After midnight fics @aftermidnightfics - Tumblr Blog

A Hotel Room in Monaco

Chapter II - Foreign Affairs

EPIGRAPH

“Why is it that the best people seem to hide themselves away?” — 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

— ❈ —

The breakfast room was already crowded when Jensen walked in, baseball cap low over his eyes, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his Henley. The smell of coffee, butter and expensive hotel perfume filled the air, mixed with low conversations in different languages.

Karl Urban was the first one to notice him.

- “Oi oi, look who survived the great hotel tragedy of last night.”

Jack Quaid nearly choked on his coffee laughing.

- “Dude, I still can’t believe you got locked out of your room. That’s so embarrassingly old-man coded.”

- “Fuck off “- Jensen muttered, grabbing a coffee pot from a nearby table. - “It wasn’t my fault, the damn lock died.”

- “Sure grandpa” - Karl said, not even looking up from his plate. - “Did ya forget the password too?”

Jensen rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat down with them.

- “I’m serious. Nobody could open the damn thing. Hotel staff, technician, everybody looked completely clueless.”

- “So what happened?” - Erin asked, curious.

Jensen poured coffee into his mug, leaning back on the chair.

- “My neighbor saved me.”

- “Neighbor?” - Jack repeated immediately, already smelling gossip. - “What neighbor?”

Jensen shrugged, trying to sound casual.

- “Woman next door. She came out because of the noise. Asked what was going on.”

- “Hot?” - Karl asked instantly.

The table burst out laughing.

Jensen tried to hide his smile behind the mug.

- “I mean… yeah.”

- “Ahhhhh there we go.” - Karl pointed at him dramatically. - “There’s the important detail.”

- “She somehow knew a guy who taught her how to override electronic locks.” - Jensen ignored them. - “Called someone speaking fucking russian in the middle of the night, crouched in front of my door and unlocked it in thirty seconds.”

Jack blinked.

- “Wait… what?” - Jack blinked.

- “I swear to God.“

- “That sounds incredibly illegal” - Erin laughed.

- “That sounds incredibly sexy” - Karl corrected casually, cutting into his pancakes.

Jensen shook his head with a quiet laugh.

- “Apparently she’s a diplomat too.”

- “A diplomat?” - Erin repeated, surprised.

- “Yeah. That’s literally what she told me when I asked if she was KGB or something.”

The table burst out laughing.

- “See?” - Karl pointed his fork dramatically. - “That is objectively hot.”

Jensen looked down at his coffee for a second, smiling despite himself.

He could still see her crouched in front of the door in black silk pajamas, long hair, messy from sleep, completely calm while everyone else around her looked useless.

The memory pulled an involuntary smile from him.

Jack pointed immediately.

- “Oh no. You’re smiling. This is serious.”

- “Brother… “- Karl leaned back dramatically. - “A mysterious hot diplomat hacker and ya didn’t even ask her bloody name?”

- “It was past midnight! I was tired.”

- “Excuses. Weak excuses.”

Jensen laughed under his breath, but before he could answer, his eyes instinctively drifted across the breakfast room again.

Slowly. Casually.

Scanning.

Businessmen. Families. Convention guests. Hotel staff.

No black silk pajamas.

No deep brown eyes.

No amused little smirk.

Nothing.

Something in his chest sank in a stupidly irrational way.

- “You’re doing it again” - Karl said around a sip of coffee.

- “Doing what?”

- “Looking for spy mommy.”

Jack laughed so hard he almost spilled orange juice on himself.

- “Spy mommy is insane, Karl.”

- “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Jensen shook his head, fighting a smile.

- “You people are unbelievable.”

But even as the conversation moved on, he caught himself glancing one last time toward the restaurant entrance.

Still nothing.

　　　　　　　　　❈

Outside the hotel, the morning air was cold and buzzing with energy. Fans crowded behind barriers, screaming the second the cast stepped out through the revolving doors. Cameras flashed nonstop, security trying to keep a path open toward the black SUVs waiting by the curb.

- Jensen! Over here! - Soldier Boy!! - We love you!!

He slipped easily into the familiar rhythm of it all. Smiling, signing posters, taking phones for selfies, touching hands stretched desperately toward him.

A girl nearly cried when he hugged her.

Another handed him a tiny plastic Dean Winchester keychain.

- “This is for luck!” - she said breathlessly.

- “Thank you sweetheart” - he smiled warmly. - “I think I might actually need it after last night.”

The fans laughed, not understanding the joke but loving it anyway.

Then, between flashes and voices and sharpie signatures, his attention drifted.

To the side entrance of the hotel.

A small group emerged first. Men and women in tailored coats, talking quietly among themselves. Security moved differently around them, more discreet but more alert. Two black official cars waited near the curb, small flags attached to the front.

And then she appeared.

Jensen forgot the autograph he was signing halfway through his own name.

Irina walked beside two older diplomats, dark sunglasses covering her eyes, long hair perfectly sleek over her shoulders. The white pinstriped suit fit her like it had been made exclusively for her body, sharp and elegant and devastatingly expensive. Gold jewelry glinted softly against her skin every time she moved her hands while speaking.

She was laughing politely at something one of the men said, confident and composed, one hand holding her phone and leather gloves.

Not the barefoot woman in silk pajamas anymore.

Not warm.

Not sleepy.

Not teasing him in a hotel corridor at midnight.

This woman looked untouchable.

Important.

Dangerous, even.

And somehow that made her even hotter. Across the street, Irina turned slightly while one of her colleagues spoke to her.

For one suspended second, Jensen thought she might look toward him.

Instead, one of the drivers opened the car door for her and she disappeared smoothly inside the black vehicle.

The door shut.

The convoy pulled away.

And Jensen stood there smiling automatically for photos while feeling strangely… off balance.

- “Jensen!”

He blinked, turning back to a fan waiting nervously for a selfie.

- “Sorry sweetheart” - he smiled automatically. - “Of course.”

A few more photos, a few more autographs, and finally security started guiding them toward the cars.

Jensen exhaled quietly as he climbed into the SUV, rubbing a hand over his beard.

Beside him, Karl adjusted his sunglasses and glanced sideways.

- “Hey… you good?” - he asked casually. - “Ya kinda zoomed out back there.”

- “Yeah, I just… “- Jensen looked out the window for a second before shaking his head lightly. - “Nothing.”

Karl followed his gaze toward the street where the official cars had disappeared moments ago.

A slow grin appeared on his face.

- “Ahhhh. Mystery woman?”

Jensen looked down, trying and failing not to smile a little.

- “Shut up.”

Karl laughed quietly, leaning back against the seat.

- “Mate, she looked expensive.”

That finally pulled a real laugh out of Jensen.

- “Yeah” - he muttered, glancing once more toward the street outside. - “She really did.”

The convention center was loud from the moment Jensen stepped inside.

Fans screaming, people in cosplay, cameras everywhere, handlers trying to keep everything on schedule while panels changed every hour. It was the kind of chaos he knew by heart after years of conventions, something almost automatic by now. Smile here. Hug there. Tell a funny story. Make the crowd laugh.

And apparently, now he had a new one.

- “So I’m standing there at, like, one in the morning - he told the audience during the panel, leaning back in his chair while the crowd laughed already in anticipation - exhausted, locked out of my own hotel room, and the hotel staff is looking at me like I’m supposed to know how electronic locks work.”

The audience laughed.

- “And then this woman opens the door next to mine wearing silk pajamas looking like she walked straight out of a Bond movie”—

More screams.

— “speaks russian on the phone with some mysterious guy and unlocks my door in thirty seconds.”

The crowd exploded.

Jack leaned toward his mic dramatically.

- “Jensen got rescued by a spy.”

- ”That’s exactly what I said! “- Jensen pointed at him laughing. - “I literally asked if she was KGB.”

- “Was she?” - someone screamed from the crowd.

Jensen made an exasperated clueless expression

- “I still don’t know!”

The audience made a collective ooooohhhh sound.

- “See?” - Jack spread his arms. - “Sexy spy.”

Jensen laughed and shook his head, moving on before anybody could notice the way the memory still sat warm somewhere in the middle of his chest.

But through the whole day, between photo ops and backstage breaks and panels, she kept slipping into his thoughts at random moments.

A flash of black silk.

Her laugh in the corridor.

“You owe me a drink. For real.”

And the worst part was that he still didn’t know her name.

　　　　　　　　　❈

The ride back to the hotel was quieter.

Everyone looked exhausted, spread lazily across the SUV seats while the city lights passed outside the windows. Jack had headphones on already. Someone in the back was half asleep.

Jensen sat by the window with his phone in hand, frowning slightly at the screen.

Karl glanced sideways from behind his sunglasses.

- “What the hell are ya doing?” - “Nothing.”

Karl leaned slightly to peek at the screen.

Searches: UN conference Monaco Female diplomats Monaco event hotel

Karl blinked slowly.

- “Mate… why are ya googling geopolitics?”

Jensen snorted quietly.

- “I’m trying to figure out who that woman was.”

- “The spy one?”

- “She helped me last night. I wanna thank her properly.”

Karl stared at him for two full seconds before bursting into laughter.

- “You absolute idiot.”

- “What?”

- “Didn’t she tell ya her room number?”

Jensen paused.

Silence.

Then:

- “…fuck.”

Karl slapped the seat laughing.

- “Ya spent all day searching “hot european diplomats” instead of just asking the front desk?”

- “Shut up.”

- “Jesus Christ, you’re hopeless.”

Even Jensen laughed then, rubbing a hand over his beard.

- “Okay, yeah, maybe I’m tired.”

- “Maybe your brain stopped working after the silk pajamas.”

- “Karl.”

- “ I’m just saying.”

　　　　　　　　　❈

The hotel lobby buzzed softly with elegant evening noise when they arrived back.

Rolling suitcases. Quiet piano music. Expensive perfume lingering in the air.

Jensen barely waited for the others before walking toward the reception desk.

The young receptionist smiled immediately in recognition.

- “Good evening, Mr Ackles.”

- “Hey. Uh… I actually wanted to ask you something.”

- “Of course.”

He rested his forearms casually against the marble counter.

- “The woman staying in room 1480… dark hair, european accent… she helped me last night with the door situation?”

Recognition flashed across her face instantly.

Then hesitation.

- “Ah… I’m not sure I can give personal information about guests, sir.”

- “Right, no, of course” - Jensen nodded quickly, charming smile appearing naturally. - “Totally understand. I just wanted to thank her properly. She kinda saved my night.”

The receptionist bit back a smile.

Jensen leaned a little closer conspiratorially.

- “And honestly? I think she might actually be some kind of international spy, so this may be my only chance.”

That made her laugh.

- “Her name is Ms. Irina Marković.”

There it was.

Irina.

Something about finally hearing her name made her suddenly feel more real.

Less like some strange fever dream from the middle of the night.

- “Marković” - he repeated softly.

The receptionist smiled knowingly now.

- “Would you like me to leave her a message?”

Jensen looked down for a second, thinking.

Then he grabbed one of the hotel pens.

　　　　　　　　　❈

Ms. Diplomat, Thank you again for saving me from committing a felony against my own bedroom door. I’ll be at the hotel bar at 9PM if you’d like to let me repay my debt properly. - Jensen

　　　　　　　　　❈

- “Could you give this to her if she passes by?”

- “Of course.”

He thanked her and headed toward the elevators feeling significantly more pleased with himself than he should.

　　　　　　　　　❈

An hour later, Jensen stood in front of the bathroom mirror fastening the last buttons of a dark charcoal shirt.

The shower steam still lingered through the room. His beard was trimmed, hair still slightly damp, expensive cologne warm against his skin.

On the bed beside him, his phone screen glowed softly.

IRINA MARKOVIĆ Croatian diplomat. Former advisor to the Croatian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Specialized in Eastern European relations and post-war negotiations.

There were photos too.

Irina standing beside presidents and ambassadors.

Irina speaking at conferences.

Irina in elegant coats and sharp suits, always composed, always untouchable.

And somehow none of those pictures looked as beautiful as she had looked barefoot in silk pajamas laughing in that hotel corridor.

Jensen locked the phone and exhaled quietly.

This was ridiculous.

He was a grown man getting nervous over drinks with a woman he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

Still, he sprayed a little more cologne on his neck.

Just in case.

　 ❈

The hotel bar was quieter than Jensen expected for a Friday night. Low jazz drifted through the room, mixing with the soft clinking of glasses and the muted hum of expensive conversations happening in dark corners. Warm amber lights reflected against polished bottles behind the counter, making everything feel softer than it really was.

He sat alone at the bar, one elbow resting against the wood, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

9:07 PM.

The bartender had already asked twice if he wanted another drink.

- “Not yet,” Jensen had said the second time, glancing toward the entrance again.

No sign of her.

He told himself he didn’t care that much. It was just a drink. A thank you. A funny story to tell later.

Still, every time the elevator doors opened, his eyes lifted automatically.

His phone buzzed against the counter.

Danneel

The little warmth he’d built inside himself cooled immediately.

Jensen exhaled quietly before answering.

— “Hey.”

— “Finally.” Her voice came tired first. Then sharp. “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

— “We were finishing the convention stuff.”

— “You’re always finishing something.”

There it was.

He leaned back slightly on the stool, staring at the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar.

— “Dee…”

— “No, seriously, Jensen. I’m exhausted.” He could hear movement on the other side, drawers opening and closing aggressively. “The kids barely saw you this month. JJ had a school thing yesterday, Arrow keeps asking when you’re coming home, and I’m here doing everything alone while you fly around the world pretending this schedule is normal.”

His jaw tightened.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

That was the worst part.

— “I know.”

— “Do you?” she snapped. “Because every time we have this conversation you say you know, but nothing changes.”

He rubbed his hand down his face slowly, exhaustion settling into his bones.

— “What do you want me to do, Dee? Quit working?”

A bitter laugh came through the line.

— “You always do that.”

— “Do what?”

— “Make it sound impossible so we stop talking about it.”

Silence.

Heavy. Familiar. Old.

The bartender silently placed another whiskey in front of him after one look at his face.

Jensen mouthed a tired thank you.

— “We need to have a serious conversation when you get back,” Danneel said finally, quieter now. More dangerous somehow. “Because I can’t keep pretending this marriage is functioning normally.”

The word marriage lingered between them like smoke.

Jensen stared down at the amber liquid in his glass.

— “Okay.”

Another silence.

Then:

— “Goodnight, Jensen.”

The line went dead.

He stayed still for a few seconds, phone still pressed against his ear before lowering it slowly.

- “God.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, then over his mouth, exhaling hard through his nose. The whiskey suddenly tasted sharper, heavier.

9:40 PM.

He glanced at the entrance one more time and let out a humorless little laugh to himself.

Of course.

The mysterious diplomat had probably come to her senses.

He took another sip of his drink, eyes fixed on the glass now, already preparing himself to go upstairs looking vaguely pathetic—

— “Oh hi.”

Her voice hit him before his brain could process the rest.

Jensen turned immediately.

And there she was.

Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco. New chapters every Sunday and Wednesday eve. 🥃

Trending Blogs

Last Seen Blogs

After midnight fics