#i cant believe they didn' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lostinthewoods-kristoff · 2 years ago

Text

the spy who loved me 2: electric boogaloo || mistoff || valentines au

In Kristoff and Mitte get sent on another mission which, after Mitte becomes jealous of Kristoff being used as a honeypot to get more intel on their mark, quickly becomes more about their relationship than the mission...

Notes: first of all this is NSFW so read at ur own discretion. second of all i know valentines was 3 months ago but i don't want to hear it. third of all this is a sequel to an old valentine's au which i now dont know if we ever posted bc i cant find it but the tldr is that childhood besties and super spy duo kristoff and mitte got sent on a mission, tensions were high, things got steamy... and they never spoke of it again. and that's waht you missed on glee!

@mighty-mitte

KRISTOFF

It had been a little while since he and Mitte had last worked together – not too long, not long enough for him to have forgotten the… events of that last mission, but long enough for things to feel disjointed. Like they were out of sync. It was a strange feeling. The two of them had never been out of sync before, things had never been strange between them. Kristoff kept wondering if maybe they should talk; maybe they should have a conversation about what happened. But he sat through the briefing, silent. And he sat in the car on the way to the hotel, silent. Only now that he was standing in front of the mirror, debating whether he should undo another button at the top of his shirt or not, that he was considering saying something.

Because presumably when you’d accomplished a mission and then slept with your partner/childhood friend it was normal to discuss things? Even if it was just a line or two, something about seeing where things go or letting things drop or…. Anything. Kristoff would take literally anything if it would help him figure out how he was supposed to act around Mitte. For the most part he was just trying to keep his mind off of memories of a similar hotel room with a similar non-descript bed and a similar Mitte, with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and–

Kristoff shook his head at himself, skin flushing pale pink. He had to get himself under control. Maybe talking about things would help. At this point, it couldn’t make them any worse.

He turned, looking at Mitte. “Feels kind of dumb that I’m the one that has to flirt, right? Kind of more your forte. I don’t even think I know how.”

Hm. That wasn’t what he meant to say at all.

But it was a genuine concern. Their mark for this evening, or his mark, anyways, was Eliza Goodfellow, the wife of an up-and-coming businessman who was quickly making a name for himself and definitely bringing weapons and stolen goods into the country and risking national security. Kristoff’s job, as given to him by his handler, was to try and charm Mrs. Goodfellow (who was apparently known for not being exactly faithful, which Kristoff thought made sense, ‘cause her husband didn’t seem like a nice guy at all) into giving them information on her husband’s whereabouts. By charming, they meant flirting, and Kristoff wasn’t good at flirting.

“I might scare her off,” He commented, head tilting as he considered the button situation again. He didn’t want to come on too strong. “Any tips?”

MITTE

Mitte could not believe they were here again. Arms dealer, hotel- a nicer one this time at least- and one goddamn bed. At least there was a refreshing twist; Kristoff all dressed up, ready to flirt for the information they needed. It was actually kind of nice to not be the honey pot for once.

She was bugging Eliza's hotel room whilst Kristoff got the update on her husband, so Mitte got to wear jeans and think about security, instead of worrying about whether her dress was the right length, or if her hair was falling right. Almost every other guy they put her with suggested dangling her like pretty bait before they bothered to come up with anything smart. That was why she preferred being partnered with Kristoff, who didn’t look at her through the lens of how best he could use her, but how best he could work with her. Because they were friends. Best friends. Who had seen eachother naked. And hardly talked since. Well, hardly talked for how much usually talked, and frankly Mitte was surprised Kristoff's head hadn't exploded with the need to discuss their little tryst. Perhaps she should've taken mercy on him and brought it up, but she didn't want to upset the balance of their friendship any further, and she knew if the organization heard about what had happened they'd never work together again.

But Mitte wasn't thinking about that right now, because the mission was what mattered, and Kristoff was nervous about his part. "If we had any indication she played for the right team, I'm sure I'd be the one getting all dolled up." She offered Kristoff a sympathetic smile over the top of the magazine she was pretending to read and let her eyes wander his appearance, assessing as much as appreciating.

"You won't scare her off." She told him, stern but warm as she slipped off the bed to walk over and adjust his shirt collar, close enough to realize he'd put on cologne. He smelled good. "Tips… Tips…" Mitte cleared her throat and paid attention to his hair a moment, tussling it a bit with her fingers. "Don't let your words run away from you. Don't gesture too crazily, but don't stay too still. Smile. Hold eye contact." Which she had not done since she walked over here. Honestly she was tempted to ask if he'd rather a demonstration than an explanation, but that probably wouldn't end well.

Finally, she looked up at Kristoff as she took a step back, considering that shirt button he'd been toying with. She thought he'd look better with it undone, but he wasn't trying to seduce her. Sadly. "You're better at this kind of thing when you don't think too much. Just let her do most of the talking while you try to steer the conversation. Keep your voice soft so she has to lean in, and a hand on her arm will work wonders." Mitte said, turning to rifle through their briefcase for earpieces. "if it sounds like you're really floundering I should be able to talk you through it, but I think you'll be fine.”

KRISTOFF

It wasn’t often that he was the one tasked with being the honeypot. To be honest he wasn’t sure he had ever been given that job before, not in all of his time as an agent– it was always Mitte. She was the one who went out there and batted her eyelashes and bit her lip and got all of the intel they needed, whilst Kristoff bugged hotel rooms and hacked into computers or tailed a mark. And it was no surprise as to why; Mitte was gorgeous. It was all too easy for an unsuspecting man to fall under her spell. Kristoff, on the other hand…

He swallowed thickly as Mitte’s hands reached for his collar, the brush of her knuckles against his neck enough to make him look up, focus on the sconce on the wall as he ran through the information he’d been given. Infiltration was nothing; he had done that before. Pretending to be a new hire at the office, or an international billionaire looking to do business, whatever it was, he had done it. He knew that you had to go in with as full a picture as you could, and then give absolutely nothing away. He was just worried, that was all. What if he slipped up? Screwed the whole thing over entirely?

He took a deep breath, looking down at her. Her eyes didn’t meet his, and he thought he was glad of it. He wasn’t really sure what he would do if they met. When she stepped away, heading for the case, he dropped his gaze to the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, and then glanced hastily in the mirror. He had made it look a little more tousled than he meant to, but never mind. Maybe that was a good thing?

“Well, I’m glad someone’s confident,” He said, taking the earpiece when it was offered to him. It was small, high tech; he slipped it into place with practiced ease, and checked once again in the mirror. It was invisible, unless you were really looking for it; no one but himself would know. “If anything happens, though, if you need any help… I mean, I’m sure you won’t, but.” He paused, blinking at her for a moment. “Just in case. I’ve got your back.”

MITTE

She still knew all his twitches and tells so well, even with the distance that had stretched out between them. Kristoff wasn't the guy who reached out first to shake your hand, or bumped his knee against yours under the table. Being touched always surprised him, even when it was Mitte, who was probably more consistently hands on with him than most people.

(Once, way more hands on. Hands all over; pulling his hair, digging nails into his shoulders, running down the muscles of his chest. Christ, it had felt so good to see him lost to her touch like that. Even better to lose herself in his.)

"You're always nervous right about now." Mitte pointed out to him, still going through the case for the bugs she would need and hoping her face hadn't turned beet red. If her voice came out a little strangled at least she could chalk that much up to her own nerves. God, what was wrong with her? It was just sex. They'd both had plenty of it. Hell, Mitte was more than familiar with the fine art of hooking up with a friend.

Kristoff was more than that though. He was her partner, the guy in the chair watching the room and keeping her safe while she flirted for information, the only person she had a codeword with incase one of them was compromised, the only person who knew where to find her if everyone else thought she'd vanished. Kristoff was the one guy she’d always trusted, and it was an immense relief their slip up didn’t seem to have stopped them working together well, at least, but she could feel the tension of words unsaid. The question was whether it’d be better to air things out or lock the door tight on it all and hope for the best. “...And I know. I’ve got your back, too.”

It was a friendship she couldn't afford to fuck up, which meant despite how good the sex had been, she was just going to have to stop thinking about it. Mitte leaned across enough to catch her face in the mirror and put the earpiece in, then turned properly to face Kristoff again. "They could've partnered me with someone else." She reminded him, "the chief knows you can handle this, Kristoff. You've got more game than you think." Mitte patted his arm and then moved past him to find her shoes, "worked on me, didn't it?" She cackled, even though the quip drove a bus right through her intention to not think about that night. Oh yeah, it worked alright. Thought if she remembered correctly- and how could she not, with how often it had played over in her head- she’d kissed him first. To be fair, she’d always been the first one to take the leap when they were involved in anything risky.

Once Mitte had her trainers on and a backpack full of bugs slung over her shoulder she felt a lot more ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet and giving Kristoff’s seduction suit one last lookover. Honestly? She liked him a hell of a lot more in his post workout look, with his sweat making his already tight t-shirt cling to his abs while he poured half his water bottle over his head to cool off, but this was a nice look too. “Ready to turn on the charm?”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff almost choked on nothing at the comment, thrown out there like they had been regularly joking about the ending of their last mission since it had happened rather than furtively avoiding any mention of it at all. Once again he blushed, the link spreading right up to his ears this time and Kristoff loosened that button he’d been debating on, if only so he didn’t feel so claustrophobic.

It was a good thing, right? That she was joking about it? That was what he and mitte did, they joked about things — they were friends. Best friends. Being with Mitte, whether it was hanging out or working or whatever, had always been as easy as breathing. And knowing Kristoff, knowing his track record, he was gonna ruin that eventually. He was very good at putting his foot in his mouth.

He knew he couldn’t go downstairs looking all flustered so he took a deep breath, ran a hand nervously through his hair which thankfully made it look kind of tousled and teased rather than messy, and gave Mitte a crooked half-smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

He headed for the door, sparing her one last glance before he was gone, heading to the elevators and then down to the ground floor, and into the bar.

The hotel was fancy, the type of place an arms dealer’s cheating wife would be spending the night. There was the low hum of chatter, tables of women in dresses more expensive than the suite they were staying in, men in suits so starched it looked like they could barely move. It was sort of depressing, honestly, but not the first glitzy affair he and Mitte had attended in the line of duty. He spotted their target across the room, sitting at the bar— he hadn’t expected her there, but he supposed it was a good spot to meet someone, if you were looking to.

“I’ve got eyes on Eliza,” he said in a low voice, enough for Mitte to hear in her earpiece, but no one else. “Heading over there now. Wish me luck.”

And with that he headed across the floor to the bar.

MITTE

On a scale of devious to diabolical, where would Mitte fall if she was to just… Skip talking about it, and start joking about it? Kristoff would play along. He’d splutter and he’d huff and then one day he’d crack a joke of his own and it’d become another chapter in the book of shit that happens when you’ve had the same best friend since you were ten and had done so much together now it was hard to tell exactly where the boundary was. Sometimes they made out when they got drunk, sometimes they stole food off each others’ plates, they spent Christmas together, they lived and breathed a job that required nothing less than absolute trust.

So yeah, the boundary was… Well, flexible. They weren’t even drunk that night, but Kristoff had done a much better job of taking the edge off than whatever cheap little bottles of booze that minibar would’ve stocked. Thankgod there was an actual bar at this place. Still, sweeping what had happened under the rug felt a bit selfish, and Mitte was trying to be better about that, so she should at least ask if Kristoff wanted to discuss it. After the mission, obviously. Neither of them needed that kind of distraction right now. Once the Goodfellow’s were handled, there would be time.

They went their separate ways, and Mitte’s first objective was to find a maids cart, and a master key. This much at least was incredibly routine, even for her, and she could pick the lock of a utility closet in her sleep. “Go get ‘em tiger.” She said softly to Kristoff, glancing both ways down the corridor before slipping back out with the necessary key card and heading towards Eliza’s room.

The work she had to do was quiet, quick, and didn’t require more than one person. Still, she missed Kristoff’s presence, the way they’d silently orbited around each other, him effortlessly reaching for all the high up places she found it tricky to get to while she worked on the more fiddly hiding spots. As it was, this time around there was a lot of dragging the desk chair around the room and climbing on things that shouldn’t be climbed on. At least the furnishings were more structurally sound than the last hotel. (They’d have to go at it really hard to cause any damage here. Which they weren’t going to do. At all.)

“I’ll say this, these guys really know how to secure a clock to the wall.” Mitte huffed, mostly to fill the lonely quiet, “how’s things your end- is she swooning yet?”

KRISTOFF

He did his best not to laugh. He had been there, done that. Trying to slip bugs inside of lampshades and into the soles of high heels and behind mirrors fixed to the wall. He knew it was, at the best of times, a ball ache. But he thought he would maybe rather be up there doing that than down here launching into… whatever this was.

This being walking up to the bar, striding across the room with as much nonchalance and casual grace that Kristoff could muster, which was a surprising amount. He didn’t seem like the type of person who could be graceful, but spy academy beat any clumsiness right out of you. He approached the bar, only one seat left — conveniently, right next to his mark.

“This seat taken?” He asked, drawing her attention from the drink in her hand.

Without any shame at all she looked him up, down, and over once more, and then smiled coyly. “What would you do if I said yes?”

He took a deep breath, looking up at the ornately painted ceiling for a moment. It was the type of thing Mitte would say; if it were Mitte he’d already have some kind of comeback. “Leave, I suppose,” he said after a moment. Eliza looked back at him, gaze curious, assessing. “Very disappointed.”

She smiled, a small, tucked-away sort of smile. Coy, honestly vaguely threatening. “Good thing it isn’t, then.” She nodded for him to sit; Kristoff took his cue. When the barman came over he ordered a martini, slipping the cash out of the inner pocket over his jacket over the bar. Eliza followed the movement of his hand with her eyes, and Kristoff pretended not to notice, mostly because he had no idea what to do about it just yet.

“And what brings a good looking guy on his own to this kind of bar on a Friday night?” She asked, leaning her head on her hand, elbow propped on the bar.

“Business,” Kristoff replied, smiling simply, hoping he looked as earnest as he could be. Not exactly a lie. He just couldn’t tell her what business.

She hummed, eyebrows arching. “So not pleasure, then?”

He really had not expected things to go this way this fast. He felt like he fumbled, reaching for his drink when the bartender slid the glass towards him. “Well, I…”

MITTE

It was quite nice to feel like a real spy instead of a pretty doll put on display to distract the bad guy, honestly. Not that it felt that way every time, but the circuits her mind had to run to make sure she was sitting up straight and smiling and pushing her tits up just enough, and the way those guys could leer– god, the things they could say that she just had to giggle at, the way their fingers could dig in when they grabbed at her– well, she was always grateful for whatever quips Kristoff could make down the line to help stop her snapping them like a twig.

Thinking about all that did get her blood going enough that Mitte was finally able to wrench the clock free of its setting to slip a bug in the back before replacing it, and she snickered quietly at Eliza’s forward approach. It did sound like the way Mitte might challenge a man, though coming from Miss Goodfellow it just sounded like a woman not interested in wasting her time. That worked in their favor in the long run; she knew what she wanted and she’d answer slightly strange questions without too much forethought to get it. Kristoff was probably going to need some help, though. Upfront women tended to intimidate him- she would know.

Mitte resisted the urge to rib him about the drink choice- she could call him James Bond later, when he could afford to be distracted- and just listened, whistling through her teeth at Eliza’s continued no nonsense approach. “Stay cool, Casanova.” She hummed, “...Smile at her like you smile at me when you’ve caught me in a stupid lie, and tell her you’re a busy guy and pleasure wasn’t part of the plan, but since you’ve found her you might just have to make time for it.” At least, that was what Mitte would like to hear, that she was worth ruining plans for, so Eliza would probably be all over an ego boost like that.

She wasn’t going to think about whether or not it was a bad idea to imply to Kristoff that she thought the smug little smirk he sometimes threw her way when he won was sexy as all hell. It would be fine, he wasn’t the type to use his powers for evil. (He didn’t even know he had powers. Maybe after Eliza he’d realize.) “Tilt your head a bit… Check her out. And then ask her why she’s all alone, too. But pitch your voice kinda low, like when you’re doing your quiet and angry cop routine.” Secretly, she called it the Sexy and Pissed off cop routine, but absolutely no need to tell him that.

Hey Mitte, what’d you do with your Friday night? Ah, I talked my best friend through seducing an arms dealer's wife. God, she loved her job. She slipped a bug into the tissue box in the bathroom, “I shouldn’t be much longer.”

KRISTOFF

There was no outward sign of him listening to Mitte’s chatter in his ear, he was too well trained for that, but he took in everything she said without questioning it for a second. Mitte wouldn’t get him into trouble, nor would she jeopardise the mission, and honestly? She was way better at this than he was, so if she had advice, he was going to take it. It was just a case of assembling all the information he’d been given and using it correctly, and he was good at that.

Quiet and angry cop routine– he was good at that, too. Or at least, it had never failed him yet. It also had never been used for seduction before but hey, there was a first time for everything. He gave a soft laugh, like it was amusing, just how forward she was, and directed that smile at his drink. The dumb part was, he played different characters all the time. Quiet angry cop, new guy who just started at the firm, bartender with a shoulder to cry on; being a spy was also a part-time acting job, and he had never worried about it before now. It was just like those other jobs – he just had to keep telling himself that.

He looked up at Eliza, glad to find her still looking at him, waiting for an answer. That smile was still in place, a little crooked, amused, almost disbelieving, but hopefully charming. “I’m a very busy guy,” He said, parroting Mitte’s words back at Eliza. “Pleasure wasn’t exactly the plan, but..” He pursed his lips and tilted his head, just as directed. He thought he should maybe feel embarrassed, having Mitte in his ear, no doubt making fun of him up there whilst she bugged the room, but honestly? It was good to know he had back up. He made a deliberate show of looking her over, which served not only to make her smile, small and pleased with herself, but to give him more information, too. If she did a runner, he had a pretty good description of her. “I might just have to make time for it.”

He turned to his drink again – for the record, he hated martinis, but he was hoping the vodka might make him feel a little less self conscious. “But what about you?” He asked, looking back up at her again, turning a little to show she had his full attention. “What’s a woman like you doing here all alone?”

“A woman like me?” She asked, one eyebrow arching. Not offended, no – fishing for something, Kristoff assumed.

“C’mon,” He said, earning another smile from her, like they were old friends, having a laugh. “You don’t need me to tell you what you are.”

“It would still be nice to hear it,” She countered, sipping from the glass in her hand.

“Alright,” He acquiesced, “What brings a good looking woman like you on her own to this kind of bar on a Friday night?”

She laughed, amused, so he did as well. She turned a little towards him in her seat, her own head tilting as she looked at him. She sighed deeply, dramatically, and said, “Looking for company, I suppose. A knight in shining armour, maybe.”

MITTE Quite suddenly, while listening to her sweet talk and imagining her batting her lashes at Kristoff, Mitte decided she hated Eliza Goodfellow. They dealt with a lot of terrible people every day, real nasty criminals who had done unimaginable shit– but Eliza Goodfellow was just a woman who didn’t care how her husband made his money as long as he had a lot of it, and didn’t care where he went as long as it gave her time to flirt with hot strangers at bars!

She shouldn’t be here, flirting with Kristoff. If she just wasn’t here, then it could be– well… It wouldn’t be anyone. If Eliza wasn’t here, then they wouldn’t be here either. Beyond that, getting too emotional over a target was a terrible idea, even if that emotion was hatred, so Mitte had to swallow it all down, but she could not suppress her displeased huff in response to Eliza’s fawning. She was about as subtle as a brick. “Tell her…” Actually, this wasn’t fun at all. But it was her job, so she could do it. “Tell her you don’t own a sword but you do know how to ride a horse.” Mitte frowned, listening to the two of them carry on whilst she did one final sweep of the room to make sure she hadn’t missed any good hiding spots. “And ask why her husband hasn’t swept her up to ride off with her into the sunset, if you think working him into the conversation so early would be okay.” Kristoff seemed to find his groove, which was good for the mission and Mitte refused to think about it beyond that, ignoring her own grimace as she passed the wardrobe mirror on her way back out.

Initially, she’d planned on just heading straight down to the bar to drag Kristoff out of whatever mess his flirting got him into, but something drove her back to their hotel room- two beds this time, because Mitte had personally promised violence if they pulled the same shit again- to dig through her suitcase, and pull out a nicer top. The one with the ditzy kind of floral print she liked, and a sweetheart neckline that always made Kristoff’s eyes drop for just a second. It was a nice bar, so looking like she’d thrown on whatever old thing was going to draw attention that she didn’t want to have. She was just trying to blend in a bit. “I’m on my way down.” Mitte told Kristoff as she stepped into the lift, “you get what we need yet?”

KRISTOFF

“Well, I don’t have a sword, but I do know how to ride a horse. That good enough?”

It earned a laugh from Eliza, all breathy and coy and maybe she was acting, too. Or maybe she wasn’t — maybe Mitte’s advice was just that good. He couldn’t be sure, but he tried not to act surprised when Eliza leaned a little bit closer, reaching again for her drink. “Close enough.”

He chuckled, shuffling just a little closer himself, almost imperceptibly, but enough for the conversation to feel a little more intimate. Hopefully, anyways. He kept his voice low and soft, hoping he wasn’t about to ruin the entire thing when he said, “So, what? There’s no dashing husband coming to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset?”

“Who said anything about a husband?” Eliza asked, her voice low and sultry, a small smirk on her lips.

Kristoff nodded to the hand she was leaning her head on. “Your ring.”

“Ah,” Eliza murmured. She shifted to set her hand on the bar, looking at the ring. It was a pretty sizeable rock — the guy was definitely rich. “Well, my husband would rather do business deals in Shanghai than take a vacation with his wife.” She tapped her fingers against the bar, looking at the ring for a long moment. Kristoff waited, not wanting to spook her. When she looked up again, she asked, “Does it bother you?”

He hoped Mitte was taking notes. Shanghai— they could look into his dealings, see who he’d done business with there, who might be looking to collaborate. They could be on a flight in a matter of hours.

Eliza was still waiting for an answer. “No,” Kristoff said, shaking his head.

Eliza smiled, her other hand shifting, settling on his thigh. “Good.”

MITTE

She wondered if Kristoff hated it too, hearing her flirt and giggle with targets. Maybe it was just that, no one really liked hearing lies. Yeah. But seriously, she knew it was useful for their mission and all, but was a stupid rich husband who hardly bothered you not enough? Call Mitte crazy, but it sounded like a decent set up, what did she have to go crawling all over guys like Kristoff for?

And Mitte meant crawling in the most literal sense, when she walked into the bar and saw them sitting so close together, her hand on his thigh like they'd been flirting all night and not for five minutes. Still, they got Shanghai out of her, and that meant Eliza Goodfellow had fulfilled her purpose.

She swiped a half finished cosmopolitan- shame she didn't have the patience to order her own and enjoy a few sips- and flagged down a passing waitress, who already had a few half empty glasses on her tray. Mitte pulled a couple of fifties from her purse- would she ever be so used to having money she stopped spending it stupidly?- and set one of them down on the tray, along with the glass. "See that blonde guy over there?" She asked quietly, head tipping towards Kristoff and the vile woman still leaning closer. (He wouldn't know how to stop her, how to end their interaction without a fuss. She had to do it.) "That's my boyfriend. If you happen to trip on your way past and spill these over the woman trying to sit in his lap, I'll give you the other fifty on my way out."

Now see, Mitte knew hospitality staff. Even in a place like this they didn't make enough for how mad the job drove them. She'd happily pay £100 quid to watch Eliza suffer, and the waitress only had to make a simple mistake.

So Mitte sat back to watch the scene play out, Eliza and Kristoff so close to each other, and then; Eliza rearing back in horror, screeching like a banshee about whatever stupid designer made her stupid dress. She sidled over, surreptitiously slipping the waitress that second fifty, and grabbing Kristoff's hand to pull him away before he could start fussing over her with napkins. Miss Goodfellow, so consumed with misplaced rage, barely noticed him leaving.

Mitte didn't speak until they were in the elevator again, alone, her tone the epitome of innocence. "I think that went well. Shame about Eliza's dress."

KRISTOFF

Oh yeah, he had no idea how to extricate himself out of this one. He could do the classic, excuse himself and climb through the air vent in the bathroom, or maybe say he had to take a call and pull the fire alarm on his way out. He had options, he just had very little time to think about them, because Eliza’s hand was at his knee and then his thigh and inching ever higher—

And then it was gone, and he was leaning back, Eliza screaming about useless staff and dry cleaning bills. Kristoff looked down and realised he had faired a bit better, but not by much. His shirt was wet, sticking to his abdomen as Mitte grabbed his hand.

At first Kristoff looked up, wondering if he’d been made — but then he saw Mitte, or rather the back of her head as she made a beeline for the elevator — and felt an overwhelming wave of relief. He was fine and she was fine and they had their intel, and they were going. No shots fired, no covers blown.

He leaned back when the elevator door closed, back to the wall. “Never mind, I guess. Not like she can’t afford another one.” He paused, looking at Mitte for a moment. “You couldn’t think of another way to get me out of there?”

MITTE

She had not thought about Kristoff being in the splash zone. Now, Mitte had seen him in just about every state of undress, distress, and duress a person could be in, so this should not be a problem. And it wasn’t. Except she kept sneaking glances at his abs, and remembering how the muscles had twitched under her hands. Mitte swallowed thickly and turned to look in the mirror instead, fussing with her hair for no reason apart from needing something else to focus on.

The truth was, yeah, there were plenty of ways to get Kristoff out of the bar, most of them cleaner and cheaper, things they’d done dozens of times before when she’d played the honeypot part. She shrugged, feigning indifference. “It was the first idea that came to me.” At least, she wasn’t lying, but Mitte knew that wasn’t really why she’d gone that route. Subtlety had never really been her style, anyway, so as far as she was concerned this was all very typical behavior, regardless of motive.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Mitte made for their room without waiting or looking back. “So, Shanghai.” She said once they were back in their own space, flopping down onto one of the beds and staring at the ceiling. “Makes sense. A little predictable, but that works for us, I guess, means we stand a chance of finding…”

Mitte made the mistake of glancing over at Kristoff, who had shucked the suit jacket and was unbuttoning the wet shirt, her sentence trailing off. “Um-” She blinked, and quickly wrenched her gaze back to the ceiling, clearing her throat. “Well, we stand a chance of him working with one of our old informants, right? Not super likely, but I could send out a few messages, see if anyone is down to talk to us.”

KRISTOFF

She was lying, he knew it. Her nonchalance was too forced, not quite right, and it caused a small crease to form between his brows as he frowned. They had much more efficient, much quieter ways of getting each other out of tricky spots like that. They were trained to do it — extraction and destruction were key parts of spy training. Getting yourself out of a situation with as minimal fuss as possible was just what they did, and yet Mitte had chosen to bribe a waitress. Presumably, anyways. Kristoff couldn’t see any waitress working in a place as fancy as that just tripping over nothing.

The doors opened and he stepped out after her, still frowning softly as he watched her walk back to the room. He looked both ways before he slipped inside, making sure no one was watching, and he locked the door once he was in.

He flung his jacket on the bed, untucking his shirt and working on the buttons. He’d have to get changed if they were going to get on a flight. Couldn’t go to the airport looking like he’d spent all of last night and today in a bar (and smelling like it, too).

He let his shirt flop on a heap on the floor and reached for his duffel, looking for something to wear. “Why’d you do it?” He asked, ignoring her completely. He looked up at her, pausing his search for a clean shirt. “You don’t do the first thing that comes to you — you want to, but you’re trained better.” He knew her, too well. Mitte was impulsive but not dumb. “So why the tray of champagne?”

MITTE

Yeah, alright. Kristoff's insight shouldn't have surprised her. The fact that he hadn't cottoned on to her reasoning was likely because he couldn't see his nose for his face. The day Kristoff Bjorgman realized he was as hot as he was smart would be a dangerous day for women everywhere.

Even now he somehow managed to be oblivious, shirtless and huffing at her like he wasn't insanely distracting. It wasn't like she had any right to feel this way. Kristoff was just doing his job, and even if he hadn't been he was allowed to flirt with whoever he wanted.

Just… Not while Mitte was listening. "Jeez, Kristoff. Allow a lady to have a little fun." She stood back up to get out her laptop, to see about starting to put out feelers in Shanghai, and to have something to hide her face behind. "We both know it would've taken you forever to get yourself out of there, and it's not like she didn't deserve a little karma."

KRISTOFF

He snagged a t-shirt, plain black and nondescript, a spy’s best friend; they were going to need to blend in. He paused with it in his hand, watching as she went to the laptop. Evasive. And like he said, he knew Mitte to be impulsive, but he didn’t know her to be sloppy. And maybe she was right, it would have taken a while for him to get himself out of there, but he could’ve done it. Or Mitte could’ve done it, just in a subtler way. He frowned softly, wishing she would just talk to him, and then remembering that talking about important things wasn’t really something they did nowadays. If they talked about whatever this was then they might have to talk about their last mission and Kristoff didn’t even know where to begin with that–

He pulled the shirt over his head, crouching down again to begin shoving things into his duffel. Might as well get ready to leave – they would be gone sooner rather than later. He paused, looking up at Mitte, still focused on her laptop. It wasn’t– the two things couldn’t be related. Could they? If Mitte was hiding something then that was strange, but it wasn’t strange if she was hiding something because it was something they weren’t talking about…

Kristoff, having confused himself, shook his head. “I guess.” He said eventually, watching Mitte for a moment. “Though, y’know, I don’t appreciate you doubting my skills. I was starting to get the hang of it.”

He was only joking – he was waiting for her to look up, grinning just a little.

MITTE

To say her face felt hot wouldn't be accurate, rather, there was some fiery thing pulsing behind her eyes that she didn't really understand. Mitte liked being friends with Kristoff. It was easy, it almost always had been, so whatever silly ideas her brain was conjuring up now it could just bloody well stop. The last thing they needed was complications.

Things were fine. Nothing needed to change, she just had to get a grip. (But things were already changing, weren't they? If she noticed him tugging on a t-shirt out of the corner of her eye and wanted to tell him to take it off again.) It wasn't like it mattered that she was feeling so nuts anyway, maybe Kristoff could fool the rest of the world but he couldn't fool her, and if he's ever felt this way watching her flirt with targets she would know about it.

So, he dropped it, but then he picked up something just as bad. Mitte huffed, still hiding behind her screen. Work. She was meant to be working. Shanghai contacts. "...You did great, Kristoff." She told him, honest, if a touch bitter about admitting it. "Pat yourself on the back. Top notch flirting, she was eating out of your hand." Mitte reached for her hoodie and zipped it all the way up, feeling stupid she'd even bothered to change her top. What did she want from Kristoff, anyway? "Well we got her room bugged, so if he moves on from Shanghai we'll probably hear about it. It'll probably take our contacts a while to get back to us. We should just pack up and get going."

KRISTOFF

She was teasing him, which was a good sign, but she wasn’t looking at him, which made him frown again. He hated feeling like things were off, like there was something standing in the middle of them. He hated to think that he had ruined his and Mitte’s friendship, that he continued to ruin it by not being able to talk about it, and risked ruining it further by keep thinking about it. It being the urge to kiss her, to throw that laptop out the window and ask if she remembered what they did last time they were in a hotel room together—

He pursed his lips, nodded. Right. They had a job to do. He had a job to do, he was a professional. He took a breath and then cast his gaze around the room, reaching for the last few bits and pieces that he needed. He swapped his dress shoes out for his boots and grabbed his jacket, ready to go. He didn’t exactly want to — he wanted to know why Mitte was so sullen. Was she regretting this? Working with him again? If she was, he wished she’d just tell him. If she left after this and never spoke to him again… he didn’t know what he’d do.

“I’ll call us a cab,” he said, lingering by the door. “You can check us out — I’ll meet you outside.”

MITTE

What would he say? If Mitte came out with the ugly truth of it, her unreasonable possessiveness, would Kristoff even believe her? Would he care? Would he think she was being ridiculous? Just another of Mitte’s silly mood swings, another this is how it is and you just have to go with it. Kristoff had taken a lot of her absurdities in stride over the course of their friendship, every stupid whim and bit of self sabotage. Something would have to break the damn eventually, and Mitte would hate for it to be something she couldn’t even pin down a reasonable explanation for.

So she kept her mouth shut, packed up her stuff, and checked them out of the hotel.

They’d been on countless plane journeys, and depending on their individual moods their interactions ranged from driving each other up the wall, keeping each other entertained, and companionable silence. This… Was none of that. This was stony and awkward and Mitte nearly jumped out of her damn skin every time their elbows brushed on the shared armrest.

She called their boss when they landed to get hotel details and give him a rundown of their plan, chattering away as Kristoff navigated the streets- still so busy, even at this time of night- to get them safely to where they were staying. Even annoyed at her as he must be- and she could practically feel it radiating off him- he directed her without comment, making sure she didn’t run into anyone or turn down the wrong street.

Being the booming center of business it was, their room here was even more upscale than the last place, all sleek and shiny, and Mitte wondered how many of the little liquor bottles she could snatch from the fridge before Kristoff said anything. “Okay… It’s pretty late, so, boss said we can just hole up in our room tonight doing research and hit the ground running with our search properly tomorrow.”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wasn’t quiet because he was annoyed or mad or anything like that — Kristoff was quiet because he was thinking.

Alright so maybe he was overthinking, or maybe he was reading too hard between the lines but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Mitte was hiding something from him. And they never hid anything from each other, at least not until all this. Besides, he didn’t feel like he was really hiding anything. The way he had to look away sometimes when she was all dressed up ready for the mission, the way he had blushed when her hand had brushed his neck. He was a spy, he was good with secrets, but not when it came to Mitte.

She had seemed… normal, before they’d gone their separate ways. They’d had the same kind of banter they always did and then out of nowhere she was sullen and closed off and Kristoff didn’t know what had happened. Something, he supposed, between Mitte going to bug the room and coming down to join him in the bar. He could’ve gotten more intel probably, if he’d been left to it for a minute longer. Shanghai was a big place, maybe he could’ve narrowed it down, or gotten an idea of where he might be headed to next, but Mitte had swooped in pretty quickly and had shut everything down before—

Oh.

The lightbulb flicked on above Kristoff’s head somewhere over Russia. He glanced at Mitte out of the corner of his eye and said nothing, staring resolutely at the airplane seat in front of himself.

He was being stupid. He’d added two and two and gotten five. There was no way that Mitte— that she— he couldn’t even really articulate it. He pushed it to one side; he got them to their hotel and checked them into their room and was so decided that he wasn’t going to say anything at all until he was stood there, watching Mitte eye the mini bar.

He wanted to say okay, sounds good, but instead he said, “Were you— were you mad at her? Eliza?”

MITTE

She hated this. She was a talker! Especially to Kristoff, who she’d seen curled into himself in a corner in highschool and decided, yeah, I can probably fuck with that guy. Then he looked up, and he smiled at her, and for whatever reason Mitte decided to just… Talk to him. And he listened, and then suddenly they were friends.

Before now she’d always known what to say to him. But now there was a stupid little voice in Mitte’s head, telling her to ruin some lady’s dress just because she put her hand on his leg, or to run her hand over his abs, or kiss him just to wipe the frown off his face. God, this was why friends didn’t sleep together, it didn’t just blur the line, it put all sorts of experiences in your head that you shouldn’t have. How was she supposed to be indifferent to someone else leaning in to kiss Kristoff, when she knew how good kissing him felt?

Mad. Mitte sat with the word for a moment, eyes narrowed a bit at Kristoff, thinking. Was she mad? No, no, mad wasn’t the right word. Eliza was just doing what she probably did every night, cheating on her husband. Mitte didn’t care about any of those other guys. It bothered her because Kristoff was part of the equation.

…Ah. Oh god. Jealous? No. Maybe. That was ridiculous, she had no right. Kristoff was just doing his job. This worked. This was good, they worked better together than with other partners. "No." Mitte said after a few beats of quiet, going about getting her laptop and shoving her bag under one of the beds, "no, I wasn't mad at her. You wanna listen to her room recording a while and see if she's said anything useful? I'll see if anyone got back in touch with us about her husband."

KRISTOFF

No, he didn’t want to listen to the room recording. He doubted Eliza was going to say anything too useful except for a lot of swearing and angry ranting about useless waitstaff, so he figured it could wait. They had time, and besides, it wasn’t like he’d be able to focus. Mitte wasn’t mad, fine. Which meant that there was really only one other thing it could be, as far fetched and ludicrous as the idea was.

“You were jealous of her.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that he almost startled himself. Listen, he could only work with the intel he had, and what he had was Mitte instructing him on how to flirt and then coming downstairs and seeing her good advice out to work and sending a waitress to ruin the mark’s dress. She wasn’t mad, and Kristoff honestly thought he might be kind of upset if she really doubted his ability to get himself out of a tricky situation that much—

“Right?” He asked, immediately doubting himself. But then, no— he couldn’t leave any room for doubt, or Mitte wouldn’t admit to anything. Stronger, he said, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

MITTE

Unfortunately, for as hapless as he could come across, Kristoff was really the brains behind the partnership. Mitte wasn't surprised when he figured it out so fast, and she tried not to react, but she could feel her face heating up.

She couldn't say nothing. That was as good as admitting it anyway, and Kristoff sounded too adamant to be distracted. Mitte closed her eyes for a moment and heaved a soft sigh before looking at him over the top of the laptop, "...You don't have to tell me I'm being ridiculous. I already know." She glanced again at the minibar, and wondered what he was thinking.

Alright, so the reason they'd never talked about what happened at the last hotel was because Mitte had never brought it up, and she knew that, but Kristoff… He'd never shown that kind of interest in her. Before or since. And even if he had, they both knew what a terrible idea it was. Messy and dangerous and easy to take advantage of. "You were doing your job. I just… didn't like hearing it. Or seeing it. I should've gotten you out of there quieter, I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again." It was stupid and dangerous and he'd have every right to decide to work with someone who wasn't going to cause that kind of fuss. Still, selfishly, Mitte wished he wouldn't.

KRISTOFF

He looked at her for a long moment, watching Mitte as she looked everywhere but him. His gaze didn’t shift, and though he was listening to her it took him a second to actually register what it was she was saying. She hadn’t come out and said yes, but she wasn’t saying no — Mitte was stubborn enough that Kristoff knew she would never come out and say it outright so this was probably as good as it was going to get.

It won’t happen again. Why did she think he would be upset about it? She had to know how he felt about her. It wasn’t like he could hide it, though he tried his best to. His opinion most of the time was that Mitte was the smarter of the two of them but right now?

He should just nod and say okay and let it go. They had a mission to complete, intel to gather. They knew their mark was in Shanghai but Shanghai was a big place, and they needed to try and narrow that down.

He didn’t do that, though. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and took Mitte’s face in his hands, kissing her like it might be the last chance he got. More like making up for lost time, he supposed. How much could they have been doing this since the last mission they’d gone on?

He pulled away after a moment, one hand falling to her waist. He didn’t go too far, keeping her close as he looked down at her. “You’re an idiot.”

MITTE

She wanted to kick herself. Or jump out the window. Or run across the room and put her hand over Kristoff’s mouth before he could say anything that made this worse, tell him to just forget she’d even talked. How long would they be able to keep it up this time? If Mitte shut this down before it started and they returned to their own homes and their own lives with her uncertainty creating a rift all over again, would they find their way back to each-other a second time? The truth was, Mitte was pretty uninterested in life without Kristoff, and she’d take whatever he wanted to offer her. It might not be easy, but she’d be able to keep the jealousy under wraps, even if the feeling of it had settled in her gut like a lead weight.. She’d do practically anything to keep him.

But then he was grabbing her and kissing her and kissing him back was easy. Like breathing. Mitte made a small noise of surprise, and all the tension she’d been carrying since before they even left for Shanghai melted off her shoulders. Her hands crept up Kristoff’s abs until her palms could settle on his chest, and she resisted the urge to twist the material of his shirt in her fists until it could be ripped off.

For a moment after he pulled away, Mitte stared up at him with no clue what they were supposed to do next. They’d crossed this line before and they knew how it ended. But then her brain caught up to what he’d said, and she huffed. “I’m the idiot? Tch, it took you all the way to Shanghai to figure out what the issue was!” Nevermind that it had taken her just as long to name it. “And, may I point out, a smart man wouldn’t have called me an idiot right after kissing me, if he was hoping he’d get to do it again.” Though, she barely made a move to get out of Kristoff’s grip, only gently pushing her hands against his chest.

KRISTOFF

“It was a calculated risk,” he argued with a grin, leaning down to kiss her again, a little softer this time but just as heated, the same desperation behind it. He knew she would let him— because she had been jealous. Because she didn’t want anyone else flirting with him, because she wanted him. The thought alone was enough to make him giddy. “You’re the idiot because I’ve liked you since— I don’t even know since when. And I suck at hiding it.”

He did. He was obvious, at least he thought he was. Blushing when she touched him and finding excuses to be with her and a million other little things that gave away just how obsessed with her he was. He dropped his other hand to her waist, both hands sliding round to the small of her back so he could pull her closer again, even with her hands on his chest, pushing back a little. “We could listen to the room recording,” he said, looking down at her. “Or we could make up for lost time?”

MITTE

He kissed her again and Mitte didn’t move or protest, all but melting against him. She’d never had a lot of friends. Mitte’s temperament wasn’t exactly easy to handle, and she was picky to boot. Kristoff was the only person in her life who she had let stick around for so long. So when Kristoff said they were best friends, well, she took that and ran with it. She didn’t care if other people said they were too close, or they did things best friends didn’t do- Kristoff was the one she trusted, and he’d never kicked up a fuss that they were doing this or that wrong. But apparently he’d liked her for who knew how long, so of course he wouldn’t have an issue with that stuff! Stuff Mitte had never had an issue with either, admittedly. All the touching and the secrets between just them and how boring it was to do anything at all if they weren’t doing it together.

Her blood hummed with satisfaction at having him so close, and really, her possessiveness wasn’t new. Whenever Kristoff worked well with another agent she managed to find at least some small and silly thing wrong with them, so that she could point it out to him, and maybe he wouldn’t work with them again. This of course was all under the guise of looking out for him, but maybe… Yeah, it was possible she’d been jealous this whole time.

“Okay.” Mitte said softly, conceding to perhaps the only person she was happy to lose an argument against, her arms sliding further and up around his shoulders, bringing him closer. “Your poker face is better than you think. But…I’m the idiot.” And then they were kissing again, Mitte popping up on her tiptoes to be closer, to press their bodies together better, as her hands carded through Kristoff’s hair.

KRISTOFF

He didn’t think it was just her, for the record. He was pretty stupid too. It had taken him a very long flight to figure out what was going on and even then he hadn’t been too sure of himself. But he was too busy kissing her to really think about telling her that — in fact, as her fingers ran through his hair he stopped thinking about anything, everything falling away except for Mitte’s hands and the heat of her body, pressing up against his own.

He reached down, hands slipping over the swell of her ass to grip the backs of her thighs, pulling her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He thought that was going to be easier than trying to stumble backwards towards the bed. He twisted, stepped towards it until he could lay her down onto it, kissing over her jaw and her neck as he shifted to hover over her.

“Is this okay?” He asked, pausing once again to look at her. Wanting to be sure, before they took things too far, and did something else they couldn’t talk about in the morning.

MITTE

He liked her. He liked her, and he was kissing her, and Mitte’s head was spinning with ‘what if this’ ‘what if that’ scenarios. Things she didn’t want to think about right now– things that could wait. The present felt far more urgent than any of that, especially as Kristoff was scooping her up, and she was so familiar with the calluses of his palms she could practically feel them through her jeans.

The pent up frustration that had driven their last encounter- at least, it had driven Mitte and she’d thought they were on the same page at the time, but now she was curious to know from Kristoff’s perspective- was missing, replaced with a desperation that felt more real. She’d barely registered they were going anywhere until the plush mattress was against her back, all her limbs tangled around Kristoff’s body, head tipping to the side to offer him more of her neck.

Is this okay. Mitte turned her head back to look at him, already a bit out of breath. She could say no. It would be a lie, but she could say it and Kristoff would stop and they could get back to work and this might never happen again. Maybe that was what should’ve happened last time. Once was an accident. Twice was a decision. “Actually, no.” Mitte’s brows furrowed, but the rest of her face couldn’t stay so composed, a smile already stealing her mouth as she gripped at the material of his shirt where it bunched a little around his shoulders, “this thing is really throwing me off. It’s gotta go.”

KRISTOFF

For a second his brow creased, a small frown appearing. Of course if she meant it, if she didn’t want to do this that was fine, he would understand. They had to work together, and if this was going to complicate things, or it was going to ruin their friendship… he didn't want to make things difficult. Even though it felt easy — as easy as breathing, with Mitte.

But then she was tugging at his shirt and Kristoff rolled his eyes, breaking into a grin. He leaned down to press another kiss to her lips, feeling already like he’d gone too long without it before he sat back until he was kneeling, pulling his shirt up and over his head and away to one side. “This better?” He asked, eyebrows arched. He didn’t move back to lean over her, looking down at her instead, committing the sight of her beneath him to memory just in case.

MITTE

She was cackling at Kristoff’s response until he silenced her with his mouth, and her hands came up to cup his face for just a brief moment- a thankyou, for his sweetness, or for taking her seriously- before he was pulling away to take off the t-shirt. God, the things she’d thought about doing to those abs. Seriously, how did she miss it? How many people get distracted fantasising about their best friends’ abs? “Much better.” Mitte’s smile was satisfied as she reached out, though her arms weren’t quite long enough to touch him where he’d settled, so she surged up to kiss him again, her hands skating down his chest and over his abs.

“I didn’t tell the waitress to spill the drinks on you, too.” She thought Kristoff might like her candidness, so she made the confession between little kisses peppered along his jaw, her arms circling his waist to map the muscles of his back. “I only told her to get Eliza. I think you looked better when the suit was wet, though.” Maybe that was just Mitte; she liked her men a bit dishevelled.

KRISTOFF

He was glad when she rose up to meet him, kissing her hard enough to take his breath away when she pulled back. His stomach twitched under her touch, muscles tensing for a second before he relaxed, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I figured,” he murmured, bringing her close for another kiss, one hand on her neck, the other at the hem of her shirt, fiddling with the fabric between his fingers. He had figured both that she hadn’t meant for it to happen and that she had preferred it — she hadn’t been able to look at him, after all. He kissed her again, slipping his hand fully under her shirt, skirting over the soft skin of her stomach to the small of her back.

MITTE

Kristoff was so reactive. It was unsurprising, because he always was, and yeah, she'd missed it. How? She spotted liars for a living!

It was at this point Mitte remembered the bra she was wearing. Nothing wrong with it, yknow, definitely clean. But she'd been in work mode, so it was also definitely function over style, plain white, boring. Obviously the same had been true last time, and Kristoff would not care less. Still, it was a shame she wasn't wearing something sexier. Maybe next time.

(Next time?)

Mitte nipped at his bottom lip, "got me all figured out now, huh?" She hummed against Kristoff’s mouth, pushing gently on his shoulders so she could shift to straddle his lap. She leaned back enough to tug off her top and toss it away, then pressed into him again to kiss down his neck.

KRISTOFF

He wished that was the truth. Mitte was the type that seemed all mysterious and aloof but she wasn’t, not really, not in the way everyone assumed she was. No, Mitte was a mystery in other ways. The intricacies of her heart were still something Kristoff couldn’t quite figure out, only chipping away at the first little bit of them today, and he’d needed a long haul flight and a taxi ride through Shanghai to get there. He didn’t have Mitte figured out at all.

“Trying to,” He replied, muffled against the newly exposed skin of her collarbone. He sucked a mark into the skin there, not one that would last for too long, fading by morning, probably, but long enough for him to feel proud of his work. He pressed a kiss over it, tilting his head up to catch her lips again, hands skirting over her ribs to grip onto her hips.

MITTE

A soft moan escaped when he sucked at her skin, and for a moment Mitte thought of their training together, the smug look that would flash across Kristoff's face whenever he managed to leave a mark. She muffled a small laugh in his neck, then he was kissing her again and it stopped being funny, her hips rocking into his as he grabbed her.

"I gave you the clues already.." Mitte reminded him, her fingers trailing lightly down his stomach they hit the waistband of his jeans, "or did you think I'd somehow done research into how she liked to be flirted with?"

KRISTOFF

Okay, Kristoff hadn’t actually thought of it that way.

At the time he was just working under the assumption that Mitte was being a good friend, and giving him the tools he needed to get the job done. Plus, he’d been so nervous he wouldn’t have even realised if she’d spelled it out for him. He wished he could say it was because he was focused on the job, but… no. Definitely nerves.

Now he tried to think about what she’d told him, and he tilted his head, eyes roaming over her slowly. When he spoke he did his best not to sound too strangled (difficult, with her hand in the waistband of his jeans), keeping his voice low and firm, that Sexy Pissed Off Cop voice — and yeah, he knew she called it that. Angela in Tech had told him once. “And here I thought you were just helping out a friend.”

MITTE

This wasn’t like last time. For Mitte, at least, it had been like scratching an itch. A way to deal with all her energy while they were stuck in that hotel room. What had it been for Kristoff? Had he been into her already back then, or did it start that night? She supposed it didn’t really matter, since they seemed to be on the same wavelength now.

A little thrill chased down her spine when Kristoff dropped his voice, and Mitte found herself sitting up a bit straighter. Nothing called her to attention faster than that tone. Obviously most of the time when he used it there was an interrogation or the like going on, but now it was directed at her… Well, hopefully Kristoff would only use the power for good. “I was helping.” she promised, her face projecting a picture of perfect innocence, like she wasn’t toying with the button of his jeans.

“I didn’t realise I’d hate hearing it until you’d already started flirting.” Mitte pouted and shook her head, “I don’t know how you do it, listen to me sweet talk targets all the time. You’ve never bribed a waitress to spill drinks on me.”

KRISTOFF

Yeah alright so he couldn’t keep it up for long, the way she sat to attention making him smile against her skin, nose skimming her collarbone as his head dipped lower, kisses pressed over the curve of her breast. He huffed softly, trying to look as unamused as he could when he was met with her best innocent act, though that didn’t last long either. Couldn’t, not with her hands skirting around the waistband of his jeans.

He didn’t really know what to say to that, though. He would be a liar if he said it didn’t affect him. The slight pang of jealousy that he had for so long mistook for protectiveness, curdling in his stomach whilst some creep ran a hand over Mitte’s thigh or leaned in a little too close. He shifted to run his hands over her hips, dipping his head again. “You get used to it.” He said finally, his right hand lingering at her waist whilst the left ran up the length of her body, fingers skirting up and over her ribs to cup her breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple through the thin fabric. “Probably ruined that now, though. Maybe next time I’ll bribe the maitre d’ to pull the fire alarm.”

MITTE

She was quite quickly becoming frustrated with how many clothes they both had on. Maybe it was her fault– she was always the leader when they did something reckless, Kristoff was probably letting her set the pace. Especially in this arena where he’d been waiting, she didn’t know how long, for her feelings to catch up with his. Had their feelings caught up? Mitte- she hadn’t really had time to think about hers too much, except to realise that they existed. Though he’d probably been denying them as much as he could, Kristoff must have a better idea of just how deep his feelings ran. All Mitte could say for sure right now was that she wanted more.

As much as she loathed the idea of getting used to seeing him in these situations- and she did very much, giving a displeased huff as he voiced it- she knew Kristoff was right. They were going to have to get used to a lot. Seeing him get hurt– god, it had always been awful, but now? Mitte didn’t even want to think about it, actually, certainly not right now. Her body arched into the touch of his hand, head falling back as she hummed in pleasure. “Fuck, I’d like to see that.” She said, her voice a breathless laugh, picturing Kristoff all wound up over someone putting their hands on her. Mitte slid her hands up into his hair and got real close, until their mouths were almost touching, a coy smirk on her lips. “I bet it would be hot.” And then she kissed him, leaning back and pulling Kristoff with her until she’d collapsed back against the mattress, him hovering over her, so she could finally get at the zipper of his jeans properly and start pushing them down. “Off.” She demanded against his mouth when she’d moved them as far as she could reach, taking her hands off Kristoff long enough to start removing her own jeans.

KRISTOFF

He went easily, more than happy to situate himself over her, too busy kissing her to even notice the change in position at first. He wasn’t going to argue — he shifted only so that he could get his jeans off and throw them blindly onto the floor, crumpled in a heap somewhere, probably. He wasn’t really thinking about that either, too focused on getting back to Mitte so he could help to wrangle her jeans down her legs, tossing them to one side as well once they were out the way.

He settled again between her thighs, running his hands over the soft skin of them, up and over until he came to a stop at her hips, thumbs rubbing over the fabric of her panties. “It would be stupid,” he informed her in the same low voice, leaning down to kiss her again, slow and deep. He pulled back, kissing across her jaw, down her neck, a trail of kisses and gentle nips until his lips met the same material that his thumbs were still toying with. “We’d get in trouble.” He added, speaking the words into her skin.

MITTE

They were going to have to play catch up in the morning, and Mitte didn’t care one bit. She hoped none of her contacts got back to her and Mr Goodfellow was the most impossible to find man in the world, so they had plenty of excuses to stay cooped up in a hotel in Shanghai, far away from their boss and their real lives. The two things that would put the biggest strain on this. Whatever this was. But of course, they were too good at their jobs, and they’d probably find the bloke by tomorrow afternoon.

So, Mitte was just going to have to soak all this in right now, and it was easy to focus up, especially when Kristoff dropped his voice again. A shiver ran through her whole body when he spoke and Mitte opened her mouth, intent on saying something cheeky, but he stole her mouth first and her want to antagonise him crumbled under the intensity of their kiss.

As he made his way down her body the only sounds Mitte managed to make were those of pleasure, soft little moans and catches of breath. Eventually though, her voice did come back. “Are you trying to discourage me?” She asked, voice a touch strangled, as one of her hands found its way into Kristoff’s hair again, "you know how I feel about trouble…" Her hips shifted of their own accord, impatient for whatever he had in mind to do next, “wouldn’t you like to see me punished?” Mitte pushed up onto her elbows to look down at him, one brow arched.

KRISTOFF

Yeah, he had expected exactly that reaction from her. He hid a smile in the skin of her stomach, looking up at her when she sat up a little. He could go for the innocent act, he supposed — he was good at playing dumb, usually because he was, in fact, pretty dumb — but it was so much more fun to see the way she reacted to that voice. It was meant to be gruff, intimidating. It was gruff and intimidating. She just liked that, he supposed.

“Sure,” he answered, shifting up a little so that he wasn’t resting on his elbows, hooking his fingers under the fabric of her panties so he could begin to tug them down her legs and out the way. “If I can do the punishing.”

Now that might have been his best performance yet— he didn’t even know where it had come from. Mildly embarrassed, mostly rolling with it, he kept his eyes down, hands running over the inside of her thighs until he could run his thumb along her slit, just brushing over her clit. “And anyways, I’d get in trouble too.”

Mitte

Yeah, Mitte did like gruff and intimidating. Kinda funny that she had ended up as one of the good guys, honestly. It was Kristoff that made all the difference. One of the only constants in her life, and one of the good guys through and through. Mitte’s moral compass had a polarity problem, Kristoff was the magnet that brought her back to true north every time she strayed.

Hey, she didn’t need real bad guys if he could put on the voice and make her feel like she was melting into a puddle on their hotel bed. Mitte lifted her hips a little to help him with her underwear, her eyes going wide at what he said. Oh, yes please. She stared down at him, all hunger and anticipation, but her head lolled back when he finally touched her, pleasure shooting up her spine.

"If this is how you punish me I'm gonna do something bad every day." Mitte moaned, one of her hands already twisted in the sheets. "Fine." Though she would have enjoyed him being jealous enough to cause a scene, she never liked getting Kristoff in trouble. "No more bribing waitstaff." She sighed, trying to wriggle closer to his teasing hands.

KRISTOFF

This was so different to last time. Last time had been a flurry of clothes flying off, hands and mouths everywhere, no time for talking cause they were far too preoccupied— this was different. More intimate somehow, and Kristoff wanted to draw it out. He wanted to take his time. The way she moaned, her white knuckle grip on the sheets. He wanted to drink all of it in and commit it to memory, just in case.

He stifled a laugh against the inside of her thigh, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow, teasing circles over her clit, wanting to take his time but desperate to hear her make those sounds again. “I don’t think you mean that.” He said, if only because he knew her — Mitte had a habit of getting herself into trouble.

Deciding he had no more argument to make, he shifted, bringing his mouth down to replace his thumb, humming softly at the taste of her.

MITTE

He was so pretty. Mitte was staring down at Kristoff between her legs, his mouth pressed into her thigh, his blond hair falling into his eyes… And thought he was so pretty. She'd noticed before, obviously, but in this context it made something in the pit of her stomach feel funny. When had this happened? When had how she cared about him become this, and with such ease she hadn't even realised?

She was going to protest- to be surely or seductive, something about being a good girl, that might have tripped him up, but as she was watching him Kristoff dipped his head and the only noise Mitte managed to make was a strangled gasp.

"Kristoff." She moaned, needy and soft as she fell back into the mattress fully again, writhing and rocking her hips up into the pleasure of his mouth. One of Mitte’s hands slid down her body to tangle in his hair and she pulled gently, gauging how he'd like the encouragement.

KRISTOFF

The way she said his name was one thing, the kind of her voice making heat pool in his stomach, but he groaned as her hand slipped into his hair. The grip on her hips tightened just a little, not wanting to hold on too hard but wanting her to know that yeah, she could do more of that. Maybe things were a little less slapdash than they had been last time but that didn’t mean they had to be gentle, either. Not as far as he was concerned, anyways.

He lapped at her clit, tongue stroking small circles around it before he shifted a little, dipping his tongue inside of her just enough to properly taste her, humming low in his throat when he did. He didn’t linger, though, moving his mouth back to her clit so he could slip a finger inside of her instead, looking up so he could watch her as he did his best to make her moan like that again.

MITTE

Oh yeah, Kristoff liked that. Good to know that it hadn’t been an anomaly that first time. (Something that crossed her mind far more often than it should: the way he’d scooped Mitte up and slammed her back against the wall, like he just couldn’t contain himself.) Mitte’s fingers slid against his scalp and she pulled more firmly at his hair.

Her toes curled as Kristoff pushed a finger inside her, and Mitte tried to be conscious of keeping her noise to a reasonable level, but they’d just have to hope that a classy joint like this had decent soundproofing. “More more more.” She asked- pleaded, maybe, perhaps whined- her hips grinding into his hand and mouth.

While he teased, Mitte reached around her back with her free hand to unclasp her bra finally, letting go of Kristoff’s hair only long enough to pull the straps off both arms and toss it to the side.

KRISTOFF

As nice as it was to hear her asking for it, he wasn’t going to make her beg. He slid a second finger inside of her alongside the first, crooking them just a little so he could find the spot that would make her forget all about how well soundproofed the room may or may not be. He couldn’t have cared less, really — if anything, it was good for their cover story.

He looked up again when her hand slid from his hair, already missing the feeling of her nails scratching across his scalp. He was easily distracted, though, his gaze following her bra as it was tossed across the room. Somehow, in his haste to get to where he was now, he had forgotten all about it. Stupid of him, really. Next time (because there would be a next time, there had to be, he was sure of it), he wouldn’t be so careless.

Especially not now, knowing what he had been missing. The urge to shift, to kiss his way back up her body until he could run his tongue over her breasts, take the sensitive flesh of her nipple into his mouth and roll his tongue over it just to see her reaction was kind of overwhelming. He did pull back just a little, though, when he saw the light glinting off the jewellery there. “Are those—“ he was a little breathless, and just a little bit at a loss for words, hair falling into his eyes. The rhythm of his fingers slowed but didn’t stop, pressing into her almost leisurely. “Yknow those piercings have gotta be a safety hazard.”

MITTE

She didn’t have the focus needed to stop the sharp, open mouthed cry of pleasure that Kristoff teased out of her so easily with his fingers, her hips bucking up into the sensation, chasing the feeling that was starting to make the muscles of her thighs shake. God, if he kept this up she’d be a boneless mess before they even fucked.

Since getting them, she had experienced a range of reactions to the nipple piercings. Kristoff, out to break the mould as always, was the first person to call them a safety hazard.

Mitte managed to gather enough of her wits to huff, hauling herself back up onto her elbows. “If you can’t find something better to do with your mouth than talk about my tits being a safety hazard, I’m putting my clothes back on.” Mitte warned, though the threat was lacking any bite, breathless and wanton as she still was, her hips still rocking into Kristoff’s fingers, all the more maddening for the pace he had slowed to. She cocks a brow at him, a challenge. “Be normal, and tell me they’re sexy, or shut up.” It’s a facade which lasts all of a few seconds before the push of his hand has her head rolling back again.

KRISTOFF

He knew that was an empty threat; there was no way she was putting her clothes back on, and no way he would let her do it anyhow. Alright, so he hasn’t really meant for that to be his only comment — but excuse him for having his brain short circuit when he learned about the piercings. Had she always had those? Surely not, cause he would’ve noticed, so when—?

His brain was still sparking out trying to comprehend it all so in the finish he gave up, focusing instead on the way her hips rolled into his hand, movements synchronising.

“They’re sexy,” he informed her, because it was true, they were sexy, enough to hold his attention completely for a few seconds longer before his mouth found its way between her legs again.

MITTE

Now, she was rarely happy to admit defeat, but in this one instance, Mitte gladly conceded to Kristoff. His mouth, his hands, the way he gave her what she wanted. He could win every day of the week if this was her consolation prize. She gave up on the idea of coherent sentences, the warmth that had started to stir in her gut way back when Kristoff had kissed her bubbling all the way up until it was boiling, making her whole body arch and twist in whatever direction brought the most pleasure. Mitte’s hand reached down into his hair again, pulling and desperate as sensations built, her moans reaching a crescendo as she came undone, going very still for just a moment before collapsing back into the mattress, all but boneless and satisfied and panting.

Well, satisfied? Maybe not the right word. Sated temporarily, perhaps. Certainly not finished. The rush of adrenaline made her hands a little shaky, but Mitte pulled at Kristoff’s hair again with what strength she could gather, trying to drag him back up. “C’mere.” She said softly, a bit dazed and blinking up at the ceiling. “Kiss me.”

KRISTOFF

The hand in his hair and the feeling of her clenching around him, coming undone around his fingers and under his tongue was almost too much. Another thing to try and commit to memory, though; he watched her as she fell apart and then waited for to come back again, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thighs until he felt the tug on his hair.

He didn’t need to be told twice — he shifted up onto his knees so that he could hover over her, shelter her in with one hand by her head and the other skirting over the soft skin of her ribs. He was already hard and aching with wanting her but when he kissed her it was slow, deep, deliberately taking his time.

MITTE

She had a renewed appreciation for Kristoff’s ability to follow orders so well. Sometimes it was kind of a buzzkill, but she might never complain about it again after tonight. (Or if she did, he’d have to remind her how much she really liked it.)

Mitte’s hands splayed out on his chest as they kissed, then slid around to his back, where her nails scratched lightly up and down. She hummed her pleasure against his mouth as the kiss slowed for both of them to take a breath, and smiled up at Kristoff, something soft and dreamy that became far cheekier as she spoke. “Can you guess what I want you to do to me next?” She asked, trying to pull him down more firmly on top of her while her hips arched up to grind against his, the hard length of him such a tease against her oversensitive skin that it made Mitte whimper. Her hands roamed down to his boxers, to start pushing them down.

KRISTOFF

The scratch of her nails over his skin made him shiver, the muscles of his back twitching, shifting under his skin. It was enough for him to catch his breath every now and again, pulling away for just a second before he would find himself being pulled back in again, drawn towards her, her lips. He kissed her slowly, almost lazily, as if they had all the time in the world.

They didn’t, of course, but the mission was the last thing on his mind right now. He gave a soft, strangled sounding moan when she rolled her hips up against his, letting her pull him close, firmer as he hovered over her. He knew exactly what she was wanting, and though he didn’t bat her hands away from the waistband of his boxers he didn’t help her either, nipping at her jawline instead. “I’ve got an idea,” he admitted, “but I’d still like it if you told me.”

MITTE

He kissed her and he kissed her and he kissed her and Mitte felt almost dizzy off of it. What would happen in the morning? She didn’t think she’d want to slip quietly out of bed to get dressed and start on their day’s work like last time. She didn’t think Kristoff would let her, either. Not after what had been admitted tonight. Her jealousy, his long held fondness. At least, he’d admitted it, and Mitte had danced around her own emotions as close to the words as she’d been able to get.

Kristoff’s desire to draw things out clearly extended beyond his kisses. Mitte made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, already so thoroughly wound up and writhing. Maybe she had drawn things out long enough, herself. “I was jealous of her.” She said, all of it coming out in one rush of breath, one hand sliding all the way up to Kristoff’s chin to angle his face up to look at her, the smile she wore expectant, “and I want you to fuck me.”

KRISTOFF

He liked the little frustrated sound that she made, grinning against her skin as he found a new spot to sink his teeth into. He knew he wouldn’t let it, he wouldn’t let this be the last time this happened, not after he had admitted to Mitte how he felt about it, but just in case it was the last time, he wanted to hear her say it. Another thing to commit to memory, just to be on the safe side.

He went easily when she tilted his chin, his eyes finding that gentle smile and softening. He looked at her for a moment, just a few seconds though it felt like longer, before he leaned down to kiss her again, deep and slow. “Okay,” Was all he said, because it was all he could really manage, shifting backwards until he could pull his boxers off and throw them to one side, taking his hard cock in hand with a low hum.

MITTE

He was her person. That was what came to mind as Kristoff looked up at her. If that was selfish or possessive or over dramatic Mitte didn’t really care, because it was the truth, and they both spent so much of their time dealing in lies. No room for those here, with Kristoff finally shedding the last layer between them.

Mitte stared across at him, her gaze hungry. “Okay?” She repeated, shaking her head as she hauled herself up to reach for him, her arms winding around his neck, “if I didn’t have hard proof I’d be starting to think you weren’t too enthusiastic about the idea.” Mitte was smiling all coy as she shifted back onto the mattress, pulling Kristoff down with her again. It was a good thing she didn’t really want him to be good with other women.

She kissed him, and in the brief gaps where their mouths parted, “actually- wait.” Mitte put her hands on his chest to push gently, rolling them over ‘till Kristoff’s back hit the mattress softly and she could straddle him. “Perfect.” That was a nice view, for sure, Kristoff with his pretty blonde hair framing his face so nicely, his whole focus on her. She sat up after trailing a few more kisses down his neck, her hands bracing on his chest so she could sink down slowly onto his cock, her head rolling back as she did. When their hips were flush again Mitte was still for a moment before starting to move, nails digging into his skin.

KRISTOFF

He wanted to say something funny about actions and how they speak larger than words, or maybe something about reading between the lines or maybe just anything at all that would make it seem like he wasn’t totally at a loss for words. The truth of it was, though, that Mitte was looking at him with those big, soft eyes, and for a second the desperate ache in his groin was secondary to the ache in his chest, his ribs feeling too tight against the beating of his heart.

He didn’t say anything in the end, only rolled his eyes and smiled like he couldn’t believe her bullshit and then, when she pulled him closer, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His lips found the pulse point there, thrumming over his tongue, about to suck another mark into her pale skin when she pushed back.

Kristoff frowned, momentarily confused at why she was pushing back and not pulling closer but he went anyways, letting her manoeuvre them. As soon as he was on his back his hands found her waist, one reaching up higher, taking her breast in his hand and squeezing momentarily before he gave a soft, strangled sound. The feeling of her, warm, tight, and wet around him was enough for him to see stars for a moment. “Fuck, Mitte—“ he groaned, breath catching as she rolled her hips.

MITTE

It seemed impossible that she would have forgotten how good he felt, considering how often it had crossed her mind since the first time this happened, but memory really didn’t have the same impact. If Mitte ever really believed that just knowing what this felt like would be enough, being so desperate for him all over again- maybe moreso, even if it wasn’t quite as frantic- sure killed that delusion. She wanted to do this over and over until she knew every contented sound, every muscle twitch, everything about Kristoff in these moments, as well as she knew him in every other.

“That’s more like it.” She panted when he spoke up again, every breath cut through with soft little whimpers. Mitte moved slowly at first to enjoy the sight of him underneath her, and study the ways pleasure washed over his features when she tipped her hips just so at a certain angle, let her nails bite into his skin a little harder, trailed her hands up and down her own body. After a while she shifted to lean more of her weight against her hands, palms flat against Kristoff’s chest again, so she could move faster. “Tell me-” Mitte said soft and breathless, leaning down enough to kiss him, interrupting herself because he looked too damn good, “tell me you get jealous. Tell me what you want.”

(Her, obviously, and if he was too pleasure drunk to say anything else it would do, but she wanted to hear whatever would tumble out of his mouth when he wasn’t thinking.)

KRISTOFF

For a second he didn’t say anything, caught off guard by the change of pace so much that it was all he could do to tip his head back against the cushions beneath him and groan, jaw slack. His hands gripped her hips, her sides, keeping her close to him as he kissed her back clumsily.

“Of course I— I’m always jealous.” He managed to get out, his voice sounding harsh and rasping even to his own ears. He couldn’t quite catch his breath, not with her nails digging into the skin of his chest and her walls clenching down around him as she ground her hips down against his. He wasn’t much of a talker, not really, but Mitte had a way of drawing it out of him.

“Want you,” he managed, reaching up so he could kiss her again, catching her mouth with his own. “Always you.”

MITTE

Whatever problems came of this, it was worth it. The sight of Kristoff underneath her right now, the feeling of his fingers digging into her hips and his cock throbbing inside her, god, she’d betray everyone and everything she knew for this. Well. Not for the sex alone. But for him, yes. Which was exactly why romances between spies were very much discouraged, but Mitte had never been a stickler for the rules, official or unspoken.

Always he said, and for once she wasn’t terrified of that, of the unending expanse of always laid out ahead of them. “You’ve got me.” Mitte promised against his mouth, breathless as she trailed more kisses down Kristoff’s neck to leave a mark of her own against his collarbone.

“Oh fuck, Kristoff, I’m…” Words were quickly abandoned as the steady rhythm of her hips started to stutter, and Mitte could do nothing but moan, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she came apart with a shudder. Her motions slowed while she caught her breath but she didn’t stop, pushing gently on Kristoff’s shoulders ‘till he was flat against the mattress again. She let her body melt into his and then she kissed him softly, hips still rocking as her hands slid into his hair.

KRISTOFF

He looked up at her, his gaze a little hazy, to be honest. Still, he saw the look on her face, the expression she wore. Mitte was an incredibly good liar — they had to be, both of them, in their profession — but he could see through it. He had always seen her for who she really was, and right now she was genuine. She meant it; he had her. She was his. A moan escaped him when he felt her lips against his collarbone, knowing somewhere in the bad of his mind that she’d left a mark there, that he was hers just as much as she was his.

He held her tightly as she tipped over the edge again, coming with a shudder, tightening around his cock in a way that had him seeing stars for a moment. He was so close, about to tell her so but she had come back to him, catching his lips in a kiss so that all he could do was let out a strangle groan. He pulled back just a little way, not far at all, really, feeling her breath against his cheek as he panted into her jaw. His hands found her hips, fingers pressing tight into her skin as he held her close to him. The scratch of her fingernails against her scalp, the incessant rhythm of her hips— he came with her name on his lips, panted into her skin, the feel of her around him, on top of him, the scent of her, the only things he was aware of.

His hands slipped from her hips as he came back to himself, sliding up her sides, over her arms, her neck, to cradle her face. He kissed her again, slowly, tenderly, and pulled back to look at her. “You mean that.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement; letting her know that he knew she meant it. “I’ve got you.”

MITTE She was boneless and breathless and warm, one forearm pressed heavily into the mattress by Kristoff’s head, doing just enough to hold her up so she could look down at him, all of her muscles burning and her head spinning. It was akin to the feeling after a good sparring match. Only if it had been with Kristoff, of course. No one else had ever matched her quite so well.

It had been true for a long time, one of those things Mitte couldn’t dispute but had refused to acknowledge. He had her. She had said it without pausing to think, yes, but Mitte didn’t feel any less certain as the two of them finally stilled, sated. Kristoff had always been the one to inspire her most honest reactions, the waitress debacle was proof enough of that. The only concerns she had were centred around the agency, and what the reaction would be when this got out. Because it would, even if the two of them did everything in their power to keep a lid on it, and then what? Would they be split up? They did their best work together, neither of them would’ve even taken the job in the first place without the other.

Kristoff was kissing her again, and Mitte decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. “Who else could ever?” She pointed out softly, relieved her face would already be too beet red for any blush to show through. That too, was true, though it did make the enormity of this whole thing harder to ignore. There was nobody else. “I suppose I don’t have to ask what you intend to do with me.” Her mouth tipped up in one corner in a lazy smirk, and she dipped her head to press a kiss at the base of Kristoff’s throat, settling with her head against his chest.

KRISTOFF

He ran his fingertips over her side as she looked down at him, feeling the racing over her heart as his hand brushed over her ribs. He smiled softly, maybe just a little bit smug. Who else could ever, she said, and maybe he had known it all along but it really was nice to hear her say it out loud.

When she settled against him he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her just a little bit closer. He kissed the top of her head, settling back so that his gaze was tipped up at the ceiling. It would be complicated. The agency would throw a fit, probably. They’d have to fight to go on missions together. But they could make it work; he was sure of that, at least.

“I have a few ideas,” he admitted, smiling to himself, since she couldn’t see it. “We should probably stop the bad guy first, though. Then at least we can say we’re still capable of doing our jobs.”

MITTE

Bad guy. Right. They had a bad guy to catch, so they were gonna have to do that before they could do this again. Ugh. “Work sucks.” Mitte mumbled into his chest. Were they crazy for doing this? Were they crazy for not doing it sooner? Sometimes, these things really did have to hit you like a grand piano falling out of the sky in a cartoon. A glimpse of how she would feel if he chose someone else.

“But you’re right.” She sighed, “that’s the first line in the book they’ll throw at us, so if we can handle this quickly it’ll be harder to stop us.” She frowned against Kristoff’s skin, her hands curling a bit tighter around him. “Not that they won’t keep trying.” Mitte wondered what the play was here, if they should out themselves immediately upon return or try to keep things under wraps until it inevitably spilled out. The latter afforded them the chance to sneak around which was fun, but the likelihood of a punishment- and not the sexy kind Kristoff had already claimed an interest in- was high.

Mitte just… Didn’t want the outside world muscling in on whatever this was before they’d even had a chance to settle into it. But she supposed that was the sensible way to go about things, the proper way. Everyone would figure them out no matter what they did of course, and then it would begin, the comments and questions and bothersome nudges that Mitte truly hated. “...What are we gonna do?” She asked softly, not sure he’d have an answer but searching for something anyway, about more than the next couple of days.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff took a deep breath, casting his gaze to the ceiling for a moment as he thought, his thumb brushing backwards and forwards over Mitte’s skin gently. Of course the agency would hate it – they would never let the two of them work together again. There weren’t very many couples at the agency, mostly because it was a stupid, terrible idea. And Kristoff knew that it was; getting involved with your partner was the best way to make sure that you would eventually slip up, get emotional, give the enemy some leverage over you. And yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“We review the audio you got from Goodfellow’s room,” He said, knowing it wasn’t what she meant. Still, in terms of next steps, that was what they had to do. “Figure out where exactly he is – he must have some kind of meeting set up out here. We intercept, we take him in. And we keep this,” He looked down at her, kissing the top of her head again. “To ourselves. Just for now. Everyone thinks we act like an old married couple anyways,” He added, smiling ruefully. “They probably won’t know anything’s different. We’ll tell them eventually, just… on our terms.”

MITTE

It was strange, how not strange this was. Even last time, when the frenzy had ended and the two of them had stayed tangled together, and Kristoff had been overthinking it so hard that Mitte had practically seen the steam coming out of his ears, she had not for a moment felt uncomfortable in his arms. Every soft brush of his hand now just helped work out the lingering tension in her muscles, and she could feel her eyelids starting to droop.

“They’re going to have a field day when we eventually tell them…” Mitte sighed, leaning up enough to kiss him again, because there probably wouldn’t be a lot of time to do so tomorrow. Her thumb brushed gently across Kristoff’s cheek as she looked down at him, trying not to picture the teasing. It only meant she’d suffer twice, and she knew he’d be right by her side when it did all eventually have to come out. For Kristoff, she’d endure it. Hopefully without killing anyone. “We should get some sleep.” She said, pouting and surly, shifting some of her weight off Kristoff to snuggle into his side. “Promise I’ll still be in bed when you wake up this time.” Mitte pulled the duvet up around them, and gave him another last kiss, and then another for good measure. “Goodnight.” She murmured against his skin, tucking in real close before closing her eyes and finally letting sleep take her.

KRISTOFF

Yeah, they would have a field day, and it wasn’t just teasing and jokes that he was worried about. Kristoff and Mitte always worked together, and they were some of the best. If anyone could begin to doubt them they were going to do it, try to throw a spanner in the works to get the two of them stuck in an office or chasing petting criminals rather than taking the big jobs. The two of them had worked too hard to get to where they were for that to happen, which was part of the reason why Kristoff wanted to wait. So that they could make sure this was done on their own terms, to prove that it wasn’t going to change anything. They were a team, same as they always had been, just… even more so, now.

He smiled softly at the promise she gave him. He didn’t doubt her, either. He held her close, listening to her breathing go slow and even before he let sleep pull him under as well – they were going to need an early start in the morning.

#( t; the spy who loved me 2 )#swynsmut #mistoff #another addition to the mcu #the mistoff cinematic universe #also the fact that we didnt rlly do anything like this this valentines ig means that swynlake did this just to fuck w them specifically #also i like to give kristoff just the tiniest amount of rizz in these aus #so that he wakes up feeling inadequate

2 notes · View notes

luna-nigthshade-wood · 1 year ago

Text

What they don´t know, will hurt them

Summary: Dean Winchesters attempts suicide on a dirty motel bathtub, ending brain dead on a hospital. A trickster promises John and Sam that he will save him for “free”, as long as they both get through watching a series of Dean´s memories, good and bad. The twist is that they will feel everything Dean did at the time and they can stop it at any time, but then Dean will die. They both accept thinking it cant be that bad. Spoiler: it is worse.

Chapter 33

Sam feels like he is flying, and not in the good way. More than a year after Jess´ death and the wound in his heart keeps bleeding. He keeps missing her like a limb, she was his first serious girlfriend and the love of his life. Sometimes, he wonders if things could have turn down different if he had just told her the truth, but most of the times he wishes he hadn’t met her at all, then perhaps she would still be alive.

John didn´t like what he saw in his younger son´s look after the fire. It is a look he knows well; it is the same look he has seen it on the mirror since Mary´s death. It is the look for revenge, he never wanted to see in either of his sons. Still, it doesn’t surprise him to see it on Sam, Dean always told them they were too alike, that that was the reason why they were always fighting. It is not a lie, Dean was always more like Mary, before John went and try to tear him down, perhaps that is why he cannot longer look at his son in the eyes.

The scene starts, this time showing both brothers inside a motel room not far from Stanford. “Sam” is drinking straight from a bottle, sitting in one of the beds, while Dean is trying and failing to approach his brother. It is a cold remainder of another Winchester drinking, with Dean trying to appease him, and it makes both father and son shudder, Sam more than John, because he doesn’t quite remember what happened that night, but surely he couldn’t have screw up like his father right?

-C´mon, Sammy- Dean says to his brother- Time to go to bed

-You go to bed- “Sam” scoffs, while taking another sip from the bottle- I am going to keep drinking

-You have enough already- Dean says placating his brother

-You know what, Dean?- “Sam” asks standing up with unsteady feet- Fuck off- he lashes out- Just because you can keep yourself at check while drinking doesn’t mean everyone else is a drunk- he says tumbling towards Dean- I am not our father- “Sam” spits out

-You certainly look like him- Dean tells him and not a second later “Sam” slaps his brother so hard that makes both brothers tumble to the ground

If it wasn’t for the sting he feels on his cheek, Sam wouldn’t believe what he just witnessed. He cant believe he did this to Dean, he cant believe he doesn’t remember it. He watches the screen as Dean tries to get away from him on the screen as his past self tries to reach out, apologizing over and over again, but the words ring insincere in his own ears, and they certainly lose effect when they continue to slurred together. Perhaps is the combination of the alcohol and his actions what mercifully makes his younger self past out. Dean makes his way over him and with a tenderness he doesn’t deserve he carries and tucks his younger brother on the motel bed, before taking a tub of concealer from his hygiene bag and directing himself to the bathroom, before the scene ends.

John is suddenly furious at Sam, how dare him treat his brother so callously after everything Dean did for him? But his anger deflates like a balloon without air inside him, after all, it would be kind of hypocrite of him to berate Sam for something he had done plenty (a part deep inside of him that he rather not to acknowledge is almost happy to be shown he is not the only one that screw up). That doesn’t stop him from saying to his son:

-I might be a hypocrite, but you and I know that I don’t give a shit about that. You hit your brother again outside of training and I will tan your hide, alright?- John says with a sober tone

-I was drunk- Sam says petulantly, trying to excuse the inexcusable

-I don’t care- John replies- It wasn’t okay when I did it and it is not okay now- John says ending the conversation

Sam cant help but look at his dad, he wants to fight him, he wants to excuse himself, and even goes as far as almost vocalizing how it is not his fault that he hit Dean while drunk, but then he stops himself when he realizes that he is behaving himself just like his father, refusing to take accountability for his actions, always trying to blame someone else. He hangs his head in shame, as the guilt creeps in, he has seen himself on the mirror and he is not sure he likes what he is seeing.

The memories continue this time showing Dean and Sam at Jess´ funeral, there is a somber atmosphere going inside the room, so neither Winchester bother to comment, there are no words to say. At the end of the service, Sam sticks around the grave, while Dean remains in the sidelines. There is no bruise marring his face, but that doesn’t mean anything to his family, past memories have shown he has always been at master at covering them. The scene continues with Dean and “Sam” inside the Impala heading to a new hunt, the loud rock music being the only sound inside the car, but the worry coming out of Dean somehow seems to be louder, and wow if Sam doesn’t feel like a douche for taking his brother for granted, hell Dean even offered Sam to drive. “Sam” wakes up from a nightmare and both brother theorize where their father might be. John feels the shame from earlier crawling up to him, he sent his sons on a wild chase, just because he couldn’t bare to face them with what he had discovered, what kind of father is he?

The scene continues, this time with the brothers speaking to the park ranger, who directs them to the sister of the last victim and Sam doesn’t like one bit what he is seeing on the screen, he is being callous and reckless, and he is also not amused by the way he is talking to Dean, why does he have to behave like such a condescending asshole?

The more evidence “Sam” and Dean collect on the screen, the more John pales, he didn’t even bother to figure out what the thing he sent his sons to hunt was, he didn’t even ask them afterwards, but as the only witness to the attack recounts his story, John has a pretty good idea what might be the monster his sons are hunting, but he prays he is wrong.

-We cannot let that Haley girl go into the woods- “Sam” says

-What are we gonna tell her?- Dean asks with an exasperated tone- She cant go because of a big, scary monster?

-Yeah

-Her brother´s missing, Sam. She is not going to sit this out- Dean says in such an earnest tone, that the Winchesters are taking aback by the reaction. Dean says that last phrase as if he is trying to explain to Sam the importance of the action, as if Sam wouldn’t have understood had Dean hadn’t clarified it, and perhaps Dean actually thinks that, after all, Dean went missing a few times too, and neither his father nor brother raise a hand to find him

-Now, we gotta babysit too?- “Sam” asks angrily while closing the Impala´s trunk forcefully, past Sam doesn’t notice his brother flinching but present Sam and John do, and it only makes them feel worse.

The memory cuts to the next morning as the brothers find Haley, her brother Josh and their guide outside of the woods. There is annoyance coming off Dean while hearing the supposed expert talk, and honestly his family agrees and are amused by Dean´s animosity towards the man, until one sentence sobers them up

-Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts- Dean says casually and in any other circumstance that wouldn’t mean anything, except this isn’t any circumstance, and both father and son know why Dean has an aversion to that particular piece of clothing, it is the same reason why regardless of the weather, Dean always wears short sleeves, his thighs and arms are covered by scars, scars that are forever seared into his family´s eyes after seeing them on the hospital and on the memories. It is such a wonder how such an innocent phrase can’t have such a big impact.

The whole memory speeds up afterwards with the group walking inside the forest, until they find the victims campsite. Nothing extraordinary happens until the screams begin and John wants to be angry at his sons for falling into such an obvious trap, trap that gets more dangerous when the groups returns to camp, to find their belongings gone. “Sam” finally figures out what the monster is, and John goes pale once more, his biggest fears are confirmed the creature he sent his sons to hunt is a Wendigo

Back at camp, things escalate with “Sam” and Dean trying to get the family and their guide out of the woods. “Sam” almost goes to blows with Roy over it, with Dean hovering at the background, with Dean finally interfering, before Haley declares she is not leaving her brother behind. There is a change in Dean´s stance and his features go soft, before declaring they will need to protect themselves if they want to survive. Back then Sam might have been surprised by what he thought was a “stupid” decision on his brother part, but he understands now where Dean was coming for, one should never leave their sibling behind, Dean certainly never did (Sam wishes he had repaid the favor)

Dean sits with “Sam” after drawing the protection sigils

-Wanna tell me what is going up with you?- he says with a caring voice- And don’t say you are fine.

-Dad´s not here- “Sam” says

-To tell you the truth, I don’t think dad was ever here- Dean tells his brother, his answer sending a knife through John´s heart

-Then lets get this people to safety, get out of here and go find dad- and wow his younger self is really losing the point, Sam thinks- Why are we here?

- I think dad wants us to pick up from where he left off. Saving people hunting things, the family business- Dean says

-I gotta find dad. I gotta find Jessica´s killer- “Sam” says

-We are gonna find them- Dean promises- But all that anger- he says- you cant keep it burning over the long haul. Its gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man- Dean says

-How do you do it?- “Sam” asks

-For people like them- Dean answers- I figure our family´s so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others- he says, proving why he will always be a better hunter and a better person than his father and brother, they may have the same skills, and John may have more experience, but at the end of the day, Dean is the only one that cares for the victims.

The brothers´ heart to heart is interrupted by screams coming from the forest, the Wendigo trying to lure them out and succeeding with Roy, with “Sam” and Dean managing to get back to safety just in time. The next morning, they explained to the rest of the group what they are going against, before continuing their hike through the woods, finding scratch marks all over the trees, falling into another trap. Dean and “Sam” get separated, Dean and Haley finding themselves face to face with the creature.

John wants to crawl his eyes out just by watching as his son and the girl are picked up by the monster, still he is proud to notice that Dean doesn’t go out without a fight and even manages to leave a trail of M&M of all things, if he wasn’t so worry about his son, he would laugh about his son genius, as it is he manages a quick snort, that turns into a grunt as the creature hangs Dean from the roof of some kind of mine, stretching his muscles. Besides him, Sam moves uncomfortable after getting the strange feeling of invisible ropes, before he also feels a pang of hurt by his side, almost as if his ribs where bruised, Sam wants to believe Dean would have said anything and perhaps that is why he never asked him after he found him, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that Dean was more hurt that what he admitted

On the screen, “Sam” and Josh find Dean and Haley, as well as Haley and Josh´s brother, Tommy, miraculously still alive. Of course as they try to leave the cave, they encounter that the monster is in the way of their exist, which is the reason why Dean comes up with the most clever and stupid plan, batting the wendigo towards himself. It is a suicidal and reckless plan that somehow works with Dean managing to scorch the creature with a flare gun before he can hurt “Sam”

The memory ends with Haley, Josh and Tommy going to the hospital and Dean and “Sam” hitting the road. It ends with a hopeful tone, that Sam and John know better than to think it will last.

John´s minds keeps flashing with multiple scenarios. Stories of experienced hunters getting mauled by wendigos flashing in his mind, hell, he remembers Bobby and him hauling off a hunt after figuring that the thing they were hunting was said creature. He remembers Bobby calling for back up and not going through the forest again until Rufus and Lee Chambers arrived. There weren’t any civilians with them either, all men there were aware of the risks, and they didn’t get out of the forest unscathed. His sons enter that forest with three civilians and their heads not in the game. He wants to commend Dean´s plan, but it was reckless at best and suicidal at worst. His hands shake just by thinking how things could have gone wrong, and him being the lousy father he was probably wouldn’t have figured out until it was too late.

The screen flashes again, this time showing the brothers sitting in the middle off a diner, searching for a new case and John is glad to notice that his sons are getting along. Dean tells “Sam” about a freak case where a young woman was drowned on a lake, however the conversation quickly goes downhill

-Had a funeral two days ago- Dean scoffs

-Funeral?- “Sam” asks bewilder

-They buried an empty coffin- Dean explains- For closure or whatever- he says sarcastically

-Closure? What closure? People don’t just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them- just like they have stopped looking for Dean, Sam thinks. His past self phrase seems to ignite something inside Dean, because cold fury fills the room

-Something you want to say to me?- Dean asks defiantly

-The trail for dad keeps getting colder- “Sam” replies never one to back down

-You know what?- Dean tells him- I am sick of this attitude. You don’t think I wanna find dad as much as you do. I am the one that was here while you were at Stanford- Dean says in a reproachful tone, making his family ashamed for different reasons- We will find dad, but until then we are going to kill every bad thing we come across, okay?- Dean says

-Okay- “Sam” says with a bitch face before the scene shifts

The boys arrive to their destination, interrogating the victim´s family, getting no clues whatsoever as to what could have happened. The brothers go to the police station and talk to the sheriff, where they get some more vital information, before being interrupted by the sheriff daughter and grandson (Andrea and Lucas).

Dean attempts to flirt with Andrea, his attempts not as fake as most, but Dean´s thoughts are quickly interrupted when he catches sight of Lucas. Suddenly an immense sense of grief and sadness fills Dean at seeing the small quite boy, he knows how to recognize suffering, he was once in the boy´s shoes. Dean tries to strike a conversation with Andrea but he is quickly shot down

The boys continue to search until they find that Luca´s father was one of the victims

-No wonder that kid was so freaked out- Dean says- Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over- he finishes before the scene cuts to black

John lets another tear fall from his eyes after that statement, how can he not when he knows where Dean is coming from? Dean was once Lucas. Not for the first time, he wishes there was never a fire, if Mary had to die, couldn’t it be from something less violent? Or at least something his son hadn’t had to bear witness off? Dean´s silence is perhaps the clearest thing he remembers from the months after the fire. He should have taken his son to a specialist or at least talk to him afterwards, but he was too consumed by his own grief to spare any care for the suffering of his son (there was always something more important than his eldest son)

Sam cant help but be crushed by the weight on his shoulders Dean has (had?) been managing to carry all the way to adulthood. It seems wrong that something that happened when he was four can impact someone this way. Sam liked to complain about everything wrong in his life and about Dean´s part in it, but he never once appreciated the strength his brother had to acquire to keep going after every shitty thing that has happened to him. Sam knows that if he had had to live even a fraction of the things Dean had, he wouldn’t be here today.

The scenery changes to the city´s park, where Andrea is watching Lucas draw. Dean approaches the silent boy with caution and starts a conversation with him with patience and care, something he clearly didn’t learn from his father, John thinks

-Hey, how are you doing?- Dean asks the boy, only to be ignored. Dean is not deterred though, and continues trying to draw Lucas in conversation. He sits next to him and stars drawing, while saying- You know? I am thinking you can hear me; you just don’t want to talk. I don’t know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something really bad. I think I know how you feel- he confesses- When I was your age, I saw something. Maybe you don’t think anyone will listen to you or believe you, but I will. You don’t even have to say anything; you could draw me a picture about what you saw that day with your dad on the lake- Dean finishes and after a few minute of silence, he gives a drawing of his family to Lucas, before walking away.

-Lucas hadn’t said a word to anyone since the accident- Andrea confesses when Dean arrives

-We heard. I am sorry- Dean says sincerely, with a lump in his throat

-The doctor says that it is a kind of post-traumatic stress- she says- Just when I think about what he has gone through, what he saw… He used to have such life. I just wished…-Andrea starts only to be interrupted by Lucas, who delivers a picture to Dean

-Thanks, Lucas- Dean says sincerely, before the scene ends.

“Maybe you don’t think anyone will listen to you or believe you” is a phrase that break something in John´s and Sam´s hearts, because that is the root of the problem isn’t it? Neither of them ever listened to Dean, not really anyways, they were always too caught up on their own lives to even spare a glance towards Dean´s. Perhaps if they had taken a moment to look, they would have recognized Dean´s actions for what they were, pleads for help, perhaps then he wouldn’t be (almost) gone

The case continues with “Sam” informing Dean about another victim that drowned in the sink. The brothers theorize that something must be hunting the lake, finding a connection between victims, which is why they go to the victims´ house to talk to their father. Talking to the grieving father doesn’t give them any answers and they oblige the man´s wishes to be left alone. Still a phrase strikes inside John´s mind “Losing one sons is worse than dying” John wishes he would have understood that earlier, maybe then he would have appreciated what he had before it was gone.

As they are leaving the house, Dean notices a resemblance between the Carlton´s house and Lucas drawing, so Dean decides to go talk to Lucas. When they arrive, Andrea is contrived to let them talk to her traumatized son, but Dean manages to convince her that it could do some good. The conversation is as follows:

-Hey, Lucas- Dean says- I wanted to thank you for the last drawing, but the thing is I need your help again- he tells him before pulling out the drawing, Lucas continues drawing, ignoring Dean´s presence, but Dean doesn’t back down and with a soft voice he says- You are scared and I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom and I was scared too- he confesses- I didn’t want to talk just like you. But see, my mom, I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about it every single day and I do my best to be brave- Dean finishes his confession with his voice breaking towards the end. This is a man that lost everything over and over again and still tried to be brave until he broke under the overwhelming pressure, just because his family couldn’t give a damn, both Winchesters think

-And maybe you dad wants you to be brave too- Dean adds. Lucas finally meets Dean´s eyes and maybe he senses the sincerity coming off the man, because he gives Dean another drawing- Thanks, Lucas- Dean says finishing the scene

It speeds back to both brothers inside the Impala, thinking about what the picture could refer to, finally getting clue in by the church Lucas draw. There is a moment of silence before “Sam” speaks

-You know, um… What you said about mom, you never told me that before- he says

-It is not a big deal- Dean lies, before they go to find the place

At arrival, they find an old lady who tells them that the boy in the picture was his son (Peter), his son that disappears when he was young in his ride back from school and she never knew what happened to him. Dean finds a photo of a young Bill Carlton, which makes the brothers think that the man might had been involved in Peter´s disappearance. The boys rush to the man´s house only in time to see the man´s boat sink into the water.

The memory cuts to the boys arriving at the police station with the sheriff to find Andrea and Lucas in there. Lucas seems to be distraught about something and the moment he sees Dean he clutches to his arm. Dean and Andrea try to calm Lucas down, with little to not success, before Andrea takes Lucas away.

The sheriff kicks Dean and “Sam” off their city threatening to arrest them, so the boys leave trying not to make a fuss. Dean drives to the outskirts off the town but there is a feeling of wrongness inside him, “Sam” tries to dissuade him of coming back, but Dean gets worried and refuses to be persuade

-Why are you so sure this isn’t over?- “Sam” asks

-Because Lucas was really scared and I am not leaving until I know that little boy is alright- Dean says

-Who are you and what have you done to my brother?- “Sam” asks, and seriously the only thing Sam asks is a few minutes with his younger self, maybe then he could beat some sense into himself

-Shut up- Dean says and the look he gives his brother is enough to shut him up.

They arrive at the Barr´s house only to be met by a frantic Lucas who opens the door and directs them towards the bathroom, where they find Andrea in the process of getting drowned by the little boy´s spirit, with Dean holding back Lucas as Sam pulls her to safety. It takes until morning to calm mother and son down. Dean starts to investigate around the house only to find evidence that the sheriff was also involved in the murder, he conveys this information to “Sam” and Andrea only to be interrupted by Lucas, who guides them towards a buried bike.

The sheriff arrives to comfort them and he almost shoot them, but Andrea stops them. What follows next is a back and forth between the brothers and the sheriff, with the man finally confessing to killing Peter, alongside with Bill and throwing his body inside the lake. The sheriff still refuses to believe the hunters, but Andrea anguishes cries makes them all look back, to see Lucas trying to reach towards the lake. Desperation and adrenaline fill the room as they see a hand pulling Lucas inside the river.

Dean and “Sam” jump inside, trying to find Lucas. The brothers come up for air in time to see the sheriff offering himself to the angry ghost to save his grandson. The ghost drags the man down and Dean and “Sam” give one last try to find Lucas.

The Winchesters watching suddenly feel their lungs burning for lack of air as they realize that Dean wasn’t planning on coming up for air until he found Lucas. There are black spots dancing on their eyes by the time Dean manages to get Lucas at surface. There is cold and exhaustion mixing in there, but Dean makes one last inhumane push and gets both Lucas and himself into the shore, as the scene ends.

The screen cuts to the next day, with Andrea and Lucas catching up with the brothers. Lucas finally speaks saying they brought sandwiches for the brothers to take on the road and Dean volunteers to help him take them to the car

-Thank you for believing in me- Lucas says with a soft quiet voice

-Thank you for helping us- Dean says- How are you holding up?- Dean asks and Lucas just shrugs- You will be okay- Dean tells him, giving the boy a brief hug, before exclaiming- Alright. If you are going to be talking now, this is a very important phrase. Repeat after me: Zeppelin rules

-Zeppelin rules!- Lucas exclaims laughing, before high fiving Dean

-You take care of your mom, alright?- Dean says getting a nod from Lucas, before the brothers climb inside the Impala and the scene ends

If only he had helped Dean the way that Dean helped Lucas, maybe this would have never happened, John thinks as he watches the scene end. There is an uplifting tone to the end of the memory that makes the guilt inside John, turn a little bit more. The longer the memories continue the more and more he realizes what a terrible parent he has been since the beginning, the realization comes too late though, because there is too little he can do about it now.

The more the memories continue, the more Sam realizes that he never made an effort to understanding his brother or even be emphatic towards him. As time passes, the weight on Dean´s shoulders grew bigger and bigger, is there any wonder that after fighting for years, he was crushes by it?

First chapter <<Previous Next>>> AO3

#supernatural #supernatural au #spn au #spn fic #supernatural fic #suicidal dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #bad parent john winchester

0 notes