#Agent Whiskey x Agent Cognac

[artemiseamoon]

Draft release: Dial up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey

Agent Cognac (Bria Asare) x Agent Jack Whiskey

✨Draft release! ✨

💕Summary: Working at the Statesmen medical department, Bria started her career with aspirations of being an agent. Years after starting, it seems like that dream is never going to come true. Days after her 38th birthday, one of the senior agents gets gravely injured and she’s soon tasked with his care and recovery.

But there’s one issue, she can’t stand Agent Whiskey. As the weeks pass, and he starts to heal, the two form a bond and grow closer. As Jack’s health improves, he realizes the extent of his growing feelings for Bria as she comes to terms with her feelings for him too. 💕

Words:3,983

One shot for Arte’s Year of Whump for @yearofcreation2023 |I’m months behind , so making this the May one 😬| | Year of Whump + fluff /comfort masterlist

💫Below is a preview | read in full here on A03💫

An: still on a mini writing break, just occasionally releasing some drafts. My folder is way too full and taking up space on my phone. 💕this one is more fluff /comfort leaning.

Warnings: light on whump, recovery after injury, misogyny mentioned.

Bria always had two things she imagined for herself, being able to help people and work in the medical science field and being a world-traveling spy.

Growing up she was always glued to the screen for any shows about spies, secret agents, and detectives. It was something she wanted to do before she realized her draw to the medical field in high school.

The dream of being an agent was her first, and still her biggest one. And though she was in the right place for it, she still wasn’t an agent.

She was head of her department and got to work with tech and science, both things she liked, but she still wasn’t an agent. But this was a problem for more than one person at the office, namely Ginger who was also qualified but shot down whenever her name came up.

For all the perks and benefits of working there, the place was still deeply misogynistic in several ways, both from within the system and due to some of the men involved. And though there were women agents, the percentage was far less than that of the men.

Some offices were more progressive, like the New York office. Sometimes Bria wondered if a transfer there would be worth it, and maybe then she could finally have her wish come true. There was also the fact that aside from her job and friends being here, there wasn’t much keeping Bria in Kentucky. Maybe, New York was her future.

After a few days off for her birthday, Bria returned to the office. Upon arrival, she was surprised to find a new patient in her center. Agents get hurt, but that wasn’t the surprising part, what shocked her was who it was.

Some people had a shit ton of luck, and somehow barely got a scratch on them, Agent Whiskey was one of them and he was cocky about it too. The man was damn near indispensable, it was impressive but also fed his massive ego.

This place had many big heads and egos walking around, and Jack was one of them. While many women in the office, and men, fell for his charms and ate out of his palm, Bria wasn't one of them. No matter how physically attractive the man was, and really easy on the eyes, his attitude and ego were a major turn-off for her.

Thankfully she had limited contact with him, but the few times they did circle each other just reaffirmed what she felt about him. Nice to look at but stay away. And though she turned him down a few times, he’d still hit on her now and then. But she never took it too personally, he hit on everyone he liked the look of, it was hard to tell if his interests were genuine sometimes, or if he was just doing it to do it.

Read in full on A03

More Whiskey on my Masterlist

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[wardenparker]

I would love to know about Agent Cognac for the wip game!

This one is a little unconventional for me and @absurdthirst, and it has a story.

In early January I lost a very dear friend and mentor to extended illness. He was my college music professor and a beloved father figure whose memory I cherish with all my heart. Seeing as how he was - amongst many things - a Texas cowboy, Keri helped me stumble through a bit of my grieving process with a Jack story.

I say it’s unconventional because normally we write reader inserts. They are meant to be mostly blank canvasses with some flourishes in the backstory so that anyone can imagine themselves in that place. Sometimes they get more backstory than others, depending on how long the story goes on or if certain details become important to the story, but in general it’s meant to be anyone so that you can fully immerse yourself in the story.

Agent Cognac has a name. She is Champ’s daughter. But no physical descriptors are ever given to try to keep things as wide open as possible. Champ’s wife could be whoever you want to imagine she was and you, the reader as Agent Cognac, can look like whatever it is that you look like.

Right now my cowgirl is in the WIP folder as her story is unfinished, but the basic setup is that Agent Cognac is Whiskey’s current handler/former partner who takes the job of looking after him very seriously when his memory doesn’t immediately return after being shot in the head by that goddamn butterfly guy.

Play the WIP Title Tag Game!

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary:  A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you're the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.6k 

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings include some graphic descriptions of blood and injuries and some alcohol consumption. Also I know nothing about Texas or horses. 

Read on AO3 | Next Chapter | Masterlist

To say things hadn’t gone to plan would be a dramatic understatement. In his case, however, the results of his arrival in Cambodia had proved even more disastrous than he could have ever imagined. Though really, if he’d have stopped to think about it for even just a second, he would have seen that his plan was doomed to fail from the beginning.

Stalking through the busy streets of Dallas, Jack tried his best to keep as low of a profile as possible - you never knew who could be wandering the city searching for him, and after the stunt he pulled with Eggsy and Harry it could almost be guaranteed that he had some sort of warrant on his head. It was probably foolish of him to even come back to the United States in the first place, but really, where else did he have to go?

He didn’t entirely know where he was going now either. He couldn’t return home, as it would most likely be swarming with Statesman agents and the like hunting for him. He was almost certainly cast out of Statesman for his actions by now, so any former friends he could usually turn to in situations like this would be of no help at this point, considering everything that happened. For once in his life, Jack was well and truly alone. The acknowledgement of that fact itself did nothing to alleviate his anxieties, only doing more to further the ever growing void in his stomach. His eyes darted between the various passersby, none of them taking a single notice of him to his relief. He’d have expected to draw more attention to himself, in fact when he stopped to take a gander at his reflection in one of the shop windows he passed by he was almost stumped as to how he had managed to keep under the radar so well - you couldn’t much see it with the way he kept his head down, but upon closer inspection one could easily spot the large nasty gash of blood split across the side of his cheek, complimenting several different bruises that were forming underneath. His clothes were either torn from navigating through the thicket of the Cambodian jungle or scuffed from his confrontation with the two Kingsman agents. The only part of him that was still in almost perfect condition was his damned hat, surprisingly enough. In the most blatant use of the term, he looked like an absolute wreck. If he weren’t on edge from the constant vigilance of potentially running into one of his former colleagues, he might’ve laughed at himself over it.  

Escaping from Eggsy and Harry had been the easy part - they’d left him tied up with his own lasso off to the side, but in all the confusion and spate of heroics in trying to distribute the antidote, they had neglected to keep any sort of watch on him. From there on, all it took was the simple slice of a knife he had hidden away in his back pocket and just like that, he’d slipped away into the shadows, running for his life through the thick and sweltering heat of the jungle. He’d wanted to retreat back to the plane he’d used to travel there in the first place but upon realising that Statesman could use radar to track him, he instead was forced to navigate himself to a nearby airfield used for moving cargo. After that it was just a matter of stowing away on one of the planes to ensure his arrival back in America, touching down in Dallas of all places. Jack was fully aware that he was lucky to have his life - if things had gone differently he’d have ended up with a bullet in his head or something much worse. For that much at least he was somewhat grateful for. Somewhat.

Almost as if by instinct, he drifted towards a bar in the downtown area of the city, stumbling in and being assaulted by the smoke-scented air that greeted him the moment he opened the door. It was by no means a classy place, yet he didn’t much care in that moment. Any place was better than aimlessly wandering the streets like a stray mutt. Striding through the crowds of patrons ranging from tipsy to drunk, he came up towards the bar and pulled a couple of notes from the inside of his jacket pocket. “A glass of whiskey, if ya will” he requested, sliding the notes over to the disinterested bartender on the other side of the counter. Some part of him felt stupid for ordering the drink of his agent namesake, but some side of him felt like reminiscing on old times a bit. In light of him going rogue, they’d most likely be passing on that codename to another agent. Probably to Ginger most likely. He caught himself sneering at the thought of her, a deep burning sense of hate starting to fester in him. He never did like her much.

Taking the glass of whiskey in his hand, he let the warm rush of liquid seep down his throat, feeling consumed by the blazing burn it left on his tongue. So this was how it all ended for him: hiding out in a dingy dive bar, drinking himself to death while he waited for the inevitable. His mind ran over all of his options from there on, running down the short list in less than a minute tops. He had no job, no friends, nowhere to run to, no-one to turn to.

Unless…

Jack’s mind began to nag on something, a faint memory from years long since passed starting to resurface, the face of someone he hadn’t thought of in what felt like forever creeping into his thoughts gradually. He was in Dallas, right? An idea began to form in his head, recalling days spent during the summer out on a ranch north of the city, of your warm smile and intoxicating eyes that one could get lost in. Waving over the bartender, he pondered on his idea further. Would you even want to see him after all this time? He remembered the way things ended between the both of you, the bitterness and bad blood that most likely still lingered.

It was possibly an idiotic idea to begin with. Hell, you might not even be in Dallas anymore: the last time the two of you spoke was at least a good seven years. But it was the only option he had left. Throwing his head back and downing the last remnants of whiskey in his glass, he threw down a couple of extra notes for the bartender on the counter and sauntered off, fully sure of his next course of action. Like it or not, you were his best chance he had of survival. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him too much to turn him away after everything that he put you through.

___

Wiping a line of sweat from your brow, you found yourself cursing the suffocating summer heat. After living there for so many years you thought you’d be used to it but every June through to August the intensity of the blistering sun always managed to take you by surprise. If only you could simply relax a little, lounge by the pool sipping on cognac and smelling of lilacs, without a single care in the world. Instead, you were out in the sun, tending to each of the horses that your ranch housed. You ran a horse riding ranch only a couple of hours outside Dallas, tucked away in the deep necks of the Texan countryside. It was originally your parents business, and you’d practically lived there your whole life. It wasn’t your original plan to take over the family business, some part of you angling for something more than life as a simple ranch hand but when both of them tragically passed only a few years before, you felt you owed it to them in a way to take up the mantle to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Some things didn’t take much adjustment in a way  - you’d already known the procedure for cleaning the stables and tending to the horses like the back of your hand, and the inheritance money left behind had made it easier to pack everything up out of your small  city apartment to move back home on such short notice. The thing that did take some getting used to was their absence. Stepping back into their well loved home, seeing the photos still hanging on the walls, the folded pages of the books your mother kept on her bedside that would never be opened again, the places where they should be but simply weren’t - that wrecked you more than anything you could ever imagine.

At first you didn’t even sleep inside the house - it was just too painful to see them everywhere around you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to remove the cheerful family photos from the walls, even if it was only for a little while. The first two months back home were spent in the backseat of your car, curled up with a blanket that you’d managed to drag out from the house. You tried to carry on with business as usual but everything felt bleak around you. Some part of you wanted to blame someone, anyone for what happened. Sometimes you’d felt tempted to blame yourself in some way. Eventually, things did become easier. The emotional weight started to lift, and you were able to get through the day without having to take five to pull yourself together. Nothing was the same as before, but the flow of your life started to settle and become something resembling normal again. And that, in your opinion, was probably the best way it could have turned out.

Doing a onceover the stables to check everything was in its correct place, you pulled the large doors closed and surveyed the landscape around you, taking in the stunning visual of the sun beginning to dip below the skyline, mellowing out into a lively and beautiful sunset. With the front gates locked and everything with the horses all taken care of, you trudged back up to the house at the centre of the property, your mind drifting to the glass of liquor you intended to pour yourself the minute you got inside. It had been a long day, full of tiresome frustrations and irritations. Being in the middle of July, your ranch saw frequent visitors, including kids who were out of school and being taken out of the city on a sort of day trip by their parents. That day in particular had involved a birthday party for some kid, and you’d been out there giving riding lessons to the whole group of them.

Usually lessons were conducted by one of your other employees but in cases of events you tended to take on more tasks yourself. To be perfectly blunt about it, the day had gone horribly. Surprisingly enough, the kids were fine, no, the real piece of work was the birthday boy's mother. She’d insisted on trying to take control of every single aspect of the event and was overly critical of every little thing you did, and was an all round exhausting person to deal with. When the party was finally over and everyone had packed up and left, you remembered breathing a huge sigh of relief and thinking “thank fuck, she’s gone”.

Twisting open the front door to your house, you tossed your keys off to the side and immediately set off in search of something to drink. Grazing your fingertips along the refined wooden edges of your liquor cabinet, you pulled on the handles and reached your hand in to select a bottle. What you really wanted was something strong to take off that stressful edge of the day behind you. You felt your eyes settle on a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey stuffed towards the back and couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, a vague memory teetering on the precipice of your mind. Shaking the thought away, you instead choose a bottle of bourbon, placing it on top of the cabinet as you reach for one of the empty glasses stored inside. As you poured a glass for yourself, you felt your mind get lost in a haze, wandering between the events of the past few hours and what you’d planned to do with the rest of your night, and, admittedly something you were ashamed to say, a lingering thought to do with that bottle of whiskey you’d passed on over before. Fucking Jack Daniels, I swear to god…

Your body might as well have been on autopilot then, as you didn’t take any conscious note of anything other than the burn of liquor on your lips. If you hadn’t been so distracted you might have noticed it earlier - the distant sound of footsteps coming closer up the driveway to your house, the sounds turning into thuds the nearer they got. Too lost in your thoughts and too tired from the nightmarish day you endured, you were only pulled from the depths of memory by a loud bang on the front door. Furrowing your brow, you shot a confused and worried glance over to the front of the house, already beginning to feel alerted and wary. Who the hell could that be at this hour?

There was another bang on the door, this one more insistent than the last, and you felt yourself jump at the suddenness of it. Would it even be safe to go answer it? For a minute, you contemplated the idea of ignoring it and pretending you weren’t home, however once you realised whoever was outside could most likely see the lights on from the windows you dismissed that idea with disappointment. You’d have to go answer it, you knew that, but something didn’t feel right to you. Cautiously rising up out of your seat, you took a small step towards the entryway of the house, and through the fear managed to call out “Who’s there?”.

Taking another moment to contemplate whether or not it would be worth fetching a gun for this, you heard the voice of the person on the other side answer back, a voice that had you freeze in a mixture of shock and disbelief the instant you heard it. “Darlin'? It’s...it’s Jack, could you…”.

You didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you had bolted to the door, hastily unlocking the deadbolt and ripping it open to reveal him standing before you. Something in your heart stopped the second you saw him - he was the one person who you never, ever, in a million years ever expected to see again, much less on your front doorstep. You drank in his appearance, the first thing your eyes being drawn to was the large bloody slash across his cheek. His eyes were looking down at you pleadingly, a look you weren’t used to seeing on him. From when you’d known him he’d always looked so confident, so self-assured and pulled together, so to see him so browbeaten and, dare you say, defeated, unnerved you in a way. You could feel your mouth hanging open slightly, the words being there but your mouth being unable to form them, your eyes only fixated on his own dark and vanquished gaze as your mind raced a million miles a minute. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, yet the only thing you were capable of verbalising in your shock was the one question that pushed itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Jesus fuck, Jack, what the hell happened to you?”.

[iwritetopassthetime]

amami alfredo (4/9)

Javier Peña x Opera singer!reader

CHAPTER THREE // Previous chapter // Masterlist // Next chapter

warnings: unprotected sex (always use protekshon my babies); also drinking and smoking but I do that so id be a hypocrite to be like oh no dis bad; also javi is not the only SIMP

It was needless to say that Y/N found Agent Javier Peña extremely attractive. 

How could she not. He had that ruggedly suave look about him that just drew you in, like a film star from the Golden age of Hollywood. He was tall and his skin showed the lingering affects of constant exposure to the ruthless Colombian sun. His forehead and the crinkles at the corners of his deep brown eyes showed a man prematurely aged by the life he led. But those imperfections did not make him any less handsome, in fact Y/N pondered over how they seemed to make him unforgettable in her eyes. And god! did she love his moustache!

Y/N wasn’t impressed by his initial behaviour; she was understandably upset when he almost outright called her a whore. She was passionate woman by nature, raised by a strong mother and a father who revelled in his wife’s strength. Y/N disliked being belittled by men who thought they didn’t owe her respect just because she was a pretty girl with a pretty voice. Javier Peña turned out to be a different kind… thank god! When he ran after her to apologise, he shocked her. She didn’t expect him to be the one to admit his faults but he did. Yes, her reply to him at the time was biting, but in retrospection Y/N regretted she didn’t thank him for his apology. Javier was sincere but he also needed to understand the basis of her being involved with the DEA and his government — she was risking her life to (hopefully) prevent more innocent lives from being taken. 

+++

If Y/N allowed herself the indulgence of admiring Javier’s profile as he drove her back to her place, she could excuse it as an attempt to calm her nerves after the encounter with Diego Rivera. She was still pretty shaken; the realisation that she’d made a deal to capture the man who was standing before her, a man who could very easily kill her if he so decided, took all of her fearlessness. Then there was the DEA agent hidden in her wardrobe and Rivera’s hands on her. Y/N needed a stiff drink as soon as she got home.

Javier helped her out of his jeep when they got to her building and reached back into the car, fishing out a folder from the glove box. The two walked towards the entrance in silence. Y/N thanked the doorman and bid him a good evening. Javier nodded at the man and muttered a quick greeting. 

The apartment César had given Y/N for the duration of her stay was an official residence for anyone from the president’s family. The gesture did not go unnoticed once Y/N arrived and she had made sure to thank him with a bottle of the cognac he liked. The apartment was nothing short of opulent; a place with a living room so large it could probably be split into two smaller rooms that would still be rather big. The French windows were covered by thick drapes which reminded Y/N of the theatre and a green marble fireplace was placed in the furthest corner of the room.

‘You can sit over there,’ Y/N turned to Javier and pointed him in the direction of the sofa by the fireplace. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘What are you offering?’

Y/N snorted, ‘Cesare has left me almost anything. There’s a bottle of red wine he left for me as a welcoming present.’

‘I’m more of a whiskey guy myself.’

‘Curious. So am I,’ Y/N grinned. ‘Whiskey is the globe over there. There should be glasses in the cupboard beside it. Would you mind pouring me a glass too, I just want to go change into something else.’

+++

Standing in front of her wardrobe, Y/N felt like a silly schoolgirl trying to impress a boy she liked because she couldn’t agree on one single outfit. My god! was she looking for something to wear or for something for Javier to take off of her. Y/N swiftly pushed away that thought and grabbed a red summer dress that was modest enough but didn’t shy from revealing her body’s natural curves. 

Her bare feet padded along the old wooden floors of the apartment towards the living room. Javier was sitting on one end of the sofa by the table lamp, with his whiskey in one hand and the folder in the other, reading a document of some sorts. When he heard Y/N come in he seemed like he was trying to subtly check her out which only boosted Y/N’s confidence. She sat on the sofa next to him, leaving a good enough distance between herself and the DEA agent so as to not be too awkward, nor too pushy.

‘Um, here’s your drink,’ Javier cleared his throat and handed her a glass that was sitting on his side table. Y/N thanked him and reached out to grab the glass, involuntarily brushing her fingers against his. ‘Er, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you back there. With Rivera.’

‘It’s alright,’ Y/N whispered while taking a sip from her whiskey, enjoying the way the burning liquid slowly trickled down her throat. ‘I’m afraid he’s not the first… “admirer” of mine to behave inappropriately and he won’t be the last. It just overwhelmed me. Him there, the fact that I’m working with your government to catch him. I’ll be alright after a couple more of these,’ she raised her glass to make her point. 

‘That’s something I can help with,’ Javier replied, offering his glass for a toast. Their glasses clinked together and the two drank.

+++

Y/N was laughing her ass off at a story Javier was telling her about a bust of one of Escobar’s men.

‘So the guy,’ Javier snorted, almost spilling his drink on himself, ‘fuck! So the guy is in bed. With a prostitute.’

‘Ugh,’ Y/N groaned. ‘What a rascal!’

Javier laughed, ‘Listen, listen! He’s in bed with the prostitute. And we burst inside the room. Ten guys in total. Guns raised. The woman shrieked and kicked that bastard off the bed. And,’ Javier tried to contain his laughter, ‘he was wiggling on the floor. Butt fucking naked. Like a fish out of water. Like,’ he flayed his arms around, shrieking. Y/N laughed. ‘Sounded like a fucking seagull!’

‘Oh, god!’ She wiped away a tear, giggling. ‘That deserves a toast!’

‘Hear, hear!’

Y/N stood up on wobbly legs and raised her glass in the air, ‘To sleazy bastards who will always get caught. ¡Salud!’

‘¡Salud!’ Javier repeated and downed his drink.

Y/N slammed her glass on the coffee table and fell down on the sofa, this time much, much closer to Javier. They were leaning heavily on each other, very much drunk and still giggling. Y/N smiled at the man next to her. Fuck, did he smell good! What was that? Some kind of aftershave?

‘I’m, uh- gonna smoke. Is there a balcony here?’ Javier asked, his face flushed. 

‘You can smoke inside,’ Y/N spoke in a low voice, ‘but only if you let me butt a cigarette off of you.’

‘I couldn’t possibly refuse you.’ Javier reached into his back pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes. He drew one and gave it to Y/N, then got one for himself. He looked for his lighter in his front pocket and offered it first to Y/N.

‘A real gentleman should offer to light a woman’s cigarette.’

‘I’m not a gentleman.’

‘I doubt that.’ Y/N put the cigarette between her lips and raised a single eyebrow. ‘Light my cigarette, Agent.’

Javier inhaled shakily, looking between the cigarette in Y/N’s mouth and her eyes, eyelids drooping sultrily. He flicked his zippo lighter and slowly brought the flame to the cigarette, lighting it. Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling the smoke. She rolled a bit to the left, pressing her back to the sofa and exhaled. She looked back at Javier who was lighting his own cigarette.

An idea popped into her head. It could either go terribly wrong or amazingly well.

She stood up and turned around to face the man lounging on her sofa. She pressed the cigarette between her lips again and took a long drag. Javier’s eyes were on her. He was breathing heavily.

Y/N stood between his open legs, her heart hammering in her chest. She put one knee on one side of Javier, unsure whether to continue. He seemed to notice that and put one hand on the back of her thigh, just bellow her ass, pulling her into his lap.

Y/N gasped, clutching the cigarette between her fore and middle fingers. Her face was centimetres away from Javier’s. Their breaths mixed. Whiskey and cigarette smoke. Javier bumped his nose against hers. A grin pulled at Y/N’s lips and she put her cigarette back to them. The smoke she drew in, she slowly released over Javier’s face.

As if under a spell, Javier growled, his large hands grabbed Y/N’s ass and flipped them over so she was lying on her back on the sofa and he was on top. Without dropping eye contact, Javier put out his cigarette in one of the whiskey glasses on the coffee table and then did the same with Y/N’s. 

Y/N lifted her head just a little and collided her lips with his, drawing an excited groan from the man’s throat. She giggled into the kiss at the tickling sensation his moustache left on her upper lip. Javier sneaked a hand up her body, from her left thigh up towards her breasts until it stopped at her neck. Y/N pushed her head back into the sofa’s cushions and sighed as Javier’s lips connected with the soft skin of her neck. Y/N wrapped her legs around the man’s back, which by wonderful chance formed friction between both their clothed crotches. 

‘Christ!’ Javier groaned and rolled his hips against Y/N’s, sealing his lips to hers once more to drink in the long-drawn moan that escaped her throat. 

‘Room. Right now.’ Y/N begged through another moan. She felt her body leaving the comfort of the sofa as Javier picked her up. Y/N wrapped her legs tighter around the man, kissing him with vigour. She wanted to taste all of him.

By the time she wondered if he’d found his way to her room, the DEA agent was dropping her onto the bed. He stood up, looking down at her and in the semi-darkness of her room Y/N saw thirst in his eyes. Javier unbuttoned his shirt and Y/N used the moment of brief separation to lift the hem of her dress and flung it somewhere on the floor, now only in her sports bra and purple bikini bottoms. She propped herself on her elbows and observed the man before her.

Javier looked down at her semi-nude body and let out a shaky breath. Y/N relished in the effect she had on him. She looked down at the man’s jeans, then back to his eyes and whispered, ‘Off.’

Javier got the idea and hastily discarded his jeans, shoes and socks. Y/N pushed herself off the bed and scooted further back, Javier following suit. He climbed on top of her with his arms around Y/N’s head. He bent down and kissed her again, hungry and desperate. Y/N pushed her fingers into the curls at the base of his neck and pulled, eliciting a low moan from the man. She wanted to hear him make those sounds some more. So she trailed her fingers down his back and sank her nails into the skin, slowly pushing them back towards his neck. Javier groaned into her mouth and pushed his clothed cock into her trembling core. 

Javier wasted no time in removing her bra with a single, experienced hand which reached around her back and undid the clasp. He pulled the garment off of her and threw it away. He kissed his way down Y/N’s jaw, neck, chest, until he had one of her nipples in his mouth — sucking and biting — while one hand was playfully pinching the other. Y/N sighed, threading her fingers through his hair. 

Javier left her abused nipple and kissed the skin just beneath her ear. ‘What do you want?’

‘You,’ Y/N whimpered, ‘please, I want you.’

Javier sighed into her neck and and pulled the hem of her panties, removing the piece off of her. He then did the same to his own briefs while not letting his mouth leave Y/N’s neck. When Javier’s underwear was off and joining the rest of the newly formed pile of clothes on the ground, Y/N reached down and wrapped her hand around the man’s now fully hard cock. Javier whimpered and let his head sink in the crook of Y/N’s neck. ‘Yes,’ he groaned when she gave his cock a few pumps. ‘Fuck, Y/N!’

‘I want you inside me,’ She said in his ear and dragged the tip of his cock along her entrance. She let her eyelids droop at the pleasure that small action gave her.

Javier pushed himself up by his hands again while Y/N guided him inside her pussy, her wet folds accepting him how the shore accepts the sea. She whined at the feeling of her walls stretching around the man’s cock. If she could hear Javier’s thoughts in that very moment, she’d understand just how overwhelming the feeling was to him as well. It felt like two pieces coming together into one. 

Javier left one hand on the pillow to hold him up and slowly let his other one drop down to Y/N’s thigh, hoisting it over his lower back. His fingers dug into the soft flesh as he moved further inside the woman beneath him. 

He moved slowly at first, testing out her limits and likes based on the sounds she made. Y/N’s hands were securely locked behind his neck as she tried to push her head further into the pillow. She let out an indignant sound when Javier slowly pulled out which was soon replaced by a high pitched moan as he drove his cock back inside her velvety folds with force and speed.

‘Oh,’ Y/N sighed into the warm air. Her lips barely traced the lines on Javier’s forehead as her words of praise and want turned into incoherent sounds of pleasure. 

Javier sneaked his hand between them and found that bundle of nerves that trembled at his touch. He played with her clit like he’d been born to do it. The sweet pressure of his thumb and fore finger and the feeling of his cock moving quickly inside of her, had Y/N on the verge of her climax. 

A single sound left her parted lips as she came, ‘Javier.’ Which in turn caused the man above her to stutter in his movements, only to press his forehead against hers and sink deeper inside her. He groaned, ‘Y/N’ and collapsed on top of her in a heap of sweat and tangled limbs.

Y/N pressed her nose to Javier’s curls which were tingling at her cheeks and took a deep breath, Javier’s scent engulfing her. She felt him kiss her shoulder and then pull out which made her gasp. 

Javier rolled over on his back and looked at her. He lifted his arm and Y/N smiled as she scooted over to him, wrapping herself around his body. Javier let his fingers run from her thigh up her side and back down again until Y/N was drowsing with her head pressed against the man’s chest. His heartbeat lulled her with its steady rhythm as she hoped that the wonderful sensation that had settled in her heart was reciprocated by the man in whose embrace she fell asleep.

Next chapter

___________________________________

(taglist is open)

tags: @summerchildcece​ @farfromjustordinary​ @feelingmadclever​ @toxic-muffin21​ @softly-sad​ @lesbianlena​ @klaine-92​

[ficsilike-reblogged]

What’s in a Name?

A/N: This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written in my entire life. But it’s soft. Because Marcus Pike is soft and deserves all the love. Granted, I’ve only watched The Mentalist all the way through once, so...do with that what you will. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? I just want to be on the safe side. Idiots in love. Falling in love with someone and not knowing their name. Cliche use of a Quote from Romeo + Juliet.

Word Count: 3.3k 

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to learn your name and the one time he actually does.

Pike was unlucky in love. He knew it. He had started to accept it when things fell apart with Lisbon. His friends and fellow agents, the assholes, actually took pity on him and said he’d find the right person eventually. He just didn’t anticipate having to meet her over and over again.

... that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet... (Romeo + Juliet)

Sometimes, every once in a while, he actually hated his job. Sure, he got to go undercover, stop criminals, right some wrongs, and be called ‘agent’ on top of it. But, right now, listening to some sycophant rant and rave about the “superiority of Cubism over Dadaism,” he wanted to switch careers. There was supposed to be a sale of a stolen Cézanne happening at this gallery in Los Angeles and Pike had suspected the guy with the too-tight three piece suit and bad transatlantic accent was the ring-leader of the whole theft and re-sale. He just needed to not spork his eyes out until he saw money pass hands from the agent he’d sent in to pose as the buyer and the thief-turned-art-asshole. He thought it would only take an hour or two, busts like this usually did—but this guy loved the sound of his own voice so much that he had been going on a tangent about 20th century art movements for nearly four hours now and had somehow gathered a bit of an audience, too, debating with others, and the like. It was exhausting just listening to him.

“If you give me ten dollars, I’ll spill some red wine on his shirt and he’ll be forced to leave.”

Marcus looked to the left at the sudden voice and found a woman pretending to look at the piece in front of him, just like he had been doing. She was pretty, dressed in a high-end dress and sky-high, red-bottom heels, and looked every bit the part of an old money socialite. “Ten dollars?”

“I’d do it for free, but I need to receive some sort of incentive so I’m not just doing it out of spite. I heard that’s bad karma.” She hid her smirk behind the lip of her champagne flute.

“I’ve heard spite is a fantastic motivator.”

She hummed and squinted at the painting as if she cared. Maybe she did. “This is an awful piece of work. Truly, one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

The man behind them continued to talk just as a waiter passed by with a platter full of red wine and she skillfully plucked one from him without missing a beat. She finished her champagne and handed Pike her empty flute. His eyebrows raised as she smiled at him.

“I’m Marcus.” He held out a hand for her to take. She shook it with a smile but didn’t give her name in return. She winked and walked away—right toward the mark.

And yes, she dumped red wine all over him.

There was a collective gasp and he watched the scene with a muted sort of fascination as she then managed to make the art thief smile with some joke she must have said and then he walked away to clean up. The crowd dispersed. The other agent was able to snag the thief and make the exchange and handcuffs were placed on his wrists all within a couple of minutes.  

Maybe he should have actually paid her the ten dollars. She really did just speed everything up.

But, when he looked around to find her, she was gone. 

                                                            **

The second time he met her was at an art auction in D.C. There was no sting. No operation. The Art Squad had recently helped the auction’s sponsor recover a priceless Van Gogh piece and they had insisted the entire Squad come to the black tie dinner and auction, foregoing the 1000-dollar-charge-per-plate the ticket usually cost. The food was good. The wine and champagne was obviously expensive and Pike was sure he’d see some of the art that was being auctioned off in his case files in the next few years. That was just the way of the world. He looked around at the displays and glanced at the sheets where people had written down their bids. Some people were being generous—most others were being cheap. 

He slowed to a stop in front of a small Dalí and then down at the auction sheet. It was currently up to only a few hundred dollars. He wouldn’t win, he was sure, but he could pretend to participate in this ridiculous auction.

“I didn’t take you for a Dalí fan.” Her voice was still smooth and he knew, instinctively, that she was smiling before he even turned to look at her. She was draped in sky blue silk and pearls, reminding him of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

“I think he’s iconic, to be sure.”

She sidled up to him and looked at the small painting. “Thinking about bidding? It looks like everyone else is besotted with that original Warhol.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to reference the crowd steadily growing on the other side of the ballroom.

But all he could focus on was the smell was her perfume. Expensive and floral, it seemed to fit her perfectly.

Manicured fingers handed him a Mont Blanc pen from the depths of her designer bag. “Best of luck, Agent Pike.”

As she walked away, he realized she knew his last name now—somehow—and he still didn’t know hers.

Pike tried to find her again in the mess of rich people, to ask her name and how she knew of his ‘agent’ status and last name. But all he managed to do was catch a glimpse of blue silk as she exited the venue.

“Do you know her?” A tired-looking man asked as he walked to Pike’s side. “She left a large donation and my boss will kill me if we don’t have a name to write in our next list of donors.”

“I…I don’t actually. Did she bid on anything? Maybe we could get her name that way.”

And for the next fifteen minutes or so, he filtered through the crowd, trying to ask inconspicuously about his Venus and if she had bid on anything. And, when he finally learned that she had bid on an Alphonse Mucha sketch. And he almost felt lucky. Almost!

Because, as he made his way over to where everyone was pointing, he saw only two scribbles on the sheet. Surely he could discern which one of the names was hers. 

One was Richard…

And the other one was just a scribble of blue ink, smudged beyond legibility.

                                                         **

(A few weeks later, he was delivered a package at his office. Inside was the Dalí he had bid on. On a slip of paper was a smudged smiley face and the word: Enjoy!)

                                                        **

The third time he met her was decidedly less glamorous. The Art Squad had been trailing a group of thieves across the East Coast when they finally caught up to them in Boston. Pike had hoped they’d be able to catch them in the act and be done with it.

Instead, what they found when they stormed into the art museum, was the thieves holding several hostages. And, of course with his luck, she was among them.

Her hands were behind her head and she was on her knees as one of the thieves pointed a gun to the back of her head. Boredom was, surprisingly, coloring her face but she smiled when she caught sight of Pike. “Hi, Marcus.”

“Hi,” he said in return, fighting a smile of his own.

The whole thing was over in just over an hour and the hostages were released and the thieves were carted off in the back of a police van.

And maybe now he’d finally learn her name.

He was the lead agent on the case so he had to answer a million and one questions from other agents, from outside law enforcement, from the press. And, belatedly, he watched his least favorite agent, Rhett Brown, approach his unnamed Venus. The agent was fine when given a gun and told to shoot—but how he’d managed to wind up on the Art Squad was a mystery. He’d lost or misfiled more paperwork than anyone else Pike had encountered put together.

Pike knew he needed to finish all of this nonsense—and really, he shouldn’t call it nonsense, this was important—if he wanted to even have a chance to get her name. But the local police asked a lot of questions (they were doing their job, he couldn’t blame them) and then the press conference dragged on (again, they were just doing their jobs). And by the time he finished, he jogged back to where the former hostages had been held as they were being questioned.

And, of course, she was gone.

Pike pulled Rhett aside and asked for his notes.

Rhett nodded and stuck his hand into his suit pocket and then froze. “Oh no.” He quickly patted down his other pockets and shouted at another agent, “have you seen my notepad, man?”

                                                            **

Pike was tired when he met her for the fourth time. 

The deposition had lasted longer than he anticipated, stretching long into the night. The case was a strange one, involving inheritances, forged wills, and a “disappeared” Jackson Pollock that “reappeared” across the country. The hotel was nice, however, and he slumped into a stool at the hotel’s upscale bar and ordered a pale ale.

It was set in front of him quickly and he drained half of it without much fanfare.

“I always thought you looked more like a whiskey kind of guy.” 

He nearly spat out his drink. 

She slid into the stool next to him and ordered a top shelf cognac. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of red and left a mark against the glass as she took a sip of the amber liquid. “Long day?”

“You could say that. You?”

She nodded with a small smile. “What’re you doing in New York? More FBI business?”

“Something like that.” He took another drink of his beer and she watched him over the edge of her own glass. “How’d you know I was in the FBI?”

“We have friends in common. I know Charlie—you helped him get back his precious Van Gogh.”

“Ah, Charlie.” He nodded in understanding.

“Yes, he went on and on about the FBI agent who saved his marriage—imagine that, an entire marriage hanging on the edge of one painting.” Despite cognac being meant for sipping, she had already nearly drained her glass. “Imagine my surprise when it was you—the man from the gallery opening who basically gave me full permission to dump wine on a pompous asshole.” She watched him laugh as she took another sip of the dark amber liquid. “Charlie pointed you out when you came to the auction. The man can hardly remember his children’s names but he remembers yours.” She smiled and he could have sworn he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. “But I like the um…” she gestured at his chin and then placed her finger beneath her nose in a childish imitation of a mustache. “It’s a good look.”

He laughed—she was good at making him laugh. “I was undercover.”

“Oh?” It came out with another laugh. “Aren’t you mysterious?”

“I’m mysterious? You know my name and my job—and that I think Dalí is iconic. I know nothing about you.”

“What is there to know? I procure art for people who have too much money. I spend more time on planes or in hotels than I do in my little apartment in New Orleans. I like Humphrey Bogart movies and a good blanket.” She smiled before polishing off the last dredges of her drink. “See? Now you know more about me than I do about you. And it is all far less interesting.”

His heart had lodged itself higher and higher into his throat as each word passed her lips. “No…I-I think you’re really interesting and beautiful and I…I would love to know more.”

She was embarrassed, he could tell, but she still smiled. Her mouth opened to say something else and-

-a bellhop stepped to her side. “Your bags have been loaded into the car, ma’am.”

She turned and thanked him, pressing a few bills into his hand before she stood and grabbed her purse. She put a few more bills—far more than her drink could have possibly cost—onto the bar top and signaled to the bartender that she was paying for both their drinks before he could even think to stop her. “Thanks for the company.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He was in a bit of a daze as she leaned down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The familiar scent of her expensive perfume touched his nose as she pulled back.

“I’ll see you around, Agent Pike. But really,” she once again mimed the mustache, “it’s a good look.”

He murmured his goodbye, head still pleasantly swimming, and watched her walk away.

It took him a full five minutes to realize he still didn’t know her name.

                                                     **

The fifth time he met her, he’d been stuck at O’Hare International Airport for five hours. Five hours in the worst airport known to mankind. His flight back to DC had been delayed and then delayed some more and then delayed some more. He’d only been in Chicago for a few days to help lead some training to the local arm of the Bureau. Nothing exciting. And now he was stuck waffling between two equally awful airport restaurants for dinner while he continued to wait.

“Hey stranger.”

He turned to see her walking toward him, a designer carryon being wheeled behind her scuffed sneakers. Her hair was up in a lop-sided bun and she had traded her dress for a pair of jeans and an oversized band t-shirt. And why was his mouth filling with saliva? She threw her arms around him in a hug that he quickly reciprocated, squeezing her around the middle as she laughed lightly in his ear. “It’s good to see you. I see you kept the facial hair.”

He laughed and scrubbed a hand over his patchy beard and mustache. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Pike cleared his throat, trying to not sound so smitten. “Where’re you heading now?”

“Home, thankfully. I’ve been go-go-go since I saw you last. It seems everyone wants to give works of art as presents this year. I’m kind of scared what Christmas is going to mean.”

He smiled, liking to know about her life, how she felt. “Been anywhere exciting?”

“Paris and Milan lose their charm after a while. But I finally got to go to Casablanca.” There was a near twinkle in her eye now. “I felt like I should’ve been running around in a trench and fedora, chain-smoking. God knows how many times I muttered ‘here’s lookin’ at you kid’ to myself like a loon.” She shook her head as she bit her lip. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m jetlagged.”

“It’s okay, really. I…I like it.”

She shoved at his shoulder with another laugh. “Careful. You’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“Would that be so bad?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them—something he usually did when he let his stupid, romantic heart take the lead.

She tilted her head as she looked at him with an almost shy smile playing on her lips. “No. No, I don’t think that’d be bad at all.” They looked at each other, each fighting a smile and stupid fluttering of their hearts for the near-stranger in front of them. She broke the little daydream by clearing her throat and glancing away for a moment. “And you? Been anywhere exciting?”

“Just Chicago. Had to lead some training. My flight’s been delayed for a couple hours. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here before midnight.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a good place to eat in this hellscape, I’d recommend the restaurant near C26. I’ve yet to get food poisoning from them—and the food’s pretty good, too.”

“You want to join me?” He asked, something optimistic blooming in his chest.

But her smile fell. “I wish I could. But my flight starts boarding soon.”

As if on cue, there was an announcement over the intercom. “Hello passengers and welcome to Flight 306 to New Orleans. Right now, we will start boarding with our group one passengers and active duty military in uniform.” 

“That’s me,” she said with a sigh. “But it was good to see you, Marcus.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed her hand for a moment, keeping her still. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

She paused and then laughed, a full-belly laugh that quickly had him laughing, too. “It’s-”

A passenger cart beeped as it zoomed by, carrying a few elderly women.

“Group one, you’re free to board. Group one,” the announcement seemed to echo in the terminal, overly loud on the old speakers.

He swore he saw her lips move. He did!

But then she was squeezing his fingers again and walking away.

                                                     **

The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Aside from the terrible crowds they brought and the overall mugginess that came with the season, it was one of the things he liked about living in DC. He was sitting on a bench and watching the wind blow through the trees, rustling the pink and white petals gently. His lunchbreak was ending soon and he’d have to get back to the office. The other agents had caught on about his “mysterious lady friend” when he’d finally arrived back from Chicago and had been ribbing him about it ever since. (“How did you not get her name already, Pike?!” A question for the ages.) He crumpled the wrapper from his sandwich and tossed it in the nearest bin, preparing to leave the park.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

But when he opened them, she was standing in front of him like something out of his daydreams. She smiled at him before helping herself to the space beside him on the bench. “I was told you like this bench when the blossoms are in bloom.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Your fellow agents are very chatty, you know.”

“You came looking for me?”

“’Course. I was in town. The auction I need to attend isn’t until tonight and…yeah,” she trailed off, embarrassment coloring her tone as she looked away from him for a moment. “Yeah, I thought I’d see you.”

His smile was so big he was sure it was going to break his face. “I’m glad you did.” He reached out and curled his fingers around hers as they rested on the bench beside her legs.

Her smile was shy but she squeezed his fingers in return as she kept looking out over the cherry blossom trees. “It’s pretty here. I’d love to wake up and just see this.” She waved her free hand toward the blossoms.

“Well, it happens every year. You can come back.” Or you could stay, his traitorous, lovesick heart whispered. But no, he wouldn’t say that. No yet, at least. He could take this slow.

But then she kissed him, quick and soft—he nearly missed it. And she was quickly leaning back against the bench, trying to school her features into indifference.

“What is your name?” He asked, question bursting forward.

She guffawed and pulled her hand back with an exaggerated flourish, fighting another smile. “I told you at the airport!”

“There-there was a transport honking and-and an intercom and then you left-!”

She cupped his cheek in her hand and the words died in his throat. She smiled again, fighting a laugh, and whispered her name.

He whispered it back, rolling the letters across his tongue carefully, pressing it into his mind to keep and hold.

He liked her name.

Part Two

[tiffdawg]

Indecent Offerings: Part One | An Agent Whiskey x Reader Fic

Gif: @javier-pena​

Pairing: Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW – smut, explicit sexual content, oral sex (male and female receiving), threesome (m,m,f), cumplay, dirty talk, praise kink. Mild language. 18+ only.

A/N: I used the same codename, Agent Rosé, for the reader as my other Whiskey fic, but the stories are unrelated. I’m just too lazy to think of another codename. And there’s definitely going to be a follow up to this because I can’t help myself. Oh, and let’s not think too hard about the implications of having a threesome with coworkers.

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

... . ...

Indecent Offerings: Part One

It’s late in the evening, almost nearing midnight, and you’re still at Statesman New York HQ – in Agent Whiskey’s office to be exact. You’re perched in Whiskey’s overstuffed desk chair listening to another fellow agent drone on about the details for your next joint mission with Whiskey. Cognac’s a capable intelligence analyst and you almost feel bad for not listening, but you figure you can’t be blamed. At least not when Whiskey’s undressing you with his eyes from his seat on the couch next to Cognac. 

You’ve been shooting each other seductive looks all night, flirting wordlessly, and now you’re absolutely buzzing with arousal. Anyone who walked into that office would be able to tell what was happening between the two of you, and if Cognac only glanced up from the files on his tablet, he’d see it too. Even Jack is doing an uncharacteristically bad job of hiding his excitement, but considering you’d been playing this little game for hours now, it was hardly his fault. You know exactly how to drive that cowboy wild.

Trailing your hand lightly from your collarbone to the already low V of your blouse, you casually flick open the top button, subtly but suggestively revealing the soft curve of your cleavage to him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight and you think to yourself that there’s no way the two of you are going to make it home before something snaps.

Whiskey leans back on the couch, trying to appear relaxed, but his clenched jaw and the incessant bouncing of one of his legs is enough to tell you he’s anything but calm. You’re smirking devilishly at him when you notice Cognac wasn’t talking anymore.

He seems to have trailed off mid-sentence, finally aware of the amorous scene playing out before him. His eyes rake over your flushed form before meeting your gaze and his lips part slightly as his tongue darts out to wet them. You think you see a spark of something there and decide to test your theory.

“You like what you see, Agent Cognac?” you ask, leaning forward just far enough so that your blouse falls open a little more. His eyes glance downwards before finding yours again, a brow quirking inquisitively.

“Surely, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Rosé.”

“Of course, you don’t,” you drawl, your disbelief evident. As the soft-spoken, serious intelligence officer adjusts his necktie, his eyes never leaving you, you knew he was interested. Something told you that he had a more adventurous side – it just needed a little temptation.

You toss your files on Whiskey’s desk and cross the short distance separating you from the men on the couch, your eyes never leaving Cognac’s until you're standing in between Jack’s legs. You run a hand through your beau’s hair, and he looks up at you, a small smile pulling at his plush lips.

 “Can I help you with something, baby doll? he asks politely as his hand trails up the back of your thigh and over the swell of your ass. It’s subtle, but you catch his eyes flick over to your acquaintance. You tilt your chin down in a slight nod, confirming your intentions, and he gives your ass a firm squeeze in return.

“I really want you, Jack,” you say lowly as you look down at him, taking your lower lip in between your teeth.

“Do you now?” He tuts in response, playing along with you.

“Yeah, I do. Can I have you in my mouth?”

“You know you never have to ask for that.” Jack practically beams at you.

“What about you, Cognac? Can I suck your cock too?” You offer sweetly while tracing a finger along his strong jaw.

After his initial shock wears off, he breathes out a haughty “Fuck yeah.” It’s the first time you’ve heard the shy agent speak so callously. Then his brows furrow in confusion and he turns to Whiskey. “You’re okay with that?”

“Of course. She’s free to fuck whoever she pleases as long as I’m there too,” He replies with his signature smirk, but you notice something in his dark eyes that unsettles you. Before you can dwell on it, Jack starts to unbuckle his belt, and Cognac, although still a bit surprised, moves to do the same. “Though I appreciate that you think I could possibly control this woman.”

You drop to your knees in front of the two Agents having gotten exactly what you wanted, eyeing them both hungrily. Cognac was a bit late to the game, but you give his half hard cock a few gentle tugs he’s suddenly ready to go. Jack, on the other hand, doesn’t need any help. You practically purr as you hold him by the base before taking him fully in your mouth, teasing him by bobbing your head up and down a few times before removing yourself with a pop.

“That what you wanted, sugar?” he asks, his breathing already a bit unsteady. 

“Yes, Jack” you simper, “You always feel so good around my lips.”

“Yeah? What about him?” 

At his suggestion, you turn your attention back to Cognac, licking up the underside of his shaft before swirling your tongue around the head of his dick. “He tastes good too,” you whisper to Jack without taking your eyes off of the other man.

You sit back and pump both of them simultaneously, admiring the scene in front of you for a moment. Jack’s completely wound up and you know your lazy strokes aren’t giving him nearly enough. On the other side of you, Cognac watches you with wide blown-out eyes and you think he’s still amazed at what’s happening. You might be the one on your knees, but as you kneel there with your hands around both of their cocks, you are in control. You hold all of the power. And it feels so good.

Moving back to Cognac, you take him fully in your mouth. He’s not nearly as big as Jack, but he fills you nicely. Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck enthusiastically each time you pull up and within minutes you have him writhing beneath you. Peeking up at him, you see his head thrown back against the couch and his hands are fisted on either side of him. He’s watching you with hooded eyes but doesn’t dare touch you.

Instead, it's Jack who reaches out to gently run his knuckles across your cheekbone.

“Look at you, baby. Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he says, singing your praises. Heat pools in your core at the sticky drawl of his words. “I never met anyone who could do that better than her. Don’t you agree?”

A groan slips past Cognac’s lips and he nods his head eagerly, seemingly unable to speak. You move a little faster and feel him stiffen under you. The whole thing didn't take more than a few minutes before he gasps desperately for air and comes hard in your mouth. You’re certain the indecency of it all helped him along a bit.

You’d been halfheartedly stroking Jack the whole time, but now you settle in front of him, more than ready to reward him for being so patient. You swallowed most Cognac’s spend, but gather what still coats your mouth to spit on Jack’s cock, using it to ease the movement of your hand as you pump him.

When you look up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s shaking his head at you. “You filthy fucking girl, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

You blink up at him innocently, a sweet smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, before you wrap your lips around him and take him deep, mewling when the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. You move up and down his length a few times, focusing on relaxing your jaw and opening as wide as you can to take him completely. He more than earned it.

“Would you fucking look at that?” he asks breathlessly as you gag slightly around him. He places a firm hand on the back of your head, holding you down with exquisite pressure all while commending your abilities. It turns you on even more and you moan around him even as tears well at the corners of your eyes. After a long, drawn out moment, he releases his hold on you so you can suck him off in earnest – although, he doesn’t need much more.

Even as he comes, he praises you and you take every drop of him. You keep it in your mouth, showing him and before you can even finish swallowing, he’s kissing you, tasting himself on you. The two of you are a filthy mess, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. You’ve never had to feel ashamed of anything with Jack. 

You break the kiss and glance over at Cognac, having just remembered that he was there. He’s staring at the pair of you, mouth slightly agape. 

“Bet you didn’t know it could be like this,” you say to him coyly.

He huffs out a laugh, “No, I really didn’t.”

“More importantly, are you going to help me return the favor?” Whiskey asks, his labored breaths finally evening out. “I think this little lady has more earned it.”

You flash him your best smile with a light laugh and he kisses you again. You hadn’t thought you would get anything more out of this arrangement, perfectly content with what already took place, but Jack was never one to let you go without an orgasm or two of your own. 

“Of course,” Cognac says excitedly.

After tucking himself back into his trousers, Whiskey lifts you up off your knees so that you’re standing practically chest to chest. He expertly undoes the rest of the buttons on your blouse and tosses it aside carelessly. You squeal as he spins you around and sits you down on the leather couch, rearranging the two of you so that now he’s the one kneeling in front of you. While your eyes are on Jack, out of your periphery, you see Cognac readjusting himself and moving closer to you.

Jack hikes your skirt up so that it pools at your waist before hooking two fingers around the band of your lacy black thong, pulling it off in one practiced motion. You smirk at him when you see him stuff your panties into his pocket – the man practically has a collection at this point ­– but his only response is to angle you so that you’re laying down. You part your legs, draping one off the front of the couch and stretching the other along the backside, offering both men access to you. 

“That’s my good girl,” Jack extols as he runs a hand up the sensitive flesh of your thigh, “Legs spread, pretty pussy dripping wet for us – how fucking lucky are we?” He asks Cognac. Without waiting for a response, Jack licks a hot stripe up the side of your neck before attaching his lips to your pulse point and sucking hard. A lewd moan escapes you unhindered as his lips attack your skin and you think Jack might be purposefully trying to mark you as his, sure to leave a splattering of bruises behind with the way he’s mouthing at your throat

His free hand comes up to your chest and pulls your bra down just enough to expose your breasts. He kneads one as he trails hot kisses across your collarbone and Cognac laves at your other breast, taking your nipple in his mouth and finally joining in on the fun. You run a hand through Jack’s hair, gently scratching your nails along his scalp like you know he enjoys, and you repeat the motion with Cognac, holding them both close to your body as they kiss and lick and bite you. 

You can’t help but smile sinfully when you see Jack reach for Cognac’s hand, guiding it to your pussy and encouraging him to touch you. Cognac slides his fingers up and down your slick folds and Jack muffles your whimpers with a deep kiss.

“You’re doing so fucking good,” he says against your lips in between lighter kisses, “There ain’t no one better than you, baby.” All you can do is hum in response, already too far gone to form a coherent thought. It feels like they’re touching you everywhere and it’s so splendidly obscene.

But when Agent Cognac prods at your entrance with two thick fingers, you wince. Jack notices this immediately, his lips leave yours to check you over.

“Don’t you feel how tight that little pussy is?” he admonishes Cognac, “Start with just one finger, my friend. Trust me, this woman needs a delicate touch.” At that he bites down on your pebbled nipple, clearly contradicting his own words but showing just how well he knows your body as you cry out and arch up into him.

Cognac tries again with a lone finger, sliding into your cunt without any difficulty. He works your pussy until he’s able to ease in a second and then a third, stretching you nicely. You moan from the stimulation of both men’s hands and mouths on your body ­– you’re getting closer to your release as it coils tight in your belly. When Whiskey leans over to swirl his tongue around your clit, you sob from the sensation as his ministrations send a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

Together, they work you through your orgasm, deliciously drawing it out until you’re completely spent. As Cognac removes himself from you, Jack places lazy kisses across your face where a few errant tears fell, soothing you as you come back to your senses. When you open your eyes again, you turn to him and smile softly.

He helps you sit up and returns to his place on the couch next to you. Still a bit dazed, you attempt to straighten your skirt, but Jack bats your hands away and does it for you, pulling your bra back up as well as you regain your composure. You lean back into his chest as he takes care of you, sighing softly to yourself.

“Did that feel good?” he inquires, still watching you carefully.

“Yeah, it did, thank you,” you coo, gazing up at him as he wraps his arms around you.

“Manners, sweetheart,” he gently reminds you, pressing his lips to your temple. You turn to Cognac and thank him with a smile. He blushes and returns the sentiment.

“I love you,” you murmur, your focus entirely on Jack once more.

“I love you too, baby.” He caresses your cheek with the pad of his thumb and looks at you with nothing short of adoration. His heavy stare alone is enough to have you squirming in his lap, already desperate for him – and him alone – once more. Noticing this, Whiskey glances up at Cognac. “I think we best finish this briefing in the morning, don’t you agree?” Jack words it like a suggestion, but it’s clearly a dismissal.

“Right, good idea.” He smiles bashfully and gathers his things. He leaves a few minutes later but not before telling you both how much fun he had and adding a kindhearted goodnight. You can’t help but smile at the timid analyst.

“Isn’t he something?” you muse with a laugh as Cognac shuts the door behind him.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment. You’re more than content to simply enjoy the afterglow and the feeling of Jack’s strong arms around you now that you’re alone. You shift in his hold, just enough so that you can look at his strong profile, carefully considering the hook of his nose and his strong jaw before finally saying, “Jack, you’re really too good to me.” 

“Anything for you sweetheart.” His deep voice rumbles in his chest where you lay against him. He tilts your face up towards him with a gentle hand and he plants a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now,” he says firmly, and you can see the change in his demeanor, “You get that out of your system?” 

“Yes, I think so,” you say truthfully. That nagging, fleeting feeling that something’s bothering him suddenly returns. If something is troubling him, he doesn’t voice it. Instead, Jack trains his dark eyes on you, his grip on your jaw tightening wickedly. 

“Good. Because while I like to think of myself as a fair and giving man, happy to indulge your wildest desires, I’m going to take you home now and fuck you until you remember exactly who that pussy belongs to.”

... . ...

Thanks for reading!

[whitewallwhispers]

Boulevardier

(pronounced bou-levard-ee-ay)

2 ounces bourbon whiskey

1 ounce Campari

1 ounce sweet vermouth (preferably Antica Formula)

Lemon twist (for garnish)

Kingsman: The Golden Circle - Agent Whiskey x OC (Agent Vermouth) - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Fledgling Statesman Agent Vermouth’s career has started off more slowly than she’d like, and she finds herself confiding her frustrations to an unlikely ear.

Warnings: alcohol use, strong language.

Tag List: Open! Reply or DM me.

Three months. She’d graduated her training three goddamn months ago, and yet she still hadn’t been sent out on a mission. It was embarrassing. It didn’t matter that she’d been top of her class, apparently. Everyone else had gotten assignments already - Gin, Cognac, even St. Germaine.

And today she’d finally had enough of it.

She knocked on Champ’s door as hard as she could.

“Come in,” he called, sounding a little suspicious. She opened the door, setting her face in a hard expression so he’d know she meant business.

“Ah, Agent Vermouth. And to what do I owe a surprise visit from my favorite niece?” He was seated behind his desk, reviewing something on his laptop with a steaming cup of coffee and half-empty glass of something strong on either side of him.

“It’s been three months since I became a Statesman. Why am I still stuck filing paperwork?” She cut right to the chase. She was sick of waiting, sick of all the bullshit.

Champagne’s mouth opened to respond, then closed again as his brows furrowed in thought.

Trying to come up with an excuse.

“All of my classmates have been on multiple missions. I outscored all of them in training. Why am I being treated differently?”

“It’s…complicated,” Champ sighed. “Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you.” She crossed her arms.

“That’s an order, Vermouth.”

Reluctantly she sat down in the plush leather chair opposite his desk with a huff.

“Look. You know it took me three years to convince your mother to let you begin training,” he began. That much was true - she’d hoped to join the Statesmen at 18, but her mother insisted she wait until she was 21. “She was steaming mad at me when I told her you passed with flying colors, and made me promise not to send you out onto the front lines straight away. She knows how hot-headed you are, and she doesn’t want you flying into missions blinded by naive overconfidence.”

“Last I checked my mother wasn’t a Statesman. Why does she get any say in what I do?”

“Because she’s my sister,” Champ said with a shrug. “And I don’t think she’s entirely wrong. You completed your training quickly and eagerly, but you were volatile, too. Took a lot of risks, made a lot of rash decisions. I figured that maybe making you study and log the case reports of other Agents might imprint a little bit of caution into you, teach you that subtlety is sometimes preferable to going in guns blazing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Vermouth cried. “Tequila and Whiskey are our top Agents and they’re textbook guns blazing.”

“They’re senior Agents, they’ve been in this game a long time. They have the experience to handle themselves in those high-speed, high-risk environments. They weren’t always like that. It came gradually after years of missions. You approached your training already having that attitude. That makes it almost two times more dangerous to send you on assignments than your other, more reserved classmates.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She scoffed, but she had nothing to follow up with.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but it’s for the best. You’ll get out into the field someday, I promise.” To his credit, her uncle did look sincerely apologetic.

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said with a nod.

Without another word Vermouth stood and swept out of his office, heading straight down the hall with one goal in mind.

The rec room was completely empty. Everyone else was out on missions, except for Ginger Ale, who was busy as usual with the Lepidopterist. It’d been a week since they’d found him and she’d barely left her station since.

Out of all the people who she could talk to right now, Ginger Ale was her number one choice.

Perhaps that’s what made her extra annoyed when someone else walked through the door.

Well, less walked and more strutted. He looked as good as he always did - sharp collared white shirt, black tie, grey wool suit jacket with leather patches on his broad shoulders. Even though he was wearing his stupid cowboy hat she could tell his hair was perfectly pomaded and groomed underneath, just like his stupid mustache was, too.

“Well if it isn’t our favorite little spicy sip of wine,” Agent Whiskey called, giving her his usual condescending once-over. Much to her chagrin he took a seat right across from her. “Champ’s got you tending the bar now?”

“No,” she snapped. “I just wanted a drink.”

“What’re you makin’, then?” He grabbed a toothpick from the garnish caddy and began to chew on it lazily.

“Long Island Iced Tea.”

“Phew,” Whiskey whistled, “you sure you know how to make one of those?”

“Well, I’ve made two already, so I’d say yeah, I’ve gotten the hang of it.” She finished pouring in the last of the liquor and gave it a quick stir.

“Come on now, sweetheart, if you’re already two deep don’t push your luck. Pour half of that out for me.”

She bit her bottom lip to test it. Goddamnit. It was completely numb. Maybe he was right, as much as she really hated to admit it.

“Fine,” she grumbled, grabbing another glass and filling it even with hers. She all but slammed it down in front of him.

“And a shot of whiskey, while you’re at it. I feel I have some catching up to do.”

“Why do you care?” She grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured him some all the same.

“Because it’s ungentlemanly to leave a woman to drink on her own. Especially in such large quantities.”

Vermouth rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, opting to take a large swig of her drink instead. It burned her throat like hell but that’s what she needed.

“No need to stand there, come take a seat,” Whiskey offered, patting the stool next to him.

Begrudgingly, she obliged, though she sat as far away from him as possible to avoid breathing in his stupidly nice cologne.

Everything about Whiskey irritated her. He was arrogant, condescending, and full of himself. That was made worse by the fact that he earned it. He was by far the best Statesman, and he knew it. He fancied himself a smooth talker and figured that his good looks gave him the right to flirt with anything that moved. Sure, he was well mannered and could be sweet at times, but whether or not it was genuine was hard to tell. It was easier for Vermouth to assume it wasn’t.

“So, what’s got you drinking half the booze in this bar at three o’clock in the afternoon?” Whiskey asked, turning in his seat to look at her as he downed his shot.

“It’s…personal.” She avoided his eyes.

“Then why aren’t you drinking at home?”

“Because I have to wait to see who turns in mission reports tonight so I can get them ready for filing tomorrow morning.”

“You might wanna cut yourself off now if you have to be up and in early in the morning,” Whiskey advised. Vermouth rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Not instructing, just suggesting, sugar,” he answered, holding his hands up in a half-hearted surrender. “Seems like you’ve been on paperwork duty every time I’ve finished an assignment lately.”

“I’ve been on paperwork duty since I fucking graduated,” she mumbled, throwing back another long gulp.

“Now, I know it may seem like you’re given the short end of the stick a lot, but -”

“No, Whiskey. I’m serious. I’ve literally been the only Agent doing paperwork since I joined.”

He furrowed his brows and cocked his head at her. He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Then what about when you’re on a mission?”

“I haven’t been on one yet.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled. “You’re trying to pull one over on me.”

She leveled him with a fierce glare. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

“Now how is that possible? If anything, shouldn’t you be getting special treatment from Champ?”

“I don’t want special treatment, I just want to be given a goddamn assignment,” Vermouth growled. She finished her drink in anger and moved to get up to make another.

“Slow down, darlin’, I mean it.” Whiskey took hold of her wrist firmly, keeping her in place on her stool. She briefly considered countering by using her other hand to hit him in just the right spot to make him let go, but she was too slow and her eyes telegraphed too much. Whiskey read her move before she could make it and grabbed her other wrist, too. “Don’t try to fight drunk. It’ll only land you in a mess every time. Take it from someone who’s learned the hard way.”

He smiled at her then, and for once he seemed warm and sympathetic instead of distant and smarmy.

“Your instincts were good, though,” he added.

“Fine. Just let me go.”

He paused a moment before doing so, turning back to his own drink. “So I’m guessing that’s what’s got you down here in the middle of the day?”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “I just tried to talk to Champ about it. He says he doesn’t trust me in the field yet.”

“I don’t think any new recruits should be sent out into the field by themselves,” Whiskey shrugged.

“Of course you’d say that,” she scoffed. “Just like you say Ginger Ale shouldn’t be either.”

“She’s too valuable as a techie. Half our missions would fail if she wasn’t stationed here.”

“But she doesn’t want to be just a technician. What she wants should matter. You’re the only asshole who votes against her being active.”

“Like I said, I have my reasons.” He seemed nonplussed by being called an asshole straight to his face, and it irritated Vermouth that it hadn’t gotten a reaction out of him. Especially since he deserved it.

“Whatever. Bring me your paperwork before you leave for the night. Preferably before midnight.” She pushed herself away from the bar and strode from the room without a backwards glance. She’d had enough Whiskey for one day.

Tequila came through around seven. Gin at nine. It wasn’t until eleven thirty that a knock came at her door and she saw Whiskey through the window.

“Come in,” she sighed, immediately turning her attention back to her work to avoid looking at him.

“Sorry it took so long, sugar, your Long Island knocked me on my ass for a good hour or two. How you managed to down three is beyond me.”

As if.

“Save it, Whiskey. Just give me your files and go. I’m tired.”

“I figured you might be. That’s why I brought you this.” He placed his tablet to her right and a steaming mug of coffee right beside the one she was working on. “Bit of cream, no sweetner, just how you like it.”

That got her attention. Vermouth looked up at him quizzically. Suspiciously.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“There’s not much to do in the break room other than people watch,” he answered simply.

“…thanks,” she said at last, taking a sip. “It’s…good.” Vermouth did her best to keep her voice flat and unimpressed, but she was taken aback that Whiskey had noticed something about someone else - about her, in fact. He usually didn’t seem to give her or her classmates the time of day.

“Now I’ll get out of your hair,” he said with a nod. “Goodnight, sweetheart, don’t stay up too late.”

“Right. Night, Whiskey.”

With that he turned and left her office, giving her one last look before quietly shutting her door.

Huh.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

[whitewallmoved]

Boulevardier

(pronounced bou-levard-ee-ay)

2 ounces bourbon whiskey

1 ounce Campari

1 ounce sweet vermouth (preferably Antica Formula)

Lemon twist (for garnish)

Kingsman: The Golden Circle - Agent Whiskey x OC (Agent Vermouth) - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Fledgling Statesman Agent Vermouth’s career has started off more slowly than she’d like, and she finds herself confiding her frustrations to an unlikely ear.

Warnings: alcohol use, strong language.

Tag List: Open! Reply or DM me.

Three months. She’d graduated her training three goddamn months ago, and yet she still hadn’t been sent out on a mission. It was embarrassing. It didn’t matter that she’d been top of her class, apparently. Everyone else had gotten assignments already - Gin, Cognac, even St. Germaine. 

And today she’d finally had enough of it.

She knocked on Champ’s door as hard as she could.

“Come in,” he called, sounding a little suspicious. She opened the door, setting her face in a hard expression so he’d know she meant business.

“Ah, Agent Vermouth. And to what do I owe a surprise visit from my favorite niece?” He was seated behind his desk, reviewing something on his laptop with a steaming cup of coffee and half-empty glass of something strong on either side of him.

Please visit my new blog, @whitewallwhispers​ for the full version!

[barinacraft]

Upanattem | Froupe Cocktail - Fioupe Gets Riviera Up And At Em

Monsieur Fioupe Was Upanattem Before Froupe Could Even Get A Drink

As you'll discover later, these three cocktails are all the same drink recipe with different names. For now, suffice it to say that they are basically a B & B sweetened with vermouth or if you prefer, a brandy based Bobby Burns.

Fioupe, Froupe & Upanattem Drink Recipe:

1 ½ oz Cognac

1 ½ oz Italian vermouth

1 tsp Benedictine

Stir the brandy, fortified wine and herbal liqueur together with a barspoon and strain into a cocktail glass. Squeeze a lemon peel on top and garnish with a cherry.

History Of The Fioupe / Upanattem / Froupe Cocktail

The Fioupe Cocktail was actually "up and at 'em" as a drink recipe long before it was re-branded the Upanattem Cocktail and then later misspelled as the Froupe Cocktail. Here's the time-line:

1922 - Robert Vermeire* appears to be the first to publish this drink recipe and calls it the Fioupe Cocktail. Presumably it's named after Monsieur Fioupe who he writes in a note below the instructions, "is a familiar figure known all along the (French) Riviera by everybody, from prince to cabman." There's no indication of who this actually is. However, unless its a very old reference, its safe to assume he wasn't royalty as the last royal sibling in France to hold the official title of 'Monsieur' was Charles Philippe who became King Charles X in 1824.

1925 - Dominique Migliorero,† master bartender at the New-York Bar in Nice and Dominique's Bristol Bar in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, indirectly reveals this cocktail's namesake thru the advertisements in his book L'Art du Shaker. Turns out "my lord" is Louis Fioupe, an agent of Jacques Carmona in Paris, representing Cinzano vermouth, Canadian Club whisky, Nicholson's dry gin, Heidsieck & Co "Monopole" champagne and probably other brands as well. Based in Nice, Mr. Fioupe's territory in the Côte d'Azur likely extended from Cannes to Monaco and beyond.

1929 - Judge Jr.‡ lists the name of this drink as the Upanattem and says, "this libation is evidently derived from an old Indian name - but I don't think so." Boy, he was no dummy, that's for sure. You'd have to get up and at 'em awfully early in the morning to fool him.

1930 - Harry Craddick1 must have lost his concentration or had his fingers cramp up typing all those recipes in his book. While he seems to want to revert back to the cocktail's original name, he lists this drink as the Froupe Cocktail which is probably just a typo. Other manuals that year and later default to the authentic nom de famille for the Fioupe Cocktail as well.2-7 Many more would follow.

Guess its time to get up and at them cocktails and see which one of the three tastes better :D

More Drinks Mixed with Brandy And Bénédictine

Addington Cocktail - Cognac, vermouth di Torino, Benedictine DOM and Boker's bitters.

Aunt Jemima a.k.a Savoy Hotel Pousse Café - French-style brandywine, Bénédictine liqueur and dark crème de cacao.

Benediction Cocktail - brandy, Benedictine, maraschino liqueur, picon bitters and dry vermouth garnished with a cherry.

Between the Sheets No. 2 - brandy, Benedictine, Cointreau orange-flavoured liqueur and lemon juice garnished with orange.

Brighton Collins a.k.a Brighton Punch - bourbon whiskey, French brandywine, Bénédictine herbal liqueur, orange juice, soda water & lemon garnish.

Brunswick Cocktail - Cognac, dry vermouth, Benedictine and Amer Picon.

Honeymoon Recipe - apple brandy, Benedictine, lemon juice and triple sec orange liqueur.

Montgomery Smith Cocktail - Cognac, Bénédictine, Fernet Branca and a twist of lemon peel.

Mule's Hind Leg a.k.a Vermont Cocktail - gin, apricot & apple brandies, Benedictine and maple syrup.

Vieux Carré - rye whiskey, Cognac and Bénédictine plus Peychaud's & Angostura bitters.

Widow's Kiss Cocktail - apple brandy, Bénédictine D.O.M., yellow chartreuse liqueur and Angostura aromatic bitters.

Windsor Knot Drink - Cognac, Benedictine, rye whiskey, dry vermouth, Cynar and a twist of orange peel.

References

* - Robert Vermeire, Cocktails - How To Mix Them (London: Herbert Jenkins, 1922), 30. Print.

† - Dominique Migliorero, L'Art du Shaker (Nice, France: imp. Gastaud, 1925 [date estimated as 1925 or earlier based on author's signature in rare copy of original book]), 27. Print.

‡ - Judge Jr., Here's How - 2nd Impression (New York: Leslie-Judge Company, 1927), 20. Print.

1 - Harry Craddick, The Savoy Cocktail Book (London: Constable & Co., 1930). Print.

2 - “Cocktail Bill” Boothby, Swallows (San Francisco: Recorder Printing and Publishing Co., 1930), 40. Print.

3 - "Jimmy" Late of Ciro's London, Cocktails (New York: David McKay Company Inc., 1930), 39. Print.

4 - George A. Lurie, Here's How (Milwaukee: George A. Lurie, 1933), 35. Print.

5 - United Kingdom Bartender's Guild, Approved Cocktails (London: Pall Mall Ltd., 1935 [approximate]), 45. Print.

6 - Hyman Gale and Gerald F. Marco, The How and When (Chicago - New York: Lincoln Printing Co., 1937), 113. Print.

7 - W. J. Tarling, Café Royal Cocktail Book - Coronation Edition (London: Sidney Press Ltd., 1937), 56. Print.