Weekend Getaway - (Spencer Reid x Jonathan Crane)
𖤐 Summary: In an effort to seek out his drug of choice, dilaudid, Spencer Reid finds himself on a weekend trip to Gotham City, where he falls victim to more than just addiction. (Criminal Minds x DC crossover)
𖤐 Pairing: Spencer Reid x Jonathan Crane
𖤐 Word Count: 2,147
𖤐 Warnings: +18 Smut || Graphic description of drug usage || Dubious consent || Gun kink || Med kink
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It would only be a short trip, just the weekend. Spencer’s local dealer had run out of product, but managed to give him a contact in nearby Gotham City with an old friend of his. It would be a 3hr train ride from his apartment in Washington DC to Gotham in New Jersey. He would rent a cheap hotel and hole himself up for the weekend to get high in peace, and be back before the team returned from their latest case, before his mandatory leave was over. No one would ever know. A simple in and out.
Or so he thought.
Spencer Reid arrived in Gotham City on a Friday night to meet his dealer’s contact in the narrows, and by lunchtime on Saturday he was strung out in one of many dirty alleyways that made up the narrows. Having bit off far more than he could chew.
“Oh you poor thing.” Cooed a voice just a few steps from where Spencer lay.
He looked up and met a set of bright blue eyes framed by sharp glasses and wavy russet hair. The man bore a resemblance to Spencer himself.
tall
thin
Bookish
But his eyes were wrong. They were unlike Spencer’s honeyed hazel gaze, as even in his intoxicated stupor, they glittered with golden flecks of curiosity and kindness. No, this man’s eyes were too warm,
unblinking,
Strange.
Spencer had seen this look many times before. It was the gaze of an unsub trying to hide his predatory nature with an ill mockery of empathy and human warmth. Yet despite the warning signs, Spencer found himself following the man through the labyrinthian streets of the Narrows under the promise of more dilaudid and some clean needles.
The promise was kept.
The needles were sterilized.
The drug was administered.
Now Spencer had to pay the price.
He awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, his senses slowly growing aware and informing him of his situation much like an old computer lazily whirring to life. First, he noticed the light, blinding before it was illuminating. Then came the cold. His skin felt icy, every hair standing on end, goosebumps prickling up to full effect.
It's too bright to be the sun in Gotham. Is it the desert? No, not warm enough. A lamp? The light is too white. Fluorescent bulb?
Spencer tried raising his head to get a better look at his surroundings, and that was when he felt it.
A snag.
Something in the way.
�� Limiting.
He was bound.
A rusty dentist chair, stretched, laid back.
The appalling embrace of worn leather straps.
“Good, you’re awake.” The voice had returned. It was coming from Spencer’s left side. He turned his head toward the sound only to be met with a man’s waist a mere inches away from his face, and it stepped ever closer. From this angle he could see that the voice wore clothing that would not be amiss in his own wardrobe.
A pair of brown slacks.
A plain brown belt of faux leather.
An argyle pattern knitted vest.
A white lab coat.
It scared him.
“It’s quite rare these days that I am capable of luring away a subject so easily. All the local bums are too vigilant, but you…” the man clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You my dear are quite the unfortunate tourist, aren’t you?”
Spencer’s body tensed up as the reality of his situation began to settle in. He felt a cold sweat seep out of his pores and coat his body with the unmistakable stench of fear. It was like Georgia all over again. It was like Tobias all over again. Confusion, helplessness, and the unwelcome warmth of dilaudid draining from his body, leaving behind nothing more than razor sharp terror.
Mustering up every bit of courage he had in him, Spencer tilted his head upwards, following the man’s torso until he met those predatory eyes once more. It was then that he saw salvation. In the crisp brilliant blue of the man’s irises lay a striking similarity which jolted Spencer’s brain into overdrive.
He’d seen this man before.
He knew this man.
“Jonathan Crane…”
Spencer’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough.
The man’s crystalline eyes glistened in the fluorescent light displaying his inflated ego like a set of freshly polished knives. Dangerous, but predictable in their capabilities, and Spencer knew his way around a knife.
“It seems my reputation precedes me.” There was a hint of amusement in Crane’s voice, but his features never betrayed the definition of stoicism. “Which means you know exactly how this evening will go, and how it shall end.”
“Yes,” Spencer spoke up. “But you don’t know me.” He raised his brows to indicate a challenge. “You can’t dispose of me like everyone else.”
Now the doctor’s visage gave a hint at his morbid mirth with the slightest smile cocking up on his thin face. “Hm… and why not?” His brows raised in acceptance of the challenge.
“Because it’s my job to hunt down people like you.” Spencer’s voice began to tremble. With fear or determination? He could not tell, but he persisted nonetheless. “I’m doctor Spencer Reid with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, and if you kill me… you step out of Batman’s jurisdiction…”
The question hung in the air with a heavy silence as Crane mulled over the implications. His face never betrays his thoughts, but through Spencer’s prolific scrutiny the slightest bit of fear could be seen flashing through the crystalline blue of Crane’s predatory gaze.
Fear.
For the first time in a long time, The Scarecrow felt fear.
And Batman was not the cause.
This caused his cocky smirk to morph into a malicious grin as the lightbulb of ideas went off in his head, the overhead lamp mirroring that with near comedic effect. He took a step back and turned around, leaving Spencer’s field of vision. The peculiar sound of stretched rubber was the only thing that could be heard in the decrepit space.
Silence.
What broke the silence was not a sound but rather a feeling. The cold feel of a damp alcohol wipe caressing bare skin. It drove Spencer’s senses into override, all his muscles tensing in anticipation of a metallic sting.
A needle?
A scalpel?
Nothing good ever followed after such an action.
“Shh shh shhh.” Crane murmured. “Don’t tense up too much, that will only make it hurt more. “
The Scarecrow chose his words carefully, seeking to instill as much fear as possible into his captive. A small needle prick hardly ever hurts, especially not to someone accustomed to shooting up hospital heroin. It is the ambiguity of the next step and the verbal emphasis on pain to come which draws out the worst of his captive’s imagination. Spencer flinched with the slightest of movements, his PTSD only amplifying the terror in his veins and the pain on his skin as Jonathan Crane wrapped a length of clinical rubber around his captive’s bicep to create a tourniquet.
Spencer’s fear turned into euphoria as soon as the needle point broke the skin, pushing clear dilaudid into his bloodstream. The warmth spread slowly, going up his arm and enveloping his chest
relaxing his neck
loosening his jaw
scrambling his brain.
He sighed.
Jonathan stood silently the entire time he was shooting Spencer up. He watched the drug take effect with a stoic fascination found only in scientists and true sociopaths. The restrained man went from looking straight out of a horror film to the picture of stupefied bliss in a matter of minutes. Jonathan let the silence linger a moment longer before interrupting it with a bang.
Shot.
The sound of a revolver going off pulled Spencer out of his drug induced haze, every single one of his senses jolting awake only to be muted by the weight of the drug. His eyes grew wide, irises alight with fear, and he stared at the small pistol in the mad doctor’s right hand. Jonathan’s face remained unmoving, with his gaze fixed on Spencer. He clearly knew every inch of this grimy space as he confidently aimed and shot the weapon without regard for any of his equipment. There was no damage save for a small hole in the wall with a bullet now buried in it.
Crane now pointed the gun directly at Spencer.
“Beg.”
His tone of voice was shockingly apathetic and monotone.
“W-what?” Spencer asked, his eyes glued to the weapon in front of him.
“Beg.”
“Please…” Spencer whimpered. “Please don’t d-”
His voice was suddenly stifled by a strong grip on his jaw, Jonathan crushed Spencer’s words between his forefingers and his thumb as he took a sudden leap forward. The gun was no longer in Spencer’s line of sight. Instead his entire field of vision was now occupied by the mad doctor’s frosted glare, cruel eyes once more boring into Spencer’s skin to expose him bare.
“Not like that.” hissed Jonathan. “Not with your words.”
Crane pulled his right hand down, pressing the still warm barrel of the gun onto Spencer’s clothed thigh. The heat wasn’t enough to cause harm, but the stark contrast with Spencer’s cold clammy skin was enough to elicit a sudden whimper from the frightened man. Satisfied, Jonathan took a step back and he brought the gun back up between the two men, pressing the muzzle of the gun against Spencer’s plush lips.
“Show me how much you want to live, don’t tell me.”
The hot tip of the weapon nudged Spencer’s lips.
“Beg.” Repeated Jonathan, just as monotonous as before, and Spencer understood.
Slowly, carefully, Spencer parted his lips and allowed Jonathan to slide the barrel of the revolver into his mouth. The length of metal felt heavy and warm, coated in the salted taste of iron,
blood,
violence.
Jonathan began to thrust the weapon in and out of Spencer’s mouth, slow at first, just a few millimeters in and a few millimeters withdrawn, pushing deeper with every calculated thrust forward. The gentle movement lulled Spencer into a comforting haze of pleasure, and he drunkenly wondered if this is what it would feel like to fellate a man. He closed his eyes and gently moaned against the rod in his mouth.
“That’s it.” Crane let out a ragged breath. “Show me how desperate you are to live.”
Perhaps it was the soothing effects of dilaudid,
or the adrenaline,
or the years worth of hunger
for intimacy,
for love,
for lust.
Whichever it was, it caused Spencer to throw himself fully into the task of worshiping the threat upon his life. He dragged his tongue against the bottom of the barrel, the tip of his tongue caressing the ejector rod, and his lips pressing against the front end of the cylinder. Jonathan looked on, transfixed, his pupils blown wide with lust. He slowly pulled the gun out of Spencer’s mouth, watching as the metal emerged glossy and slick.
Spencer’s eyes lazily fluttered open, and he stared ahead with a dreamy half lidded gaze. He was so immersed in the pleasant delirium that he didn’t even register it when his tongue slipped out past his lips and dipped into the weapon’s hole. The taste of gunpowder residue coated the tip of his tongue,
bitter,
smokey,
and coarse. Jonathan let out a stifled moan as he watched,
and Spencer smiled.
Spurred on by his captive’s cockiness, Jonathan roughly shoved the pistol back into Spencer’s mouth, burying it up to the cylinder in the other’s moist warmth. Spencer gagged, his eyes growing wide in surprise, but Jonathan made no other sudden move. After a beat, Spencer continued with his ministrations, moaning against the threat between his lips. Adrenaline continued to flow through his body making him hot and excitable. He began to salivate at the thought of the danger, the thrill of it all compounded with his drug of choice simply heightened the pleasure. He moaned and whined as his head bobbed up and down the barrel.
Bliss.
Jonathan pulled the weapon back in one smooth motion, gently tapping the front sight of the gun to Spencer’s chin, and. Spencer could see his reflection in the doctor’s glassy eyes. His cheeks were flushed red, slick lips quivering with each ragged breath, and vacant mouth dripping with arousal. He was quite a sight to behold.
“My my, that was certainly… convincing.” Jonathan gasped and set the gun down on a nearby tray.
The Scarecrow began the task of liberating his captor, making quick work of the leather straps that pinned the man to the surgical throne. The two stood in an awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, before Crane begrudgingly spoke up.
“You are free to leave. However, if you were to ever find yourself…. craving…”
“How would I contact you?”
“I have a burner phone.”
Crane smiled.
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Moments: Three
We're back, babies! I'm glad to bring these two back to you!! As I posted a week-ish ago, I'm a teacher getting back in the routine of life and things have been bananagrams. I'm back to writing (and rewriting Flight 1311)
I always love your feedback :) Sorry, these two don't quite get their ending yet, but there are still more parts to come. Happy reading!
Pairings: Chris Evans x Female Reader
Word Count: ~7.7k
Moments Masterlist
Three: 2010: Washington DC
Heartbreak is nearly impossible to avoid. Relationships– both platonic and romantic– suffer from miscommunication, bad intentions, and just plain cruelty all the time. They also suffer the urges of desire, lust, compassion, and curiosity. Sometimes, the risk is worth the reward, but more often than not, the risk causes catastrophic damages.
It is unlikely that we’ll escape this life without a broken heart or two. In the process of healing from those, we often learn more about ourselves. Some heartbreaks never entirely heal, they just get easier to ignore.
Y/N shifted her weight between her feet while she tried to relax her muscles. She’d jumped into the 12 items or less line at the grocery store, but it wasn’t going much faster than the line beside her. She tried to channel her energy into being present. Being aware of the tenseness of her muscles after a long day of heavy sessions. Being aware of the beeping sound as each item was swiped. Being aware of the deep deep hunger growing in her stomach. Being aware of how fucking long this was taking… no, Y/N, refocus… find something to bring you back.
Her attention was drawn to the magazines and she ran her fingers over several covers, deciding on which one to flip through to pass the time. She wasn’t in the mood for Food & Wine, she’d read the latest People in the waiting room of the dentist, so she kept pushing them aside, looking for something that would catch her interest.
She froze when a familiar face stared back at her; she dropped the grocery basket haphazardly on the ground in front of her and used both hands to yank the magazine out of the stand. Even with his eyes airbrushed a murky brown instead of the steely blue she remembered, even with the superhero costume and stoic pose, she knew that face anywhere.
“Chris,” in a normal state of mind, she would have cringed when she realized she’d whispered it out loud as she stared at the glossy page in front of her. Instead, she was in a trance. She vaguely heard the cashier call “next” and she knew it was her. Her hands were shaking as she shuffled forward in line– it was finally her turn. Without another thought, she dropped the magazine on the conveyer belt and tried to put it out of her mind until she got home.
The three-block walk back to her condo was a blur, as was the walk up the stairs, the unloading of groceries, and the cooking of dinner. Y/N hadn’t taken the magazine out of the bag; she still hadn’t decided if it was a good idea to read it, but she was definitely waiting until she had food (and wine) in her system before she made a decision. She forced herself to finish eating, doing dishes, and getting into comfy clothes before she could look at it.
She had to look at it, right? No. She didn’t have to do anything. But she desperately wanted a glimpse of him again. It had been almost seven years since she saw him, yet the tattoo on her ribcage regularly reminded her of the night they spent together. At the time, it had been the most romantic night of her life. She’d grown, she’d dated, she’d even loved since then and she knew that it was a low bar (particularly given the bomb he’d dropped the next morning). She knew she deserved more than a night of making out and dreaming together with a man… no, a boy… in a relationship.
And yet, she still got butterflies when she thought of how important he’d made her feel sitting by the fire all those years ago. The feeling of sitting on Chris’s lap, wrapped in his arms while his breath tickled her neck as he whispered about his future and asked about hers… she could still feel it and it still made her heart skip a beat.
That next morning, after he’d crushed her heart (again), he’d begged and pleaded with her to hear him out. She’d left the room with her jeans in her hands, just his shirt hanging off her shoulders, and he’d followed her out of the room talking a mile a minute. She’d roused Annie from the couch, holding back tears, and dragging her best friend out of the apartment. Y/N had traversed home, clutching her clothes and purse, in an oversized t-shirt and panties, and resisting the urge to sob on the street.
Once inside Annie’s, she’d forced herself to shower where she cried, cleaned up, and stepped back into Annie’s presence refusing to talk about it. The rest of the weekend, she’d actively refused Annie or her roommates’ questions about Chris and what had happened between them.
Chris had gotten ahold of Annie’s number from one of his friends and had spent all weekend trying to call. Annie, as a loyal and protective best friend, refused him and laced every call with curses before hanging up. For what it was worth, he didn’t stop calling all weekend. And even all these years later, Y/N didn’t know that he’d continued to call Annie to try to plead his case with her in hopes that she’d relay a message to Y/N. She heard him out, but she never told Y/N… She’d watched Y/N crumple twice from this guy, and she’d decided that his excuse (it wasn’t working with Jess, he was ready to be out of that relationship) wasn’t good enough. It turns out, Annie’s instincts were likely right, even if it meant keeping a secret from Y/N.
After changing into sweats and pouring another glass of wine, Y/N sat on the couch staring straight ahead. Both of her hands were fidgeting with the bottom of her braid. Her stomach was in knots, her heart rate was accelerated. On the coffee table sat the magazine with Chris’s strong jawline staring back at her. Just a picture of him after all this time made her feel both nauseous and excited. She held out several more minutes, staring at the uniform, the shield, and the glossy film of the paper while she downed the rest of her wine. Finally, she lurched forward and snatched up the magazine, flipping frantically to the spread with his face.
Despite all her efforts, she couldn’t stop the giddy grin on her face when she scanned the photos. Y/N read the article, soaking in every word and thinking of those whispers they’d shared on the balcony in Boston. How he wanted to follow his passion and make a real career out of acting, but how afraid he was of the consequences. She could still feel the way his hand had gripped her waist just a little tighter when he spoke of his anxieties of fame fighting against his desire to follow his heart.
He’d done it. He’d become a movie star. He was a superhero now and there was no turning back for him.
This was the first time in all the years since they’d woken up together, that Y/N had allowed herself to really think about him. She claimed that he was a fleeting memory and an occasional drunken cry, but she’d spent all of her energy cramming him into a tiny box so that she wouldn’t daydream and Google him. In the immediate wake of waking up together, she’d been distraught, been angry, been convinced that the universe was playing tricks on her because Jessica fucking Biel’s picture seemed to be everywhere. She’d refused to go to movies for fear that a trailer might have one of them in it. She’d avoided magazine aisles and anything on the internet that might hint at gossip or a picture of them snuggling.
Over time, she’d relaxed and been able to see Jessica’s image without immediately starting to cry and then eventually even saw some of her movies. It wasn’t Jessica’s fault; she probably didn’t even know about Y/N. She’d just been a night for Chris while he’d gone on to have several more years of a relationship with Jessica. Y/N’s ban on movies had helped her avoid Chris’s early career, but now, holding his face in her hands in the red, white, and blue uniform, it was clear that if she wanted to continue to avoid him, it was about to get harder.
+++
The next evening, Y/N flounced into the kitchen where her friends were gathered, checking her clutch for her phone. The click of her heels on the hardwood made Annie look up and catcall; Y/N blushed and avoided eye contact as she went straight for the fridge.
“DAMN, Y/N,” Sasha called, “you look smoking.”
“Stop,” Y/N waved them off, pulling out a beer to chase the shots that Annie had just lined up.
Jenna smacked Y/N in the ass, “someone is looking for attention tonight.”
Rolling her eyes, Y/N picked up the shot in front of her, encouraging her friends to do the same. “I’m just looking to dance.”
“Twenty bucks says someone is buying her a drink in the first ten minutes,” Sasha giggled, “are you ready for that?”
Y/N shrugged, swigging from her beer, “I’m not looking for anything more than drinking a little too much and dancing with my friends.”
“And yet here you are, clearly not wearing a bra and possibly no panties,” Jenna smirked.
“I’m wearing panties, thank you very much. I’m just looking to have fun,” Y/N repeated, her face flushing. “And maybe a little flirting.”
Jenna raised her beer, “to Y/N getting laid tonight.”
“NOT what I said!” Y/N yelled over her friends toasting to her sex life. After another round of shots and loading into a waiting cab, the girls were waltzing into Grand Central and straight to the bar. After two shots and a beer at home, a shot at the bar, and then another beer in hand, Y/N marched straight to the dance floor, not bothering to check if her friends were behind her. The DJ was playing a mashup of Kesha and club music while the girls moved to the music, dancing on each other and singing loudly. Three or four songs later, Annie and Y/N stumbled towards the bar, clinging to each other and giggling when a hand grazed Y/N’s hip.
She felt a tall presence behind her and caught a whiff of cologne over the smell of sweat and beer; the hand on her hip was heavy, but not unpleasant, and his other hand came to rest on the surface of the bar next to her, effectively caging her in. His breath fanned her ear when he leaned in, “How much does a polar bear weigh?”
Y/N scrunched up her nose, turning her ear towards him as she said, “What?”
“How much does a polar bear weigh?” he repeated, again leaning down to speak right in her ear.
She laughed, “I have no idea.”
“Me either, but it breaks the ice,” his face was so close to her neck she could feel him smile, “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Does that line work?” She rolled her eyes, feeling herself lean into him. He was warm, sturdy, and smelled delicious; she finally turned in his grasp and her alcohol-muddled brain took a few seconds to take in his face. His blue eyes dropped to scan her whole body. When his eyes returned to hers, she sobered quickly.
“Depends on your answer to my question.” His eyes bounced between hers, still grinning.
It was him.
It was Chris goddamn Evans. He was pressed against her, holding her against the bar with his body weight, and asking to buy her a drink.
And he had no idea who she was.
Y/N’s heart was in her throat and the urge to cry was surpassed only by the urge to kick his shins as hard as possible. He was staring at her, smirking his perfect smirk, and she had a split second to make a decision.
“I’d love another,” she forced a smile on her face, held up her Corona and he nodded, turning to the bar and motioning to the bartender.
“Two of these,” he pointed to the drink and then looked back at Y/N, “and yes, that line works… this one and only time I've used it at least.”
Y/N blushed despite herself, “I’m a sucker for corny jokes,”
“I’m a sucker for beautiful women,” he replied.
“Okay,” she laughed, making a face, “you have to stop with the shitty lines. You got my attention,” she was leaning her whole body weight against him each time she reached up on her toes to speak into his ear. And each time, he would tighten his grip on her hip, squeezing as he pulled her closer. Annie was somewhere behind her but she was only vaguely aware. Alcohol, his cologne, his grin, his hand holding her against him, and her deep, burning fury were entirely distracting Y/N from anything else. Annie, however, didn’t care; she was already texting the rest of the girls a picture of Y/N snuggled up to this handsome stranger. The group chat lit up immediately, but Y/N wouldn’t see it until the morning… which would be about the same time Annie would be sober enough to process who the handsome stranger was.
Taking the beers from the bartender and paying, he leaned down to her again, “you seem familiar.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if it was the moment to tell him. Instead, she nodded, “so do you. Did you go to Georgetown too?”
He shook his head, “No, no college; I’m from Boston but here in town for work. What’s your name?”
She offered her name before he repeated it and then said, “I’m Chris. Do you want to dance?”
Y/N stared at him, looking for any recognition. When none came, she plastered a smile on her face, pulled his hand off her waist, and dragged him behind her to the dance floor. She leaned her back against him as his arms both found her waist. One arm wrapped around to press his hand just below her belly button, and the other– which was holding his beer– steadied her other side. Almost immediately they were in sync, moving together to the music and pressing into each other. Every so often, Chris would whisper something in her ear about how beautiful she was, how good she felt in his arms.
Chris was grateful for the first day off from press in a long time– in the run-up to the premiere of his first Captain America film, he had an interview nearly every hour of every day. Marvel had plunked them down in DC for several days to tap into the patriotic backdrops of the nation’s capital. Finally, he’d get tomorrow to himself, and as tired as he was, being in this bar dancing with this woman was better than sitting alone in his hotel room remembering that he was almost 30 and single. The second they’d walked into this bar, his eyes were drawn to her. Her snug dress got his attention immediately, quickly followed by the way she smoothly moved through the room and the column of her neck when she threw her head back as she laughed with her friends. He’d kept an eye on her while he and his buddies found a table and got drinks. He made no show of hiding his attention on her while he watched her dance, watched her body sway, and thought about what it might be like to hold her. When she’d made her way to the bar, she’d passed right by him, so he took his chance.
The second he was close to her, he knew he’d met her before. His stomach clenched thinking maybe… maybe he’d slept with her before? Would she recognize him? Would she slap him across the face for not remembering her? He took his chance anyway. Maybe she’d been an extra on a set or a journalist in an interview.
The whole time he held her, he ran through his list in his head. There were certainly a few he couldn’t put a name to anymore, but he remembered most of the faces. No, he was certain, the longer he held her and felt her dance against him, he’d never slept with her. There is no way any amount of alcohol could wipe away the feeling of her against him, of that he was positive. But he did know her.
Chris flattened his palm on her stomach and used it to pull her closer; he couldn’t help but smirk when he felt her easily respond by pressing her ass back into him. Her free hand had been on his forearm, but now she snaked it up to his bicep and back around to cup the back of his neck, pulling him to her while she arched her back and ground her ass into him in time to the music. “You’re gonna kill me,” his mouth was right next to her ear, his breath tickling her neck as he spoke over the music. Y/N pulled apart just enough to glance over her shoulder at him, smirk, and added more pressure back into his hips. His groan rumbled up through his chest and she felt the vibrations against her back.
After a few moments of being pressed impossibly close, Chris paused and slowed their movements. “Stay here,” he whispered, squeezing her waist and disappearing into the crowd. Y/N took a big swig of the room-temperature beer in her hand and felt awkward standing there in the middle of the dance floor waiting for him. This abrupt change caught her off guard, so she started to move off the floor in the opposite direction, pushing through the sweaty bodies and trying to calm her boozy, racing mind.
He figured out who she was. He was mad she didn’t say anything. She’d pushed him too far with her little cat-and-mouse flirting. She’d thought it was innocent enough; lots of people around them were drunk and grinding, it didn’t mean much more than that it was Saturday night. Y/N was almost to the edge of the crowd when an arm wrapped around her bicep and she was gently turned around, coming face to pec with Chris. “Leavin’ me?”
Y/N bit her lip as she stared at him slightly wide-eyed. Chris’s eyes rolled back, his head lolling backward as he laughed, “Sweetheart, you can’t be biting your lip at me like that.” His hand on her arm slid down to her hand and over to her waist, his other hand mirroring it. With both hands on her, he tugged her into him and could speak directly into her ear, “You okay to stay with me? I wasn’t done with you yet, I just wanted to put down my empty, because I need to have both hands free for you.” He made his point by squeezing both hands that were holding her in place.
She nodded, giving him permission for his hands to slide further around her back, hovering dangerously close to her ass, swaying with her in a horribly out of place slow-dance. Y/N’s mind was still spinning, the beer in her system clouding her judgment and making it impossible to decide how to handle this situation. She was still oscillating from anger and humiliation to joy and excitement and didn’t have time to process any of it. Internally, she was starting to lose her cool; it was getting overwhelming and she needed a beat. Externally, she tried to play it off…
Her right hand holding her empty beer bottle rose to rest on his shoulder while her left hand slid slowly up his chest and gripped the fabric of his button down in her fist. She pressed herself into him, lifting onto her toes– even in heels– to lean up in his ear, “yes, but there is a deck upstairs, I could use some air,” she raised her eyebrows at him and he nodded. Chris took her hand and led her to the stairs, his large frame creating a path through the crowd.
“I’ll meet you up there,” Y/N gestured to the ladies' room.
“Can I get you another round?” She agreed and he headed towards the bar while Y/N was pleased to find no wait in the bathroom and could pee, splash some water on her face, pop some gum, and breathe sweaty, smelly bar bathroom air. She forced herself back out the door and up the stairs and out to the deck– the reason this bar was her favorite– and stared out at the lights of the city.
When he returned, Chris scanned the scattered groups on the rooftop deck looking for Y/N. When he spotted her, his breath hitched. Her back was to him, but her hair was thrown over one shoulder, allowing it to cascade down her back and show off the curves and angles of her neck and shoulders. In the cool evening air, a breeze picked up Y/N’s hair and it fluttered behind her while she leaned on the railing and looked out at the cityscape. In her pose with both hands braced on the bars in front of her, her back arched ever so slightly, accentuating her ass and drawing Chris’s eyes right to it.
His heart didn’t normally pound this hard when he was with a beautiful woman. He didn’t normally get this nervous. His hands weren’t normally sweaty. There were always beautiful women. Why was this one making his head spin and his heart jump into his throat? Whipping his palms on his jeans, he took a shaky breath before moving.
He soldiered on and stepped up behind her, caging her in with his hands on either side of hers on the railing. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said to her, his lips almost brushing her exposed neck. A shiver ran through Y/N– whether it was her surprise at his approach, the words he said, or the chill air, Chris didn’t know or care. He took it as an invitation and stepped closer; Y/N was sure he could feel her pulse racing.
They watched cars go by, Chris leaning his cheek against her head and Y/N letting her fingers interlace with his on the railing. He rubbed his thumb gently against her hand and she let herself lean entirely into him. They passed the time in this deeply intimate embrace with Y/N pointing out different landmarks visible from their rooftop spot. She knew historical tidbits and anecdotes that kept Chris asking question after question. They transitioned into exchanging bad dad jokes back and forth, and every time Chris pulled a giggle out of her, he racked his brain for ways to do it again.
What are you doing, Evans? Chris thought to himself as he cradled this woman in his arms. Any intention of taking her home for one night had gone out the window. It had already been at least ten minutes of pressing into each other while he tried to make her laugh. This wasn’t a one-night girl and the moment for “you wanna get outta here” was long gone anyway. In his head, Chris was already doing the math: if she was local, he had another few days in DC. He could see her again, he could take her to dinner, he could meet her for a drink. This didn’t have to end tonight. He had no reason to be this smitten but here he was, itching to kiss her and strip her down to have her under him, but also dying to know her. To hear her laugh every day, to feel his anxiety leave his body when she pressed up against him like this, to have a lazy morning in bed with her.
Stamping down his thoughts, he tried to recenter on this moment and what he had right now. Focus, Evans, he reminded himself.
Slowly, he reached his right arm across her to grab her left hip and pull her around to face him. He stepped even closer, securely holding her against him with one arm while the other cradled her cheek in his hand, his forehead pressing against hers.
Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed while she tried to decide what to do. He hadn’t made any indication that he knew her, not even when they exchanged names, and her stomach was flipping in circles. A solid half of her wanted to just gently remind him, have a laugh about it, and keep feeling his arms around her.
The other half of her was seeing red.
How could he not remember?
How did she still feel her heart flip when she thought of him and he was standing here, pressed up against her, whispering sweet things to her, and not knowing who she was?
Did she really matter that little to him? Was it all in her head? Had she really exaggerated those memories so much that they were blown this far out of proportion?
A silence fell between them and Y/N opened her eyes to find him staring back at her. She knew the look on his face… she knew he was moments from kissing her; his hand was still cradling her neck. It was coming. Did she let herself kiss him again or did she tell him?
His thumb rubbed softly up and down the front of her throat while he took her in. The tension in their stare-off was palpable and he was hoping he wasn’t the only one interpreting it sexually. He watched her nostrils flare once, then twice; was that fear? Apprehension? Anger?
“Chris,” she whispered, chewing her bottom lip. She pulled her eyes from his and for a second he thought he saw tears welling in them, “Please don’t kiss me.”
His head snapped back, “are you okay?”
Y/N nodded vigorously, “I’m fine.”
“I really want to kiss you, Y/N.” His hands were still on her, his thumb was still caressing her throat and the hand at her waist was holding her tightly against him. Y/N’s arms were on his; she wasn’t pushing away, but he would let her go if she did.
“Don’t,” she stared before cutting herself off, “I can’t.”
He dropped his hand from her neck but not her waist, “do you have a boyfriend.”
“No!” Y/N answered quickly, her hands involuntarily squeezing his arms. “No,” she repeated more calmly, “I just can’t– I don’t want to– It’s too–” Y/N sighed, “just don’t do it. Please.”
Chris nodded, “are you not interested? Did I get this all wrong?” He was trying to be cool and cavalier but he was panicking; had he forced this on her? Was she uncomfortable all night and she’d finally reached her breaking point? Would she go to the press? Would this be a thing for his fledgling team to iron out? Fuck.
“You didn’t get this wrong.”
“We’ve both been drinking,” he countered, trying to fill in the pieces and understand; trying to fix it.
Y/N nodded, “Can I–” she cut herself off again. Her demeanor had changed drastically in the last several minutes and it was putting Chris on edge. She sighed and dropped her hands from his arms to twist a hair tie in her hand. She was radiating nerves; Chris took a step back and removed his hands from her entirely. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him anymore and his anxiety was creeping up his chest. “I have to go,” she finally managed to whisper. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
Y/N pushed past him before Chris had time to respond or even process the moment. She was hurrying down the stairs, pushing past people and grateful that the late hour in a dark and dingy bar led people to be far less concerned about her pushing and stumbling by. She didn’t waste any time trying to find Annie or the girls; she was out the door and waving down a cab while Chris pushed through people to catch her.
He heard the ripple of voices as he passed people, the recognition and his name being drunkenly whispered while he shoved his way to Y/N. He knew there’d be something in the gossip rags tomorrow about him in this bar, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to catch Y/N. He just wanted to find out what was going on, to explain how he was feeling, to have her hear him out… He called her name, “Y/N, please wait!”...
Then, a memory hit him hard and he stopped in his tracks.
“Y/N, please say something,” Chris was staring at her across the bed. Tears were pooling in her eyes but she was clearly willing not to let them fall. She didn’t move for several breaths and he ran his hands through his hair. Her lanky frame in his t-shirt, the neck of it hanging off her shoulder and exposing her soft skin. Her hair was tousled from sleep and her eyes were still puffy.
She was stunning in the morning light streaming through the window and he’d fucking blown it. He’d been fighting with Jessica for weeks, their schedules were so chaotic, they were struggling so hard to make time together and when they did, one of them always picked a fight. He wasn’t sure what he had left to give her. And then Y/N had shown up in the tattoo parlor and taken his breath away once again. He’d spent the evening in a bubble, entirely forgetting about Jess and their problems and their last contact with each other– one in which he’d said “I think we should take a break, I’m not sure this is working,” on her voicemail after the seventh time he’d tried to call in as many days without an answer.
In Chris’s mind, they were done. He’d been back in Boston spending time here before press for his next project and he was planning to go back and break it off. He loved her on some level, but he wasn’t sure they could survive anymore– and he knew that what he harbored for Y/N was love on a whole different, all-encompassing level.
“I can’t. I have to go, I just can’t–” Y/N finally spoke so softly while she gathered her clothes. Chris moved his body in front of the door.
“Please, let me explain.”
“You have a girlfriend, Chris, there is nothing to explain. I’m just glad I didn’t sleep with you.” Her voice was hard and she forced herself to stare at him coldly.
“You don’t understand–”
“Let me guess, it’s not working? You’re on a break? It wasn’t her, it was you? How very cliche of you to offer me some ridiculous line to try to explain away last night.”
“Well, it’s not like we slept together, so nothing really happened,” Chris snapped at her and immediately cringed. “Fuck, I’m sorry, wait,”
Y/N leveled her eyes at him, “you’re absolutely right. Nothing really happened. So we can forget about it.” She shoved past him, holding her clothes. At any other moment, he would’ve let himself stare at her perky little ass cheeks peeking out from under the oversized t-shirt, but he was unwilling to let her go so easily.
“You’re right, I was going to give you a line, but it really isn’t a line. The last time I talked to her it was to tell her we should take a break, it isn’t working.”
“Oh, sure. That’s convenient timing,” She said over her shoulder as she shook Annie awake. “Annie, we have to go,” Annie grumbled and clung to the pillow in front of her, refusing to budge and buying Chris more time.
“It sounds like a line, but it isn’t. I swear. Jess and I– our schedules don’t work, she’s constantly on set for Heaven, and then she was gone on location, and I was filming the pilot and now we’re both about to be in press–”
“I’m sorry,” Y/N whipped around, “did you say on set for Heaven? As in 7th Heaven? Is your girlfriend Jessica Biel?”Chris paused and rubbed his hand over his neck, allowing Y/N to gather his non-answer as an answer. “Got it. Jessica Biel. Unfuckingbelievable. I’m supposed to believe that– I cannot even– Jessica fucking Biel? I can’t talk about this. I’m going now. Let’s go, Annie.” She yanked Annie off the sofa and they stumbled towards the door.
“She’s just a person, and she isn’t the person for me. Come on, Y/N, hear me out. I want to see you again, I want to keep talking to you.”
Y/N kept walking down the stairs, shoving Annie ahead of her, Chris hot on their heels, “Y/N, please wait!”
Chris pulled himself out of his daydream just in time to see a cab pull up next to Y/N and he sprinted the last few yards to slide in next to her before she could close the door.
“Chris, what the hell?”
“You’re not running away from me again.” He pulled the door to the cab and the driver took off towards whatever destination Y/N had already given him.
Y/N’s eyes widened as she stuttered, “What are you– when did you–”
“I didn’t know all night or didn’t know exactly how I knew you. But calling your name, chasing after you, it all came back to me.”
Even in the dark, Chris could tell she was blushing, her lip pulled between her teeth. She was quiet for a few minutes, the passing streetlights illuminating her face. She turned her head to look out the window and crossed her arms over her chest, unknowingly accentuating her cleavage. Chris willed himself not to look.
“You’re an asshole,” she finally told him, turning her body away from him and towards the window.
“I am.”
“You should’ve remembered.”
“I should’ve.”
“Stop telling me what I want to hear!”
“But you’re right.”
“STOP IT!” She snapped, looking back around at him and fixing him with a glare, “just… just shut up. Don’t talk to me.”
“Y/N, please–”
“Shut. Up. Christopher,” she announced each word with force, tightening her arms across her chest and throwing herself back against the seat. She glared out the window as the cab turned down several side streets and eventually slowed to a stop. Before she could pay, Chris handed a wad of cash to the driver and opened his door, sliding out onto the sidewalk.
Y/N hesitated, staring at him through the open door where he was holding out his hand to help her. Instead, she threw open her own door and stepped out, narrowly missing a car passing and ignoring the cabbie yelling at her for getting out into traffic. She slammed the door and stormed around the trunk to her building. Chris was hot on her heels, still not speaking to her, but hurrying to hold open doors that she yanked open and trying not to be left behind. She didn’t tell him to leave, so he took it as a sign this was okay with her. He followed her up the stairs to her apartment; when she wrenched the door open, she left it hanging wide and kicked her heels off into the small kitchen before stomping back out of sight.
Chris closed the door quietly, locking the deadbolt, and then turned to find Y/N had turned on a string of cozy fairy lights and was sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at him.
“Can I sit?”
“If you must.”
“I can tell that you’re upset–”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“Hey, we don’t have to be mean,” Chris threw his hands up in a defensive position, trying to assuage her frustrations, but it seemed to spur her on.
“This is the third time we’ve met, the third time you’ve made me feel beautiful, and the third time you’ve crushed me. You get what you get.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally joining her on the sofa and reaching out towards her; she pulled away.
“You should be.”
“I am, Y/N, seriously. I should’ve known immediately. I should’ve heard your name and seen your face, and immediately known that you were the same beautiful woman I’ve thought about so many times since Killington. So. Many. Times.” Y/N rolled her eyes but Chris shook his head, “seriously. You’re a constant figure in my dreams.”
She scoffed, “yes, a constant figure who you didn’t recognize for hours while she danced on junk.”
“It’s been seven years, Y/N, we were kids the last time I saw you. You’ve… matured.”
“So have you,” she gestured to the Entertainment Weekly sitting in front of them on the coffee table, still open from where Annie had looked at it tonight and commiserated with Y/N about how hot her little crush had turned out in his multi-page article and photoshoot. It was Chris’s turn to roll his eyes; he reached across the table and tossed the magazine face down on the floor under the coffee table.
“That isn’t me.”
“Sure looks like you. You’re so important now.” Y/N knew her tone was full of undeserved snark. Despite her embarrassment and sadness at not being recognized, she was proud of what he’d accomplished. She knew he’d worked hard, but she would not acknowledge it. Not right now.
“I’m not important,” Chris huffed, “I’m still the same guy who carried you down a mountain. I’m the same guy who daydreamed on a balcony with you. I’m the same guy.”
“You’re the same guy who let me sleep in his bed, in his clothes, kissing me and holding me and saying beautiful things to me while you were dating a famous actress.”
“I said I was sorry, I tried to explain, I even tried to explain to Annie but your guard dog wouldn’t let me near you.”
Until now, Y/N had been glaring at Chris, but at that, her glare slipped into a look of confusion. The blanket she’d so carefully wrapped tightly around her slipped as her shoulders fell, “what? Annie?”
He nodded, “I talked to Annie every day for weeks. I begged her to give me your number and let me plead my case. She practically threw her Dunkin at me when I tried to explain my side.”
“When did this happen?”
Chris shrugged, “I called her multiple times a day for the first week after, then I kept calling until she finally agreed to meet me. By then I’d broken up with Jessica, and I was auditioning for roles, and back and forth between LA and my mom’s house, I met her at a park between her campus and my mom’s. I brought her coffee to try to butter her up but she wasn’t having any of it. She said I was just trying to sweet talk my way into your pants.”
“Oh,” She said quietly, losing herself in thought. Annie had never said anything. Why had Annie never told her? All these years, she’d blamed Chris and been so hurt by him, but Annie had met with him; she’d ranted and raved and cried to Annie about the whole situation, but Annie had heard him out all along. She’d been the regular voice of reason in Y/N’s ear saying, ‘he’s just a jerk, you can do better, don’t think about him again.’ Y/N shook her head, trying to get back to the moment… Annie was another problem for another day.
“You didn’t know,” Chris’s shoulders sagged.
“No,” she shook her head, her eyes slightly kinder this time, “I had no idea.”
“Does it change your feelings about me?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Y/N took a breath and stared at him, her stomach churning with emotions and beer.
“Of course, you don’t,” he sighed, shaking his head and starting to pace the room, “I don’t know why I bothered coming here.”
Y/N was silent, watching him pace while her mind raced in a thousand directions. She was angry with Annie and confused about Chris.
“Look, I’m not going to grovel. If you want to be pissed at me forever, fine,” His tone was harsher than he meant it, but once it was out of his mouth, he saw Y/N’s face harden quickly.
“I just need a second, Chris, you keep dropping bombs on me with no warning, and I’ve had a lot to drink.”
“You’ve had seven goddamn years, Y/N. That was plenty of warning,” he countered, coming to a stop in front of her with his hands on his hips.
“I didn’t know you talked to Annie, I didn’t expect to run into you tonight, I put you out of my mind for the last seven years! I’m a little emotional and a little drunk!” The blanket fell from her shoulders as she gestured at him, “Give me a damn second to think!”
“I don’t need a second to think about you! I want to kiss you, I want to call you every day, I want to make you laugh, and I want you in my bed every night.” He cradled her face in his hands, staring at her intensely.
“That is too much too soon. You’re passionate, and I’ve loved that about you from the first time we met, but you’re throwing so much at me so quickly. An hour ago you didn’t recognize me and now you’re talking about a future together.”
“I’m an idiot, I know that, but I didn’t forget you. I never forgot you. I never forgot how comfortable it was to talk to you or to laugh with you. I never forgot how easily I felt like myself when I was with you. And even when I didn’t realize everything tonight, I still wanted more of you. That girl in the bar had my attention from the moment I saw her. I’m not finished with you, Y/N. We’re not finished.” He was still cradling her face, pulling her towards him. Y/N put her hands on his wrists, rubbing her thumbs against his hands in an effort to steal her mind and slow down his words. And to soften the blow.
“I’m not ready, Chris. It’s too fast; I can’t.”
He sighed loudly and stepped away from her, “Any other girl could,” he muttered as he ran his hands across his face in exasperation.
“Excuse me?” Y/N stepped out of his grasp; the back of her knees hit the sofa behind her and she stumbled, catching herself on the armrest.
“Nothing.”
“No, no, by all means, go on, what was that about any other girl?”
Fully defensive now, Chris squared his shoulders at her, “I can get any girl in my bed, I don’t even have to try.”
“Unbelievable,” Y/N’s mouth hung open, “Why did you even come here?
“I came here for you!” He threw his hands up in the air before they dropped and loudly slapped against his thighs.
“Did you come here for me or did you come here to fuck me?”
“I came– I didn’t–I wanted– Y/N,” he stuttered and looked at her helplessly.
“Did you just come here to sleep with me, Chris?”
He was quiet, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish while he tried to gather his thoughts.
“Christopher,” Y/N whispered, “why did you come here? What were you hoping for.”
“I don’t know.”
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force the tears welling in her eyes to stop falling. She was drunk, she was tired, she was overwhelmed, and she was highly emotional. She wanted to have this conversation with a clear head and when Chris was thinking clearly and not with Lil Chris. “I think you should go,” she forced herself to say.
“If I go, that’s it,” he said stubbornly, “this is the third time we’ve tried. If we fail this time, then I’m not coming back.”
“Let’s talk with a clear head tomorrow, Chris,” she pleaded, “We’re both saying this we don’t mean tonight.”
“I mean everything I’m saying. It’s now or never.”
“Chris, please–”
“Now. Or never,” he annunciated very clearly as he watched tears streak down Y/N’s face. He didn’t mean it. Or at least sober Chris didn’t mean it. But Chris with too much beer in his system was stubborn, passionate, and a bit of an ass. If he walked out of here without her tonight, he wouldn’t try again. He’d put too much time and effort into trying for her already after she’d walked out seven years ago. He’d cried alone, he’d begged and pleaded with Annie, and he wouldn’t do it again. He’d leave her behind. He silently prayed that she’d back down because he knew he wouldn’t allow himself to be the one to break.
“Chris,” she repeated quietly, “let’s meet tomorrow, please,” she moved towards him, reaching for his hands; the tiny sober part of his brain screamed at him when his stupid, drunken self yanked his hands away from her.
“No. I guess it’s never then, Y/N,” he turned and moved quickly across the apartment to her door and flung open the deadbolt. He hesitated just long enough to hear her choke a sob before he stepped into the hallway.
Taglist: @bellaireland1981 @before-we-get-started @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @elrw24 @maylaysia109
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