she moaned, taking his tip in her mouth, sucking it gently, then sticking her tongue out, sliding the wide part of it up and down his shaft, licking the underside of his cock, eyes never leaving his. Jensen ran his fingers through her hair, caressing her cheek with his thumb.
- “God, you’re evil” - his breathing got heavier and he smiled – “so fuckin evil” he groaned, moving his hips, slowly pushing himself deeper into her mouth. He released a breathy moan, watching Irina swallow his cock, flattening her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She swirled her tongue around him. Jensen tangled his hand in her hair, his eyes closed, mouth parted in a low grunt.
- "Yeah... Yeah, just like that, sweetheart," - he groaned, releasing his thick load in her throat, as she swallowed everything, and then smiled. Irina placed a soft kiss on his lower abdomen and set on the floor, her breath was short as she cleaned her lips with the back of her hand.
- “More relaxed now?’
Jensen sank on the couch, eyes shut and lips parted, slightly curved in a smile. He raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, before opening his eyes to look at Irina on the floor. She looked like the most powerful vixen, lying on the floor, propped up on her elbows, wearing only her silk pajamas trousers with her breasts exposed, watching him with an amused smile.
- “I think I’ve never been this relaxed in my whole life” - he murmured, his voice warm, lazy and slightly hoarse, letting out a slow breath, looking as if he'd forgotten every problem he'd ever had.
- “Well, glad I could help” - Irina said with a playful, slightly sarcastic laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes lingering on him sprawled across the couch.
- “Oh believe me baby” – Jensen chuckled, extending his arm toward her, palm up, a silent request for her to come closer. – “Come here, you’re too far”.
Irina grinned and stood up lazily, reaching for his hand, lifting it to her lips, kissing his fingers slowly, as he grabbed her hip with the other, pulling her trousers down, placing wet and warm kisses all over her thighs, her lower abdomen, letting his warm breath tease her already needy and aching mount, sending shivers all over her skin. Jensen dipped his lips and kissed her groin, hooking his fingers inside her lingerie fabric, yanking it down.
- "God, you are gorgeous," - he said as he circled her opening and felt how slicky it was under the lace, feeling the heat of it just radiating outward, her pussy was drenched and open for him. His long middle finger slowly sinking into her soaked cunt, feeling her flutter and grip down on his digit, moving firmly, yet slowly in and out, letting Irina feel every single inch.
She panted, the sensation building as he curled his finger in and out of her, his thumb pressing against her clit and rubbing in small circles. Her legs shook, her mouth dropped open, her back arched as she tried to stop from falling apart, placing both hands on his shoulders.
- “Kiss me” – Irina murmured almost inaudibly, making Jensen lift his gaze to her face with an evil grinning on his lips.
– “Here?” – he teased, placing a soft kiss on her groin – “Or here?” – He ran his nose over her mound and pressed a gentle kiss right above her clit making Irina moan a bit louder with anticipation. He pulled his fingers out and tapped her pussy, cupping it, squeezing the lips with his fingers.
– “I think I’ll stay here..” – and before Irina could answer, he latched his lips on her clit, sucking into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her head falling back, a strangled cry leaving her lips. Her legs were shaking, and her thighs tried to close, but he held them open, massaging her ass in his large hands, tugging her cheeks apart, spreading her open, squeezing her flesh.
Jensen was having a feast, lost in a haze of her sweet taste, when a sudden gush of wetness soaked his tongue and lips, dripping down to his chin and neck. Irina’s whole body trembled, his name leaving her lips repeatedly as her release shook her whole body in a loud, messy moan. He moved his tongue to her entrance, slipping it in, licking up the slickness, as he braced her by the waist. Her body softened and he sat her on his lap, gently caressing her flushed face, holding her chin with his fingers.
- “Looks like you’re quite relaxed too” – Jensen smirked as he took a strand of hair from her forehead, kissing her lips softly.
- “I...I just have one question” – Irina said between soft kisses and giggles – “How the hell did you know this was my favorite?”
- “Your favorite..?” – Jensen whispered as his lips moved from her ear to her neck. - “..way to get eaten?” – he smirked, lowering his voice - "I think I'm starting to learn a thing or two about you, Ms. Diplomat."
Irina throw her head back laughing – “And I’m starting to think you're getting a bit cocky, sir.” – pushing lightly his chest, then gasping as Jensen pulled her close and scooped her up, carrying Irina towards the bed. He put her down on the soft, fluffy sheets, giving a step back to get ride of the rest of his clothes.
As he started to strip, Irina’s mouth involuntarily drop open in disbelief, she started laughing and thrown a pillow on him
-“C’mon! This can’t be real. Dude, you’re ridiculous!”
Jensen dodged the pillow and kept unbuttoning his shirt, lifting a brow.
-“What? Were you expecting some Magic Mike performance?”
She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes blazing with lust. Still smiling, she shook her head in disbelief.
- “No man should be allowed to look like this.” She gestured vaguely toward his body.
- “This what?”
His voice came out lower this time. Dangerous.
His eyes never left hers as he pulled his trousers down completely and started walking toward her, like a beast about to catch its prey, a smirk playing on his lips.
Irina felt shivers run all over her naked body, a strange mix of joy, anxiety, and amusement.
Probably the alcohol, and the fact that she was finally having fun again after such a long time, she told herself.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was that deliciously gorgeous man walking in her direction.
Naked.
Hungry.
Looking as though he intended to devour her whole.
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.
Brace yourselves for our next and last chapter!
-Being a ghost, may be quite interesting. There are a few folk I wouldn't mind calling on in that state, just to see the look on their faces.
-Would you look in on me?
-Hm. Maybe just a wee glance, Sassenach. Wouldn't want to frighten you.
"I felt as though I had known you for a long time."
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
Slightly out of breath, still carrying the cold air from outside with her, one hand holding her phone, the other adjusting the strap of a leather bag that immediately got dropped onto the stool beside her.
She looked like she had come straight from war.
Long dark hair slightly messy now, makeup a little softer around the eyes after an entire day, sleeves rolled carelessly up her forearms beneath a white blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Tiredness lingered around her, but then she smiled—
And Jesus Christ.
It hit him like sunlight after drowning.
— “I am so, so sorry,” she sighed dramatically, climbing onto the bar stool beside him. “One meeting became three meetings, then someone decided diplomacy requires seventeen unnecessary handshakes—”
Jensen laughed before he could stop himself.
An actual laugh.
Warm. Real.
She finally breathed out deeply, shoulders relaxing for the first time since arriving, then turned fully toward him with that enormous smile.
— “Hi,” she repeated softer this time.
He looked at her for half a second too long.
— “Hey.”
The bartender approached.
— “What can I get you?”
Jensen opened his mouth, but she beat him immediately:
— “Old Fashioned.” Then she turned back to him casually, like that wasn’t the sexiest possible answer she could’ve given.
His eyebrows lifted.
— “Atta girl.”
She grinned instantly.
— “What? You thought diplomats only drank champagne?”
— “I thought diplomats poisoned people discreetly.”
— “Only on Thursdays.”
That pulled another laugh out of him.
The bartender returned with her drink quickly. She took the glass with both hands for a second like it contained life itself.
Then lifted it toward him.
Jensen clinked his whiskey gently against hers.
And for the first time that entire evening, the knot in his chest loosened.
- “So let me get this straight,” Jensen said, leaning back slightly with his whiskey in hand. “You speak, what, five languages, you’re a diplomat, and apparently you also know people who can hack electronic locks?”
Irina laughed softly into her glass.
- “In this line of work, you end up meeting all kinds of people.”
She took a slow sip of her old fashioned, eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass.
- “And now,” she added thoughtfully, “if I ever need to exorcise someone or kill a demon…”
She gestured vaguely toward him with complete fake arrogance.
- “…I can call you.”
Jensen laughed, shaking his head.
- “Oh, wow. So that’s what I am to you?”
- “A valuable international contact.”
- “Fantastic.”
They both laughed again, easier now, warmer. The kind of laughter that sneaks up on two people who already feel dangerously comfortable around each other.
God, she was fun.
- “So you actually watched the show?” he asked, genuinely curious.
- “Of course I did,” she said simply. “Since I was a teenager, and that ending destroyed me.”
That surprised him more than it should have.
Before he could answer, she leaned closer suddenly, like she was about to confess classified information.
The movement carried her perfume with it — warm, elegant, mixed with the cold night air still trapped in her hair and the whiskey on her breath.
Jensen felt his entire body tense instinctively.
Irina’s eyes flickered briefly toward his mouth before she murmured near his ear:
- “But honestly…”
Her voice dropped lower.
- “Sam was always my favorite.”
For half a second Jensen just stared at her in betrayed disbelief.
Irina leaned back again with a tiny apologetic pout, lips pressed together to hide her laugh.
- “Sorry.”
Jensen let out an incredulous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.
- “Oh, that’s cold.”
- “I like emotionally available men,” she replied calmly before taking another sip of her drink.
He nearly choked on his whiskey.
The hours slipped by almost unnoticed.
At some point, the crowd at the hotel bar had thinned into only a few scattered guests speaking quietly over late drinks, the jazz softer now, the lights dimmer, warmer. Their empty glasses multiplied slowly across the polished wood between them.
And somewhere between the second whiskey and whatever story Irina was telling about a disastrous diplomatic dinner in Brussels, they had both stopped sitting like strangers.
She talked with her hands when she got excited, warm and expressive in that effortless Balkan/Mediterranean way. Every now and then her fingers wrapped around his forearm to emphasize a point, or she laughed and hit his knee lightly like she’d known him for years instead of hours.
None of it felt forced.
Which somehow made it worse.
Or better.
Jensen honestly wasn’t sure anymore.
He only knew he had become painfully aware of every point of contact between them.
The warmth of her hand over his sleeve.
Her perfume every time she leaned closer.
The way her laughter kept pulling laughter out of him too, deeper and louder than usual.
At one point he started imitating directors he’d worked with over the years, then actors, then eventually Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Irina nearly folded over laughing.
Jensen lowered his voice into an exaggerated gravelly rumble.
— Listen here, kiddo…
Irina made an immediate wounded sound, fanning herself dramatically with one hand.
— Oh my God, don’t do that to me.
He grinned slowly.
— Do what?
And then, still half joking, he leaned closer.
His voice came out lower this time.
Rougher.
Too close.
Irina’s laughter faltered first.
Their eyes met.
And suddenly the air changed.
Not all at once.
Worse.
Slowly.
Jensen watched her expression soften into something quieter, her lips parting slightly as she looked at him. He could see the pulse moving in her throat now. Feel the warmth radiating from her body in the small space between their stools.
Her breathing shifted.
So did his.
His eyes dropped instinctively to her mouth.
Irina swallowed hard.
For one suspended second neither of them moved.
Then Jensen inhaled sharply, like waking up from something dangerous.
He leaned back again first.
Took a longer sip of his whiskey than necessary.
Ran a hand through his hair and looked away toward the nearly empty bar before glancing back at her with a crooked, quieter smile.
— “Man…”— he exhaled a soft laugh. — “I really needed this tonight. Especially tonight.”
Irina adjusted herself slightly on the stool, suddenly aware of how warm she felt.
A strand of hair had stuck to the damp skin at the back of her neck. She pushed it back slowly, clearing her throat once before taking another sip of her drink.
Then she looked at him again, softer now.
— “Why?”
And for the first time that night, the smile on Jensen’s face faded just enough for her to see the tiredness underneath it.
Jensen stayed quiet for a moment after her question.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Just… thoughtful.
The ice clinked softly inside his glass while he turned it slowly between his fingers, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the bar shelves and amber bottles glowing behind them.
Irina watched him carefully without interrupting.
For the first time that night, he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with jet lag or long convention hours.
He exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly to himself.
— “I don’t know…” — he admitted quietly. — “I guess sometimes it just gets exhausting being… split in half all the time.”
His voice had lost most of its teasing warmth now. It turned lower, rougher around the edges.
— “You spend months away from home pretending everything’s balanced because technically you’re still showing up, y’know? You call every day, you FaceTime, you fly back whenever you can… but after a while it starts feeling like you live two completely different lives.”
Irina’s eyes softened immediately.
Jensen kept looking ahead, thumb rubbing absently against the condensation on his glass.
— “And the worst part is… nobody’s really wrong.” — He gave a small humorless laugh. — “That’s what makes it hard.”
The jazz hummed softly around them.
— “My kids need stability. My wife’s tired of carrying everything alone while I’m constantly somewhere else pretending I can somehow make everybody happy all the time. And I keep thinking if I just work harder or organize things better maybe I can fix it, but…”
He trailed off.
His jaw flexed slightly.
— “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like no matter where I am, there’s always a part of me failing somebody else.”
The words stayed hanging between them.
Heavy.
Honest.
Jensen finally took a sip of whiskey, eyes distant now, somewhere far from the hotel bar and the low music and her perfume beside him.
And for the first time that night, Irina saw not the actor, not the charming man everybody gravitated toward naturally.
Just a lonely man.
Trying very hard.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She inhaled slowly.
— “Tell me about it...”
Her voice came out softer than before.
Jensen looked at her then.
Irina took another sip of her drink, slower this time, before resting the glass carefully against her thigh. Then she lifted her left hand quietly between them.
The ring caught the warm amber light immediately.
Simple.
Elegant.
Painful.
Her eyes stayed lowered toward the glass for a second longer before she finally smiled.
A small sad thing.
Nothing like the bright laughter from earlier.
Jensen’s eyes dropped to the ring.
Something inside him shifted immediately.
Because suddenly this wasn’t flirting anymore.
This wasn’t just chemistry and whiskey and late-night tension.
It was recognition.
Irina looked away first.
Toward the empty end of the bar.
Toward nowhere.
Her thumb moved absently over the ring like muscle memory.
— “Turns out diplomacy is also a terrible profession for relationships.” — she murmured with a faint smile that didn’t quite survive. — “Who knew?”
Jensen stared at her for a second longer than he should have.
At the tiredness behind her composure.
At the loneliness hiding beneath all that elegance and wit.
And God help him, but that was the exact moment something truly dangerous began.
The bar was nearly empty by the time Jensen finally glanced down at his watch.
The realization seemed to hit both of them at the same time.
Irina let out a soft breath through her nose, almost laughing at herself.
— God… I have to be awake in like four hours.
— Yeah, same. — Jensen smiled tiredly, though neither of them moved. — We’re getting old.
— Speak for yourself, Ackles.
— Wow. Cold.
She laughed softly again, but there was something quieter underneath it now. Something reluctant.
Like neither of them wanted to be the first one to end the night.
Jensen paid the bill while Irina finished the last sip of her old fashioned, slow and thoughtful. The bartender wished them goodnight politely and suddenly they were walking through the enormous hotel lobby together, side by side beneath warm golden lights and marble reflections.
The hotel felt strangely empty compared to the chaos from earlier that day.
Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor.
Jensen shoved one hand into his pocket.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
They stepped inside together.
And suddenly the space felt very small.
Very quiet.
Jensen leaned back lightly against the mirrored wall while Irina stood beside him, arms folded loosely, exhaustion softening the sharp elegance she carried all day.
She looked beautiful like this.
Real.
Her lipstick slightly faded.
Hair not as perfect anymore.
Eyes heavier now from alcohol and lack of sleep.
He couldn’t stop looking at her.
The elevator hummed quietly upward.
Something warmer.
The doors opened onto their floor.
They walked slowly down the hallway together.
Too slowly.
Almost like they both knew reaching their doors meant this would end.
Irina stopped first outside room 1480.
Jensen’s room waited only a few steps away.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Jensen rubbed the back of his neck lightly and stopped beside his own door.
— So… — he started casually, though his heartbeat suddenly wasn’t casual at all. — Do you wanna come in for one last drink?
He asked it without looking at her at first.
Like maybe that made it less real.
Then he finally turned his head.
And held his breath.
Irina froze slightly.
The hallway suddenly felt too warm.
She looked at him, really looked at him now — loosened collar, tired green eyes, whiskey-soft voice, that impossible face watching her carefully like he was already preparing himself for rejection.
Her pulse stumbled.
— I… — she inhaled softly. — I really need a shower.
The answer hit him immediately, even though he tried not to let it show.
— Yeah, of course. Sure.
He nodded once, forcing an easy smile.
But before the disappointment could fully settle over his features, she spoke again:
— Will you wait for me?
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.
Is there anything more old fashioned than a love affair? 🥃
“There are moments when one is ready to spend whole years in the hope of a single minute of happiness.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
It was past midnight when Irina finally closed her laptop and leaned back against the pillows with a long, exhausted breath.
“Well,” she murmured to herself, rubbing tired eyes, “it can’t get any better than that.”
She tossed the laptop aside onto the large hotel bed, switched off the lights, and sank deeper into the soft mattress with relief. Pulling the silk sleep mask over her eyes, she finally allowed her body to relax.
“This is not possible, pal!”
A rough, frustrated male voice suddenly echoed through the corridor outside.
“Monsieur, there’s nothing we can do…” another voice replied softly, thick with a French accent and already exhausted.
Irina pulled the mask back up immediately.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
She stayed still for a moment, hoping the situation outside would solve itself.
It didn’t.
“Sir, I just—” the rough voice broke off in disbelief. “I just wanna sleep in my room, that’s all. I don’t want another room. I want my stuff.”
A third voice joined in now, colder, noticeably less patient.
“It’s past midnight, sir. There is nothing else we can do tonight. Tomorrow the company will come fix it.”
Irina sighed heavily and sat up in bed.
Not because she cared about the situation itself.
But because she desperately needed sleep.
With another annoyed exhale, she climbed out of bed and crossed the room barefoot. She didn’t even bother putting on a robe — the black silk pajamas were decent enough — and cracked the door open slightly, peeking into the hallway.
“Bonsoir,” she asked carefully. “Tout va bien ici?”
One of the hotel employees immediately turned toward her with an apologetic smile, assuring her everything was under control.
The man standing beside them, however, looked anything but fine.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Baseball cap pulled low.
Beard.
And painfully familiar green eyes.
Irina blinked once in surprise before a small involuntary smile curled at her lips.
“Well,” she said, opening the door a little wider, “you definitely don’t look okay.”
The tension in his expression softened instantly at the sound of English.
“Not really,” he admitted with a tired sigh. “I’m locked out of my room and apparently nobody can do anything about it.”
Irina glanced toward the electronic lock.
“That’s deeply concerning for a five-star hotel.”
That finally earned a laugh from him.
She stepped a little farther into the corridor, crossing her arms against the cold air conditioning. The movement tightened the silk fabric slightly against her body, though she didn’t notice.
“Did they already call a technician?” she asked.
“Apparently.” He dragged a hand through his hair before scratching his beard tiredly. “Guy showed up, stared at the door for ten minutes like it personally offended him, then left.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
His eyes dropped briefly before lifting back to her face again.
They exchanged a quick smile.
Trying not to make it obvious that she absolutely knew who he was, Irina turned toward the hotel staff and started asking questions in French, translating pieces of the conversation back to him as calmly as possible.
Every time she turned back toward him, though, she found those tired green eyes already on her.
Watching hopefully.
Like maybe she might somehow magically fix the entire situation.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, lifting a finger slightly. “I think I know someone who can help.”
Without thinking much about it, she squeezed Jensen’s arm lightly before turning toward her room.
He blinked in surprise, glancing briefly at her hand before looking back up at her with a tired grin.
“Oh, thank God,” he laughed. “Because I was about two seconds away from kicking that door down.”
Irina turned back dramatically.
“Well, if that’s the case, be my guest.”
She gestured toward the locked door with exaggerated politeness.
“Since I was fourteen, I’ve dreamed of seeing Dean Winchester kick a door open in real life.”
That made him laugh properly.
For a second, Jensen actually looked shy.
He lowered his head with a crooked smile, slipping his hands into his pockets before looking back up at her.
“Well… if you insist.”
But the hotel employee immediately stepped between them in alarm.
“Sir, please don’t do that.”
Then he turned toward Irina with a deeply judgmental look that clearly said:
Do not encourage him.
She and Jensen exchanged the exact same guilty glance like two teenagers about to do something stupid.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.
A minute later, Irina returned with her phone pressed against her ear.
A man’s voice echoed rapidly through the speaker in Russian while she crouched in front of the electronic lock.
“Да, да, я знаю,” she muttered back. “Именно поэтому я звоню вам в час ночи.”
The man laughed loudly on the other end.
Irina rolled her eyes immediately.
“Да заткнись. Если это взорвётся, я буду винить лично тебя.”
Behind her, silence.
She could practically feel Jensen and the hotel employees staring while she examined the keypad carefully.
“Ждать,” the voice instructed.
Irina pressed a sequence of buttons.
Nothing.
She stared at the lock blankly.
“Большой,” she deadpanned into the phone. “Вот так я и умру. В коридоре французского отеля.”
That earned an actual laugh from Jensen.
“Okay, seriously,” he asked, folding his arms while watching her work. “Who are you? Some kind of KGB spy?”
Still focused on the keypad, she smirked faintly.
“Almost,” she replied. “Diplomat.”
Another beep echoed through the corridor.
Then—
Click.
The lock released.
“Voilà.”
Irina stood up slowly, brushing her hands together in triumph.
Behind her, the hotel employees looked both horrified and impressed.
She thanked her friend in Russian, promising him a drink the next time they crossed paths in Geneva, then ended the call.
For a second, nobody moved.
Jensen simply stared at her with raised eyebrows.
“Well,” he said slowly, glancing from her to the unlocked door. “That was incredibly hot.”
Irina looked up at him in surprise.
His own eyes widened slightly right after the words left his mouth, like he hadn’t actually meant to say them out loud.
A laugh escaped her immediately.
“You owe me a drink,” she said, already stepping backward toward her room. “A real one.”
Jensen opened his mouth — probably to thank her — but she was already walking barefoot down the corridor.
“Room 1458,” she called casually over her shoulder. “I’ll wait for the invitation at reception.”
Her tone was light.
Playful.
But not entirely joking.
Before he could answer, she slipped back inside her room and quietly closed the door behind her.
Silence settled over the corridor again.
The two hotel employees slowly turned toward Jensen.
“Sir…” one of them asked carefully. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”
For a moment, Jensen didn’t answer.
Still staring at the closed door across the hallway.
Still trying to process whatever the hell had just happened.
Finally, he shook his head slightly, letting out a disbelieving laugh.
“No,” he muttered. “I think I’m good.”
He thanked them distractedly before stepping inside his room and shutting the door behind him.
Then he just stood there for a moment.
Exhausted.
Confused.
His exhaustion was still there, heavy behind his eyes — but underneath it now lived something sharper.
Warmer.
Restless.
Who the hell was that woman?
Comments, screams and emotional damage are always appreciated. 🖤
"We are all alone, and we are all together in that."
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
Everything inside his chest lit up so suddenly it almost hurt.
— Sure. Yeah. Of course. No problem.
His answer came too fast.
Irina smiled then.
Not bright and teasing like before.
Smaller.
Shyer.
And somehow that affected him even more.
She opened the door to her room, then looked back over her shoulder at him.
A tiny pause.
Half confidence.
Half nerves.
— So come on in.
The moment the door closed behind them, the silence changed again.
Not awkward.
Worse.
Loaded.
The low buzz of the city outside filtered through the enormous windows, distant traffic glowing far below them in ribbons of gold and red. The hotel suite was dim except for a couple warm lamps left on near the sofa and minibar, everything bathed in soft amber shadows.
Irina exhaled first.
Then immediately bent down to free herself from the heels that had apparently been torturing her all day.
— Jesus Christ—
She kicked one off.
Then the other.
Both landing somewhere carelessly across the carpet.
Jensen laughed softly under his breath while closing the door slower than necessary behind him.
She walked farther into the suite already pulling the blazer off her shoulders, revealing the sleeveless silk blouse underneath. The white fabric caught the warm light beautifully against her skin before she tossed the blazer over an armchair without looking.
Jensen followed more slowly.
Hands in his pockets.
Trying very hard to look anywhere except at her.
Which was becoming a serious problem.
— Fancy room, Ms. Diplomat.
His voice sounded rougher now.
Irina glanced around dramatically.
— Mhm. Very… beige.
He laughed quietly.
— Rich people love beige.
She smiled tiredly at that while reaching behind herself to unclasp her earrings, placing them carelessly on the counter beside the minibar.
Jensen watched every movement despite himself.
The elegant line of her neck exposed now.
The slight messiness settling into her after the long day.
The way she looked less like the untouchable diplomat from that morning and more like a woman unwinding in front of him.
Dangerous thought.
Very dangerous.
He cleared his throat lightly and forced himself to glance around the room instead.
— This painting is terrible.
Irina looked over.
— Oh God, it is terrible.
— Looks expensive though.
— That’s how you know it’s bad.
He laughed again, softer this time.
There was something strangely shy happening between them now underneath all the flirting. Like both of them suddenly understood how close they were standing to something irreversible.
Irina pointed toward the sofa.
— Can you move those papers for me?
— Yeah, sure.
He stepped forward immediately, gathering folders and documents scattered over the cushions — schedules, diplomatic notes, folders with UN insignia.
Meanwhile she loosened the tension from her shoulders with a slow roll of her neck.
— Check the minibar too. There might be something decent hidden in there if we’re lucky. — she paused, looking at him over her shoulder with a faint smile. — I’m gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable.
The words shouldn’t have affected him that much.
But they did.
Jensen nodded once.
— Take your time.
She disappeared into the bathroom a moment later.
And suddenly he was alone with the sound of his own heartbeat.
He let out a long breath and rubbed both hands down his face.
— Jesus Christ…
A quiet laugh escaped him immediately after.
Then he reached for his phone almost on instinct.
A second later, classic hard rock filled the suite softly through the room speakers.
He opened the champagne from the minibar with a muted pop, poured himself a glass and loosened two buttons of his shirt slowly, trying to relax into the sofa.
It didn’t work.
Not even a little.
Because behind the bathroom door he could hear the water running.
And somehow that was worse than actually seeing her.
The soft hiss of the shower.
The blurred silhouette moving behind frosted glass.
The expensive soap slowly filling the suite with warm clean notes that mixed dangerously well with the whiskey still lingering on her earlier perfume.
Jensen leaned back deeper into the couch and took a longer sip of champagne.
His knee bounced once.
Twice.
He laughed quietly at himself.
Forty-something years old and suddenly feeling like a nervous teenager waiting for his date to come downstairs.
Then Bon Jovi hit the chorus.
And before he could stop himself, he started singing along under his breath.
— Tonight I won’t be alone… but you know that don’t mean I’m not lonely…
A few drinks in, his voice came easier now — low, naturally raspy, filling the suite effortlessly.
He got up eventually, champagne glass in hand, and wandered toward the enormous windows overlooking the city.
The streets glittered below him.
Alive.
Restless.
He kept singing softly with the music, staring out at the traffic.
Then suddenly—
He felt her presence before he heard her.
Jensen inhaled slowly.
Smiled to himself.
And took another sip before turning around.
Irina stood barefoot a few feet away now, wrapped in black silk.
The same pajamas from the night before.
Loose silk pants brushing softly against her ankles. Thin straps exposing elegant shoulders still slightly damp from the shower. Her hair twisted up messily, exposing her neck completely.
And somehow that looked infinitely more intimate than if she’d dressed up for him.
The scent of soap and her perfume surrounded her completely now.
Warm.
Clean.
Feminine.
Dangerous.
She stepped closer slowly and rested her hand lightly against the middle of his back.
Jensen closed his eyes for half a second at the contact.
Then she leaned in just enough to murmur:
— I always knew you were Team Bon Jovi.
Her voice brushed his ear softly.
He chuckled under his breath.
Irina moved toward the champagne bottle but before she could reach it, Jensen turned immediately.
— Oh no, no. I got it.
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
— Oh?
— Yeah.
He grabbed another glass, pouring carefully while she watched him with obvious amusement.
— Such a gentleman.
— I’m trying very hard tonight, actually.
That earned her another laugh.
She took the glass from his hand and settled onto the sofa first, sitting comfortably on her heels against the cushions.
Then she patted the spot beside her.
Inviting him closer without saying it aloud.
Jensen sat down slowly beside her, one arm stretching along the back of the sofa, legs spread comfortably despite the tension simmering under his skin.
Irina turned toward him immediately.
One elbow resting against the back cushion now.
Her cheek against her hand.
Watching him.
Just watching him.
Those enormous brown eyes fixed on him so openly now it almost unsettled him.
A slow smile curved against the rim of her champagne glass.
Not sweet.
Not innocent.
Something softer and infinitely more dangerous.
Jensen looked at her.
Held it for exactly one second too long.
Then laughed suddenly under his breath and looked away toward the floor.
— Why are you looking at me like that?
Irina tilted her head slightly.
— Like what?
— Like you’re about to eat me alive.
Her eyebrows lifted slowly over the glass.
And she never broke eye contact when she answered:
— Maybe I will.
Jensen let out a loud deep laugh instantly, head falling back against the sofa, eyes closing for a moment while the sound filled the room.
The room had gone quieter at some point.
Not literally — Bon Jovi still played low somewhere near the TV, glasses still clinked softly every now and then, the city still existed outside the windows — but quieter between them.
Like the air itself had thickened.
Jensen sat deeper into the couch now, one knee angled toward her, champagne loose in his hand. Two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the warm skin of his throat. Irina remained curled toward him, one leg folded beneath her body, fingers lazily circling the stem of her glass.
And those eyes.
Jesus Christ.
Those huge brown eyes stayed on him like she was listening to things he wasn’t even saying.
“So,” she murmured eventually, voice softer now, slightly roughened by alcohol and exhaustion. “How do you do it?”
He glanced at her with a lazy smile.
“Do what?”
She tilted her head a little.
“This.”
A vague gesture toward him.
“The charming thing.”
That pulled a laugh from him.
“Oh, c’mon.”
“No, I’m serious.” She smiled into her glass. “You do it professionally. It’s actually impressive.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Mmhm.”
He took another sip, still smiling faintly, but she kept looking at him.
Not teasing now.
Watching.
Like she meant something else entirely.
The smile faded from his mouth little by little.
He looked down at the champagne bottle on the table between them and exhaled quietly through his nose.
“Honestly?” he said after a moment. “Most days I think I’m just improvising.”
Something in the room shifted.
Irina’s expression softened almost immediately, like she understood the sentence far beyond the joke it was supposed to be.
He rubbed his thumb slowly against the side of his glass.
“You spend enough years traveling, smiling, shaking hands, making people feel good…” he shrugged lightly. “Eventually you get very good at performing a version of yourself.”
She stared at him for a second longer before letting out the faintest breath of a laugh.
“Oh, I’ve seen this movie... too many fucking times.”
Their eyes met again.
And suddenly it wasn’t flirting anymore.
Or maybe it still was — but now there was honesty underneath it.
Irina leaned her temple against the back of the couch, eyes drifting briefly toward the ceiling.
Jensen huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Ah, c’mon. You work with people too. I’m sure you know how it works.” He shrugged lightly, eyes drifting toward the city lights outside the windows. “Traveling, smiling, shaking hands, making people feel good…” His fingers turned the glass slowly in his hand. “Eventually you get very good at performing a version of yourself.”
Irina looked away for a second, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” she murmured quietly.
She shifted slightly on the couch before lifting her gaze back to his.
Her hand resting against the back of the couch brushed softly against his arm.
Such a small touch.
Still, it sent a shiver through every inch of him.
God.
Jensen’s eyes dropped instinctively to her hand against his arm.
Then to her bare shoulders.
To the dark strands of hair framing her face softly.
To her mouth.
Those naturally red lips.
And those deep brown eyes looking at him with something dangerously close to longing now, mixed with hesitation, softness, exhaustion.
She bit her lower lip gently.
And that was it.
One moment he was thinking about loneliness, performance, life—
The next his mouth was on hers
Hungry.
Needy.
Like something inside both of them had finally snapped.
His lips moved against hers slowly at first, deepening seconds later, firmer now, desperate in a way that made her stomach tighten instantly. His hand closed around her waist, pulling her flush against him until she could feel the heat of his body, solid and dazzlingly warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
Irina gasped softly into his mouth.
Jensen took the opportunity immediately, kissing her deeper, and she felt his breath mix with hers as her fingers curled instinctively against his chest, gripping the fabric there.
His heartbeat was fast.
Too fast.
Not calm at all.
His fingertips slid slowly up her side, brushing higher little by little, teasingly close to her breast before stopping again, restraint hanging by a thread between them.
The sound he made when she pulled him closer almost ruined her completely.
A low groan against her mouth.
Raw.
Helpless.
By the time they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Foreheads pressed together.
Eyes closed.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered first, voice wrecked.
“No,” she breathed shakily. “We shouldn’t.”
Neither of them moved away.
Then Jensen finally leaned back slightly, dragging a hand down his face before pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“I just…” He exhaled sharply. “I need you to know I’m not this guy.”
Irina stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
“I’m not the guy who leaves his family at home and runs around the world screwing anything that moves.” His voice tightened slightly. “That’s not me.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I know. Me neither.”
“No, wait.” He shook his head quickly. “I need to say this.”
For the first time that night, Jensen looked genuinely exposed.
Not charming.
Not funny.
Not performing.
Just tired.
“I love my family,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
Irina’s expression softened immediately.
“For years… during Supernatural, everything somehow worked. We had a routine. We had stability. Fifteen years of the same schedule, same city, same rhythm…”
A sad laugh escaped him.
“And then suddenly it was over.”
His eyes drifted somewhere distant again.
“The kids got older. They couldn’t just leave school anymore. I started jumping between productions, different cities, different schedules…” He swallowed hard. “And I try, you know? I try to still be present. To not just become the fun dad who shows up between flights.”
The silence stretched for a second.
“But with Danneel…” he admitted quietly. “Marriage is different. Distance becomes resentment really fast when one person is carrying everything alone.”
Irina listened without interrupting.
Curled slightly toward him on the couch, cheek resting against her arm, brown eyes fixed on him with quiet understanding.
Because she understood.
God, she understood all too well.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke.
Soft hard rock music still played softly somewhere behind them, low enough now to feel more like memory than music. The city lights outside the windows painted slow golden reflections across the room, across the champagne bottle abandoned on the table, across Jensen’s tired face.
And when he finally looked back at her—
His eyes were glassy.
Not fully crying.
Not falling apart.
Just exhausted enough that the sadness had nowhere left to hide.
Something inside Irina broke a little at the sight.
“Oh no, no, don’t cry,” she whispered immediately, voice impossibly soft.
Before he could even react, she moved closer.
One knee sinking into the couch beside him, then the other, until she was kneeling there in front of him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
Her hands slid carefully to his face first, thumbs brushing lightly against his beard before she pulled him toward her.
And Jensen let her.
God, he let her.
His forehead pressed against her chest, fingers disappearing softly into his hair.
Irina kissed his head softly.
“hey..” she whispered again. “it’s okay...”
“You’re not a bad guy, baby,” she said quietly. “You’re just human.”
The word ‘baby’ nearly destroyed whatever restraint he still had left.
Jensen’s arms wrapped around her waist instinctively, holding her tighter now, his face still buried against her chest as he breathed her in deeply.
Irina kept running her fingers through his hair slowly, her touch impossibly tender, kissing the top of his head once more while his grip around her tightened almost unconsciously beneath the silk fabric of her pajama top.
And then—
he turned his face slightly.
Just enough that his lips brushed the warm skin above her chest.
One small kiss at first.
Absentminded.
Instinctive.
But the second one lingered longer.
Irina’s breath caught immediately.
Jensen felt it.
Felt the way her body tensed softly beneath his hands.
The room changed again.
Just like that.
His mouth moved higher slowly, lingering against her skin now, warm kisses turning more deliberate against the softness exposed by the thin straps of her top.
Irina inhaled shakily above him, fingers tightening slightly in his hair.
- “Jensen…”
But it wasn’t a warning.
Not really.
Not anymore.
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.🥃
Apparently behind closed doors and heavy hearts, lust wins.
And runs free.
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