#Statesman!Frankie Morales x you

[boliv-jenta]

For @movievillainess721

Dave York x f!reader Frankie Morales x f!reader Jack Daniels x f!reader

Warnings:All kinds of smut. Unprotected P in V sex.(This fiction wrap it in real life.) Rough sex. Degradation. Cream pie. M&F!receiving oral. Vaginal fingering. Rimming. I think that's it, but if you've made it this far, you're probably up for it all.

Summary: After a mission, you find yourself hold up with your three temporary teammates. How will you pass the time?

Interagency Cooperation

This takes interagency cooperation to a whole new level. The thought almost made you giggle around Dave's hard length. He moaned at the vibration keeping the laughter at bay brought to your throat. Jack felt the tension in your body where he was joined to it. As both men groaned, Frankie felt a little left out. Feeling the self conscious shift in his posture you pumped him a little harder.

Three weeks earlier….

"So I'm just stuck here?!"

"Who is denying extraction? Who gave that order?!"

"We're damn Statesman! We can fix bullet wounds in people's head but we can't get me the fuck out of here?!"

"Fuck, Santi. I'll fly myself out of here!"

The open plan villa echoed with the sound of disgruntled conversation with your handlers. The decision had been made that the four of you needed to go to ground for a while. Any type of extraction was too risky. 

The private villa was out of the way, one of the first few completed builds as part of gentrification of a poor coastal town. It was well stocked with food, and whiskey, thanks to Stateman. After the initial irritation wore off, you realised there were worse places to be stuck. As well as worse people to be stuck with. 

Jack was every inch the charming Southern gentleman, you could listen to that accent calling you Sugar for hours. Dave was reserved but had a dry wit that you found amusing. 

Frankie had been quiet, focus, diligent during the mission. The way he kept his cool was admirable. He also let a softer side of him slip now and then. Engaging you in light conversation now and then. When you'd joked with him the chuckle that left him was cute as anything. 

A week or two with them wouldn't be so bad.

Not bad at all. You thought on the second day when they had to change into the clothing left at the villa. They were supposed to be on vacation so the wardrobe consisted of shorts and t-shirts that were too small for their broad frames. 

The three of them had not so subtly eyed you, in your bikini, lounging by the pool. Dave was the first one to come and join you. Tossing his towel then his shirt on the lounger next to you, he dove into the water to swim a few lengths. When he emerged poolside, water ran down every dip of every muscle. His shorts stuck to the curve of his ass. You could imagine digging your nails into it as he pounded into you. Not that you would, with his wedding ring and all.

"The water is perfect. You're not going in?" He sat on the sunlounger opposite you. 

"Maybe later. It's not often I get to just do nothing." Your book was now on the table beside you. With your eyes closed, you wiggled down the sunlounger to enjoy the warmth of the sun blanketing you. With your eyes closed, you didn't see the way 

Dave's eyes raked up your body. You did open them in time to see them blatantly fixed on your chest. "So you're in no rush to get home? No one waiting?"

"Nope. You must be eager to get home to your family."

"My kids, yeah. Not my wife."

With the not so subtle formalities out of the way. The two of you made your way to the small guest house that you'd moved into to give the boys their own rooms. You were barely through the door before Dave was taking his frustrations out on you from behind. He kept you pinned to the small desk beneath you as your legs gave way. It was rough and fast but fuck, was it good. Afterwards, you both left with the same amount of nonchalance you had entered with. Dave went to take a shower. You returned to your book. 

The same book you were reading the next night when Jack came over with a bottle of whiskey in hand. It took less than half of it and a cheeky comment about saving a horse to have you riding him out in the open. That voice loudly praising you without a care in the world as to who was listening. "Fuck, that's it. Darlin'. Take what you need. So fucking pretty riding my dick."

The same sunlounger that Frankie found you stargazing on, when you couldn't sleep. He appeared, his curls tousled from a restless night. The curls that were soon between your fingers as his head was between your legs. His talented tongue making you cum twice before yours returned the favour. Sending him back to bed, ready to sleep.

This was the odd routine you found yourself in for the next two weeks. Random liaisons with each of them. Not a word spoken about it afterwards. It wasn't the first time you'd used casual sex to unwind after a mission. It was the first time you had three incredibly hot men making you cum multiple times a day. It was like the filthy 'romance' novel you'd been reading. You should be shocked at the turn of events but your whole life, you'd lived outside of what people would consider normal. Your childhood, your career choice. Being railed by three different guys was probably the least out there event in your life. And by far the most fun.

"So it's agreed? Terminator marathon?" You settled into the sofa, tucked under a blanket. Frankie on one side, Whiskey on the other. Dave sat on a plush armchair to the left. 

About half way through T2 Jack's hand found your knee under the blanket, his thumb tracing circles on it. Your breath hitched when he suddenly ran his fingers right up your thigh to your core. Frankie shot you a look before returning his attention to the movie. 

Jack's fingertips edged up the leg of your shorts and into your panties. You managed to keep your breathing steady as his fingers swirled across your clit. Your breathing did hitch again when Frankie's warm hand cupped your breast. This time he didn't even look at you. Like Jack he kept his attention on the screen as his fingers brought you pleasure, exciting your nipples. 

T2 suddenly turned into the longest movie in the world. Time was suspended, like you were by the pleasure shooting through your body between the two men's fingertips. Giving yourself over to them completely, you closed your eyes. 

Until Dave cleared his throat. "You were the one that suggested this movie but you're not even watching it. You need to keep your eyes open. Here, let me show you." He stood from his chair. "Come here."

Frankie and Jack's hands withdrew, allowing you to move. Then both looked on with approval. As soon as you stood before Dave he shoved you down to your knees. Taking a fistful of your hair, he held your head in place. Pulling his already hard cock out, he pumped it a few times before pressing it to your lips. "Eyes on me. Ah, that's it." He hissed as his length entered your mouth. His dark eyes fixed you in place. "You are going to get us all good and….uh…hard. Then w-we are going to take turns fuckin-g you."

Pulling out he jerked his head at Frankie and Jack. Jack graciously let Frankie go next. Cupping your cheek tenderly he asked "¿Estas bien cariño?"

In reply you took him as far into your mouth as you could. 

His head rolled back along with his eyes. "Oh, fuuuck."

By the time Jack made his way over, your jaw pleasantly ached. "It's okay, Sugar. You just keep those lips nice and tight and I'll do the rest. Oh, just like that." His hips moved slowly as he worked himself with your mouth.

Tucking himself away, he helped you to your feet. "Come on, Sugar." 

Guiding you to the sofa he situated you so your knees were on the seats and your forearms rested on the back. "We thought we'd let Frankie warm you up. We've heard how much you enjoy your time with him."

Frankie looked torn between being proud and embarrassed. Still, he didn't hesitate to rip your shorts down to eat you out from behind. In record time, he had you cumming on his tongue.

"Credit where it's due. You are really good at that." Jack slapped Frankie on the back as he wiped your slick from his moustache.

Dave stepped up behind you to take your shorts from around your ankles. "We're gonna have a little health competition. We gonna keep taking turns to fuck you. First one to cum gets one point, second two points, third three points. Every time you cum on one of our dicks we get a point. Since we know you are just as competitive as we are. If you outlast us all you win."

"What do I get if I win?"

"We'll do whatever you want." He whispered in your ear as he spread your legs wider. 

"Frankie can eat you out, like you're his last meal." Dave could see you getting wetter as he spoke. The sight of the three of them stripping down didn't hurt either.

"Jack can make you squirt 'til you soak through your sheets." Jack had been the only man to get you to soak him like that. He was so proud of himself. Clearly proud enough to brag to the others.

"And I…" A solid crack reverberated around the room as he hand connected with your ass. "...I will treat you like my dirty little whore. What do you say?"

Lining himself up the tip of his cock nudged at your entrance. "You wanna play?"

Showing him that you were all in you pushed back until he was all in. Gripping your waist and shoulder he drove into you at an angle that had you screaming. It was so overwhelming that you rushed to the edge of an orgasm only for him to pull out. 

"Fuck." He grunted moving aside to let Jack take his place. 

"I feel like I'm about to get my first point." He smirked at Dave, who had dropped breathlessly beside you.

"I handed it to you." He snapped back.

Jack was right, only a few minutes of him splitting you open had you bucking beneath him as he kissed the back of your neck. 

"Mmm, feels like I won already." His moustache tickled your skin as he spoke. He worked you through your orgasm before calling to Frankie. "You're up, Flyboy."

"Already? See how good you feel? Ah." He shuddered as he slipped inside of you. "So warm and wet. Feels like paradise." Frankie may be quiet on missions but he was a talker in the bedroom. Out of the three Frankie was the most gentle. Jack a close second, his movements were soft but with a knowing strength behind them. Dave was just rough all over. The only softness you got from him was his spent dick. Frankie gently rolled his hips, coaxing an orgasm out of you. 

The gentle build up coupled with his murmurings of how beautiful you were, how good you made him feel, had you fluttering around him in no time. "God, Frankie. I'm coming." Reaching back, your hand covered his at your waist. He held it gently as waves of pleasure ebbed through you.

"Fuck." Dave gritted his teeth next to you. The second Frankie moved away Dave was there, one hand pulling a fist full of your hair and the other grabbing the flesh of your tit, digging his blunt fingernails into your skin. "Your disrespectful little whore. You gonna cum on every other cock apart from mine? Are you keeping count? That's three bare cocks you've had in that greedy little cunt. You've creamed on two of them. This is what I mean when I called you a whore. Three dicks fucking you and you love it." 

Your legs gave way as the hand at you chest released you only to abruptly shove two fingers into your sopping channel. The same two finger were shoved in your face a second later. 

"See how wet?" Prising your mouth open with his other hand he shoved the glistening fingers against your tongue. "Suck them clean. See how good you taste? No wonder Morales is addicted."

Dave smirked with pride as you nearly choked on his fingers when he slammed into you again. Every inch of his impressive cock penetrating you in one go. 

"Such a good little slut. Taking such big cocks with not resistance. Given how tight this little hole is, you must really want them. Do you?"

While he'd been speaking he'd resumed his hard and fast pounding. You had no idea how he was evil villain monologuing while ramming his dick into you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak. All that came out of your mouth when you opened it was involuntary noises. 

A sharp sting bloomed on your ass. "I said 'Do you really want to be railed by three hard, long, fat cocks?' Hmmm?" 

Gripping the sofa to try and steady yourself, you summoned all your strength to get out a 'yes'. 

"Good girl. I know what you want even more though. Those three cocks to cum in that pussy. Imagine it all dripping out of you. You cum on my dick enough then I can fill you first. It'll even out the points."

Dave was now fucking you so hard and fast that you were bent over the back of the sofa. You silently thanked whoever decorated it for not skimping on the quality of the furniture. The well made heavy wooden frame was the only thing keeping you upright. Dave was now slamming so deep inside you, your brain couldn't function on any higher level. All it heard was 'man fill you with seed' and it was gone. 

"Oh, fuck, Dave. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The world shifted on its head. Until strong hands pulled at you. They held your boneless form as your brain tried to restart. 

Not only had you cum hard, you'd squirted all over Dave, and the well made sofa. Your cunt and clamped down on Dave so hard that he pulled out to choke his cock in an effort not to cum. Without him gripping you, your lax body had nearly toppled over the back of the sofa until Jack had grabbed you. You were now in his lap. 

"Pass me that water." Jack ordered Frankie. "Here, Sugar. Sip this." A bottle met your lips. Drinking greedily you slowly came back into your body. "Easy, now. You need to tap out?"

Both Jack and Frankie looked at you with concern. 

"No. I'm good. Saddle up, Cowboy." Your eyes never left Dave's as you spoke. He might be competitive but you were even more so.

"Well then, let's at least get you into a safer position." With you in his arms, he stood. The high quality sofa was also built up. He set your ass on one of the arms before gently reclining you back to lay on it. Thankful, Frankie had wiped the seats down. At this angle he was able to spread your legs wide over his forearms before entering you. 

"Goddamn. You feel even…" he wasn't even able to finish his sentence as he filled you with his release. "Fuck." He panted as he kept his softening length inside you.

"That's only two points, Cowboy." Dave taunted. 

"Right now, I couldn't give a fuck." Jack replied. He groaned as thumbed your clit causing your still sensitive pussy to spasm around him.

"That's cheating." Dave reminded him.

"Hey, I already lost. Let a man bow out gracefully." Reluctantly he pulled out of you. "Besides, with just you two fellas playing, don't you wanna make things interesting?"

Dave knew that Jack was just trying to goad him. It was clear he'd rather Frankie win their game. Still, he was never one to back down from a challenge. "Fine. You can use your fingers on her. No eating her pussy." Dave thought back to watching Frankie eat you out on the edge of the hot tube. He didn't care that he was sitting on the balcony he shared with Jack, he immediately had to relieve his rock hard dick at the sound of your moans. From the sounds coming from Jack's room, he had too. He wasn't handing a win to Morales.  "You only get points for her coming on your dick."

"Fine." Frankie agreed as he stepped between your legs. His fingers glided over your slick flesh with ease. He'd barely given you the tip of his cock before a soft orgasm washed over you. Not wanting to give Dave an advantage he pulled out and made room for him. 

"I should have been more specific about the rules." He grunted as he bottomed out. 

Fuck, you felt good around him. He was so tempted to to just fuck his release into you but he didn't want the pilots to win. His thick fingers worked your sensitive bundle much like Frankie's had, he could feel the effect it was having on you. Your walls tightened around him with each thrust. He was getting closer to his own climax while yours seemed frozen.

"I can feel it. Just let go." Ragging your vest and bra up he swotted at your exposed breast. 

"I can't. I can't." You almost sobbed. Overstimulation had settled in. Dave thought he could force you over the edge. His fingers working as fast as he cock only brought him close to the edge, not you. "Damn it!" He withdrew, panting and willing his orgasm to subside before he spilled onto the beautiful tile floor. 

Frankie shot a smug look your way as he stepped between your legs before dropping to his knees. 

"Hey!" Dave barked.

"I heard you. Don't eat her pussy." Frankie's breath flowed over the soft skin of your ass before his fingers parted your cheeks. His tongue slipped into the tight ring of muscle bringing a whole new sensation. It fired up your nerves anew. As his tongue lapped at your back entrance his fingers gently teased your folds until you were ready to be touched again. Once you were begging for his touch again, he entered you sparking an orgasm from your g-spot then he rolled that energy into one from your clit. 

"He's good at that too." Jack commented as he lazily pumped his newly hard cock in his hand. 

Frankie had a death grip on his own cock. He'd come so close to losing himself in you. The thought of that smug bastard York winning staved off his climax. 

Dave wasn't looking so smug now. He was doing the math in his head. Even if Frankie came before he did, he would only have four points. Frankie would have six. He needed to get the three points from cumming in you last. Which took him to four points. Then another two orgasms out of you to draw and another one to win. That's three on top of the six they'd already gotten from you. And that was if The Pussy Eater didn't make you cum again. At least all this math was helping to kill the buzz in his balls. He needed a plan.

"Move." He ordered Jack who was sat next to your head. He looked down at you ruefully before moving to the armchair. 

"Come on, Baby." Dave moved you up the sofa before climbing being you. This was new. The way he gently spooned you. The way he softly kissed the bare skin of your shoulders. He entered you with such care, gently rocking the tip of his cock against the front of your walls. 

"That's it, Sweetheart. You need it right there? You take it. Come on, make my cock wet. Just a little more and I'll fill you nice and full." His deep voice took on a honeyed tone. His body was warm and soft cocooning you between him and the back of the sofa. It was like your own little private world. 

"I'll fill my girl with all of my cum. You know I always have so much for you. All for for…you." His last word was choked off as you came around him. "Good girl. That's my good girl."

Rolling onto his back he took you with him, still speared on his cock. Now you were spread open for his hands to explore. They played with your tits, rolled and pinched your nipples, stimulated your clit until you came again. Dave was so close to cumming but he was so close to winning. If he could just get one more then hope Frankie lost it then next time he entered your heat like Jack had. 

The way your name fell from his lips he didn't want to stop. It was as soft as a pray. He'd made you scream it, cry it, sob it, in all sorts of ways and tones. This was new and he loved it. Holding you close, he planted his feet to thrust up into you. His thrusts were strong and steady. That was usually Jack's M.O. Slow and steady, building your pleasure. Kissing your neck, he gave you more of his sweet words. "Feel so good around me. You're fucking spoiling us with this pussy. So giving. Pulling us in so deep. Such a perfect little cunt. A man could get lost in it. Oh, my…"

He threw his head back into the cushions as he let out a long moan. He began to fill you. The arching of his back meant that he slipped out halfway through, spraying the last drops over your mound with a satisfying heaviness. When he finally finished all he could do was lie there. 

"You lost." You shot at him with no real malice. 

Your words barely registered, he was too far out. He lay there as he watched Frankie carry you to the other chair. Jack still sat in the one opposite. His strokes of his cock were more purposeful now. Frankie sat down and eased you onto his length. The competition was really between you two now. You just had to take Frankie until he came. Dave knew you could, so he just lay and watched in his blissed out stupor. Frankie's face contorted in pleasure as you proved your will to win by bouncing up and down on him. Moans in English and Spanish flew from him. Dave's attention flickered to Jack for a moment as he shot his load impressively far over himself. He had a sneaking feeling the agent had bowed out early to enjoy the rest of the show. Frankie near whining and griping the arms of the chair drew him back to you. You were still slowly rolling your hips as Frankie filled you. Chants of 'oh god' leaving his lips.

The three men lay boneless in post orgasm haze as you stood, somewhat shakily but triumphant. "I win. I may need a few days before I can collect my prize." You added hobbling away for a much needed soak in the bath.

A couple of night's rest later you collected your prize. "I want all of you. At the same time."

"How do you propose we do that, Sugar?"

"I'm not touching the pilots."

"Whatever you want, Cariño."

"Boys. Boys. I'm sure we can figure it out, we just have to cooperate."

Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass

[ghostofaboy]

Kinktober 2023 - October 17th

Day 17: Dirty Talking, Pussy Eating/Blowjob, Breath Control

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1153

Warnings: oral sex, come eating

@absurdthirst Kinktober List | Ghost of a Boy Masterlist

To say Frankie was nervous would be an understatement. He had met Jack through Pope after his friend had started working for Statesman Whiskey. After a few months, Pope had called him, Will and Benny, paying for their flights to Kentucky and introducing them to the CEO. Frankie had known something wasn’t quite right about the place almost immediately. Something in the back of his mind tingled and after one of the most informal interviews he’d ever had, Frankie had been offered a job. That’s when the truth had been revealed. 

Statesman was an independent intelligence organization and Frankie was now earning damn good money as one of their pilots. While he’d been warned about the danger, he hadn’t needed to face anything dangerous yet. He’d found himself assigned to Agent Whiskey and mostly flew the senior agent around the States to various meetings. That’s how he’d met Jack.

They had gotten talking one night in the hotel bar, where he’d learned that Jack was easing away from active duty to focus more on the business side of Statesman. He’d also learned that he and Jack liked the same movies, music, and had the same sense of humor. The more they worked together, the closer they grew. Frankie had told Jack about losing custody of his daughter after his split with his ex. Jack confided in Frankie about the loss of his wife and son. Soon, their deep friendship turned into something more, with them tearing the clothes off each other one cold night in Alaska. 

That’s how Frankie found himself here, standing at Jack’s front door, nervous as all hell. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept together before. They had explored each other's bodies several times already. But tonight would be the first time together since deciding to be an official couple. It meant more now.

Shaking his head, Frankie reached up his hand to ring the bell, only to pull it back quickly as Jack opened the door.

“Frankie.” Jack greeted him with a warm smile. “You good? I saw you comin’ up the drive, but then you just sorta stopped.”

“I’m good.” Frankie wrapped his arms around Jack, holding him close. “Just a little nervous, I think.”

“Nervous?” Jack pulled back slightly to look into Frankie’s eyes. “Baby, why the hell would you be nervous?”

“Let's go inside.” Frankie let out a short chuckle. 

Jack gave him a puzzled look but led Frankie inside and into the large living area at the back of the house. Now he was inside, Frankie felt a little better, but he knew what he needed to do. Grabbing Jack by the shoulders and spinning him around, Frankie captured his lips with his own. It was a rushed, messy kiss but one full of warmth and affection.

Pulling back, Frankie felt a swell of pride to see Jack breathless and flushed. Jack was usually the confident one; he was the one who usually took the lead, but Frankie needed things to be on his terms tonight. If only to quiet the voices in his head telling him he wasn’t good enough for this suave cowboy.

Sinking to his knees, Frankie began to tug open Jack’s jeans, pulling Jack out of his haze and earning him a lopsided smile.

“I thought you said you were nervous, sugar?” Jack let out a breathy laugh as Frankie released his cock and started to gently stroke it. “This don’t look like nervous to me.”

Frankie looked up at Jack with a nervous smile dancing on his lips. He was unable to put into words how he felt and was only able to show him with his actions in the hope the other man would understand. Something shifted in Jack’s eyes, and Frankie knew he understood. Immediately, he understood, and Frankie’s head began to calm.

Now, without the buzzing in his head, Frankie could focus on the moment. He could feel his own arousal as he looked at Jack’s semi-erect cock in front of his face. Licking his lips, Frankie pressed a firm but tender kiss to the head. Above him, Jack moaned loudly.

Opening his mouth Frankie gently licked the hot reddening head of Jack’s cock, bringing his hands up to hold the base with one and Jack’s balls with the other. Rolling Jack’s balls in his hand, Frankie swirled his tongue around the tip before beginning to work his way down the shaft. Enveloping Jack’s cock Frankie flattened his tongue to let Jack's cock slide to the back of his throat before skimming along the underside as he pulled back.

Above him, Jack was vocally showing his approval of Frankie with his usual gusto. A melody of “fucks,” “hot damns,” and Frankie’s favorite “sweet hot sexy sugar” fell from Jack’s lips unchecked alongside incomprehensible mutters and groans. 

Frankie could feel Jack gently lace his fingers through Frankie's hair with a shaking hand. Frankie continued to suck steadily, savoring the bitter tang of precome on his tongue as Jack let out another long, loud moan. Locking eyes with his lover Frankie pulled back to the tip to flick his tongue against the slit, tracing around the head before returning to working the entire length. 

His lips were slick and swollen as he hollowed his cheeks, bobbing up and down the length, each time pulling obscene moans and other strangled noises from Jack. Frankie could tell Jack was rapidly approaching his peak and shifted to using his hand and mouth in unison. Continuing to gently play with Jack's balls Frankie smiled inwardly, pride filling his form and shooting down to his own trapped erection.

Jack was beginning to buck his hips now as he chased his finish. He could feel Jack’s legs shaking as he fucked into Frankie’s mouth. Deep, hungry thrusts into Frankie’s throat were filling the room with obscene, wet, gagging noises that had Frankie’s cock throbbing in time with Jack’s pumps.

“Shit, sugar,” Jack growled. “I’m gonna… shit… ‘m close.”

Pulling off, Frankie began to frantically stroke Jack to his end, looking up at his lover, who had his eyes locked on Frankie’s face. Then, with a wail, Jack came.

Hot, thick ropes of seed splattered Frankie’s face, and he instantly opened his mouth to catch some of it. Sticky, salty release covered his face and tongue as Jack emptied himself, never taking his eyes off Frankie. Finally, Jack stilled, taking Frankie’s hands in his own, pinching his eyes closed as he panted.

Frankie grunted as he climbed back to his feet, his knees almost as angry as his cock. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes before leaning in to lick the come from Frankie’s lips in one lewd motion.

“Fuck sugar.” Jack’s eyes greedily roamed over Frankie. “Let’s move this over to the sofa. Think my legs’ll give out if we carry on like this. Then I want you out of those clothes. Your turns comin’ up.”

[psychedelic-ink]

Million Dollar Man | Chapter Two - Heart in a Cage

series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales

chapter summary: Tensions rise high between you and Jack when your suspect, Arthur Dunn, manages to escape. Frankie gets wrapped up in Statesman business.

word count: 8.8k

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, gory imagery, mentions human trafficking, alcohol consumption, near death experience, lots of nicknames being used by Jack (buttercup, baby girl, sugar etc.), oral (receiving), dirty talking, imagined voyeurism (feat. frankie), cumming on body, piv, angst, a brief panic attack, spoilers for kingsman the golden circle

a/n: sorry that it's been so long everyone, hopefully you'll all enjoy the new chapter <3

masterlist | series masterlist | playlist | series inspo board | AO3

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The clock ticks. The air inside the hotel room is still, silent, heavy with made mistakes. Every small movement of the hour hand makes a sharp sound, it’s in sync with the beating of your heart. Your eyes flicker to the wall, the round object taunting you both. You feel suffocated, unable to breathe. Jack’s sitting on the couch, his legs spread wide as he bounces one up and down. His head snaps to the clock. 

“For fucks sake–” 

Hauling himself up, he stomps towards where your gaze lays and yanks the clock off of the wall, leaving a round, brighter color of plaster behind. With a grunt he throws it across the room, it shatters at impact, glass shards flying everywhere. Your eyebrows raise but you’re not surprised. Jack didn’t like failure, no one really did, but he despised it. Dragging your gaze to him, you see that he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. 

“You should calm down,” 

“Calm down, you say?” his eyes fall to you, his hand dropping from his face. “I’m going to jerk a knot in your tail girl, it’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place,” 

“My fault?” your voice raises a pitch but you don’t get up from the bed. “How is it my fault?” 

“If you hadn’t been busy flirtin’ with your man–” 

“My man?” you sneer and get up, anger bubbles inside you. “You were the one groping me during the job. It was like you were marking your territory, I mean you might as well just peed all around the table!” 

Silence follows your outburst. He stares at you a moment too long before lowering his gaze, Jack lets out a stuttered breath. You know you’re right but you still can’t help but feel bad. The air is still heavy with tension, pressing your nails into your palms, you tear your eyes away from him. Your thoughts return to Frankie and your last moments together at the bar. You foolishly told him that you would call, well that will soon prove to be a big fat lie now wouldn’t it? 

“We should go to bed, this argument is pointless. You put a tracker on him didn’t you? We’ll follow him tomorrow,” 

He stills, eyes a shade darker as he looks at you with a questioning gaze. An unsettling feeling blossoms across your skin. 

“You want me to sleep on the couch?” 

You know that at this point if you say yes, he’d probably spend the night on the couch. Shaking your head, you turn to the bed and pull at the sheets. 

“No,” you answer, voice barely a whisper. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, you should get some decent sleep,” 

“Thank you, sugar.” 

The soft baritone of his voice surprises you. He heads for the mini fridge and begins to prepare himself a drink. You're dazed, not really knowing whether you should close the light, join him, or talk about what happened earlier tonight. You think this is the closest Jack has ever come to apologizing for anything, maybe he’s actually changed after all this time. Or maybe he’s grown softer with age. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Pouring myself a drink before bed,” he remarks, pouring whiskey into an old-fashioned glass. The gold liquid sloshes around, the ice coming up to the surface. “You want one?” 

“Sure,” 

“Mind getting the lights?” 

Your movements are sluggish as you walk and turn the lights off with a sheer click. The city illuminates half of Jack’s face, a soft light softening the sharp edges and hiding the other half in darkness. Your eyes adjust to the shadows on your way back, you crawl under the sheets, back pressed against the wall while you wait for Jack to join you. Some part of you almost hears a soft hum of a melody, it’s reminiscent of the times Jack would sing a lullaby to you on nights you couldn’t sleep. His southern drawl enough to relax your mind and pull it down into a peaceful slumber. The pleasant sound of liquid spilling into glass fills the room, soon he joins you, extending you a whiskey with a twist. Just how you like it. 

Your pulse picks up when you feel his knee graze upon your bare thigh. Images of an airplane bathroom floods your mind, the way your body contorted with pleasure in the reflection of the mirror as he took you from behind– Swallowing, you press your legs together, the heat between them growing. 

Unaware of your predicament, Jack swirls the glass and takes a sip. His dark gaze is fixated ahead, it almost seems like he’s avoiding looking at you. 

“I am sorry,” he croaks, your eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean to bring out any ol’wounds. How–” Jack swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “How did you two break up?” 

Your eyes flicker to him, brows knitted together as you bite the inside of your cheek. Jack clicks his jaw, fingers twitching around the glass. He takes another sip and swirls the liquid in his mouth, the moisture on his lips glistening under the city’s faint light. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s also never asked about your relationships, even when you were together, he just didn’t seem to care. When you commented on it he’d said;

“All that matters to me is that you’re mine in current time, I don’t care about your past nor future if it’s not with me. Why pain myself with the thought of you being with someone else?” 

“He asked a lot of questions,” you mutter, pressing the cool glass rim to your lips. The citrus flavor makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. “You know the rules, we can’t talk about Statesman business,” 

Finally he turns to you, his eyebrows drawn together as his eyes flicker between your eyes and lips. 

“A technicality? That’s why you broke up with him?” he tuts. “Poor fellow,” 

“Frankie was suspicious, I didn’t want to keep lying to him– He was also scared I was…doing something else,” 

“Something else?” 

“Never mind,” you shake your head. “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. There wasn’t much else to do at that point,”

“You could’ve told him the truth,” 

“Why do you even care, Jack?” 

Annoyance laces itself into your tone. Placing the half empty glass to the bedside table, you slid down into the sheets and lay on your back, staring at the dark ceiling with guilt thrumming in your ears. His dry laughter reaches you, encircling you like a snake. 

“I don’t,” 

“Fine, then shut up about it.” 

Jack downs the rest of his drink and kicks the sheets off of him as he lays down. A broken sigh falls from his lips, a tremble in his chest when he turns to lay on his front. Again, Jack leaves you simmering in your own anger, now guilt sprinkled into the mix. He’d said it as if telling the truth was the easiest thing to do. There are rules that need to be followed. You can’t just say you’re a Statesman agent to the first person that’s nice to you. 

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Frankie is much more than someone who was nice to you. 

You feel like a fool. You actually thought a conversation with Jack would end up being a decent one. Shame on your part. You should know better than to hope that the man has changed. He is still the asshole you once loved. Or maybe still love. You don’t know. He brings out the worst in you. Heart heavy in your chest, the feeling of it makes you toss and turn under the sheets. With a hitched breathing, you turn to your side, back facing Jack, and curl up into a small ball. There’s no way you can sleep now. Not with your mind in a fiddle. 

The silence of the room fills with your heavy breathing. At least that’s what it feels like. Tears flood your lash line, threatening to fall as whimper after whimper stumbles out of your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, lashes now wet. 

Your side of the bed dips with Jack inching closer to you. His strong arm falls above your waist and pulls you close, flush against his chest. His chin is pressed snug on top of your head, Jack’s fingers find their way under your shirt and with a hum he draws lazy circles across your soft stomach. Goosebumps burst across your skin, the fine hairs on the back of your neck raising with his warm breath raking across your skin. 

“Calm down sunshine,” he mutters, voice heavy with sleep. “You worry your pretty head way too much,” 

“I can’t help it,” you’re not sure what’s happening to you, a tear escapes your eye and you tremble. “You don’t understand– I just never wanted to hurt him,” 

“I know,” 

“He was there for me when you weren’t. He… You don’t get to say stuff like that to me. It’s not fair,” 

The silence is dreadful. 

His thumb still moves across your skin, but now it feels as if it belongs to a stranger. It’s uncomfortable. You can almost almost hear his heartbeat, unlike yours, it beats steady in his chest. He slowly breathes out, the soft curls of your hair move along with the puff of air. When he speaks, your heart is about to leap out from your throat. 

“You shouldn’t pay much attention to me,” his words unrushed, he takes his time pronouncing every word. “I didn’t mean to pry. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” 

“Whatever, let’s just go to sleep,” 

Despite choosing to be petty, you can’t help the shake in your voice. Anger boils in your gut and you want him to feel it. And he does, by the way his thumb stills on your skin and the way he pulls an inch away, the curve of his nose now pressing against the back of your head. Jack doesn’t utter another word, and soon you hear soft snores making their way out of his lips, his arm still sprawled on top of you. You don’t move away. You don’t want to. Your anger fades, his warmth caressing your skin akin to soft waves. 

The tears in your eyes dry away, your heart once again beating steadily. 

You take in a deep, long breath, the air that surrounds the two of you is crisp, it chills your lungs. The cold nipping your skin as you follow Jack uphill. The Santa Cruz mountains are quite refreshing compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. Noticing the soft orange rays adding color to the otherwise blue sky, you stop and turn your gaze towards the horizon. The sun is only now rising. With a sudden call that came in last night from Ginger, you learned that Arthur Dunn had fled to the top peak of the Santa Cruz mountains. Which was odd, considering Ginger told you there was nothing up there. You and Jack had gotten ready in a hurry, both of you annoyed about being woken up so early. 

“I swear if you we go up there and there’s nothin’ I’m gonna throw a fit,” 

Sighing, you drag your gaze away from the view and to Jack. Rolling your shoulders, you speed up after him. 

“Why do you always give her such a hard time?” you scold him. “She’s amazing at her job, you know this, I know this– hell the entire Statesmen knows this!” 

Jack scoffs, the tips of his mustache flickering. You roll your eyes, grabbing the straps of your bag, you hug it closer. 

“She wants to work in the field you know,” 

He stays silent, only the occasional branch or two napping under his boots. You lick your lips, the air has thinned, making you spit cotton. 

“Why do you always vote against her?”

This was one of those questions that you were always curious about but never had the courage to ask. Ginger, for the longest time, longed to be an agent, to work in the field. She loved her current place in Statesmen and knew it was important, but she also wanted a taste of the action which you understood. But whenever she had the guts to actually put herself out there, Jack voted against it. It had to be unanimous. You hated seeing her so broken down after each vote. And this situation only added to the bad blood between Ginger and Jack. It’s an odd thing to worry about considering your own issues with him but you desperately craved a distraction. 

“Look, sugar, I know she’s your friend and all but,” he stops mid sentence, gazing ahead. A second later he chews on his bottom lip and kicks a small stone. “She’s not ready for the field. Bless her heart. She’ll just end up getting hurt,” 

“That’s not your decision to make Jack,” 

“Isn’t it?” he keens with a wide grin. “Then tell me, why do we cast a vote?” 

Touche. 

His chuckle is a baritone, clear and far-reaching. He got you good, you’ll have to hand it to him. 

“Still, you’re too hard on her,” 

“Why the sudden queries about Ginger, buttercup? Spit it out,” 

You shrug, your feet digging into the dirt a bit deeper with your next steps, “There’s nothing to spit out. Just curious,” a hum vibrates in your throat. “So, you’re just worried she’ll get into trouble huh? Get hurt?” 

“I worry about everyone equally, we’re Statesmen. We look out for each other,” 

“Aw, you’re just a huge pile of marshmallows underneath that mean face, aren’t you?” 

“Who’s out there sayin’ I have a mean face?” he grunts, his voice a tone lower, barely audible, but the wind carries his words to you. 

“Mostly me,” with a grin you gently bump your shoulder into his. “It’s nice to see this side of you. Sometimes I forget you’re actually a good person,” 

“Well, you fell for me for a reason, so I’m guessing that must be it.” 

That, you were not expecting. Your heart skips a beat, body burning despite the cool, morning air. For some reason you thought he wasn’t aware of how much you cared in the past, even if everything that he did told you otherwise. You suck in a deep breath, eyes watering as it burns your throat. You decide not to say anything or add to it. The constant bickering exhausted you. It ate you whole and spat you out with every word said. However, it doesn’t matter if you don’t reply to him. His sentence sticks to you like a tick, you’re unable to remove it and it keeps sucking your life source, making you feel nauseous. 

You fall behind, staring at Jack’s back as his long legs take him further away. Unconsciously your hand ghosts over the rope that dangles from your waist, the material itself isn’t heavy, but it might as well be made of iron.  

You must be getting closer to Loma Prieta, the highest peak the Santa Cruz mountains has to offer, seeing how Jack’s demeanor changes. He hunches over, steps having more of a jump to them as he scans between the many sequoia, pine and oak trees. 

A sudden gust of wind blows, urging you to look up towards the peak. A cumulonimbus cloud swirled at the summit, its tall, column-like appearance intimidating. Very faintly, you see the color of lighting crackling among the gray, a burst of light followed by a deafening sound. Air hurls between you and Jack, the rope on your hip fluttering and slapping your thigh as you try to move forward. The sheer force of it makes your eyes water, it makes it hard to breathe. 

“Did you know there was gonna be a storm today?” you shout, shielding your eyes. 

“No,” Jack screams back, he slows down, waiting for you to catch up. “It might be a trick to keep people away. Do you see that?” 

He points towards the top, his lips an inch away from your ear as he fights the wind so his voice can reach you. Squinting, you follow his finger. You see a small outline of a building, it’s hidden among the thick flora but you can definitely see it. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s where– Shit–” 

With another strong gust of wind blowing past you, you stumble back, nearly toppling . over. Jack moves swiftly and without effort, he helps you regain your balance by wrapping an arm around your waist. He pushes you back up, a glimpse of worry in his eyes. 

“You alright?” 

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” 

His attention drifts back to the building that gets closer with every step, his arm never leaving you as you walk against the wind, it’s the best security rope you’ve ever had. 

The rest of the hike carries on without another word. It’s impossible to hear one another over the wind, and as the building looms over the two of you, it’s easy to shift back into work mode. You focus your senses, eyes flickering to every sound you manage to pick up despite the storm. The lightning quickly becomes more frequent, leaves and dust lifting off of the ground. Jack pulls you tight against his body, as if he’s afraid you’ll fly away, and leans down to speak into your ear. 

“We should call Ginger, she might be able to pick off heat waves of who’s there when we’re closer,” 

You nod, the building finally coming into view. A moat full of water surrounds it, a handful of stairs leading up to the main facility, a glass wall bordering around it. Blue lights buzzed in the glass, the color inching up the dark gray walls. Jack pulls you down behind a bush. Funnily enough you can’t spot any guards covering the multiple entrances. Either they’re stupid, or this is a trap. 

He pulls out his Statesmen glasses, the nose pieces shifting down as he puts them on. 

“Ginger, you there?” 

“Yes, Agent Whiskey,” 

The modulated voice echoes in your ears. 

“We’re here, can you tell us how many complications we should be expecting?” 

Soft taps against the keyboard and her voice buzzes in your ears once more. 

“I can’t get a proper reading, there’s something disturbing our channels,” she says, sounding concerned. “You two should be careful, that storm isn’t normal,” 

“Figured,” you grunt. “I swear, everyone’s an evil genius these days. So annoying,” 

Jack’s gaze flickers to you, a grin spread across his face. 

“We don’t know if he’s a genius yet sweetheart, don’t get your panties in a twist just yet. In any case, we should head out,” 

“Good–” 

“Ginger Ale, wait,” 

“Yeah?” 

She sounds a bit surprised, and worried. Which is a common thing whenever Jack addresses anyone with such an urgent tone. 

“Thank you,” 

You’re pleasantly surprised. A satisfying tingle of actually getting through to the stubborn man makes you smile to no end. In fact, you’re grinning like an idiot, unable to stop despite your cheeks beginning to ache. Ginger must’ve been shocked too because she doesn’t answer for a while, the only thing indicating that she’s still on the line is her subtle breathing. 

“You’re…welcome?” 

When a giggle forces its way out of your tightly pressed lips, Jack shots you a glare. Ginger clears her throat. 

“Anyway, good luck agents.” 

And she’s offline. You can imagine her telling Tequila about this, you’re definitely going to write this moment in your diary; The day Jack actually thanked someone. God is real. 

“Shut up,” 

“I didn’t say anything,” 

“I can see the wheels turn in your head, girl–” he huffs, brows knitted together. “It’s not that big of a deal,” 

“Well it is to me,” your wide grin softens into a smile, reaching out, you delicately trace your fingers down his jawline. “And probably Ginger,” 

“I don’t know why you think she cares so much about this,” 

“I don’t think I know. Besides a little praise hurt no one,” 

The wind blows again, and you think it drowns out the rest of your words. But he heard you, loud and clear. You fail to notice the mischievous curl of his lips, his fingers lacing into yours, he drags the inside of your palm to his lips. The feeling erodes your skin, goosebumps rising not because of the cold or the harsh wind, but because of the softness of his touch. He presses a tender kiss, the bridge of his nose nestling against the curve of your palm. Jack continues to mold his lips into your skin, moving lower and lower, until he reaches the vein curving along your wrist, your rising blood pressure makes it pop. Your breathing caught in your throat, your lungs stuttered in your chest, not knowing what to do. 

“If you wanted my praise you should’ve just said so, sugarcube,” he mutters, the ticklish sensation spreads from your wrist and makes the entirety of your body tremble. “What do you want to hear? How gorgeous I think you are? How I want to devour your very being so you can’t go anywhere? How I think you’re the perfect agent for any of mission?” 

Eyebrows rising, your eyes grow wide. It feels like the storm is a manifestation of your thoughts. Chaotic, spiraling, confusing. His lips move along your inner arm, the soft skin burning with every scalding press of his mouth. You’re frozen. Body unable to move. Jack reaches the inside of your elbow, the wetness of his tongue leaving a wet trail that chills as soon as he moves away. 

Bells start ringing in your ears. It’s loud, shrill. Nothing but red flags appear before your eyes, the color of blood waving across your sight as his lips bury themselves into the crook of your neck. 

You jump away with panic surging through your veins. Heart beating in your throat as you fall and land on your bottom. Jack looks down at you confused, lips still parted. The moment is still in time, a bubble forming around you when the heated moment turns icy cold. He licks his lips and once again the world around you shifts, time moving forward.  Swallowing, Jack rips his gaze away from you and stands up. 

“Let’s go,” 

Never in your life could you imagine him sounding so cold. Especially towards you. 

Splitting up is a rookie mistake, but one Jack feels like he is forced to do. 

The clean halls echoe with his footsteps, everything is too damn white, too damn bright. He hates infiltrating and having to be sneaky, he was always a more guns blazing type of guy. And if he was alone for this mission, he might as well have done just about that. But he can’t risk it, not when you’re with him. Jack would rather get strapped up into one of those hospital beds and get experimented on than to see you get hurt because of him. He’s made that mistake once, he wasn’t keen on making it again. 

However, he contradicted himself. If he really didn’t want you getting hurt, he wouldn’t have offered that the two of you should split up. He couldn’t help it. Not after seeing the look in your eyes when you backed away from him, nothing but fear swirling in them. He hated seeing you like that. He hated that he was the one causing it. He’d damaged you, hurt you beyond repair. Never would he have thought that that hurt would make you fear him. But oddly enough, that same fear gave him the power to comfort you. In a way.

Jack still remembers how you spiraled down the clear signs of a panic attack. Then, the fear, the hurt, had granted him some sort of power over you. He couldn’t quite understand it nor did he care that much about it. If it’s the fear that’s going to help you, force you to calm down, then so be it. He’d be the villain to your salvation. 

He had you, but he also didn’t. A curse. 

Jack’s steps slow down. Maybe he shouldn’t have let you wander alone, you’re an exceptional agent, but considering recent events, he isn’t sure how put together your mind is. Internally cursing at himself, he’s just about to turn on his heel and head back, but a loud buzzing echoes between the walls, a murmur of words following soon after. 

“What was it again? Agent Whiskey? Okay, alright–” whoever is talking clears their throat. “Agent Whiskey! This is Arthur, from the bar, and we have your girlfriend so, if you don’t want me to hurt her–” 

“Oh screw you, you pompous–” 

Relief washes over him upon hearing your voice, until then he hadn't realized how fast his heart was beating. 

A growl is heard, and it’s soon followed with a violent sound of a punch. Jack’s blood starts to boil, seeing a set of stairs heading down, he quickly makes his way towards it and goes down them two at a time. He sees nothing but red.

“Anyway, like I said, if you don’t want her hurt– at least more than she already is– I advise you to– Oh there you are!”

Jack’s pulse picks up as he sees the sharp edge of a blade digging into your neck. Your arms are tied behind you, a thick layer of sweat coating your skin. Upon noticing a dark red circling the skin of your right eye, Jack grits his teeth together, the sound of it makes his stomach churn. He sees the thirst for blood lingering in Arthur’s eyes, he wouldn’t hesitate to press the blade a little bit deeper in order to end your life right then and there. He’s holding a microphone in his other hand, which he drops as soon as he sees Jack. 

“There you are, now tell me,” he leans in closer to you, his disgusting cheek pressing against yours. He notes the way you wrinkle your nose. “Why are you two looking for me?” 

Jack’s fingers twitch, the tips hovering an inch away from his trusty bullwhip. He takes a slow step forward, Arthur’s gaze flickers to his feet, Jack takes another step. 

“We just wanted to ask a couple of questions–” 

He stops when he sees a drop of blood trickling down your neck, you hiss but instead of squeezing your eyes shut, they’re glued to Jack, searching him for any kind of silent plan he can relate to you. Sadly, he has none. 

“Stay back,” Arthur squeaks, blue eyes delirious. “I can hear you fine from there cowboy,” 

Jack shakes his head, hands raised. “Don’t squat on your spurs son. I’m just trying to talk, just take a breath,” 

The man eyes him suspiciously which Jack couldn’t care about in the slightest. His sole attention is focused on you. He allowed this to happen. Him and his stupid ego. This is why he never wanted you for this mission, you are his poison, he can’t think clearly when he’s with you. Your smell, your voice, your touch. All of it is enough for him to relapse into his old habits. He would burn the world for you, and there isn’t a damn soul out there who didn’t know this. Well, everyone except you. 

Jack meets your gaze, this time he sees no fear, only relief. He shoots you a crooked smile accompanied with a wink, a wordless signal that tells you everything would be alright. He’s delighted when he sees the faint quiver of your lips curling up. 

“We just wanted to ask if you knew anything about the disappearance of multiple women,” he says, his tone lighthearted and calm, despite the storm roaring inside him. Arthur winces, which answers Jack’s question. “So you do,” he muses, cocking an eyebrow. 

“I–” Arthur shakes his head. “He’ll kill me, I’m not telling you two nothing.” 

Arthur steps back, a slight tremor in his arm. The unstable movement makes the blade cut further into your skin, this time your eyes do squeeze shut, your breathing hitched as a pain filled whimper escapes you. 

“I might do a lot worse if you don’t let her go boy,” he threatens, lowering his arms and grabbing the handle of his bullwhip. “Choose your next moves very carefully,” 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he cooes. “I know exactly what my next move is,” 

There’s a press of a button and you vanish, the sound of wind rushing inside as raindrops loudly hit the metal floor. Arthur’s grin spreads wide and wicked. 

You’re gone.

“How about that, now I have only one of you to worry about. Isn’t that lovely?” 

“Greyhound!” 

There’s a shake in Jack’s movements. He lunges towards the giant door Arthur had opened up, he ignores the needle like sensation of the cold raindrops and throws his bullwhip forward, hoping that the end of it will catch you and bring you up to safety. But before he can get a clear sight of you, Arthur comes in between him and the door, striking a knee right into Jack’s ribs. 

“She’s gone son,” he mocks, he lifts a foot, and stomps it into Jack’s chest. The air gets knocked out of his lungs, chest squeezing tightly. “Now I’ll just have to kill you and that’ll be that,” 

Jack doesn’t move. His body feels like it’s nailed to the floor, all sensations of life draining from his limbs. He remembers all those times he woke up drenched in sweat after being shown horrid images of losing you. Now, his body is fading into the same routine of paralyzation. The moment of Arthur throwing you down the mountain plays out before him in a loop. He can’t move, he can’t speak, his vision blurry with dark spots hovering above him. His mouth is dry as a desert. He actually did it, you’re gone, and it’s because of him. He can’t even process it. A world without you? Without your voice, your nagging and glares. Is that a world even worth living in? 

His eyes follow the way Arthur’s lips move but he can’t hear him, a sheer ringing in his ears makes everything else fade away. 

The last thing he sees is the light bouncing off the blade and blinding him. 

All he feels is the grief running through him, making him unwilling to defend himself. 

“Greyhound!”

That’s the last thing you hear before the ground disappears from underneath you, the blade replaced with the harsh chafe of the wind and the sting of rain. The scenery of mountains spin before your eyes, it makes you feel sick, bile rising up to your throat. 

It takes you a moment before you realize that you’re falling. 

“Shit shit shit!” 

You adjust your position by drawing large circles with your arms, heaving a breath of relief, you stop madly spinning in the air and fall horizontally, at least now you have a bit more time until you break like a watermelon against the earth’s crust. 

The sting on your neck is still fresh, pain blossoming as the wind passes through you. Horror and dread thrumming in your ears, you forcefully pull your hand up to your earpiece and manage to call Ginger. 

“Agent Greyhound!” she shouts, making you wince. “What happened? Where are you? Your heart rate is off the charts!” 

“I’m falling!” you shout back, panic laced in your voice. “Ginger I’m gonna fucking die what do I do? Help me out–” 

A furious staccato of clicking echoes in your ears and Ginger’s modulated, also panicked, voice follows. 

“Alright I locked in your coordinates and I’m sending aerial support right now but I need you to slow down,” 

“And how will I do that?” 

“Which shoes are you wearing?” 

“I do not think now is the best time to criticize my wardrobe Ginger!” 

The grassy ground grows closer and closer, fear spikes in your gut as death looms over you. 

“Are you wearing the Statesmen issued boots or not?” 

You vaguely remember putting them on this morning, groaning as they squeezed your feet. 

You nod despite her not being able to see, then you add, “Yes– fuck– yes!” 

“Click the heels together,” 

“What?” 

“Just do as I say and click the heels together!” 

It’s hard, moving your feet closer together as you’re falling, the wind forcing them apart, but somehow you manage to click them together. Heat spreads across the soles of your boots and a faint hiss reaches your ears. 

“Now move yourself so you’re falling vertically, like when you’re using a jetpack,” 

Without a word you do as you’re told. Frantically moving your arms, you finally take the position and you notice that instead of falling like a brick now you’re floating…again like a brick but you’re not going as fast as before. 

“Good, that’ll win us sometime,” more clicks follow. “It should be there in two seconds,” 

“What should be here?” your heart is still racing in your chest, the need to throw up now stronger than ever. “Also, shouldn’t you tell us that these uncomfortable shoes have other utilities?” 

“We gave you two a pamphlet–” 

“No one reads those things,” 

“Well maybe you should,” 

You sigh, your eyes fearfully looking down at the ground. It’s still growing closer, it’s going to take you a while till you hit the soil.

“How about we argue about this when I’m on solid ground,” 

“Agreed,” 

A soft hum echoes in the air and wires strap around your waist, your arms, then, just like that, your descent down turns into the opposite. Looking up you notice a rather large drone with the Statesmen logo on it, thank god. 

“Remind me to buy you a drink after this,” you mutter into the air piece. 

“Noted. I’m free this saturday,” 

Your body relaxes when the wind that was cutting into your skin ceases to exist. But that didn’t mean that the gusts coming from the storm didn’t send chills down your spine. The feeling reminds you of Jack, his blood curdling scream as you fell. Your heart beats with fear, you know that in a regular fight Jack can beat the likes of Arthur, but the circumstances are different. Rage will consume him, which is certain to bring his doom. 

“Is Jack alright?”

“Not for long,” 

Something bad is happening, you can hear it in her voice. You’re scared. Fear consumes you the same way rage would consume Jack. You can feel it sizzling across your skin, blood boiling within your fingertips. 

“Shit– he’s not listening to me,” Ginger’s tone is hushed, worried. “Greyhound, get ready.” 

The wires uncoil around you as soon as your feet grace the floor you were thrown off of not moments ago. Your eyes immediately land on the scene that was playing out, Jack on the floor, defeated with Arthur’s foot pushing him further into the surface. Why wasn’t he fighting back? Why wasn’t he– 

Time stops.

You see the reflection of light in the blade, Arthur’s hand raised up as he clutches the handle of the knife, you can see the white of his knuckles. 

Ironically enough, you were never one for needless violence. It’s something you frequently berate to your fellow agents, they make a show of the blood and gore. Especially Jack. He loves a good show.

But not you.

When time begins to flow again, everything around you moves in slow motion. 

The blade begins to descend down. Jack’s eyes read no emotion, there’s no light in them, no nothing. No force of survival. He doesn’t know you’re there. He doesn’t know you’re safe. 

With an iron cold gaze your fingers expertly remove the lasso from your waist. You hear the crackle of electricity as you throw it forward, the blue lighting blinding. It lights the room as if there’s a million news reporters inside. 

You blink.

You miss the moment rope cuts deep into his flesh, the sizzling echoing as screams accompany the sound.

When you open your eyes you see the blood splattered across both Jack’s and Arthur’s outfit. Tiny droplets of red serving proof of the violence that entails for this job. Your stomach churns, the taste of bile returns to your tongue. It’s a sickening sight and you do whatever you can not to move your eyes towards the lifeless limb that’s an inch away from Jack’s face. The fingers still loosely holding the blade. 

Arthur’s head snaps towards you, his other hand holding his wrist that now attaches to nothing. His eyes bore into you, anger and hatred evident in them. 

“You fucking bitch!” 

When Jack’s eyes meet yours, it’s like witnessing life being born. The light comes rushing back, his dark brown eyes now sparkling with specs of gold. His lips curl with disbelief and amazement. 

“You’re alive!” he shouts, his giddiness contagious as you smile back at him. “How on earth did you manage that?” 

“I told you, Ginger is really good her job,” 

“Well I’ll be–” 

Arthur glares down at Jack but before he can utter another word, Jack punches him square on his jaw. He falls back, falling unconscious as soon as his head meets the marble. Without casting Arthur a second glance, Jack gets up and hurries towards you with wide arms. He pulls you in for a tight embrace, the smell of pine and sweat engulfing you as you return the gesture with a hug of your own. 

“I’m so happy you're safe buttercup,” he mutters, his heart beating fast. “It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have–” 

His voice breaks and so does your heart. Pulling back, you hold his face between your hands, your gaze soft as you stare at him. 

“It’s alright. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me, I’m right here,” 

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?” 

“Positive,” 

“Okay,” his breath hitches, chest stammering. “Okay– I just–” he cuts himself off with a sigh and hugs you again, pressing your face into his chest. You hear his next words through the earpiece. “Ginger send in a cleaning crew. We got our suspect.” 

Everything had been wrapped up in a pretty red bow in the end; Arthur was brought in for further interrogation by Statesmen, they were also investigating the odd storm and the rest of the building. Meanwhile you and Jack had headed back for your last night at the hotel. 

Emotions still run high as you close the door with a push of a heel. Jack hadn’t said much during the road back, and him being silent always worries you. He throws his hat and jacket on to the couch and turns to you, you meet his gaze, warmth blossoming within your stomach when his eyes rake your body. 

“Come’re,” 

You don’t let him say it twice. Walking up to him, you just stare silently as he cups your cheeks, fingers gently caressing the skin, thumb grazing across the bruise that had gotten darker with time. 

“I need to touch you sweetheart,” he groans. “Can I?” 

Your eyes grow, and you blink rapidly. You’re surprised by the softness of his tone, melted caramel licking the inside of your ears. You sigh, nodding slowly. Jack leans forward, capturing your lips in mellow kiss. They move against yours sensually, he tilts his head, tongues shyly touching one another with deep gasps of each other's air. He takes a step, urging you to do the same but backwards. His lips and tongue devours you until the back of your knees hit the end of your bed, as you fall, his hand nestles above the small of your back and lays you down gently. 

“Jack…” you whisper and his eyes flicker to you, hands ghosting across your clothes as he crawls above your frame. You hadn’t turned the lights on. The familiar light of the city elevates his features like the night before, only this time it casts a soft yellow, a heavenly glow. An angel. Your lips brush against his, your words seeping into his skin. “Jack, I need you, please,” 

He doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t tease you. He licks the seam of your lips right before his mouth travels south, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of your neck. Your back arches, the wetness between your legs growing with every touch of his body. 

Jack strips you slowly. He takes his time, paying special attention to move his fingertips across every patch of your skin. While he removes your bra, his thumbs ghosts over your peaked nipples, you gasp, pushing more of the flesh into his open palms. He accepts the offering, squeezing them as he would a ripe peach. Then he leans in, taking a bite of the sweet fruit. You press your thighs together, moaning as he takes bite after bite, savoring your taste with the swipe of his tongue. 

Your hands move on their own accord, ripping away his stubborn buttons and throwing his shirt to god knows where. He chuckles, breathy and silent, as you spread your fingers over his chest. Jack pushes himself up your body, allowing you to trace your tongue across his sternum, your fingers pressing into his nipples. He quivers at the feeling, chin touching the top of your head as his breath hitches. 

“You have quite the appetite,” 

“I could say the same thing for you,” 

“You haven’t even scratched the surface of my hunger yet, pretty thing. I'm starving.” 

A disappointed whine parts from your throat when he slides down your body. But your disappointment is short lived as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, ass loosely hanging off, Jack throws your legs over his shoulders, face only an inch away from your core. His glance meets yours and you see nothing but the dark pits of lust. You whimper, body aching for his mouth. Without removing your underwear, he dips in, pressing the curve of his nose into your sex and inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter, a groan rippling in his throat, he presses his mouth, tasting the remnants of your slick from over the already damp cloth. 

Only images of curse words you so desperately want to say appear before your eyes, you’re unable to speak, the pleasure making nothing other than moans fall from your lips. Jack continues to taste you, the sound of his deep breaths making slick drench the fabric. Pulling back, he removes the undergarment, hence stripping you of the last thing separating you two. Jack spreads your folds with his fingers and blows a puff of air, grinning wickedly as he sees the way your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Jack stop playing with your food,” you hoped to sound more coy but instead it came out desperate and needy.

He stays silent. Allowing the words to linger in the air right before gliding his tongue between your folds, the tip ending on your clit, he presses against the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sudden burst of arousal makes your hips jolt, his tongue delves deeper, tracing the rim of your entrance before pushing through the tight muscle. Your hands find their way into his short hair, tugging at the dark locks, you pull him closer. 

Life is nothing but fleeting moments of chance. You could’ve died today. The same Statesmen agents that took away Arthur might’ve been scraping your remnants instead. And that would be it, the end of your journey. Life is delicate. The slightest breeze capable of altering your life course just like that. And that thought alone makes you yearn for the man eating you out like a starved man, you’re restless, nails scraping against his scalp as you pull him closer and closer. At this moment you don’t care if you’re needy, desperate. You don’t care if the two of you should be doing this considering your past. 

You just don’t fucking care anymore.  

“Jack just fuck me, pelase,” you cry out. “I can’t take it anymore,” 

“Not yet baby girl,” he groans into your core. “Want you to cum first, come on you can do it for us,” 

“Us?” 

You open your eyes, vision blurry, did you hear him right? Did he just say us? Your gaze lands between your legs, your breath hitches when you see that he’s already staring at you, a subtle curve of his lips peeking up. 

“I want you to close your eyes sugar, will you do that for me?” 

Nodding, you fall back and allow your eyes to flutter closed. 

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Now, wouldn’t it be fun for you to cum all over me while your darling Frankie watches? Hm?” 

It doesn’t take much for you to imagine Frankie there, your back arches, a wanton moan slipping past your lips while Jack’s fingers start to play with your clit. He mouths against your folds, still talking, pulling you further down into the darkest parts of your imagination. 

“He’s right there isn’t he? Sitting on the couch, stroking himself while watching me give you pleasure. He’s hard as a rock isn’t he? Tell me girl, tell me how big his cock is,” 

Your legs tremble and you fear you’re about to lose it. Unshed tears sting the corner of your eyes, heart beating at a maddening pace. He makes you imagine it so clearly that you can almost hear the lewdness of Frankie fucking his fist, his eyes focused, curls sticking to his head from the sweat– You gasp, rolling your hips into Jack’s mouth. He swipes his thumb over your clit once more before pushing two fingers in, your eyes roll back, your body tingles with want and need. 

“Answer me,” 

“He’s–” you swallow, mouth feeling incredibly dry. “He’s big–” 

“Bigger than me?” 

“T– fuck – Thicker than you, but–” you’re cut off when he purses his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking it into his mouth, your fingers tightens around his hair. “Y-You’re longer,” 

He hums, pulling back briefly to mutter another question into your core. 

“And what do you want him to do now, sweet girl?” 

“I-I want him to kiss me while you make me cum,” you gasp. 

His chuckle vibrates around your clit, the sensation makes your thighs close around his face. You can’t make out the line between what’s real or not anymore, you swear you hear footsteps nearing the bed. 

“Can’t really kiss you and lick you but I can offer this,” 

Light flashes before your eyes at the way he rolls his tongue after each word. And before you know it, you feel two wet fingers nudging at your lips. Greedily, you open up and suck him into your mouth, groaning at the bittersweet taste of yourself and the taste of his skin. Your lips move along his fingers as if you’re actually kissing someone, and after that no more words are spoken, Jack licks, sucks and nibbles. He doesn’t stop and soon, he has you cumming heavily into his mouth. 

He slurps hungrily, licking between your folds until he’s satisfied that he’s taken in every single drop. The sheer force of your orgasm makes your head spin, your breathing uneven and quick. You feel like you’re dying. It’s too much. The thoughts of Frankie, the lewdness of Jack’s mouth, all of it builds up inside you, wetness blossoming between your legs again– 

You bite his fingers. 

“Ouch!” 

Jack pulls back his hand and his mouth. Your dazed mind is only capable of making you whine and nothing else. Even then you’re still not quite aware of how hard you bit him, or if you even bit him at all. Only when he’s crawling up your body, muttering something along the lines of “you wild thing” you realize what you’ve done. A semblance that you need to apologize flickers in your muddled mind, but before you can, his lips press into yours. Jack sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth gently biting into the soft flesh and when you meet his gaze, his eyes sparkle and a sting of pain breaks out across the skin. 

“Ow!” 

He releases you with a child-like grin, both hands cup your breast and at the same time he mouths the underside of your jaw. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s treating you so well. The pain almost dissipates immediately, leaving only a pleasurable tingle in its wake. 

“Want me to fuck you now?” 

“That would be ideal, yeah,” 

When he slides into you, it’s so natural that you think that you imagine it. Jack buries his face into your neck, both hands gripping your head and pushing you back to have you expose more of your skin. He feasts as he thrusts into you, his strokes languid, forcing you to feel every inch. 

It doesn’t take him long to dangle you over the edge once more, the coil ready to snap as his hips picks up, fucking into you nice and hard. He breathes heavily, teeth sinking into your skin. Without an ounce of fight, you moan his name, over and over again. Begging, crying, heaving. 

You see a bright flash of white, mouth opening wide as you gush around him, cunt throbbing almost painfully while he continues to rock his hips. 

“That’s it baby,” he rasps. “Break down, let me feel you–” 

And suddenly you’re empty, cold. His body towers over you with his cock in his hand, soon you feel the scolding heat of his cum painting your worn out body. He heaves a sigh, head falling back as his lips part with your name. You watch as his body relaxes, he’s mesmerizing, and when he looks down at you, your heart nearly stops. Jack’s eyes are clouded when he leans down, his open palm smooths his seed over the skin of your stomach, you can see the way his eyelids flutter, his face full of something you can only describe as sorrowful. You’re not quite sure why though, there’s something else poisoning his mind and heart, something besides you.

Opening your arms, you wrap them around his broad shoulders and pull him down, the weight of his body makes you feel safe, secure. 

When you wake up the next morning you see Jack sleeping on the couch, fully clothed and clearly ready to move on.  

Maybe you should too. 

It’s good to finally be back and fall into your natural routine. You greet the other agent with the tip of your head, smiling to the ones who smile back. Jack’s sitting right across from you, looking at Champ’s direction. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since the last night at the hotel, so, business as usual. Tequila sits right next to you, his shoulder pressed snug against yours as he leans in and whispers about getting drink later on, just you, him and Ginger. 

When everyone takes their places, you notice Ginger at the end of the room and the lights go off, burying everyone in complete darkness. However, it doesn’t last long as Ginger slides her fingers across the surface of her trusty tablet. A hologram appears in the middle of the table, a faint shade of blue lighting up the faces of everyone inside. 

“Has the suspect said anything useful yet?” Champ speaks, his voice strong. 

“Not yet,” Ginger replies, eyes focused on Tequila. “But he’ll speak soon. Meanwhile we found someone else who’s been in contact with one of the victims,” 

The hologram shits and shows a still frame of the outside of a crowded bar, squinting, you lean closer. You note a blond woman, tall and beautiful. But you’re not interested in the victim, rather you’re interested in who’s standing next to her. A familiar looking man. A man with a ballcap, his hand on the small of her back, seemingly guiding her inside. 

“Who’s that?” Tequila asks and you feel your pulse pick up. 

“That’s the last person to have seen her,” Ginger answers. “And his name is–” 

You breathe out. 

“Frankie,” 

Everyone’s curious filled gazes turns to you, and you immediately regret speaking out. Anxiety squeezes around your heart, you feel faint. Pushing back your chair, you stare unblinkingly at the smooth surface of the table. 

“Do you know him, Agent Greyhound?”  

Champ’s question echoes in your ears. You want to say no. You want the earth’s crust to swallow you whole. Frankie can’t be involved– There was no way that he was– 

“We both do actually,” 

You look up, pulse quickening as you and Jack exchange a brief glance. His eyes comfort you but you still read no emotion in them. He’s become a blank slate. 

“That’s good,” Champ clasps his hand together, you jump at the sharp sound. “You two can carry on with the investigation then.” 

You can’t concentrate for the rest of the briefing, you fail to notice that Jack’s gaze never leaves you. 

a/n: to be notified of future works follow @psychedeliclibrary and turn on notifications <33

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

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[deadhumourist]

Masterlist

Year of Science Fiction Masterlist - Various characters

MICRO FICLETS (between 200 - 500+ words)

Darkness - Din Djarin X GN!Reader - Explicit.

Interest - Javier Peña x GN!Reader - You lock eyes in a crowded bar

Emptiness - Dave York x F!Reader - Soft!Dom Dave spends some time with you. Explicit.

Rescue - Oberyn x GN!Reader - Oberyn takes back what's his.

Tenderness - Javi G x GN!Reader - Early morning softness.

FRANKIE "CATFISH" MORALES

Real Sugar (Chef AU)- Frankie Morales x F!Reader

After a chance run-in with Rockstar!Frankie, you discover that you can render a service that will change his life. But it might also change yours. Slow burn, mature rating.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 2.5 - Two Days Before Cassis

Chapter 2.6 - The Menu

One-shots

Night Release - Frankie x F!Reader

Moonlit Hollow - Frankie x GN!Reader

I'll take care of you - Frankie x GN!Reader

THE MANDALORIAN - DIN DJARIN

Mistletoe and Beskar [On hiatus]- Modern!Din X F!Reader, Modern AU, a mysterious man invites you to a weekend away he's been dreading. What will you find out about him?

DIETER BRAVO

Bravo Juliett - Dieter x F!Reader

Dieter has as run-in with a fan and it goes as bad (or as good) as can be expected, depending on your perspective. Crack fic, explicit.

Hospital Pass - Dieter x F!Reader. Dieter needs to go to the hospital and you have to take him, even though you can't stand him. Shenanigans ensue.

Judge, Jury and Sexicutioner - Dieter x F!JudgeReader

Dieter gets into trouble in more ways than one. Crack fic, explicit.

EZRA

Dinner with a scoundrel - Ezra x F!reader - Regency AU - You're a yet-unmarried woman in Regency times and you have another society dinner to attend. You meet a roguish stranger that turns the evening upside down. Explicit, tongue-in-cheek

PERO TOVAR

We Had Today - Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Suddenly transported from your library, you meet a handsome Spaniard. Was any of it real?

AGENT WHISKEY

Under Marula Trees - Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

The Statesman agents take a trip to Africa for a well-deserved wind-down. You're responsible for the group, but right off the bat a certain cowboy gets on your bad side. The question is, does he stay there? Mature rating.

Visuals

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Pink Velvet - Jack Daniels X f!Reader. Storytime with your daughter unearths some sad memories.

Steam - Jack Daniels X F!Reader. Jack comforts you with a hot bath after a bad day.

MARCUS MORENO

Step into my office, Baby - Dark!Marcus X f!reader

Headcanon - Pedro Boys Fragrances

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 8: City Adventures & Bedroom Ardor

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Your adventures in the city are a whirlwind, a dream, full of unbridled affection, teasing and laughter and it all feels so right. There’s still the matter of the talk the three of you need to have looming in the very near future. You and Jack are ready to make the jump and go all-in, to put in the work to make things work. All that’s left is for Frankie to make his decision.

Rating: Explicit - No Minors

Warnings: M/M, MMF, oral (M & F receiving), unprotected PIV sex, dirty talk, food mentions, alcohol mentions, clothes shopping, mentions of prior drug use, mentions of prior trauma, I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: FRIENDS IT’S HERE! Alrighty, I originally promised the return of the OT3 smut last chapter but rather than drop a 12k monstrosity, I decided to break it up and here it is! But first, we need to get through the fluff of their adventures in Manhattan and the angst/feelings during their overdue conversation.

A HUGE THANKS to mi esposa, @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for beta-ing as well as their encouragement and patience with this. This series would not be where it is without their help.

Also, a shout out to @ezrasbirdie the little tidbit of an ice cream scene is just for you sweetie!

WC: ~7.8k ← He’s big, I know ;)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Ch 7: Post-Catharsis | Art | AO3 | Taglist

It was a gorgeous day out, and Frankie’s hand hadn’t left yours since the three of you left the deli after lunch. Jack had taken your other hand, and the two of them spent your walk down 5th Avenue stealing kisses on your cheek whenever they could. Occasionally, when you were stopped for a traffic light, they’d lean in front of you and get in a quick kiss of their own.

Even though you were sure Frankie hadn’t been to Manhattan before, you noticed the way his eyes narrowed as the passing stores seemed to become increasingly more extravagant. You knew the storefronts were well outside of his comfort zone, and you found yourself tugging him along more than you had been.

“C’mon, Fish, we’re almost there.”

Jack looked at you suspiciously. He had noticed Frankie’s change in behavior as well and wanted to make sure you didn’t scare Frankie off or cheat your bet. He was met with your innocently batting eyes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Frankie grumped and sighed as he followed you and Jack. You all paused in front of Trump Tower to give it the middle finger, then moved on towards the giant, pale stone building with Bergdorf Goodman emblazoned on it, just across the street from the ugly, phallic tower that was a stain on the skyline. Jack held the doors open, and you ushered Frankie through, mostly to make sure he didn’t bolt, then you followed behind him.

Frankie walked through the entrance, scanning the clothes on display, and immediately felt out of place. His gaze fell on a jacket that looked somewhat similar to the one he owned. He took a few steps closer, then noticed the intentionally distressed material and price tag. He came to a stop suddenly, and you almost bumped into him.

“Nope, absolutely not.”

Jack moved past you and took in Frankie’s comical look of horror.

“What’re you talking about, Flyboy?”

“I said I’d do this, but I… I am not doing this.” Frankie hissed and motioned around the store, ending at a mannequin clad in a “work jacket” with a price tag of $500.

Jack opened and closed his mouth and cocked his head as he took a closer look at the jacket, scrunching his nose in disgust. You couldn’t help but laugh, already bringing your phone out to text the Statesman driver you and Whiskey shared to come and pick the three of you up.

“C’mon, boys there’s an REI in SoHo that I think will be more Fish’s speed.”

You led the way back outside of the people milling about, then leaned over and whispered in Jack’s ear.

“Pay up, cowboy.”

Jack grumbled and fished out his wallet, pulling a fifty out to put in your outstretched hand. Frankie raised his eyebrows questioningly and crossed his arms as you pocketed the bill in your hand.

“I bet Jack you wouldn’t last five minutes inside Bergdorf Goodman.”

Frankie snorted, then shook his head with a smile. “I saw another jacket on the way out that cost two months of my rent!”

Jack let out a huff and smoothed out his mustache, then put a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Hey, I said I was buying, Flyboy. You don’t have to worry about that today.”

Frankie twisted his lips and shifted somewhat uncomfortably. For as long as you had known him, he struggled to accept any sort of help, especially that of the monetary variety.

Your Statesman driver, Stan, pulled up a lot quicker than you thought he would considering the traffic, and you all piled in. It was about as roomy as the backseat of a car could get for three people, but you made it work with Frankie in the middle.

“Hey Stan, thanks for getting over here so fast. Could you take us to Duncan Quinn? Champ wants us to get Fish fitted.”

“Sure thing, Bourbon, sounds like fun.” Stan winked and smiled at Frankie, then pulled out of his spot and into the sea of traffic.

Jack slung his arm around the back of Frankie’s shoulders.

“Fitted?” Frankie asked, eyeing you suspiciously as your hand rested on his thigh. He was sure you were doing it on purpose to distract him. “That doesn’t sound like REI…”

“Don’t you worry, Flyboy. Duncan Quinn has been working for Statesman for years now. They’re the best at what they do, but don’t let the agents in the London office hear that.”

That gets a smile and another small grumble from Frankie. “Ok, but my hat stays on.”

Jack blinked in disbelief, and you laughed knowing Frankie was dead serious. You squeezed his thigh reassuringly and kissed his cheek.

“I don’t think you’d get away with that if you were with anyone but us, but I think they’ll let it slide.”

Sure enough, when you arrived, you were greeted by an associate who looked incredibly apprehensive until you introduced yourselves.

“Hi there, we’re with Statesman, and we need to get our friend here measured and fitted.”

Upon hearing the word ‘Statesman’, the associate’s demeanor did a complete 180.

“We’ll be lookin’ at getting him a tux and one of your Bespoke Tweed suits as well, bowtie, tie, and pocket square to match,”Jack drawled. The edge in his voice told you he had also seen the associate’s apprehension at working with Frankie, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. You both eyed the man expectantly until he cleared his throat and put his hand out to Frankie.

“Hello, and welcome in, sir. My name is Aaron, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I offer you any refreshments?”

Frankie allowed Aaron to guide him over to an alcove surrounded by three mirrors. Jack took a seat in the green leather high back armchair behind Frankie, and you took a seat in Jack’s lap.

“I’ll have your rosé, thank you.”

Aaron nodded and scurried off to get your drink.

“Relax, Fish, you’re going to be just fine. You looked great in your other suit. I can’t wait to see how handsome you look in one of these.”

Frankie fidgeted but smiled at your reflection in the mirror, standing up just a bit straighter at your praise.

Aaron returned and handed you a glass of their house rosé. Then, he turned to Frankie.

“Is this your first time getting fitted, sir?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, you’re in good hands, here at Duncan Quinn...”

You tuned out the man’s spiel and leaned back into Jack’s chest, enjoying just having his arms around you. Jack held you tight and moved to sit up a bit more, careful not to dislodge you or spill your wine. He sighed contentedly, then he rested his chin on your shoulder while you both watched Aaron work on getting Frankie’s measurements.

“I’m looking forward to dinner tonight, darlin’. Looking forward to finally having the both of you in bed tonight, too.”

A shudder ran down your spine as Jack murmured in your ear, his lips and mustache grazing your earlobe, and you squirmed in his lap.

“Me too, but we’ve got a lot to talk about first.”

He hummed. “We sure do, sweetheart, but it’ll work out. He had a lot rolling around inside that pretty little head of his.”

“Let me guess, you helped ‘quiet it’ for a bit?”

You raised an eyebrow at Jack teasingly, then leaned back and tilted your head to kiss him. You knew very well how good Jack was at that sort of thing.

Once the measurements had been taken, Aaron brought out a tux, pulling and pinning the fabric to be better suited to Frankie’s figure. You made an appreciative sound in your throat as your eyes raked over Frankie.

“Damn, Frankie.”

That was all you could manage for a moment. You could see the tux coming together, accentuating his broad shoulders, muscular back, and arms.

What was it that people said about a man in a suit?

“Our handsome little Flyboy is gonna knock ‘em dead in his tux, isn’t he, Bourbon?”

Jack said it loud enough that Frankie could hear him, and he struggled to stay still, Jack’s words igniting a warmth in his chest. Frankie had already forgone trying to keep from blushing, especially since he had known there was no way he’d be able to not blush when Aaron went to measure his inseam.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed in agreement and smiled at Frankie, noticing the way his eyes hardly ever left yours. “Damn Fish, even on base in your PT gear you turned heads, and in this, you’d fit in at any gala.”

His eyes were dark as he watched you, and when Aaron left to go get more pins, you took your chance to get up and whisper in Frankie’s ear.

“You look incredible Frankie.” Your eyes found his in the mirror as he preened, and you smiled. “Am I going to get a turn with our handsome Flyboy tonight?”

He clenched his fists and took in a sharp breath as he worked to restrain himself. You smiled, then turned to move back to your spot in Jack’s lap just as Aaron came back. Jack chuckled. You had a talent for being a tease when you wanted to be.

The next suit that Aaron went to work with was a gorgeous tweed navy pinstripe suit that made your mouth water and Jack’s fingers dig into your thigh a bit. The both of you were thinking about not only how amazing the final product would look on Frankie, but also how much fun it would be to take it off of him.

It seemed like Frankie was finally starting to relax a bit as well, and you caught him eyeing the way he looked in it appreciatively. Good, the man deserves to know he looks damn good.

Even though he was starting to feel slightly more at ease, Frankie still breathed a sigh of relief when Aaron let him know he was finished, and that the two suits would be delivered to the Statesman building.

You and Jack didn’t give Frankie a chance to be or feel awkward about paying as the both of you got up. You straightened the collar on Frankie’s shirt while Jack paid at the front. Lacing your fingers with Frankie’s, you led him back outside where Stan was waiting.

“How’d it go?” Stan asked, looking at Frankie.

“Not as bad as I thought it would be,” he chuckled, “I’m Catfish or Frankie, by the way.”

Stan nodded and shook Frankie’s hand, then Jack emerged from the shop.

“Alright Stan, we’re off to REI now. Time to reward Frankie for letting us drag him around.”

“Sounds good, Bourbon.”

The three of you piled in again, Frankie’s hand rested on your knee and rubbed small circles while he leaned back, using Jack’s arm as a headrest. Whatever lingering tension from the past week evaporated with each little touch you shared.

Frankie was like a kid in a candy store at REI. He was still hesitant at first, but after Jack threatened to buy him a kayak if he didn’t get going and find some clothes, Frankie took off and started loading a cart with an assortment of button downs, v-neck t-shirts, cargo pants and jeans.

“A kayak, Jack? Really?”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his hand wrapping around your back and coming to rest on your hip.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? It was the most ridiculous thing I could think of him trying to get back up to my place.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, and well, he was right.

After you and Jack felt like Frankie had picked out and tried on enough clothes, with no small amount of ogling on your part, the three of you decided to tackle what potential gear you’d need for Colombia. Frankie led you and Jack down his mental checklist of things you’d need: a rain jacket, boots, new clothes for while you were there, several packets of hand warmers, rope and so on. You raised an eyebrow at the rope and hand warmers. Frankie shrugged in response.

“We shouldn’t need them but if I get stuck on in the fucking Andes or if we have to cold camp again, I’m not gonna freeze. Always a good idea to have some rope on hand too.”

A flicker of melancholy threatened to take hold of the moment as you thought about Frankie, your team cold camping and stuck in the mountains… of coming home one fewer than they had set out. Jack was quick to usher you and Frankie along with him.

“Come along now Honeybees! We still have to fit all of this in Stan’s car. Bless that man, we’ll need to get him something real nice for driving us around and offering to put all of our bags up at my place while we’re at dinner.”

You smiled and tugged Frankie along with you, he was still in a stupor and red in the ears at the nickname Jack had used for them.

Frankie was still antsy about Jack paying, but he had to admit, there was something… nice about having Jack spoil him a bit.

You still had a bit before you all needed to leave to make your reservation, and you knew just the thing to do to kill some time. Stan helped load up the bags of clothes that the three of you had gotten, and you leaned in to whisper the directions of where you wanted to go next. He smiled then nodded.

“Let’s go, boys, one more stop before dinner!”

You were practically giddy with excitement as you all clambered out, and Stan promised to be back in time to take you to dinner. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw the sign, and Frankie joined him when he breathed in the smell of sugar and waffle cones that filled the street outside of the building.

“I thought some ice cream after a long day would be nice, so long as we don’t spoil our dinner.”

You said the last bit as a joke, but it fell on deaf ears. Jack and Frankie were already on their way inside. Your heart swelled as you watched them examine all of the flavors. Your boys had a sweet tooth that neither would readily admit to anyone but you. You also knew that the hemming and hawing over flavors was all just for show and free samples. In the end, you all got the same flavor: cookie dough.

The ice cream parlor wasn’t too busy, and you were able to find a small table for the three of you to share. It was almost sickeningly sweet for anyone else to watch you and your boys act like love drunk teens, your legs entangled below the table while you teased, kissed, and put ice cream on each other’s noses, then roared with laughter. None of you cared what anyone else thought. Your hearts were too busy soaring, riding the high of the care, affection and ease of being together, to even notice anyone else.

When it was just about time to leave for your reservation, the three of you wrapped up and went out to meet Stan. The car ride was quiet but comfortable. Jack played with the hair that poked out from under Frankie’s hat while your fingers were laced together with Frankie’s, resting in his lap.

The three of you arrived right on time, and the maître d saw you to a cozy half-circle booth in a dimly lit section. It was secluded enough that you didn’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on your conversations. This was a nice restaurant with amazing food, but didn’t go so far as to have a strict dress code as some others in the city did. You sat down first, scooting to the middle of the booth, and Jack and Frankie hung their hats on the booth’s hooks before taking a seat on either side of you.

A waiter appeared with a smile to take your drink order. You ordered an Old Fashioned while both Whiskey and Frankie opted for Whiskey’s namesake. The waiter left, and Frankie and Jack both dived into the menu. You felt Frankie’s thigh stiffen as he perused, no doubt in shock at the Manhattan prices.

“The ribeye here is delicious. So is their grilled salmon, and their rack of lamb is amazing.”

Frankie blanched a bit at the cost of each of the items you rattled off, thinking about how much money had already been spent on him, but nodded along at your suggestions. The server came back with your drinks and took your orders. Then, a silence bursting with anticipation fell over the table. Jack was the first to break it.

“So, what do you do when you’re not freelancing for Santiago? Private tours?”

Frankie swallowed thickly then nodded.“Yeah. At least, I used to.” He sighed, still feeling a tinge of shame at having lost his job, then took a sip of his whiskey. “I, uh, I actually got fired a couple of days ago.” Frankie’s gaze flickered to the table, his brow furrowed and his tongue peeked out over his bottom lip for just a moment. “It’s not a big deal.”

Frankie sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than he was the two of you. Both you and Jack shared a glance before turning back to Frankie. In all the years you’d known Frankie, through thick and thin, if he ever said something “wasn’t a big deal”, it was, in fact, a big fucking deal.

“What happened? Y’know, Statesman will give them a call if it’s about missing a drug test or somethin’. Ginger can get it sorted right out for you, Flyboy.”

Frankie shook his head and pressed down on the small bullseye tattoo on his left hand.

“It wasn’t a drug test.” His voice instinctually lowered to a whisper. “I thought I’d only be gone a day or two max and my boss was already pissed that I only gave him five day’s notice to do the gala job. I couldn’t guarantee when I’d be back, and he couldn’t find anyone to cover for me, so he let me go.”

He looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised and he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but the fear that tugged at the corners of his eyes betrayed him.

“Actually, it is kind of a big deal.” Frankie admitted while he fiddled with his glass and frowned. “As long as I can fly, I don’t really care what I do, but not many places are willing to look past my record.” He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the blossoming shame that stuck to his throat like molasses. “Benny’s been trying to get me to do a fight, might take him up on it to tide me over in between jobs with Pope.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Benny’s trying to get you to fight?”

“Yeah, I’ve been going to the gym to work out and help Benny train. Keeps me decent for when Pope needs me.” Frankie gave you a slight smile and barked out a little laugh. “You know me though, Halcón, I don’t like showing off or putting on a show. Besides, it’s fucking hard to ignore our training when it comes to sparring.”

You chuckled, remembering how he had put Davis in his place the day before.

“After yesterday, I think it’s safe to say you’re more than decent, Frankie.”

Frankie couldn’t help the smug grin that curled his lips. It was infectious, and your own smile quickly came to life. Jack’s did too, but one look at him told you that he hadn’t so easily forgotten about Frankie’s recent unemployment.

The waiter came out with your food and to check on your drinks. The three of you decided on another round.

“It works out since we have the mission to tend to, but you gotta tell us these kinds of things, Flyboy. Keeping it locked up inside your head isn’t gonna do anybody a lick of good. If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that nothing good comes from not communicating.”

Frankie nodded and adjusted in his seat. “It’s an adjustment, but it’s something I’m working on, that I want to work on.”

The waiter came back with your drinks then, and you could tell by the way Frankie was studying the ice cube in his glass that he was mentally preparing for what he was about to say.

“So… uh, speaking of communication, back at the safehouse, you tried talking to me about what had happened between us, and I’m sorry for mentally bailing on you both.” His gaze flitted over to Jack then back to you. “I was scared, and I know it’s a bullshit excuse. At first, I didn’t want you to regret what had happened, Halcón, and then lose you after just getting you back. But then sitting down and eating breakfast with you guys was… amazing.” Frankie’s eyes were far away and his voice wistful. He was recalling the domesticity of it all and how he had felt like it was something he would be content to do with you both for the rest of his life. “I know it was just breakfast, but it felt right, and as scared as I was and still am, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You noticed Frankie toying with his tattoo again before he continued.

“When I realized what you were starting to bring up, I panicked because as good as everything else felt, I tried a... thing with a couple up until six months ago and it... didn’t work out.”

You frowned and noticed the way Jack’s grip on his whiskey glass tightened. There was clearly more to that story, but that would be for another time.

“I shouldn’t have run away from you two though. I want to know what you want and expect. You know I’m shit at these things, Halcón, but I’m ready to put the work in.”

He was fidgeting with the silverware that sat next to his hand, and you gently placed your hand over his and squeezed his fingers comfortingly.

“It definitely wasn’t how we wanted to bring it up to you either, Frankie,” You chuckled a little, trying to ease his nerves. “I know it was a lot to try to take in, even under normal circumstances. We’ve been talking about adding a third person to our relationship for a while now,” Jack’s gaze was heavy on you and Frankie, a small smirk mirroring the hungry glint in his eyes. “With what we do, and the… things we like, it’s hard to find someone we trust. We want someone we can be ourselves around.” Your reassuring smile soothed Frankie, as you smoothed over his gun calloused hand with your thumb. “Above all else, we want someone we care about, who cares about us too.”

You paused to take a sip of your drink and make sure Frankie’s eyes weren’t glazed over in panic, but you were pleased to find he was listening intently.

“Jack already knows this, but I’ve had feelings for you, I’ve loved you for a while now, Fish, and I think you know that too. Things just never worked out.”

Frankie looked down and fought back the shame he felt rising. He knew a lot of ‘things not working out’ had to do with his addiction. Jack leaned forward and reached out, his finger lifting Frankie’s chin and forcing their gaze to meet.

“Now listen here, son, it ain’t just been you. We’ve been figuring ourselves out, too. Hell, I told you how I almost cost us millions of lives ‘cause of my own demons.” Jack’s eyes and lips were twisted by an empathetic pain he felt deep in his chest. He had an intimate understanding of the self-hatred and shame that echoed in Frankie’s eyes and he wanted nothing more than to assuage it. “We had planned on going down to Texas for your friend’s fight.” His thumb brushed over Frankie’s cheek soothingly. “The idea was that you and Bourbon could reconnect and we could see if you and I had chemistry.”

Frankie broke eye contact and swallowed thickly, a burning filled his chest as he breathed in Jack’s comforting scent mixed with the whiskey on his breath. Your heart swelled as you watched them. It wasn’t often that you saw Jack’s grounding, gentle yet firm side come out with other people, but it seemed to come naturally with Frankie.

“If I’m honest, I wanted you that first night after the gala.” Whiskey continued, his gaze falling to Frankie’s lips.“All I could think about was everything we’d done, how easy it was, and how good it felt.”

Regardless of whether or not they were drugged by Agent Red then, Jack’s husky, thick tone now reaffirmed that he still felt that way.

“That night after, I was stunned to be the person you called, but I’m glad I was able to be there for you.” Jack’s voice was tinged with disbelief and you felt an overwhelming emotion wash over you. While Frankie’s trust in Jack had been unexpected, a blind person could have seen it in the way they were together. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s lips and he scoffed as he remembered that night. “Yeah, I was scared as all hell, but waking up with you in my arms that morning… well, the only thing better would have been if Bourbon was there with us.”

Frankie nodded and inhaled, as he tried to ground himself from the shame he had almost spiraled into. His own lips quirking to mirror Jack’s nervous smile. You set down your silverware and cupped Frankie’s jaw.

“As for what we want and are expecting, well, we want you, Frankie,” Your gaze searched over his eyes and face, looking for any sign of his fight or flight instincts kicking in like they had the other morning. “We’re all going to have to communicate, but you would be just as important to me as Jack is, and just as important to Jack as I am. It’s simple, but not easy.” It was an oversimplification but at the end of the day, that’s what it amounted to. You bit your lip nervously, you were unsure of how Frankie would react to this part, especially now that you knew that he had a bad experience with a previous couple. “We would all care for, love, and support each other, which will take work, but you’re the only person I could see us doing that with, Frankie.”

“I want this,” Frankie’s voice was soft at first. “Part of me has felt like the last few days have been too good to be true. I didn’t expect...” Frankie paused and gestured in the space between him and Jack, “this or trust to be so… easy with you, Jack.”

Jack scooted closer to you then brought his hand to cup Frankie’s cheek and smiled when he leaned into the touch, the unspoken mutual feeling radiating off of them both. After a moment, Jack let his hand drop to your thigh as he kissed your temple. Frankie moved closer to you, and you took the opportunity to lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“And you know I- I love you too Halcón, I’ve… I’ve always had feelings for you.” His eyes shone with emotion as he carded his fingers through his hair nervously. After years of tamping down the words, he had finally said them out loud and he couldn’t help the grin they brought to his face “Hell, I dropped our helo a few feet to get Tom to stop staring at you when you had to change that one time.”

There was a wistful tone in the way he recounted the memory, and you let out a hearty chuckle, then slapped his arm.

“Fish, you still dropped the helo and scared the shit out of everyone!”

“You know, even then, I didn’t like people staring too long, hermosa. Tom was with Molly, and she was expecting. I just wanted to give the captain a little reminder, cariño.”

Frankie was the spitting image of the Cheshire Cat, and Jack chuckled into his whiskey glass at the sight.

“Now, I gotta side with Flyboy on this one, sweetheart, that’s fair.”

The three of you laughed, the heavy feeling at the table long gone, excitement filling its place. You all returned your attention to your respective dishes, the savory flavors pulling soft contented moans from all of you.

Your food had been devoured and your drinks were just about gone when you felt a shift in Frankie’s demeanor. His fingers trailed along your thigh under the table and his lips lingered on your neck in between kisses as he nuzzled you. A moan escaped your lips when his teeth grazed your tender skin, and you were grateful for the seclusion of the booth.

“I wanted you all day, Halcón,” Frankie murmured as he breathed you in, and Jack chuckled, then gave the waiter his card. You hadn’t even realized the waiter had returned.

“Easy, Flyboy, we should at least make it out of here before you make a mess of our girl. We can save that for another dinner.”

Jack smirked at Frankie while he pouted his lip out a bit, and your head spun when you realized what Jack was referring to. You and Jack had fooled around a bit in restaurants before, but the thought of both of them on you, teasing you, was torture.

The waiter came back with Jack’s card blessedly fast. He must have understood that the three of you had urgent plans to attend to after seeing Frankie attempting to practically devour you.

“C’mon, honey, if we don’t leave soon, I think our Flyboy is going to try to have you right here.”

Jack slid out of the booth and held his hand out for you, then chuckled while Frankie clambered out of the booth and adjusted himself as discreetly as he could.

Stan was leaning against the car, waiting with a smile on his face at the sight of the three of you, huddled close, both Jack and Frankie holding your hands.

Frankie barely restrained himself in the car. The three of you refused to send someone up to sit in the passenger seat, but the proximity meant that it was tantalizing how easy it would be to tease you.

Any remnants of self-control Frankie had disappeared after the three of you bid Stan a good night, and they had you in the elevator.

Frankie descended on you hungrily, crowding you against the elevator wall, his hand cradled your neck and jaw as he kissed you deeply. Your moans echoed off of the walls and it was like Frankie was trying to replace your oxygen with his need for you.

“Easy, Flyboy, take your time.” Jack growled as he came up behind Frankie and kissed his neck, making him shudder.

“I was in charge this morning, but tonight, we’ll follow your lead, Flyboy.”

Jack’s words pulled a moan and then a growled “fuck” from Frankie as he reached around and palmed the bulge in Frankie’s slacks. Your hand brushed against Jack’s as you brought your hands to start unbuttoning Frankie’s shirt. The elevator doors dinged before you could get further than a few buttons. Frankie’s kisses were ruinous on your fine motor control.

The three of you were a mess of tangled limbs and need as you made your way from the elevator and into Jack’s condo.

You barely made it inside before Frankie was on you again, his hands just as greedy in their exploration of your body as his tongue was of your mouth. Everything was new, yet familiar.

You had already felt his touch, heard his moans, and come undone for him, but it was like you were experiencing it all for the first time again. Unfiltered and unadulterated, it was somehow even better than when you were under the haze of Agent Red.

Frankie rested his forehead against yours, your shared breath hot and heavy against each other. Jack grunted, and Frankie smiled as he turned to kiss Jack with just as much passion and enthusiasm as he had you.

You took advantage of their distracted state and resumed unbuttoning Frankie’s shirt, the need to feel more of his hot skin beneath your fingertips driving your movements. Jack’s whine brought your attention back to them just in time to see Frankie thread his fingers through Jack’s hair. He tugged back sharply, exposing his neck where you finally saw more of the hickey you had caught glimpses of throughout the day. The sight of Frankie adding another to Jack’s neck, bending your cowboy to his will, sent heady arousal straight to your belly.

You sank to your knees, the last button of Frankie’s shirt undone, and you pushed it out of your way so you could kiss your way over his soft tummy.

Jack’s hand found your hair and pushed you down further. Smirking, and taking the less than subtle hint, you mouthed Frankie’s hard cock, still trapped in his slacks.

“Shit!” Frankie choked out from above you, making you preen and moan into the wet spot that outlined his arousal. Frankie’s hand joined Jack’s in your hair, gripping it while he ground the rough fabric of his trousers against your tongue and cheek.

A whimper left your lips. As much as you loved this, the feeling of their hands in your hair, Frankie’s self-control hanging by a thread. You needed more. You looked up to see Frankie and Jack staring down at you. Both of their gazes were hungry and dark.

Frankie’s grip on your hair tightened then slackened and he took a step back. “Bedroom, cariño, now.” His voice was raw with need, and you loved the authority in his tone.

You stood up and made your way to Jack’s room, looking back to see Frankie and Jack, hand-in-hand, not far behind you. The change in scenery refocused Frankie. His movements were no longer feverish as he let go of Jack’s hand and shrugged his shirt off. Jack steadied you from behind, hands cupping your hips while Frankie went about unbuttoning your blouse with deft fingers.

The moment Frankie tugged your blouse off, Jack kissed and nibbled on the newly exposed skin of your shoulder. Jack’s hands ghosted around to your back and undid your black lace bra, tossing it to the side. Frankie moaned appreciatively and cupped your breast. His mouth teased your nipple while Jack tweaked the other with his fingers. The sensations of Jack’s lips, his fingers, and Frankie’s mouth were simultaneously overwhelming yet comforting, and you felt like you were floating.

“Lay down on the bed, sweetheart,” Jack murmured. His honeyed voice sang through your bliss and into your awareness. Your eyes fluttered open, and you hummed in acknowledgment, then laid down towards the middle of the bed. Frankie tsked and gripped your thighs, then tugged you closer to the edge with one strong pull so that your legs dangled off the side.

You yelped in surprise, and your boys smiled adoringly down at you.

Jack quickly unbuttoned your pants, then tugged them down your legs and off, along with your panties. The soft kisses he planted from the tops of your thighs down to your knees paired deliciously with the coarseness of his mustache as he took his time, showing his adoration of you. You sighed contentedly, then looked down at him and found his eyes shining back at you in awe, a breath-taking, loving smile on his lips. He’s gorgeous, and you’re made painfully aware of the fact that he’s wearing the most of the three of you.

“You’re overdressed, cowboy,” you tease.

Frankie had shucked the rest of his clothes while Jack was tending to you, your eyes flickered to him when he took Jack’s hand in his own and tugged Jack to face him. He kissed Jack tenderly as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of Jack’s trousers and palmed him greedily. Jack’s breath hitched, and Frankie held him close with a firm hand at the back of his neck. The room was heavy with sexual tension and you ran a finger through your folds in an attempt to relieve the ache there. You were surprised at how wet you were already.

“She’s right, get undressed. I want your cock in our girl’s mouth while I fuck her tonight.”

A fresh wave of arousal hit you and went straight to your cunt when you heard Jack’s sharp intake of breath. The contrast between the tender kiss he and Frankie shared and the way sinful commands and promises rolled off of Frankie’s tongue with ease and authority made him moan.

Your whine brought their attention back to you, and Frankie took Jack’s place between your legs with a small smirk.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Halcón?”

Your fingers halted in their movements and fell to your sides, intertwining in the sheets.

“Patience, mi amor.” Frankie murmured as he sank to his knees while his fingers ghosted over your thighs, following the same trail Jack had kissed his way down. He nuzzled your curls, drinking in your scent, his hot breath tantalizingly close to where you wanted him.

“I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long, Halcón.”

You squirmed, needing more than just the whisper of a promise of his touch. Your sharp gasp and Jack's moan filled the air when Frankie gave your cunt a quick slap.

“Stay still, you’ll take what we give you, hermosa.”

Frankie looked up at you with a mischievous light in his eyes, then glanced to his side where Jack stood, and jerked his chin.

“Jack, get behind her and make sure she behaves.”

Jack smiled and sat behind you, framing your thighs with his own. His cock twitched against your back, one of his hands splayed over your stomach and the other cupped your breast possessively as he held you against his chest.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Frankie’s voice was thick with emotion as his eyes met yours, and you both moaned when he dragged a finger through your slick.

“Damn, baby, you’re so fucking wet already.”

Frankie dipped his finger inside of you, then flattened his tongue against your clit, and you cried out, sweet desperate relief to finally feel his mouth on your core. You desperately wanted to grip Frankie’s hair and hold him to you, to take your pleasure from him as his tongue replaced his finger and delved inside of you. His moan was a low guttural thing as he tasted you, and Jack chuckled, knowing what was going through Frankie’s mind.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Halcón.”

“Sweeter than a Georgia peach, and damn if she ain’t the best I’ve ever tasted, Flyboy.”

Frankie hummed in agreement and pumped his finger back inside you, adding a second, then he surged forward to kiss Jack. Their moans as Jack tasted you on Frankie’s lips glistening with your arousal made the coil in your belly tighten impossibly further. Frankie kissed you, letting you taste yourself too, then kissed his way back down your body until he was on his knees before you. Each kiss was reverent as he silently worshipped you and your body.

Frankie and Jack seemed to be on the same wavelength as Jack’s fingers teased your nipples in tandem with Frankie’s mouth and fingers.

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?”

Jack’s voice was husky in your ear as you strained against his grip on your hip. You were very nearly beyond forming words, but managed to pull yourself together enough to answer.

“Yes!”

“I’ll bet if you ask him real nice, our Flyboy might let you cum.”

Your moan was sinful, and a rambling fountain of words spilled from your mouth.

“Please, Frankie! Please, I need-”

“Please what? ¿Qué quieres? Dime.”

“You, Frankie! Need you both to fuck me!”

Your pleading was music to Jack and Frankie’s ears.

“Mmm, that’s it darlin’, begging for us all pretty like a good girl.” Jack’s mustache teased at your ear as he nipped at your earlobe.

“Soon, baby,” Frankie promised, then kissed your thigh. “I’m gonna make you cum on my tongue first.”

Jack and Frankie’s words were like liquid fire in your veins. Frankie’s fingers drew another moan from you and stoked the fire that was consuming you even higher.

“Listen to yourself, Halcón. All of those pretty little noises you’re making, your gorgeous cunt, they’re ours. Just for me and Jack, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes! Both of yours!”

Frankie’s fingers found the spot inside you that tugged at your soul, and made you see stars. Your own supernova.

“That’s it, querida. C’mon, cum for us, soak my fingers. Wanna taste you when you cum.”

The three of you were absolutely drunk on the sexual energy in the room, and Frankie’s words were your undoing. Jack’s mouth captured yours and devoured your cry of pleasure when you came. Frankie’s moan was obscene as you soaked him, and he drank as much of you as he could while he coaxed you through your high. He didn’t stop until you whined, oversensitive and limp in Jack’s strong, comforting arms. Jack cooed praises in your ear and nuzzled your cheek. Frankie stood up with a bit of a groan and took your face in his hands gently.

“Are you okay, baby?”

The love and adoration in Frankie’s eyes made your heart sing. You were more than ok. The essence of your heart was pressed firmly against your back and cupping your cheeks. It was as if you were soaring, and there, in that moment, with your heart, your boys, on either side of you, you felt whole, complete.

“I’m more than okay, Frankie.” You sighed then tugged on his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss with a bliss-drunk smile.

“Can we have you?”

There was a deep tenderness in his eyes, and you sighed when Jack kissed your temple. It made you fall in love with both of them all over again.

“Please,” you murmured, and Jack scooted back further on the bed until his back rested against the headboard. He moaned as he gave his neglected cock a few quick strokes.

“C’mere sweetheart, been thinking about that pretty mouth all day.”

You turned and crawled over to him, and heard Frankie mutter behind you.

“Mierda, you’re beautiful, baby.”

“Our beautiful baby girl,” Jack echoed as you took him in your mouth, tongue fluttering around the head of his cock and teasing the weeping slit.

The bed dipped as Frankie knelt and positioned himself behind you. He ran the head of his cock along your folds, lubricating himself with your cum before he slowly started to inch inside of you. Your moan vibrated around Jack’s cock, wrenching a curse from Jack’s lips.

Frankie leaned over your back and enveloped you with his presence while he waited for you to adjust to his size. Your velvet warmth gripped him tight as he rested his forehead on your shoulder and began to slowly grind into you. Jack grunted, then moaned when you started to bob up and down his cock.

“Do you know how long I waited, how much I wanted you… fuck, how much I want you, Halcón? How scared I was after that night?” Frankie wrapped an arm underneath you, his forearm braced against your chest and gripped your shoulder to support you and hold you in place.

“And somehow, you’re ours, but fuck, I’m yours too, baby. Yours and Jack’s… Shit.”

His voice was a raspy moan, thick with need, devotion, and love. He slides in and out of you slowly, trying to make it last, but after all of his teasing and edging you, neither he nor Jack were going to make it for much longer.

It felt like Frankie was trying to plant himself deep in your soul with each slow, powerful snap of his hips; as if he didn’t already have a permanent place there.

To anyone else it might have looked obscene, Frankie clinging to your frame as he slowly rutted into you while his love drunk gaze was locked with Jack’s. Your throat accommodated Jack’s girth, and your tongue swirled around him while you cradled his balls in your hand. Jack moaned while he cupped Frankie’s cheek, his chest wound tight with the emotion that hung above the three of you and connected you.

To anyone else, it was vulgar, but to you, to the three of you, it was like finally finding home.

Whiskey came with a muttered curse and a low groan. You swallowed as much of his load as you could as Jack rode out his high, his eyes rolled back, brow furrowed and lip pulled in between his teeth.

Frankie was desperate to make you cum again before he did. His fingers found your clit, and he set a pace slightly faster than his thrusts. He turned your head so that your lips could meet and he licked and kissed away what you missed of Jack’s cum.

The salty taste on your lips, still sweet from your drinks at dinner, were what finally pushed Frankie over the edge. He came with a guttural cry and bit your shoulder. The bite caught you by surprise and sent you hurtling off the ledge with him, his hips continuing to thrust lightly into you as he filled you.

You pulsed around his oversensitive cock in the aftershocks of your orgasm and pulled soft, pained whimpers from his lips, but he did his best to stay inside you so you could ride out your high.

Frankie slipped out of you with a quiet groan, and you flopped to one side of Jack while Frankie took the other, the three of you completely spent. With a groan you rolled out of bed, ignoring the displeased grunts of your boys, and mumbled that you needed to go to the bathroom.

When you walked back into the room you couldn’t help but smile. Frankie looked like he was fast asleep, tucked under Jack’s arm, and Jack’s heavy lidded eyes looked like they were losing the battle against sleep as he turned off the other condo lights with his phone. You turned your bedside lamp off, then took your spot on Jack’s free side and sighed.

“Love you both.”

Your voice was a whisper in the darkness, met by Jack’s own soft echo. There was quiet for a moment, and you figured Frankie had fallen asleep, only to hear his own mumbled response before you fell asleep.

“Les amo.”

WOOO! We made it friends! Thank you for reading. Reblogs and Comments are much appreciated!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please go here. If your tag doesn't work, please let me know!

Taglist:

Dick Aneurysm: @danniburgh @starlightmornings @ezrasbirdiealso @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @wyn-n-tonic @empress-palpat1ne @charnelhouse

AISB: @yespolkadotkitty @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @driedgreentomatoes @pintsizemama @neganwifey25-blog @wheresarizona @absurdthirst @sarahjkl82-blog @duchesschameleon @sherala007 @beautyagegoodnesssize @all-hallows-evie @a-bang-for-your-bucky @frankiecatfish @pascalsimp @beesting77 @janelongxox @mandocrasis @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @darnitdraco @mandocrasis @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @mad-girl-without-a-box @melispunk @kirsteng42 @punkerthanpascal @caesaryoulater @dihra-vesa @darthadeline @t3rradactyl @thou-creature-of-the-deep @amneris21

[danidrabbles]

MASTERLIST

AO3 • Taglist • Writing inspo blog (18+!!!!!) •  Ko-Fi

Jack Daniels

Cowboy Like Me (Series - ongoing) (Explicit)

You’re a Statesman agent who has recently transferred to Statesman’s Kentucky department, where Jack is assigned as your new partner. Soon, you’re thrust into the world of art theft, cyber espionage, diamond heists and assassination plots in assignments that take you all over the world, test your skills and make you face your demons while also discovering just how much the lines of your professional partnership can blur.

Pedro Across The Street

Across The Street (Series - ongoing) (Explicit)

You’re a bank worker who gets swept off her feet by the handsome man that moves in across the street. He’s a welcome distraction from your negligent, egocentric husband, so much so that you begin to dream of what it would be like to start a new life…

Javi Gutierrez

Ruined (Explicit, 2.1k words)

Risk (Explicit, 870 words)

To read more stories set in this universe, click here!

Dave York

“Aw, why are you shy now?” (Explicit, 1k words)

Addicted (Explicit, 1.1k words) A somewhat sequel to “Aw, why are you shy now?”

Addicted sequel(s) (Explicit, 701 words)

Javier Peña

Triumvirate (Series - ongoing) (Explicit, Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie)

You and Javi have been talking about inviting someone into your bed. When you do, you begin to realize you don’t know yourself as well as you thought, and you have absolutely no idea how to handle this new situation you find yourself in.

Kinktober 2021 Masterlist

OTHER / DRABBLES

“Let go, I’m ready for you” (Explicit, Marcus Moreno x f!reader)

“Make me” (Explicit, Frankie Morales x f!reader)

“Take it. I know you can.” (Explicit, Din Djarin x f!reader)

[gingersnappe-9]

Art & Writing Masterlist

Follow #gingersnappe writes for writing posts

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian

"In a Crowd of Thousands" - Din Djarin X OFC (complete)

- Bonus Content - December

Art Page - You can view the art created for this story. Character references, costumes, scenes and more!

Javier Peña

“Quisiera" Javier Peña x F!Reader

TBD

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels (Kingsman/Statesman)

"A Letter You'll Never Read" - Whiskey X Reader (one-shot)

Summary: This one is for those of us who experienced heart break before they even realized their heart wasn't entirely theirs anymore (one-shot)

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" - Frankie Morales X Reader (one-shot)

Based on a scene from The Monuments Men... Frankie gets a special present in his care package from home for the holidays

Artwork

Commission Sheet

Other Art

Zapatista de las Estrellas

Anastasia AU Teaser Image

Oberyn Martell

Boxer!Din AU

Interval

Training

Belt Loops

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian Universe

Sweet Girl Zine Pieces

A Different Way to Kiss

(Spicy) Rough Day: Chapter 16

Rough Day: Chapter 19: Draft & FinalVersion

[toxicfrankenstein]

ToxicFrankenstein's Masterlist

Updated: 10.22.2021

Latest Update: Modern Mafia Chronicles - Pero Tovar

[ JOIN A TAGLIST HERE ]

A Collection: Various Characters

The Modern Mafia Chronicles

Featuring various PP characters and popular mafia romance tropes. Imagine an arranged marriage with Maxwell Lord, a forbidden childhood romance with Pero Tovar, becoming the center of dirty fed Dave York's mad obsession. And more.

---

Dave York

Loose Ends - Assassin! (Dave York x f!Reader "Spades") x Francisco Morales

Sometimes we fall in love with monsters that don't deserve us; sometimes the saints we don't deserve fall in love with us. Dave - the killer that turned her into a weapon - the man she would burn down the world for. Frankie - the knight in armor she always dreamed of having - the only one that truly offered her his heart. And a secret life that demands she choose a side: her past or her future. And if she can't? They’ll decide for her.

The Stages of Grief - Origin Story AU, Dave York x f!Reader

David York was everything you ever needed in a partner, everything you ever wished for or thought was asking too much. He was funny, kind, adored you more than anything in the world; you were his home, and he was your rock. Until suddenly, he wasn't. He wasn't anyone you knew at all.

---

Din Djarin

Scars of Life - (Szn. 2) Din Djarin x Dar'jetii! f!Reader

Of the most precious metals and gems the galaxy has to offer, only one thing holds greater value to the Mandalorians than even pure beskar. A debt is owed, and now it's finally time to pay up.

---

Francisco Morales

Aloha ‘Oe - Hawaii Vacation AU, Francisco Morales x OFC "Kamalani”

It took Frankie 12 hours and 4,589 miles to get to Hawaii, but only one fleeting moment to fall in love. When a destination wedding turns local romance, they're both left with the same lingering question: his daughter, her home, or their new found connection? For both, the decision is simple. But what really happens when his beach vacation comes to an end?

Loose Ends - Assassin! (Dave York x f!Reader "Spades") x Francisco Morales

Sometimes we fall in love with monsters that don't deserve us; sometimes the saints we don't deserve fall in love with us. Dave - the killer that turned her into a weapon - the man she would burn down the world for. Frankie - the knight in armor she always dreamed of having - the only one that truly offered her his heart. And a secret life that demands she choose a side: her past or her future. And if she can't? They’ll decide for her.

---

Jack Daniels

The Man from Statesman - Agent! (Jack Daniels x f!Reader "Brandy")

Coming Soon

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Max Phillips

The Deal - Origin Story AU, College! (Max Phillips x Tutor! f!Reader)

You're smart, confident, and know exactly what you want. But when it comes to getting the hot and mysterious new transfer student to notice you, how to do it is a situation in its own. Somehow, you'll have to get his attention... even if that means tutoring the annoying, cocky, man-child frat boy - Max Phillips - in exchange for some pointers of his own.

---

Pero Tovar

Beyond The Wall - Canon Reimagined Fantasy, Pero Tovar x OFC "Ri"

The Great Wall wasn't designed to keep China's enemies out; it was built to keep the monsters in. The Tao Tie threaten to escape, and the last people to have seen them: mercenaries on their own conquest for magical black powder.

---

Maxwell Lord

Coming Soon

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[ezrasarm]

Angstageddon Masterlist

"Wait For Me In Fields Of Gold” by @din-damn-djarin

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din has lost his home more than once in his life. He still doesn’t know how to pick up the pieces.

“If You Love Something, Let It Go” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Summary: Javier is familiar with the concept of love, but it is not something he’ll allow himself to indulge in.

“Loving You Too Late” by @ezrasarm

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Summary: You and Frankie have loved each other for a long time. You’re just a little out of synch.

"Take What’s Broken, Make It Whole” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader

Summary: Love. It’s messy and confusing. It’s painful yet thrilling. It’s also absolutely terrifying. But maybe what you need is someone to brave your fears with you.

“Come Back To Me In Waking Dream” by @ezrasarm

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Summary: Torn apart by the forces of the universe, Ezra becomes a ghost of himself.

“But Your Lies Were So Sweet” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x reader

Summary: In his time with Statesman, Jack has gone by many names. In your experience, they were all just aliases for the same liar.

"Bound By Honor (Part 2)” by  @din-damn-djarin

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x reader

Summary: Following your betrothal to another man, a visit to Dorne stirs up feelings you would have preferred to leave buried.

[lackofhonor]

lackofhonor’s List and Recs

This is a list where I keep the bits and bobs I’ve written. Just drabbles and thoughts mainly. 

Duck Hunting - One shot with Steve Murphy and Javier Peña bonding. Set after Narcos and inspired by the scene. You know, the one with the pigeons flying away from La Catedral? Escobar has been caught but Javi hasn’t moved on from the events in Columbia. Boyd invites his friend and former partner for some R&R near his hometown. The following events ensue.

Garbage Can - Drabble.  Triple Frontier guys on a trip together a year after the events of the movie. Frankie Morales centric. Indulgent mishmash at the moment.

Housesitting - Drabble. Frankie Morales centric. Sorta funny. Indulgent mishmash. 

Distillery Tour - Drabble. Agent Whiskey centric. Indulgent mishmash. It’s Derby week and Kentucky trots out its best for all the visitors. Jack is a senior Statesman Agent, but also a senior Sales Exec. So who else would Champ drag along to this boring schmooze the Governor was hosting to encourage investment in Kentucky businesses, but him? 

RECCOMENDATIONS

These are fics I return to again and again. I adore them and I hope you do too! This list is by no means finished and I am adding as I can find good links.

The Mandalorian/The Book of Boba Fet

Stay Safe by @concussed-to-pieces - Din x Reader

Of Gorgons and Gardens @concussed-to-pieces - Din x OC x Ezra (Prospect 2018, Pedro Pascal) "Your Mandalorian employer accepts a bounty for a new target."

Midnight Special by @maybege - Boba Fett x Reader "After an exciting fling in a bar, you and Boba enter a secret relationship that mostly takes place in motels where you pay for the hour. But when your friend invites you to her family's BBQ, you meet under drastically different circumstances."

Saviin'ika by @stubbychaos - Paz Vizsla x OC "The mandalorian had come to the clinic and she was determined that she would help him. He ended up helping her endure by giving her hope."

Asterism by @plexflexico - Pax Vizsla x OC "He had been a semi-regular customer for the last cycle or so, coming in every few days. A Mandalorian, huge and heavily armored in blue. At first it was just for a drink, taken through a drinking tube pushed up under his helmet. After a few months, likely after he learned more about you through the grapevine that seeds gossip in any town like yours, he started paying you for information along with his fiery beverages..."

The Diva and her Bodyguard by @primarybufferpanel - Paz Vizsla x OC "Diva Loysia, an interplanatary-famous dancer who is failing at the retiring thing, gets a Mandalorian bodyguard. Paz gets a job. It has some excellent benefits."

Rough Day by guardianangelcas - Din x OC "Who knew that agreeing to babysit a bounty hunter’s weird, green little child would be so full of surprises."

Clone Wars/The Bad Batch

Coriolis Effect by @uponrightful - Crosshair x OC "Crosshair is a master at his craft. A marksman of impossible finesse, who can account for any complication should one arise. After all, a sniper has to make one shot count. But even the most renowned sniper of the GAR can't account for everything. That just happens to be the Weapons Director stationed in Kamino."

Welcome Company by @uponrightful - Commander Wolffe x OC "Commander Wolffe experiences something he won't ever forget about."

Dinner by Cowardice - Commander Fox x Reader "Commander Fox needed caf. You worked part time as a barista. Somehow, you both ended up on your couch that evening."

Gar Cabur by @wanderinginksplot - Alpha-17 x OC "You were assigned to do some administrative tasks on Kamino, writing a full series of reports about this clone army. No one warned you that the young cadets would be so friendly... or so flirty. Alpha-17 takes pity on you and helps you scare the troopers away."

Sanguine by Glimmerglanger - Commander Cody x Obi Wan Kenobi "A canon AU with vampire Obi-Wan Kenobi detailing the events of the Clone Wars. Everyone said synth was just like real blood. The Healers in the Temple had said so from the time Obi-Wan became aware that his dietary requirements did not align with those of his crèchemates. That realization had coincided neatly with an awareness of the fact that, perhaps, his crèchemates met his dietary requirements."

From What We Cannot Hold by theboldsnake - Jango Fett x Reader "Having been born and raised a slave on Tatooine, you’ve come to accept the hand life has dealt you. Until a series of unfortunate events has you joining the mysterious Jango Fett to take on a job you never expected to have. Now, you’ve got a whole new job and a stoic bounty hunter who’s come to mean a lot more to you that you’re willing to let on."

Meticulous, Compulsive, Perfect by brindletygr - Dogma "He didn't want to be Dogma anymore."

Jaded by RubyStiff89 - Crosshair X Reader - "This started as a one-shot between everyone's favorite war criminal and a nurse who matches him pound-for-pound but has since become MASH in Space with a good dosage of angst given where it happens in the timeline"

Written In Ink by RubyStiff89 - Tech x Reader - "A Tech/Reader fic in which Reader is a Journalist for the Coruscant Free Post but has a sketchy history as she is originally from Raxus. Tech is an avid reader of her work as she speaks out against corrupt senators. Reader is sent on a secret mission Padme Amidala where she meets Tech and the ultimate long burn ensues because I cant imagine my characters touching hands before 50k words or kissing before 100k. Fic is set just before Umbara and ends after Order 66."

Translation Error by @cyber-nya - Commander Wolffe x Reader "Commander Wolffe doesn’t do well with protocol droids or relief efforts. He’d rather be out on the front line, fighting the war. Instead, he’s stuck delivering supplies to outer-rim planets who have requested the help of the Republic. General Plo Koon says they’re orders, says that it’s a necessary part of war. Wolffe knows this, but it also means he’s stuck working with a blasted protocol droid... until you show up."

Fate's Twisted Humor by allisgalaxy - Commander Wolffe x Reader "You owe a debt to Jedi Master, Plo Koon, yet you never thought the Jedi would actually call in your favor. At this point in your life, while you're in the midst of taking down an evil man from your past while learning how to control your terrible ability, this call from Master Plo is not appreciated. What's even worse than being taken from your sanctuary and forced into the midst of a war is the domineering, arrogant commander you're forced to work with. Sometimes the cruel gods of fate despise you."

Fox and Mouse by @detroitbydark - Commander Fox x OC "Secretary!reader finds herself wanting to help her Commander. It’s her job. It certainly is not because she’s got a foolish crush. The Commander certainly doesn’t feel the same…"

Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now by @detroitbydark - Scorch X OC X Sev "A surprise acquisition leads to questions in Kyrimorut. Sev, Scorch, and Wal'buir are left to question the meaning of family, loyalty, and love."

Infinite Errors by @detroitbydark - Crosshair X OC "A series of pieces focusing on the things we say and the things we don't -or- Crosshair doesn't see it coming until it's too late."

Listen Real Closely by @priortoallthoughts - Delta Squad x OC "Delta squad was tasked with destroying the anti-aircraft bunker during the first battle of Geonosis. Mission parameters change slightly when they find a woman and have to get her out alive so they can discover why she was there in the first place. They can do it, but what will it mean for them in the long run?"

Don't Mess with the Commander's Caf by @priortoallthoughts - Commander Fox x Reader "What is supposed to be a night out at 79s turns into a night in the drunk tank, and the morning starts a startling new relationship with a certain Coruscant Guard Commander. All over a cup of caf."

Pedro Pascal Characters Misc

With Cherries On Top by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa - Max Phillips (Bloodsucking Bastards) x Reader "After countless late nights and giving up important things in your life for a job and a man that refuses to promote you, your family begs you to quit when you break it to them that you have to miss your grandmother’s 85th birthday. Max Phillips may have left the country an American citizen but he came back an undead vampire, meaning his status in the States is no longer valid. In order to not get deported to Romania, he tells immigration that the two of you are getting married and he strikes a deal to make it worth your while."

Late July by @concussed-to-pieces - Agent Whiskey (Kingsman: The Golden Circle) x Reader "Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind."

Waxing Gibbous by @chews-erotically - Ezra (Prospect 2018)xReader "You are a nurse on the Green moon contracted to care for a group of prospectors. An act of violence forces you to flee your camp. Ezra finds you."

They Were Roommates by @f0rever15elf - Pero Tovar (The Great Wall) x Reader "A dangerous night leads to an interesting living arrangement between you and one grumpy Spaniard."

I Couldn't Do This With Anybody Else by @longitud-de-onda - Frankie "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier) "Reader, dealing with the lasting effects of her family's abuse, has a panic attack while dealing with some other issues and building a shed, and Frankie comes to help."

Force Majure by @plexflexico - Frankie "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)X OC Paz Vizsla (The Mandalorian) X Agent Whiskey (Kingsman: The Golden Circle) x Ezra (Prospect 2018) "force ma·jeure /ˌfôrs mäˈZHər/ Definition: An irresistible compulsion or greater force."

To Tell You The Truth by @concussed-to-pieces - Ezra (Prospect 2018) x Reader "Our story begins in the Green, after a certain meeting that culminates in an explosive Truxican standoff..."

[psychedelic-ink]

Million Dollar Man | Chapter One - Moral of the Story

series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales

chapter summary: You and Jack fly out to San Francisco to investigate a man that might have something to do with the disappearance of Agent Malibu. During all of this the two of you run in to Frankie, the one that got away, or rather, the one you had to let go of.

word count: 8.6k (whoops)

a/n: alright this was originally requested for drabble week by @lovesthunder buut inspiration struck me and it ended up being a whole ass series-- sorry if this wasn't quite what you wanted but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

chapter warnings: airplane s.ex, dirty talking, mild exhibitionism, mirror kink, choking, overstimulation, oral (giving), cumming in mouth, lots of nicknames being used by Jack (buttercup, baby girl, sugar etc.), jack being an asshole, swearing, statesmen agent!reader, canon typical violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of past breakup with jack, mentions of human trafficking, fake relationship trope, mentions of reader using alcohol and weed, reader being shorter than Jack, age gap, reader wears a dress

special thanks to @inklore who always encourages me to write and beta-read this for me xx

some parts of the smut scene was inspired by @ezrasbirdie's fic Rare please check it out because it's amazing and I love it so much &lt;;33

masterlist | series masterlist | playlist | series inspo board | AO3

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It’s official, you hate your life. 

You hate your job, the city you live in, your boss and most of all, you hate the man sitting next to you, a smug grin spread across his annoyingly handsome face. You hate it. You want to punch him in his perfect teeth. 

“Just bare with it,” Champ had said the week before with a knowing, yet playful gaze. “It’ll be over before you know it, you’re a Statesman, you can handle him,” 

That day you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs. No you couldn’t handle him. No one could handle the nuisance that was Agent Whiskey. Jack. Fucking hell. How the two of you ended up dating was beyond you– Actually no it wasn’t. He’s ridiculously charming and humored the essence of a broken man, just your type, you love to fix things, living breathing people included. One of the main reasons you became a Statesman in the first place. You foolishly believe you can fix everything and everyone. 

With the corner of your eyes you stare at him. Before you even boarded the plane he’d called shotgun, even though this wasn’t a god damn car, and said he would be sitting at the window aisle. He’s a literal child. But, to be fair, you couldn’t care less about where you’re seated. And now, with a smug smile– you’re starting to suspect it’s the only expression he can pull off while he’s with you– he stares out of the window watching the other passengers board. You’re surprised he’s still wearing his pinch front cowboy hat, you imagine it would be uncomfortable when you’re that close to the window. 

Your eyes linger further down, with much frustration you notice his clavicles peeking  from under his basic white tee. Jack already had shedded himself out of his leather jacket, the one you bought him while the two of you were dating, so fake leather. You instinctively roll your eyes when you remember how much he had thrown a hissy fit over it. 

Then again, it’s been two years since the break up, there’s something heartwarming about him still wearing it. 

You jump when his left knee brushes against your own and you immediately click your tongue with annoyance, among the many infuriating habits this man possesses he’s also a manspreader. Just great. This flight lasts about four hours, what on earth are you supposed to do? 

Sleep probably, when you think about it. 

Just as you’re about to pull your gaze away, you notice that he’s staring at you. His brown eyes remind you of molten amber, darkness with gold specks winking at you when the light just hits right. He squints, the look he’s giving you swallows you whole. It makes your heart race and heat spur between your legs. Just a look and he reduces you to a teenage mess, it’s embarrassing. The most unnerving part is that you never know if he’s aware of what he’s doing or just winging it. According to Ginger Ale, he has no idea. You remember the look she gave you when you said Jack was the best you ever had, a soft yet firm lover, apparently that wasn’t the image he was giving. 

Not that it matters anymore, him and his lovemaking is gone from your life. Forever. 

“Whatcha thinking there pretty thing?” 

He rolls his tongue just the way you like it, a slight purr deep in his voice summoning you like a demonic chant. Your nostrils flare as you breathe and you forcefully rip your gaze away from him, staring at the plastic back of the seat in front of you. Jack spreads his legs further, knee pressing into yours, it’s deliberate this time. You pull away your leg. 

“Come on now birdie, don’t be like that,” 

“Like what?” 

“Like this,” he gestures towards you, “You look madder than a wet hen and this time I know I ain’t done nothing wrong yet. We just boarded the plane for christ’s sake,” 

“Well maybe you don’t have to do anything to get on my nerves. Your mere presence is enough,” 

“Ouch.” 

“Just leave me alone Jack, go look out your window you so desperately wanted,” 

“I thought we were using code names, Agent Greyhound,” then his eyes lit up with a sudden burst of epiphany. The corner of his lips curl all the way up and he leans closer to you, breath ghosting across your skin as he speaks. “So you’re mad that I called shotgun first? Is that what’s got your panties in a twist?” 

Your face heats up at the allegation, he’s insufferable. You’re going to kill him. You’re literally going to kill him and no one on this fine earth is going to stop you. You aggressively fish out your headphones from the bag and attempt to cover your ears in hopes to blast some music to forget all about him. However, before you can, he grabs them and tilts his head, his gaze mocking, as if he’s apprehending something from a child. 

“Nuh-huh,” he tuts. “We’re about to fly soon and you know you can’t use electronics while the plain lifts sweetheart,” 

“Fine,” you cross your arms against your chest and stick your bottom lip out. Now you actually feel like a kid. “I called you Jack because we’re out and about, our names are on the tickets anyway– Also, I’m not angry about the seating arrangement but you can’t call shotgun on a plane. This isn’t a car.” 

“Ah, so you are angry about something,” 

“For the love of god just let. It. Go.” 

“Well where’s the fun in that doll,” he winks. He god damn winks at you and your heart skips a beat. “Here’s how this is gonna go, either you tell me or I keep on guessin’,” 

“Fine, fine!” you raise your hands, voice high pitched. “You’re my ex Jack! Obviously I didn’t want to go on this mission with you, are you happy now cowboy? Was that so hard to understand?” 

Your heart sinks when he grins– he fucking grins– and it’s accompinied by the most devilish gaze you’ve ever seen him pull off. He wanted you to break. Wanted to see you snap and show him that you still care about what happened two years ago. The man played you like a fiddle and you were dumb enough to fall for his tactics. Statesmen, you think, shaking violently, They’re all too smart for their own damn good. 

“Very much so sugar, yes,” he leans back into the comfort of his seat, throwing the headphones into your lap. “Enjoy your music and shitty youtube videos,” 

Ah yes, another reminder why the two of you broke up. He’s probably the most manipulative person you’ve ever met and he was actually good at it. Again, the curse of being involved with a Statesman. 

With a huff you aggressively put on your headphones but don’t play any music, you eye him as he rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, dark eyelashes kissing his upper cheeks. The crease between your brows deepens, so he gets to relax while you’re simmering with anger and annoyance, what kind of fairness was that? 

You still aren’t quite sure why he wanted you to spill your guts. Maybe he just enjoyed stirring you up? Or maybe he just wanted to be an asshole, whatever it was, it made your brain hurt. Your mind wanders to the past, the events leading up to your breakup and the aftermath. The main issue was, of course, his massive ego and his lack of control. He got so angry at any inconvenience that his negative behavior managed to seep in through your own hardened exterior. Jack also wasn’t the most honest with you, you were aware that something bothered him deep down– Maybe it was PTSD from the constant missions but whatever it was he refused to open up to you which in return made you wonder why be in a relationship with someone who clearly didn’t trust you. 

The breakup hadn’t been as messy as it could’ve. Jack actually understood where you were coming from and left without leaving a trace of evidence that the two of you were ever together. It was the same at work. To be honest if it wasn’t for Ginger and Tequila talking to you about it you probably would’ve thought this was all some kind of big hallucination your mind made up to cope with the loneliness. 

But it wasn’t. 

The first time you caught a whiff of him being with someone else, a casual hookup, it hurt like hell. It felt like someone had burned you from the inside out, taking your heart along with it. You wanted to hurl yourself out of the nearest window. You didn’t want to think about the same hands that touched you, cared for you, touching and caring for someone else. Jack had that effect. The man lingered even after he left. His touch, his lips, the tickle of his finely groomed mustache. Still to this day you feel him against your skin, it was like a disease that you couldn’t heal from, no matter what you did. 

And man did you try to get rid of that disease. So much so you even begged Ginger to make you a potion or something, a heartbreak cure. Unfortunately science hadn’t gone that far yet. 

You did come close, however, when you met someone else. Someone new. He was kind, nice, and didn’t seem to mind the fact that you were essentially using him as a stepping stone to heal. He was a pilot and worked with the army. He was everything that Jack wasn’t, he made you feel good, feel happy. 

That relationship lasted for about two months. 

One of the worst parts of being a Statesman, the part that no one seemed to talk about, was the fact that you had to keep it a secret from your loved ones. 

Your excuses for the multiple cuts and bruises you came home with quickly ran out, and one day, when it was evident that you were stabbed– A wound so big that you couldn’t simply say you cut yourself in the kitchen– you broke up with him. He got too worried, fearing it was the result of self-harm. Sadly you had to let him go, which made you fall into another dark spiral. 

At the time you weren’t sure what hurt you the most: The fact that Jack had moved on so easily, basically being a manwhore, or the fact that you had to break up with a man that cared for you and knew how to show it. Maybe it was impossible for you to date anyone else other than Jack, he was the one who knew your job, understood the heavy weight that came with it. Thankfully you had Ginger, your best friend who pulled your ass out of the self pity pit and actually helped you heal, the wounds still linger but at least you weren’t burying your pain in alcohol and endless amounts of blunts– Which was something Jack would be furious about, the man did not like drugs, not even weed. You still had no idea why, you assumed it was connected with the whole ‘bottled up secrets’ thing. 

And after a year, you were properly better. At least you thought you were until Champ had given you this god forsaken mission. 

Blinking heavily you noticed that the plane had finally taken off, everyone was seated, chattering and much to your surprise you’re holding Jack’s forearm, fingers digging into his bare skin. 

“You alright there buttercup?” 

Shit. 

You quickly yank your hand away and furiously place it upon your lap. You can hear the hostess approaching but for some reason you can’t look up at her either. Your pulse is quick, you feel your entire body heating up. This is why immersing yourself in flashbacks is bad. And it isn’t like you’re scared of flying or anything which makes you even more confused as to why your body decided to hold his arm. You can feel his eyes against your skin, gaze scorching. It makes your stomach do somersaults. He asks again, this time a hint of command in his tone. He’s technically above you in the food chain so it’s a tone you’re accustomed to. 

“I asked if you’re alright, buttercup, yes or no,” 

“Yes,” you hiss between clenched teeth. “I’m fine, just…thinking about stuff– Don’t worry about it,” 

You meet his gaze, he looks almost angry, dark brows furrowed and lips slightly parted and curled down. You feel yourself instinctively becoming smaller, hunching and bending your neck. He’s not angry. He’s worried. It was hard to distinguish since he makes the same face, so to read Jack, you also need context, or you’ll never be able to tell. His gaze lingers a second longer before meeting the hostess’s soft blue eyes, his lips form a smile, eyes sparkling. 

“Why howdy there,” he slurs his words. “Aren’t you a pretty lookin' thing, they make you carry that whole cart all by your lonesome self?” Jack shakes his head with disapproval, clicking his tongue at the same time. “Shame on them,” 

You roll your eyes and whisper silently enough so it’s only him that hears your words. 

“It’s her job dickwad,” then you smile at the hostess but she’s not looking at you, she’s looking back at Jack, a soft blush darkening her cheeks. Oh brother. “Can I have milk coffee and biscoff cookies, please?” 

The hostess doesn’t tear her gaze away from Jack, her lips curling up into a flirty smile. Shifting your gaze back to Jack you notice that he’s practically eye fucking her– You roll your eyes again, this time they go all the way back, only the whites of your eyes showing.  

“Of course ma’am,” 

She hands you what you want, eyes still glued to Jack’s, and an intense feeling of jealousy flares deep within your chest. Despite that, you nonchalantly open the package of cookies and begin to nibble on one as you try your best not to squeeze the paper cup filled with hot coffee. 

“And for you, sir?” 

She’s purring like a goddamn cat, your nostrils flare and this time you take a sip of your coffee. Jack licks his lips, his eyes shifting momentarily to you before turning back to the hostess. 

“A glass of whiskey would be just fine darling– Oh and some pretzels if you can spare ‘em,” 

A sudden groan rips from your throat and two pairs of eyes turn to you, one looking amused and the other embarrassed. Your own eyes going wide, you cough with expertise, hoping that’ll be enough to make them think you’re choking on your hot beverage, which you actually hope will happen at this point to be honest. 

“You alright there?” he asks, smiling. “Got something caught in your throat?” 

You cough once more for good measure and turn to him with the most fake smile you can muster. 

“I’m fine, it just went down the wrong pipe,” 

The hostess, who probably feels the tension rising, quickly hands Jack his whiskey and pretzels, then she walks away to serve the other passengers. 

“It went down the wrong pipe, huh?” Jack mused, twirling the glass. “Sounds to me like you got a tad bit jealous there, sugar,” 

Your eyes follow the way he twirls his glass, his fingers thick around the smooth surface, wet with the aftermath of melting ice. Such a simple gesture yet you find yourself swallowing and licking your lips. You can imagine those same fingers squeezing around your throat with ease, his lips pressed against your ear as he whispers the most filthiest of things– 

You furiously shake your head, this time taking a large bite out of your cookie. 

“Well you heard wrong then,” you say as you chew, your voice sounding hesitant even to you. “I wouldn’t care even if you fucked her brains out in the toilet– My mind is occupied with much more important things, like our mission,” 

He laughs, chest rumbling as he places his free hand on top of his stomach. Your heart, sadly, flutters at the sound.

“Maybe I’ll do just that then,” he mutters, eyes turning away from you and gazing out the window. “Since you care so little,” 

He takes a sip out of his drink, which gives you the perfect opportunity to stare at his neck, you consume the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down– Shit, you really should’ve got laid before this mission. This amount of horniness isn’t normal. 

Your gaze slides back to his face, he’s still staring out the window, a solemn expression decorating his countenance. You shrug and finally look away, since the plane was now in the air you were free to listen to your music now. 

“Do whatever, I don’t care.” 

But you did care. 

Which was how you ended up bent over the sink inside of the small airplane bathroom with Jack’s fingers digging into your hips as he rocks into you. 

Everything had happened in a blur. You fell asleep for about an hour, woke up with your head draped over Jack’s broad shoulder with his fingers lazily drawing circles against your thigh. Still deep in your sleepy haze the worst happened, a soft moan made its way out of your lips. And that was a clear invitation for Jack to lean into your ear and whisper.

“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” 

As soon as your boot passed the threshold of small space, Jack grabbed your wrist and pulled you in, claiming your lips in a hungry, bruising kiss. You gave in immediately, much to your embarrassment. 

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes for me now will ya’ ” 

You gasp. 

“No,” 

You can’t. You can’t bare to have the image of Jack fucking you like one of his conquests engraved in your brain. Especially since you already have a decent enough image in your mind of how the two of you look like. You; lips parted with ecstasy and eyes glistening with tears of pleasure. Him; eyes dark with lust, veins popping across his neck with an almost deranged look. 

His cock feels the same, if not better, hips angled in a way he knew you liked, hitting that special spot deep inside you again and again. Your eyes might be closed but they do roll back, teeth clenched painfully as you bite back every noise that threatens to claw its way out of your throat. To that, he answers by pulling almost all the way out, only the tip remaining inside, and slams his hips with such a force that your ass ripples. He grunts as he stays buried inside, breathing heavily against your neck. Jack darts his tongue out and licks the salt from your skin. You tremble, slick dripping down your thighs and legs. 

“You know what I want,” he groans. “Fuck, I’ve missed the feeling of this pussy so bad, doll,” 

“Shut up,” you rasp. “Just shut up,” 

He ignores you completely, hands skimming up your figure and gripping your breasts. You whimper. 

“How was it now– The way you used to say my name– Come on girl say it like you always do,” he grinds his hips, facial hair tickling the shell of your ear. “Jaaaaack,” 

Your eyes snap wide open, lips parting with a sudden whine. 

He’s fucking moaning in your ear. He’s moaning his own god damn name. You’re going to cry. Your heart beats in your throat, ears ringing and skin positively burning. Shit, he’s making it really hard to keep your cool. 

“Jaaack,” he moans again, tongue grazing against your ear as he rolls his hips. “Jack, Jack, Jaack–” 

“I’m not,” your breath hitches. “I’m not going to say your name,” 

“Jaack,” this time he bites into your shoulder and shallowly begins to thrust his hips. “Come on now, say it, or else I stop,” 

Teeth nibbling your skin, his one hand slides down your body, fingers brushing upon your aching clit. You jump at the feeling, brows furrowing as you moan. 

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Good girl, now do that again but while saying my name, pretty,” 

You’re sweating– actually sweating– as he twirls the sensitive nub between his fingers. The way he rolls his hips makes your head spin, it’s slow yet he makes you feel every inch. Your eyes finally shift to the mirror, you’re radiating with pleasure, forehead coated with a thick layer of perspiration while a bit of spit dribbles down the corner of your parted lips. Jack is still nestled behind your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours through the reflection. A sharp breath fills your lungs and your cunt squeezes around his cock, you can see the corner of his lips rising from behind your damp shoulder. 

“You see it too don’t you,” he purrs. “How pleased you look, how fulfilled you seem with my cock parting you nice and wide– You’ve missed this buttercup, admit it,” 

His fingers speed up and your head falls back, you bite back your moans, neck bursting with the veins that lurk under your skin as you try not to give him the satisfaction of proving him right. But he is. God dammit you know he is. You feel so good. Almost sedated with the way your mind finally falls silent. You need to feel his strength, more of it, your nails drag against the porcelain surface of the sink. Your mind is flashing you multiple signs, screaming ‘you’ll regret this’ but you can’t help it, you were already in too deep, literally and figuratively. 

“Neck,” you grit out. “Put your hand on my neck,” 

Jack’s eyes sparkles with intrigue, pupils hiding all the color of his eyes. You shudder when he places a tender kiss against the back of your shoulder, the gesture soothes your very being, convincing you that this is the way it was always meant. He slides his hand that was kneading your breast to your neck and squeezes. 

Your eyes roll back, a moan falling freely from your lips. It feels so good. So fucking good. Your eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed as you begin to move your hips in time with his thrusts. A sense of fulfillment washes over you, so warm, so familiar. 

“Jack,” 

His hips speed up, lewd noises of skin slapping against skin filling the tiny bathroom. 

“Jack,” you moan again, his fingers tightens around your throat, squeezing your windpipe. “Jack, Jack, Jack– Fuck,” 

“That’s right baby, just say my name, it sounds so right on your tongue,” 

“I’m gonna cum,” you words slur, your one hand now clawing the arm that holds your neck. “I’m gonna cum, make me cum– Jack please!” 

“Shit– Okay baby girl, okay– I’ll make you cum since you asked so nicely,” 

He quickly brings you to the edge. Cock sliding in and out as his fingers play with your clit, drawing quick, short circles. Your skin tingles, pussy twitching and drooling as the coil tightens and tightens, until it finally snaps– 

White flashes before your eyes as you lunge forward, face only an inch away from the mirror as his grip on your neck dissipates and falls to your hip. Your legs shake, slick dripping to the floor and coating his cock. Jack groans, eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. The aftermath of your orgasm still sends waves of pleasure up your body, your heart clenches, everything feels so intense, too much. You breathe heavily. 

“Just a bit more sugar, just a bit more,” 

Before you can reply he pulls out, pushing you down to your knees. By pure instinct you open your mouth and allow him to shove his cock deep in your throat. He never cums inside, some part of your mind reminds you, you might be on the pill, or using a condom, it doesn’t matter. He never finishes when he’s buried deep no matter how many times you asked him to while you were lingering on the fine line of consciousness and subspace. Another thing you have no idea why he does.

You’re viciously pulled away from your thoughts when your chin strains at the thickness of his length. Your nostrils flare as you moan at the taste of yourself along with the taste of him coating your tongue. He uses your mouth, thrusting freely with his hands holding each side of your face, this time he moans out not his own but your name. It makes you swallow around him and he finally spills down your throat. Jack’s far gone as he continues to shallowly rock his hips between your lips, his cum heavy against your tongue. He chases after the euphoric taste of his orgasm, broken moans falling one after another. 

Tears flood your eyes, blurring your vision as you try to swallow everything he gives. He holds your head in place and when everything finally becomes too much you slap his thigh, and in return he looks down at you bleary. Jack slowly pulls out, traces of spit and cum smearing across your lips. He tucks himself in and helps you up, surprisingly he kisses you, tongue moving across your own as he moans at the residue of himself lingering in your mouth. 

When he breaks the kiss your lips are left swollen, eyes still unable to see clearly. 

“That was nice now, wasn’t it buttercup,” he mutters. “You good?” 

You nod, he looks you up and down but doesn’t pry. 

“Do you wanna go first or should I?” 

“You can go first,” your voice cracks. 

“Alright, see you at the aisle sugar,” 

With that he leaves, the door closing shut behind you. 

Your eyes shift to the mirror, you look absolutely ruined. There’s no way you can go out looking like this. With a sudden rush of embarrassment and rage, you open the faucet and furiously splash your face with cold water. You can’t believe that happened. And you certainly can’t believe you allowed it. 

He fucked you in the airplane bathroom. 

And you went along with it. 

You enjoyed it. 

Shit. 

When you’re convinced your face is cleaned of sweat, cum and spit, you rip out a couple of paper towels and dry yourself. You fix your hair, wipe off your smudged lipstick and adjust your clothes. You hate to admit it, but you do feel refreshed. After all these years Jack still knows how to push your buttons. Your insides clench around nothing, you already miss feeling him deep inside. 

Taking in a deep breath, you leave the bathroom. 

You’re in no way the type of person to be ashamed of having sex. It felt good, it was what people were meant to do, there was no shame in it. 

But man you’ll be lying if you don’t say that the walk back feels like the most horrifyingly awkward experience ever. 

You’re positive that everyone on this plane just heard you getting your insides rearranged by Jack, there was no way they didn’t hear you, right? Everytime you meet someone’s unwarranted glance you want to hide, you’re not sure what those glances imply, not that you wanted to know. You just want to take your seat and sleep, this flight has gone on long enough. 

Jack’s grinning at you when you sit down, his hand immediately finding your thigh and gently squeezing the sore muscle. You glare at him and slap his annoying limb away. 

“Don’t say a word,” you snarl. “Don’t touch me, look at me or even breathe in my direction,” 

This only makes his stupid grin even wider, eyes gleaming with misconduct. You never should’ve let him fuck you. Big mistake on your part. Huge.

“That wasn’t what you were saying five minutes ago, darling,” he lowers his voice into a whisper, sounding like honey on buttered bread. “Jack, Jaack,” 

Heat rushing across your body, you jolt, your hand shoots out and you grab his cheeks between your fingers. 

“I’ll kill you,” you reply, voice an octave lower to emit murderous intent. “I swear to god I’ll kill you and everyone else will thank me for it,” 

“Now you’re just breaking my heart baby girl,” he doesn’t mean it, he sounds incredibly smug. “And after I’ve treated you so well? It’s true what they say, you really can’t win no matter what you do,” 

“Stop playing the victim,” 

“Stop being so angry with me,” 

His cheeks are still squished between your fingers, he physically can’t smile but you see it in his eyes. Finally letting out a languid breath you let go and stare at your unfinished coffee and biscuits. When you do, he rubs his chin and taps his fingers against the side. 

“Was it really that bad?” 

“It wasn’t,” you murmur, taking a biscuit. “That’s the problem,” 

He doesn’t say a word, only stares at you before leaning down and fishing out his book from his carry on. You see the title: The Magic Mountain. 

You want to ask him what it's about but decide against it. Silence with Jack is always better.

San Francisco. The Golden City. A place you’ve never been to before. 

You take in a deep breath, it smells different, more airy, if that makes any sense. Kentucky, the state where the Statesmen base was located, was hot, humid. Most of the time it made you want to peel your skin off. But here, you can already tell that the air was lighter around you, a bit more cooler. It made you smile. It was already dark out, the lights of the streetlamps and cars bright.

Finally the two of you were out of the plane and out of the airport, luggages by your side as you both put on the classic Statesmen glasses on. 

“Ginger you there?” you speak as you look to your right and left, when it seems safe you cross the road, Jack following your trail. 

“I’m here,” she replies, soft voice modulated. “How was the flight?” 

“It was…fine…” 

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” she muses. “Let me guess, you fell for his antics–” 

“Ginger!” you gasp, side-eyeing Jack. “He’s in the call with us,” 

“Oh, I know,” 

“Will you two shut your damn pie holes and get to work,” he sighs, nostrils flaring as he drags his suitcase behind him. “Give us another brief of the mission Ginger Ale, why we’re here, where we need to go–” 

“Sure thing Agent Whiskey,” you hear the soothing clicks of a keyboard and her modulated voice follows. “So, as the two of you already know, women have been being kidnapped from all over the country, we suspect it’s trafficking. The Statesmen are involved both because the police can’t seem to solve the case and because Agent Malibu is among one of the women who got napped,” 

Even if she can’t see you, you nod and your heart clenches in your chest a bit. You’ve seen Agent Malibu a couple of times, she was a kindhearted soul with curly brown hair, brown skin and deep brown eyes. You didn’t really have the pleasure of working with her but she was family, all of the Statesmen were your family by extension.  

“Your mission is to rescue the women and find Agent Malibu,” a couple of more clicks and she continues. “The person you’re looking for is a man by the name Albert Dunn. Caucasian, male around his thirties. We suspect he might be the second in command. He’s a regular at the Everest Nightclub, which the two of you should be heading in an hour, as a couple–” 

You groan. 

“Why do we have to go as a couple?” 

“It’ll be easier to blend in. You, Agent Greyhound will be Hana Sanders and Agent Whiskey you’ll be Bruce Powell. I got your ID’s sorted,” 

“I don’t think Whiskey’s going to need an ID,” you turn to him with a wide grin. “He’s basically a fossil at this point,” 

“Hardy har-har,” he replies, unamused. “Don’t act smug with me girl. Especially when you’re the one dying to get screwed by one of them fossils,” 

Your eyes widen and your smile disappears, you want to smack him. You really do, even if you were the one to initiate the back and forth.  

Ginger coughs, diverting both your attentions back to her. 

“Anyway… You two should be in the club in about an hour. I would suggest taking a hot shower– separately if you can– and head out. Good luck agents,” 

Great, another needless jab from Ginger. Wasn’t she supposed to be your friend? 

You shake your head, right now you need to focus, you have a job to do. Play time is officially over, agent Malibu was in danger and needed your full attention. 

Luckily the hotel isn’t far away so it takes about twenty minutes to reach it. Jack grumbles a bit about needing a drink but acts kindly towards the hotel staff, the lobby boy carries your luggages– unbeknownst to him filled with guns and weaponry– Jack then tips him generously. You thank the young lobby boy and he scatters off, leaving you and Jack with the card key to your shared room.

It doesn’t surprise you that there’s one bed. 

Of course it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. You were supposed to be a couple. But still, the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him after all these years makes you feel uneasy. You step in first, observing the hotel with a quick scan of your eyes, it’s nice, quite luxurious actually. Right across from you is a wall of windows, it shows you the magnificent view of the Golden City, lights of the buildings mimicking the shinty stars above. Other than that there’s a lot of white. White curtains, white couch, white bed with small chocolates left on the pillows. Luckily the walls are beige, it makes the room seem less boring. 

With a huff Jack pushes the door and it closes with a click. He joins you with his hands on his hips and observes the room in an over exaggerated turn of his head. 

“For a five star hotel they sure lack imagination, don’t they?” 

“Yeah,” your eyes linger on the bed. “I do like the chocolates though,” 

“I don’t much care for that brand, you can eat mine too if you want,” 

“Thanks,” 

With that you head to the bed and let your body fall, peeling the aluminum foil, you pop the chocolate between your lips and move it around as if it's fine wine. You’re not sure if it’s because of the steamy airplane sex but there’s something odd lingering within the air between you two. You don’t quite understand why that is since Jack was never the ‘maybe this was a mistake’ type of guy. It suddenly dawns at you that the man might actually have layers, like Shrek, he’s an onion. 

He carries his luggage to the couch and hoists it on top, opening it, he begins to rummage through his clothes and weaponry. You take this time of scarce silence as an opportunity to observe him while popping the second chocolate between your lips. Jack shrugs off his jacket and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, showing more of his tanned skin. Your eyes follow the curves of his neck, the intoxicating dip his clavicles provide, you so desperately want to graze your lips into the empty pools, maybe fill them with a bit of tequila beforehand– 

Involuntarily you press your thighs together, the heat between your legs quickly proving to be unbearable. You drag your chocolate coated tongue across your lips and swallow. You need a distraction. Maybe a cold shower? In hopes to divert your attention you reach out to your phone, but just as the tips of your fingers touch the smooth surface of the device, Jack starts to undress. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat, an odd choked out sound ripping from your chest.

Jack shoots you a half concerned half playful look, his one eyebrow raised as he strips himself of his shirt completely. 

“You alright there buttercup?” 

You ignore his question and ask one of your own. 

“Why are you getting undressed here?” you ask between coughs. “Go to the bathroom,” 

“Baby girl, you saw me naked an hour ago, I don’t need to get dressed in the toilet like some kid that came to their friends house for a sleepover,” 

“Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?” 

“You’re the one making up weird rules, how am I the difficult one?” When you glare at him he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine fine, have it your way, sugar. I’ll use the shower too while I’m at it,” 

You groan, “I was going to use the shower…” 

“Too late for that now,” he looks up momentarily from his luggage and winks at you. “If you want it so badly feel free to join me, I do get lonely in there,” 

“You’re an ass,” 

“You wound me,” he rolls his tongue with a nauseatingly smug grin. “See you in a bit, try not to foam at the mouth while I’m gone,” 

Annoyed and frustrated, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. Your uncertainty eats at your heart, confusion lingering within you like a thick fog. You’re so tired of being the angry girl. The woman with the short temper. You didn’t get like this when you were with Ginger, or Tequila, it was only with him.

In conclusion it’s all Jack’s fault. The thought is enough to relax your agitated nerves. 

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the bed and head towards your suitcase. You already know what you’re going to wear, which is mainly due to you only packing one dress, but when it comes to weapons you’re not sure what to bring. Your fingers brush over the multiple knives and guns, stopping when it grazes upon the familiar texture of a lasso. You stare at it longingly, your heart swelling and stilling at the same time. It’s the lasso Jack gifted you on your birthday, you never use it but you still couldn’t keep yourself from packing it with you. 

Your eyes sting when you blink, the sound of a shower running faintly echoing throughout the room as you move your hand to one of the guns instead. Breath hitching you desperately try not to think about the time Jack taught you how to use it. 

When the two of you finally leave the lasso is left in your suitcase, hidden under the remainder of your clothes. 

Red walls. Red couches. Red lights. 

Loud, aggressive music.

The scent of smoke and booze mixes in the air, it sticks to your skin like mud. Heavy, unpleasant. You’re only a couple of steps in and you already hate the atmosphere. Jack is right behind you, his hand snug upon the small of your back as he pushes another couple out of the way. You feel like you’re in a jungle, Jack being the machete you wield and the people being the suffocating vegetation you’re chopping away. 

Jack leads you further inside as if he’s been here before, the crowd thickens, the smell of sweat filling your nostrils. Being a Statesman agent means that you’re supposed to adapt to your surroundings, no matter where that might be. But the atmosphere proves to be a reminder of your own horrible mindset during the breakup, or rather the way you dealt with it. With every step you’re reminded of another aspect of those times. Empty bottles thrown haphazardly on top of your rug, the snuffed out blunts overflowing your ashtray at home, sweat sticking to your skin due to not showering in weeks– It all flashes in your mind and makes your stomach curl. 

It doesn’t help that Jack presses his chest against yours, his fingers twitching as he succeeds to shield you from a rather large man drunkenly stomping towards you. Murmuring a thanks, you look up to him. 

Your heart stops. 

The red light makes him look demonic, it’s mesmerizing. Some part of your brain vaguely recalls someone telling you about Lucifer being god’s most beautiful angel. This must be what they were talking about. Shadows dance across his countenance, the red glow illuminating and giving an almost menacing look to his normally soothing eyes. His jawline looks sharper, every curve of his face more prominent thanks to the red light. As you stare, his gaze meets yours and you can’t help but flinch, goosebumps bursting across your skin. 

He grins down at you, he looks something out of your nightmares, the crowd sucking out the air from your lungs as Jack consumes your very being. His presence menacing, yet dazzling enough to pull you towards him. A moth to a flame. That’s what you are. A moth. 

“How about we sit over there,” 

Jack shouts over the music and you blink. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, your sight a little bit clearer. You suck in a sharp breath, your eyes following where Jack gestured towards moments ago. It’s a corner booth, a mirror and a painting facing each other and tricking anyone into thinking there’s two of the same painting. You recognize the piece: the Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. A bit of an odd coincidence but you shrug it off and take a seat. Jack nestles right next to you, wrapping an arm around waist. He tugs you closer and for a moment you think he’s about to pull you on top of his lap. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. He’s really biting into the whole ‘boyfriend’ role. 

There’s a half melted candle in the middle of the table, around the flame you can actually see colors other than red. 

“So have you seen anyone resembling our target?” he asks, fingers playfully squeezing your hip. 

“Yeah, like half of the club.” you sigh. “We don’t really have much to go on,” 

“I guess we’ll have to go with a less subtle approach then,” Jack eyes one of the waitresses. “His name was Albert Dunn right?” 

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that tip him off?” 

“At least we’ll get a good look at him when he’s scurrying about,” 

It’s not the stupidest idea so you let him be, leaning into the comfort of the red velvet booth. While Jack talks to the waitress you zone out, examining the crowd and searching for anyone who might be the target. While your eyes go over the many drunk people of the club, you see a familiar face– Someone with a ball cap that does not go with the atmosphere, like not at all. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. 

The ground underneath you slips, the crowd becoming a tornado of blurry images as Frankie stands in the middle crystal clear.

You feel as if you can’t breathe. Chest going up and down in quick motions while you breathe in sharp, patchy breaths. 

The waitress leaves and you’re absolutely clueless about what the two just talked about. Your sole focus is glued to the man looking uncomfortable within the crowd, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Jack murmurs something into your ear but you can’t hear him over your own loud heart beat. Even the delicate touch of his lips against your skin isn’t enough to snap you out of it. His eyes travel across the club, just as he sees the other man, your eyes lock with Frankie’s. 

Now, there’s a ringing in your ears you can’t seem to get rid of. 

Frankie’s eyes lit up upon seeing you, his uncomfortable stance shifting into a more confident one as a wide smile spreads across his face. He immediately heads to your direction and your heart sinks into your chest. Panic bubbles inside, you actually feel the fear surging through your veins.

“Who’s that, doll?” 

You can barely register what Jack’s asking. You swallow. 

“My…my ex from after we broke up, his name’s Frankie,” 

“Frankie you say,” he repeats, his eyes scanning the other man’s figure with a devilish smile. “Well, you certainly have a type now, don’t you?” 

Your eyes move away from Frankie and turn to Jack with a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You–You don’t see the resemblance?” 

“No,” you sound almost offended. “He’s nothing like you, he’s actually a decent human being,” 

“I meant appearance-wise, sugar,” he grunts, you quickly realize you must’ve struck a nerve. “Anyway, he seems eager to see you,” 

You would be eager to see him too if you weren’t on a mission with Jack of all people. 

Your relationship with Frankie was much less complicated compared to your relationship with Jack. If the situation back then had been different, if you hadn’t been struggling to keep the broken pieces of your heart together after Jack, everything might’ve been different with him. Frankie had witnessed the ugliness that lurked within your very being. He witnessed your heartbreak. He witnessed you drowning your sorrows in alcohol and weed. He tried to glue you back together, he really did. The memories of him picking you up from the floor and cooking just so you would have something warm to eat still lives vivid in your mind. When you started to work again Frankie questioned you about every bruise and cut, you couldn’t blame him– But you also couldn’t tell him the truth. 

After Jack you thought nothing else could hurt so much, you felt invincible. But if the break up with Jack brought you to the verge of death, breaking up with Frankie nearly tipped you over. 

To escape the turmoil and despair that caged your heart you buried yourself into your work, not having a care in the world of what might happen to you. 

“Hey,” 

You look up, a forced smile slowly spreading across your face as you fight back the urge to bawl your eyes out. 

“Hey,” you answer, a slight tremble in your voice. “How are you Frankie?” 

“I’m good, you?” 

“Doing better,” this time when you smile it’s a sincere one. “What are you doing here? This place doesn’t exactly scream ‘this is a hangout place for Frankie Morales’,” 

He chuckles as he scratches the back of his head, your lips curl upward at the familiarity of the sound. You’ve missed him– 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, buttercup?” 

Both you and Frankie turn to Jack, Frankie’s eyes scan the other man with a hint of curiosity. You notice those same eyes traveling down to Jack’s arm that’s still tightly wrapped around your waist. Your face heats up as you attempt a proper introduction. 

“Frankie this is Ja– Bruce. This is Bruce,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “He’s my–” 

Jack cuts in, his voice dripping with amusement. 

“Boyfriend,” he leans forward with an extended hand. With a kind yet emotionless smile Frankie squeezes the aforementioned limb. “Nice to meet you Frankie,” 

“Nice to meet you too,” 

The air is thick with tension. You move uncomfortably in your seat, the two men have their eyes locked against one another, both of them silently discerning and drawing conclusions. You’re not quite sure what to do, for a brief moment you part your lips to make a joke but quickly swallow it down. The skin surrounding Frankie’s jaw is taut, the veins on his neck meandering down and dipping under his flannel shirt. His pupils are dilated, lips parted as he continues to watch. When you look back at Jack you see that the man is smiling, his hand on your waist gradually sliding up your body while answering Frankie’s gaze. 

You’re mortified when the same hand cups your breast and begins to knead it. 

“Jack!” you hiss. “What are you doing?” 

“Don’t fret, I’m just giving our friend a little show,” 

Your eyes snap to meet Frankie’s but he’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the hand lazily squeezing your breast. Jack nuzzles the dip of your jawline, lips gently grazing the line of your neck, he breathes you in. Frankie swallows, his fingers twitching against the denim of his pants. Your breath hitches at the way his eyes darken, he wets his lips, the red light giving him a glow of intimidation. Jack’s other hand travels down to the wetness that’s gradually growing between your legs. Frankie’s eyes follow and your eyes roll back when Jack sneaks a hand under your dress, fingers brushing the seam of your underwear.

“Do you enjoy being watched, dear?” Jack purrs into your skin, his voice low and mocking. Then he looks up to Frankie who’s frozen still. “Look at you, staring at her like a deer in headlights. Don’t you wanna come over here and feel how wet she is?” 

You notice Frankie’s body slightly leaning forward, more than ready to take that extra step, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes. Your skin tingles, all you want to do is to ask Frankie to come and do what Jack’s asking of him. Instead of using your words, however, you bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon. Frankie furrows his brows and takes a step closer, your heart skips a beat. 

“Are you sure?” 

You’re about to nod– No, not about to, you’re in the midst of nodding, but the movement is cut short when you see the same waitress talking to a blond, conventionally attractive man. The blond looks at you, horror in his eyes and dashes through the door. 

“Shit,” 

Completely forgetting about the situation you’re in, you grab Jack by the arm and tug him along as you scurry up from the booth. Confused, Frankie takes a step back, you feel bad but you don’t have the time to explain. Jack glares at you and yanks his arm away.

“What the hell–” 

“It’s him– Albert Dunn, the waitress tipped him off. Come on Jack we need to go,” 

“Jack?” 

God fucking dammit. 

While Jack rushes to the door it allows you a moment of privacy with Frankie. When you face him his gaze is full of worry, he gently holds your wrists and pulls you close so you can hear him over the music. You’re aware the moment won’t last long but you appreciate the warmth of his skin. 

“That was Jack? I thought–” he sighs and shakes his head. “You’re not in any kind of trouble right? You’re safe?” 

You nod as you attempt to peel yourself away from his grasp, he doesn’t let you, fingers squeezing your wrists enough to be understood as a warning.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you avert your gaze, in the short amount of time you had chewed the inside of your cheek raw. 

Anxiety continues to nibble at the walls of your stomach. His grip around your wrists loosens, despite the crowd it feels like it’s only the two of you present. The bass of the music makes your heart thud accordingly, your ears ring, mouth incredibly dry.  

You know that you should diffuse the situation, act rude or do anything to steer him away from you as far as possible. Your heartbeat stops. 

The awareness of the crowd returns so does your heartbeat, you don’t have time for this. 

“I’ll call you,” 

Before Frankie can answer you run and disappear into the crowd. Never once in your life did the presence of so many people make you feel so secure. It was a mistake saying that. You knew that as soon as the promise left your lips, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Forcefully pushing back all of the thoughts that circulate around Frankie, it’s been a while since Jack had disappeared through the club’s doors and he might be an excellent fighter but you were still worried about him.

You’re a mess. What the hell were you supposed to tell Frankie? 

A/N: to be notified of future works follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum and turn on notifications✨

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

The Masterlist from Three AM

Kingsman: The Golden Circle

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

California - Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC (Sirah/Shirley Temple)

After five years, the haunting events of California come to Statesman HQ for librarian Shirley Temple.  Is the deep bond between Shirley and Jack enough to keep the killer from finishing the job he started?

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5] [PART 6]  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART 10]  [PART 11]  [PART 12]  [PART 13]*  [PART 14]* [PART 15]

Lady of the Lake - Ginger Ale x Merlin 

Statesman tech specialist Ginger Ale and Kingsman agent Merlin’s love affair puts the old adage, “Love makes the heart grow fonder” to the test.  Will four thousand miles make or break them?

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]*  [PART 4]*  [PART 5]*  [PART 6]  [PART 7]*  [PART 8]

The Mandalorian

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Metal Lover - The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

Beskar can be cold to the touch, but when the metal heats up, it can be the loveliest feeling.

A Work of Art - The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]

Can a man who’s face is never seen be a work of art?  His bounty sure thinks so, as he’s about to discover.

Astronomy Lesson - The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]

As she teaches the child the story of the stars, he wonders, is she really telling the story of them?

Conversations - The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT] {WIP}

Cara Dunn’s sister helped to hide the Child, now she helps the Mandalorian learn more about his foundling.

Heat - The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]* {WIP}

He tried for month to deny his desire for her, but now in a small room on a backwater planet, he has no choice but to let her heat consume him.

WW1984 (Wonder Woman 1984)

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Sunshine - Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker) 

Evie Blaker shines like the sun for Maxwell Lord and he wants to revel in her warmth.  Can he capture her or will his greediness get him burned?

[PART 1]  [PART 2] [PART 3]*  [PART 4]*  [PART 5]  [PART 6]*  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART 10]

The Equalizer 2

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Dream - Dave York x Reader [ONE SHOT]

Our dreams tells us what we need to know, even if we don’t want to know them.  Can you handle what your dream is telling you?

Doubts - Dave York x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

You dream of a big home fill with love and laughter, but does the love of your life want that too?

Triple Frontier

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Helping Hand - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

Baking Sunday is Frankie’s favorite day of the week.  He loves the taste of your desserts.  All of them.

Morning Routine - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Baby Daughter [ONE SHOT]

Frankie is an early riser and so is his daughter.  Together, they settle into their morning routine.

Twinkle Toes - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Toddler Daughter [ONE SHOT]

It started with early morning routines and now has grown into a passion as Frankie and his daughter learn new steps like regular twinkle toes.

The Mentalist

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Monument Woman - Agent Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

A valuable item was donated to her museum before it was stolen.  With Agent Pike at her side, she’ll get it back.

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART10]

Art History - Agent Marcus Pike x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

A visit to an art museum leads to an interested art history lesson with Marcus Pike.  Who says art doesn’t inspire great things?

Smile - Agent Marcus Pike x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

He can help but smile with you around and he makes it his mission to make sure you’re smiling, too.

Prospect

*Smut or other mention of sexy times

Poetry Reading - Ezra x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

What does it take to silence a man who never seems to be quiet?  Maybe a little poetry, that’s what.

Drabble requests are open for most of Pedro’s characters, but priority will be for the above.

Wanna follow this hot mess express?  Then drop me a message or comment to be added to the tag list (general tag or story specific!)

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part I

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 4100+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: fully legal age gap; curse words; references to M/F sex; lots of yearning; a little sprinkling of angst; American readers, please be warned that this piece features the absolutely filthy fantasy of Statesman paying off your student loans in full

You left Kentucky on a sunny June morning with a rolling suitcase, six cardboard boxes, and a heart full of golden light. You were ready for the new challenges of your promotion and the move to New York, but it was still hard to quell the little butterflies that insisted on dancing and twirling in your gut. Statesman HQ was like a beacon that had been calling to you for the last three years, and you were half-convinced that the promotion and the move were a daydream; something that would be snatched out of your hands if you thought about it too much.

It was strange to leave Kentucky, your home since you were four years old. You had been raised in a small town about an hour south of Louisville, and you hadn't had the opportunity to leave until college. Even then you didn't travel very far, just to a dorm room at the University of Louisville, going back to your hometown for every vacation instead of flying off to California or Europe like some of your more glamorous friends.

You had put your time to good use, though. You busted your ass and completed an accelerated program in Criminal Justice that earned you both a Bachelor's and a Master's in one go, with a minor in statistics and data science. The result was a deep and abiding love of research and analysis, with the burning desire to do good in the world.

---

The Friday morning of your graduation ceremony, you emerged from your apartment fresh-faced and giddy, ready to walk the stage and start the next phase: adult life in the "real world." You knew that your life was about to change, but as you juggled the garment bag with your cap and gown and tried to lock your door, you had no idea just how much. You heard a soft voice say your name behind you, and it made you jump and drop your purse, spilling the contents across your doorstep. You turned to see a woman of about 40, with flawless terra-cotta skin and an adorable mop of chestnut hair. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed bright, inquisitive eyes. She immediately bent to help you retrieve your belongings, stammering gentle apologies.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you get your things. I didn't mean to scare you." She smiled sweetly at you and handed you back your sunglasses and lip gloss.

"No! It's fine, I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied." You lifted the garment bag by way of explanation. "Graduation day! Um, how can I help you?"

"You don't know me, but my name is Ginger. I work for an organization that recruits bright young minds like yours. It's a lot to explain, but if you're interested in a job interview next week, we'd love to talk with you." She handed you a creamy white business card with a Louisville address.

You frowned. "Statesman Distillery? I don't have any experience with alcohol production or marketing. I do data analysis and my degrees are in criminal justice."

"We know. We've been following your research and your schooling for a while." She gave you a mischievous smile, and it looked for all the world like she was hiding something fun behind it, something secretive and intriguing that made you want to know more.

"Please, just give me an hour of your time next week? When you have some time to pay us a visit, just call that number and ask for me. I'm really looking forward to chatting with you."

You thanked her and promised you would call, and then you tucked the card into your bag and forgot all about it for nearly a week. Graduation day was hectic, with lots of relatives visiting and interrogating you about your career plans, and the days afterward were spent attending parties and saying goodbye to friends who were scattering to far-flung places. After you had finished the last of your university-related errands like returning a few library books and picking up your official transcript, there wasn't much left to do except putter around your apartment and take a few days off before beginning a job search. Those student loans weren't going to pay themselves off.

You found Ginger's card in your purse on Wednesday morning and put it on the fridge with a magnet. On Thursday you were so hungover you didn't want to make any calls. On Friday you found yourself at loose ends with nothing planned, so you picked up the phone and dialed. When you reached the switchboard you gave your name and asked for Ginger, and they put you right through. She picked up after one ring, as if she had been waiting for your call.

"Hi! I'm so glad you called me! Can you come by today?" Ginger sounded genuinely excited to talk to you, not smarmy or fake like other corporate recruiters you had spoken with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, thank you. Are you sure today's okay? I can come next week if that's better."

"No! Please come whenever you're ready. I'm really hoping you'll like what you see."

"Okay, will I need to dress up? Will I be meeting with anyone for an interview? Should I bring copies of my resume?" You wanted to make a good impression, but you weren't sure if this was just something the distillery did casually, like a winery tour, or if you would need to be ready for a formal interview.

"Nope! Just bring yourself! We already know everything we need to know about your qualifications."

"Ah... okay. I'm all yours. I'll see you in about an hour?"

"Perfect! I'll leave your name at the front gate with the guard. Just show them your ID and they'll wave you through."

You said your goodbyes and put the phone down. What kind of data analysis job was even available at a distillery? Market trends? Did they need a criminal justice major for tracking down rip-offs, like people counterfeiting their product? But wait, didn't the government do that kind of thing? The ATF? You shook your head clear of questions and hopped in the shower. You could ask Ginger all of your questions, since she seemed to be so happy to talk with you.

When you arrived at the Statesman Distillery an hour later, you were impressed at the size of the facility. Distilleries were pretty common in the state of Kentucky, with lots of little family companies sprinkled around. But Statesman rivaled the big names for sheer square footage.

Ginger met you in a conference room and offered you coffee, and then asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You didn't think twice about it. NDAs were common in lots of industries, and you guessed that it had something to do with trade secrets, Statesman not wanting to leak information about their whiskey production details. When Ginger began the tour and you walked down a long hallway with multiple sparkling white laboratories behind thick glass, you found it unusual, but not alarming. Cleanrooms, maybe? Something to do with alcohol distillation formulas, probably.

When she ushered you into a large wood-paneled office and introduced you to Champ, the head of Statesman, you thought it was odd. Companies didn't normally introduce new college graduates to executives during tours. Based on the size of the organization, you thought you might meet the CEO or President once or twice a year, maybe at a holiday party or a company retreat. But he was friendly, and he seemed to have already heard of you; his eyebrows raised an inch at Ginger when she gave him your name. He also seemed far more interested in criminal justice and data analysis than you expected for a distillery executive, but you shook hands and answered all of his questions politely.

When Ginger asked you to step into an elevator and it dropped 10 floors, you started to wonder a little. When the doors opened and she walked you to a room with a huge bank of monitors, with screens showing all kinds of maps and security video feeds, you were downright confused. But when she revealed the cherry on top, the fact that Statesman was not in the business you thought they were? That was too shocking. You were sure she was joking. You turned behind you to look for hidden cameras, expecting a prank show host to come jumping out at you.

"This is a joke, right?"

Ginger smiled that sweet, warm smile at you. "No joke. We want you to join the Research Unit, working in the Data Analysis section. You would be keeping our agents safe, helping them make the best decisions possible. And in turn your work could save lives, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

"I... uh... I still think you’re joking. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I… are you sure you want me?"

"Yes, if you're interested. We could use you on the team." She pushed a little slip of paper into your hand, and when you saw the annual salary that was listed, you almost fainted.

"Ginger, this is way too much. I just graduated and this is, like... this is a senior analyst's salary. I'd be able to pay off my student loans in like three years!"

"Actually, we would be paying your student loans off before you start work. If you have financial burdens hanging over your head you could be vulnerable to bribes or extortion attempts from foreign governments or bad actors. We want you clear before you start with us. Think of it as a signing bonus."

"Holy shit! Sorry, I mean... I... Jesus." You looked at her in confusion. "Y'all really want me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, we really do."

"Okay, when do I start?"

And that had been it, your first "big girl" job out of college. You were welcomed warmly to the Statesman team, and you loved the fact that you did interesting work that had a real impact. The hardest part had been telling your friends and family the required cover story, saying you were doing market analysis until you could find a job in criminal justice somewhere. But since you were happy with your new job and it paid well, none of them pressured you to move on.

During your first two years with Statesman you climbed the ranks, earning promotions and new responsibilities that eventually put you in the seat of Assistant Director of Data Analysis. You had risen high enough in Statesman that your work required a code name, and you chose “Paloma,” a nod to your favorite grapefruit cocktail. You answered directly to the head of the Research Unit, and every report that your team produced was vital. You weren't wasting your talent in some corporate hole, enriching the CEO's salary at the expense of your sanity. You were saving lives, making a difference. Your reports had even been sent to the New York headquarters, where they used them as a model for operations.

And the job had brought you romance, too. One day not long after your promotion to Assistant Director, you were walking out of the conference room, so focused on your phone that you didn't see where you were going. You bumped into something large and solid in a denim shirt, and a pair of warm, calloused hands held your shoulders to steady you. You cursed softly to yourself and then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes that you had ever seen. A man with patchy stubble and a well-worn baseball cap smiled at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" His eyes looked concerned as they searched your face. You looked at him with wonder. He was so, so beautiful. The smile dropped, and then his brows knitted together into a slight frown. "I said, are you okay?"

You realized you were staring with your mouth half open like some lovestruck teenager, and that an embarrassing amount of time had passed since you first met his eyes.

"Yes!" Your voice was louder than you intended. "Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry I bumped into you. I should have watched where I was going. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"Ah, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just distracted today."

"That's okay. Sorry I startled you." He smiled again and squeezed your upper arm.

You could have stayed there forever, leaning into his touch. He let go, much to your chagrin, and then went into the conference room. You made a note to ask someone who he was, to see if you could find out more about him. He wasn't being escorted by a staff member, so he was obviously part of the Statesman organization somehow. Someone would know who he was.

You went into the ladies room, running into Ginger at the sinks. "Oh, Paloma! I'm so glad I saw you. I need to steal your boss for an urgent matter. Can you run his 11:00 meeting in the conference room? I know it's last minute, but I'll buy you lunch later."

Your brain flickered out for a nanosecond. The 11:00 meeting? The conference room? The handsome man? You recovered your composure and smiled at Ginger. "Yeah, no problem at all. Tell him to drop his notes off in the conference room and I'll be there in just a moment."

Ginger smiled and punched your shoulder softly. "Thanks, Pal. I owe you one."

You washed your hands in a trance. Oh lord, this was going to be interesting. You squared your shoulders and met your own eyes in the mirror. You looked exactly like you had this morning, just your normal self. Most of the time that was fine, but right now you wanted to be more glamorous, more devastating. You wanted to absolutely bewitch the handsome mystery man in the meeting. In the absence of some kind of last-minute emergency Hollywood makeup team, you would have to settle for a fresh application of lip balm and a quick scrub of your teeth with a damp paper towel. You flicked a stray eyebrow hair into place, sighed, and headed back to the conference room. Looks weren't important anyway, right? Statesman had hired you for your brain, not your face. And really, you were more interested in showing your boss that you could do well in your new role. So you banished your insecurities from your mind and breezed into the meeting.

"Good morning everyone." You studiously chose not to look at the handsome man you had run into, keeping your eyes on your notes for the time being. You were afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away. "The Director has been called away for an urgent matter, so I'll be leading today’s operational planning meeting. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Paloma."

You risked a glance at the handsome stranger, relieved to see that his eyes were on his notepad and not on you. You let out a breath and found your stride, walking the group through the team's findings, the data, the implications, and the desired outcome for the mission. Agent Tequila asked a few cocky, half-assed questions, probing you for weaknesses. Normally that would have irritated you, but today it was a welcome focus that took your mind off the butterflies. You knocked Tequila back in place with a few well-chosen words, and then opened up the floor for questions.

The handsome man raised his hand, and your eyes fixed on how large and thick his fingers were. Oh God, this was torture. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Catfish. Um, can you tell me more about the extraction plan?"

"Yes, absolutely." You went over that phase of the mission, giving all the details your team had gathered about the terrain and the timing. When you were done, Catfish smiled at you, and your knees went weak at the sight of the dimple that appeared. No one else had questions, so you closed the meeting and stood to leave.

Suddenly there was a warm wall of denim at your elbow. "Hey, that was really detailed information. Thank you so much for walking me through everything."

You turned and smiled. "You're welcome. Glad I could help." You fumbled for something to say, trying to extend the conversation and keep him in your orbit for however long you could while everyone else filed out of the room.

"So, um, you go by 'Catfish.' Can I ask why? That's your code name, right? There's not some kind of hidden tragedy where that's the name your parents actually wrote on your birth certificate?"

He chuckled, throwing his head back. The expanse of his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple did nothing to improve the butterflies. They only fluttered harder, rising higher in your chest.

"It's an old Army nickname, I was Special Forces about a million years ago. Now I'm here on the transport team. I'm a helicopter pilot. When we're not working you can just call me Frankie."

"Ah." You bit your lip and nodded. Why couldn't you think of something else to say? Fortunately, Frankie continued the conversation.

"And you're Paloma around here? I love that drink. Am I allowed to know your real name, or is that classified?"

You grinned and shook his hand, giving him your name. When it rolled off his lips in that deep voice it sounded like heaven to you. You didn't want anyone else to say your name ever again. Just him.

He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. “Can I ask you a question? Top secret.” He winked, and you nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?”

Your heart dropped into your pelvis, and you gulped, hard. “Y-yes. Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.”

---

When Ginger found you in your office at 2:00 p.m. you were staring off into space, smiling blissfully.

“Hey, Paloma. Why did you blow me off for lunch? I came by at 12:30, I was going to take you out.”

“Oh! Oh my god, Ginger, I’m so sorry! I had a date.”

She raised her eyebrows at you, settling down in one of your visitors chairs. “A date?”

“No! Not a date. A, um…” You burst into husky giggles, and then confessed everything to her: the handsome man, the crinkles around his eyes, his dimples and his silly code name, the easy conversation over lunch, and the fact that he had scribbled his phone number down on a sticky note that was now burning a hole in your pocket. You felt like you were 12 again, confiding in your girlfriend about crushes and cute boys.

Ginger laughed and gave your hand a squeeze. “No wonder you forgot about me. I can’t compete with a handsome helicopter pilot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ginger. I really didn’t mean to forget.”

“No, it’s okay. But definitely call him this weekend and make a real date. I’ll want details when you take me out for an apology lunch on Monday.” She winked and left your office.

You sat back in your chair and tilted back to look at the ceiling while you considered it. Was it too soon to call him and make a date? Ugh, this was agony. You decided that going by conventional rules hadn’t really mattered to you at any point in your life until now, so why the hell not?

You took a deep breath, trying to puff up your confidence. When he answered the phone on the second ring, you dove right in. “Hi, Catfish? It’s Paloma. Listen, I had a really good time at lunch, and I’d like to see you this weekend if you’re free.”

---

On Monday, you had a whole lot to report to Ginger.

Frankie took you up for a sightseeing flight on your date, and you loved the way he controlled everything; making sure he warned you before any sudden movements, and checking that you weren’t getting airsick or anxious. When the rotors were stilled and you were back on the ground, Frankie reached over to help you unbuckle your harness. Something got stuck, and the agonizing extra seconds of feeling him jostle the strap near your hip made you bold. When it was finally free and he was about to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, alarmed that something was wrong, and you crashed your lips against his, all teeth and tongue and wanting. Frankie was as good a kisser as he was a pilot, and you spent the rest of the date making out in his truck.

The next weekend, you found out that his warm, work-worn hands were also magic in the bedroom. Frankie was adept at tweaking your sensitive spots as gently as the little buttons and switches of the flight panel, bringing you to thrumming heights the same way he did his helicopter.

The rest of the summer passed in heady, humid days and nights like a dream. You loved Frankie’s easy sense of humor and his confidence in the cockpit. But Frankie was less confident about your relationship, voicing concerns about the decade-plus that separated your ages, and whether he was keeping you from dating men your own age. He made self-deprecating comments about being an “old man,” and you reassured him that there was no one you’d rather be with, no one who could sway your attention. You loved using your hands and arms and lips and tongue to reassure him, finding that he had his own sensitive spots that you could manipulate. You loved sending him to sleep with a smile on his face.

But as much as you and Frankie enjoyed the relationship, the nature of his work with the transportation team meant that he was never in town for very long. At the same time, your job was getting more complex, requiring late nights at the office that interfered with your time together. You refused to dwell too much on the fact that you were torn, that you loved your work as equally as you wanted to spend those nights with Frankie.

By the end of the summer, you both came to the realization that it was nobody’s fault, simply a case of poor circumstances, and you decided to end things and remain friends. In October Frankie left Statesman to take a job that relocated him to Florida. You were wistful, and you missed him, but at least it had been an amicable split. At least friends was something. And as sometimes happens even with the best of intentions, the time in between each phone call grew longer, and you eventually lost touch. Last you heard he was spending weekends with his old Army buddies who all lived nearby, and he had a new girlfriend. By February the ache was starting to subside, and by April you were nearly ready to date again.

In May, almost three years to the day after Ginger’s visit to your apartment had changed your life, you were offered the position to lead the Data Analysis team in New York. You jumped at the chance. Statesman located an apartment for you, and from the pictures you were already in love with it. Huge windows looked out over the city, and it was within walking distance of Statesman HQ. Your farewell party was bittersweet. Ginger offered to come visit you, and promised that New York would be everything you hoped it would be. Your team gave you such high praises that you joked that if that’s what it took to hear accolades, you would have left ages ago.

---

Your first few days in New York were spent acclimating to the Statesman HQ, and getting to know your neighborhood. It was strange to find that you could walk or take the subway for whatever you needed, compared to the Midwest where a car was required for everything. Your new team was welcoming, and you enjoyed your new duties immensely. Your first two weeks on the job passed in no time, and you went home every night feeling like you could fly.

And then you hit a wall, in the form of Jack Daniels, a.k.a. “Senior Agent Whiskey.” You knew him by reputation, of course. Ginger had filled you in on his exploits, his overbearing charm, his smarmy flirtations. You had seen him once or twice in passing when he had visited Champ’s office, but you hadn’t actually met him in person.

When you finally did, you almost asked for an immediate transfer back to Louisville. --- "Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: @honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

[chaotic-noceur]

angstageddon masterlist

“If You Love Something, Let It Go” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Summary: Javier is familiar with the concept of love, but it is not something he’ll allow himself to indulge in.

“Loving You Too Late” by @ezrasarm

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Summary: You and Frankie have loved each other for a long time. You’re just a little out of synch.

"Take What’s Broken, Make It Whole” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader

Summary: Love. It’s messy and confusing. It’s painful yet thrilling. It’s also absolutely terrifying. But maybe what you need is someone to brave your fears with you.

“Come Back To Me In Waking Dream” by @ezrasarm

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Summary: Torn apart by the forces of the universe, Ezra becomes a ghost of himself.

“But Your Lies Were So Sweet” by @chaotic-noceur

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x reader

Summary: In his time with Statesman, Jack has gone by many names. In your experience, they were all just aliases for the same liar.

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 5: Breaking In The Newbies

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: After a rough and emotional night, Frankie makes a decision on Jack’s offer. Before they can get to that though, the morning debrief with Champ brings back a familiar face and Jack has you and Frankie teach the junior agents a lesson during combat training.

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, swearing, discussions about safewords.

A/N: Alright, a lot of stuff needed to happen here and we’re going to have a little action and see Frankie show off a bit. It was important to me that the discussion of safe words and Jack checking again for consent happened in a chapter separate from the actual smut. For me, it further emphasizes that Jack doesn’t want Frankie to feel pressured to accept or do anything he doesn’t want to because it’s “in the moment”. Consent is sexy, friends.

I have to give my love and thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the beta reads, the fantastic constructive criticism and encouragement!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 4: Company | AO3 | Art

The morning sun stirred Frankie. Even with his eyes still closed, he could tell the room was alight, but the warmth that surrounded him had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the body next to him. He opened his eyes and realized he was definitely not in Whiskey’s guest bedroom. Instead, he was very much curled into Whiskey’s lightly rising chest. Frankie blushed, very unused to being the little spoon, and moreover, not used to someone’s morning wood poking at him. Whiskey was gently roused from sleep by Frankie’s small movements. He lifted his arm from around Frankie’s waist and stretched.

“G’morning Flyboy. You were having nightmares, so I brought you in here.

“Oh, sorry for waking you up and… thank you.” Frankie felt guilt sting at his throat.

Whiskey grunted and rolled out of bed to go shower.

“Nothing to worry about, partner. I’m no stranger to those kinds of nightmares.”

Frankie was grateful Whiskey understood and made no effort to pry. With a grunt of his own, Frankie got up from the bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on trying to get coffee going while Whiskey showered.

Whiskey finished his shower and stepped out to dry off, then wrapped his towel around his waist. He was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of coffee, Frankie’s initiative quirking the corners of his mouth into a small smile. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as Frankie poured their coffee, handing Whiskey’s to him black. Jack hummed his approval, a sound which he noted made Frankie preen a bit.

“Good boy.” Jack gestured to the coffee with a small wink as the air seemed to be pushed from Frankie’s lungs. “Now, as much as I enjoy the view of you in just my shorts, let's get you into something you can wear at the office.”

Frankie was rooted to the spot, Jack’s “good boy” ringing in his ears and sending a wave of warmth throughout his entire body. Jack didn’t comment, just let his smirk speak for itself as he took his coffee back to his room and opened the doors to his closet. His fingers tabbed at a few of the hanging suits as he looked back to see that Frankie had finally uprooted himself and joined him.

“We’re similar in build, so you ought to be able to pull off one of my suits…”

Frankie winced.

“Right, well then, let’s go with something a touch more casual.

Jack grabbed a pair of jeans, a blue button down, white t-shirt, belt, and socks, handing each article of clothing over to Frankie as he moved around his closet.

“There, that should do you. Comfortable, but still presentable for Statesman.”

Jack gave him a smile only to notice Frankie shifting his weight.

“Thanks,” came Frankie’s reply as he turned to get dressed. He didn’t mind going without boxers, but the sudden realization that he needed more clothes of his own hit Frankie as he dressed in the clothes Jack had given him.

“Hey Jack?”

Whiskey hummed in acknowledgement as he finished getting dressed himself: jeans, suspenders, white button down shirt, and a navy wool blazer.

“I was thinking about your offer last night, and… I’d like that.”

Whiskey turned to look at Frankie, giving him a once over, distantly thinking about how good Frankie looked in his clothes, and a mischievous smile lit up Whiskey’s face.

“I’m looking forward to it, Flyboy. We’ll discuss things a bit more at the end of the day in my office. It’s about as close to neutral territory as we’re gonna get for that conversation. For today though, I want you to be a good boy and stick to me like a shadow. We’re meeting with Champ first thing. Then, we’re gonna have some fun.”

Frankie nodded, rocking back on his heels for a moment, then fell in step with Whiskey as they headed out, both of them grabbing their respective hats as they went. The ride in Whiskey’s Bronco was quiet, and soon enough they were riding the elevator up to their floor in the Statesman tower.

You were seated at the conference table facing the double doors with Pope to your right.

“You sleep alright, Pope? Hope Ginger didn’t keep you too late.”

“She’s something, that’s for sure, Hawk, but she did let me go, eventually.”

He gave you a good natured laugh that slowly lost its shine.

“You hear from Fish, Hawk? Ginger told me where she put him up and I went to check on him last night, but he never answered.”

Worry bloomed in your chest, not that it had really gone away after seeing Frankie leave yesterday. You figured if he wanted or needed to talk, he would have reached out to you. Honestly, you had hoped he would have checked in with Pope at some point since he probably felt more comfortable with him. Just then, the conference double doors opened, giving way as Jack strode in, greeting you with a smile and tilt of his head. Relief eased the tension in your chest and shoulders when Frankie followed closely behind Jack. Your eyes darted over to Whiskey, fixing him with a questioning gaze as you realized the clothes Frankie was wearing belonged to Jack.

“Fish!” Pope practically jumped out of his chair, rushing over to Frankie with a duffle bag in tow. “I was worried about you, hermano. I went to the hotel, but you didn’t answer.”

To Frankie’s credit, his face didn’t betray much, but both you and Pope knew that Frankie didn’t have any other clothes aside from what he had left with.

“Uh, yeah, must’ve just missed you.”

You could tell Pope was filing the information away for later. Your eyes wandered to Jack’s again and you raised an eyebrow. At least you now had an idea why he had cancelled on you last night.

“Here, Fish. I figured you’d want your go bag.”

“Gracias, hermano.”

They clasped arms, then took their seats. Frankie grabbed the orange tinted glasses he had left the day before and put them on, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose. His gaze fell to yours and he gave you a small smile, but before you could say anything, Champ’s holo image flickered to life.

“Catfish! You’re looking mighty fine! Much better than yesterday.”

“Yes sir, thanks.”

Champ nodded. He’d been worried about how the man would fare, especially considering the news yesterday.

“Right, down to the business at hand. It does appear that a new cartel is making their play at center stage, picking up where Poppy left off. They’re not following Poppy’s business model, though. From what we understand, the group is headed by four individuals: Isabella Gómez, Duke Hernández, Steven Weisel and Emily Weisel. They’ve taken to calling themselves La Linda Rosa, likely after the Red Agent flowers. Up until now, they’ve been your run of the mill cartel, but it’s our belief that the Weisels have been instrumental in their production and processing of Agent Red. Recently, the Weisels purchased land in Colombia, and from our drone coverage, they may have set up processing plants there. We don’t know why the sudden shift to Agent Red, though. The plants themselves go for $500k per plant, and they take time to mature. We don’t think the Weisels are responsible for acquiring the plants, so that leaves either Isabella or Duke.”

Frankie’s attention drifted from Champ to the pictures on the screen and swore.

“Fuck. Pope, you know who that is, right? I thought they were in Australia?”

Pope did a double take, recognizing his old informant’s brother. The Statesman stared at the two men, waiting for them to elaborate. Frankie sighed and settled into his seat a bit more, knee bouncing anxiously.

“Four years ago, Pope came to me and the rest of our old team to take out Gabriel Martín Lorea and make out with the money he had stockpiled. Pope’s CI, Yovanna, and her brother, Duke, both worked for Lorea. In exchange for helping us, Pope got the brother out of jail and we dropped them off in Peru with papers to Australia and $3M. Looks like Duke wasn’t satisfied with life in Australia.”

Ginger frowned and pulled up Duke’s known associates, Yovanna’s picture following the others on screen.

“Yovanna appears to still be living in Australia, but it’s possible Duke grabbed the money and ran.”

Frankie closed his eyes, lifting his cap and carding his fingers through his hair before placing the hat back on his head and sighing.

“What’s the plan? Sounds like the plants and processing facilities need to be taken out, and then there’s the compound, too.”

Pope nodded, then sighed as well. This was bringing back memories for the both of them.

“We’ll also need to be wary of the local agencies. They’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, especially if it’s anything like how it was with Lorea.”

Champ nodded and tilted his head to Ginger.

“We’re doing our own recon and then we’ll break out teams. Pope, Catfish, we’d like you to at least help with intel, and given your experience in taking down Lorea, if you’re up for it, I’d like you both on the compound assault team.”

You saw Pope and Frankie share a look, Frankie’s jaw clenched and then he nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, not to worry boys, Statesman has the best resources, stateside or otherwise. For now, I’m sure we can keep you plenty busy. Whiskey, don’t forget, today is your day for combat training with the new recruits. Bourbon, Cranberry needs you to test equipment in the lab later today.”

“Pope, could you actually stick around again for a bit? I’ve got some more intel I want to run through with you.” Ginger chimed in, and you were surprised he didn’t grimace at the idea of being locked in a room for hours again.

With that, the meeting was over, Champ’s holo image disappeared and they took their glasses off. Jack stood up and Frankie was quick to follow him, much to your intrigue. You stood up as well. You were eager to watch Jack have his way with the new agents. It was always fun. Whiskey seemed to know you would be following and beckoned for you to enter his office first, followed by Frankie, and Jack closed the door behind him.

“Go ahead and set your bag down wherever you’d like, Flyboy.”

Frankie dropped his bag in a corner then promptly started to rifle through it, pulling his shoes out and quickly swapping his dress shoes for them. He let out a sigh of relief as he rolled up on the balls of his feet and rocked back on his heels. He hated dress shoes.

You took a short minute to admire Frankie in the blue button down while he rolled up his sleeves. Jack’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you into him.

“Missed you, darlin’.”

Smiling, you took his face in your hands and tugged him down for a kiss.

“Missed you too, Jack.”

You murmured against his lips, and you resolved not to ask about last night. Whatever happened, Frankie must have reached out to Jack, not you or Santi, and you’d leave it at that. Jack hummed contentedly for a moment before he pulled back and winked at you.

“Are you coming to watch us break in the newbies, darlin’? I was thinking you and Flyboy could do the first demo.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but there was a playfulness in them as well.

“Us?” You questioned Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“First demo?” Came Frankie’s question as he whirled around to face you and Whiskey.

Jack’s smile broadened and he started out of his office and towards the elevator, expecting you and Frankie to follow.

“What are we demoing, Whiskey?”Frankie asked, more pointedly this time.

“Well, our newbies are scheduled to learn about disarms and what happens when the enemy goes for their gun. I thought it’d be good to have them start out seeing Bourbon disarm you.”

Frankie huffed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall. You smiled as you leaned against the wall opposite Frankie.

“It’ll be just like old times, Fish.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Why have me do the demo though? I’m not a Statesman agent.”

Before you could respond to reassure Frankie, Jack chimed in, eyeing him with nothing short of gleeful mischief. Jack enjoyed breaking the new agents in almost a little too much sometimes, but it was good for them, and he was good at it.

“No, you’re not, you’re ex-Delta Force, Frankie. These agents have had plenty of training, but they don’t have your experience, Flyboy. They’re gonna learn the difference today.”

Jack shared a similar philosophy with you when it came to combat training and sparring. You had been a terror in hand-to-hand, still were, you were proud to say. You knew there was often a size disadvantage, but you had learned to use your opponent’s momentum against them, and more importantly, you didn’t follow convention. In sparring matches, most people fought like they were sparring, which was fine for beginning, but there was a big difference between practicing and being in an actual fight. You never advocated for an all out brawl, but you refused to follow the typical learned pattern that people naturally gravitated towards. Tom had been predictable and a sore loser. Will was predictable but sweet. Benny, well, there was a reason he was semi-pro, which left Santi and Frankie. Santiago was fun, and you had lost your fair share of matches to both him and Benny. Frankie had a spark in his eyes when he sparred, but no matter how hard you had tried to get him to let go, he refused. It had nothing to do with anything silly like you being a woman, more to do with the fact that Frankie never seemed to just let himself go in that way. You had only seen him let go a bit twice, both times in the field and well worn down by the day.

The elevator dinging startled you out of your reverie, and you followed right behind Jack towards the training room. Frankie assumed they would be entering a gym of sorts, but he was sorely mistaken, and he realized the ‘floor’ they were on must have been composed of several. The ‘room’ was really more of a training complex housed in the unassuming tower. To the right, a group of 20 people stood, waiting. He gave them a cursory glance, and then his eyes were pulled to the range. He’d definitely have to visit to let off some stress. He followed as you and Whiskey led the way to the group of agents and hung back slightly as the group stood to attention.

“Well, look at this promising group of newbies, Bourbon. D’you think they’re up for today’s lesson?”

You let the smirk on your lips turn into a full crooked smile, you had more than a small idea as to what Jack was going to do. Looking over your shoulder, you caught Frankie’s eye and nodded for him to join you.

“I don’t know, Whiskey, simple concept, but we’ll see what their execution is like. My money is on our guy.”

The agents before you bristled, full of young pride that was well-earned. Whiskey’s hand clasped over Frankie’s shoulder as he introduced him to the new agents.

“Y’all are in for a treat. Our friend, Catfish, here, has generously volunteered to help train you on close quarters combat and disarms. Bourbon will demo the defense first. Catfish,” Whiskey took a pistol from the long table off to the side and handed it to Frankie. “Your objective is simple: shoot a blank at Bourbon.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes sought yours to make sure you were comfortable. An answering smile was good enough for him, and he checked the pistol, confirming there were no live rounds, before looking back up at you. The two of you easily slid into a ready position, and Jack gestured for the new agents to give you some room.

“Halcón, when you go for the takedown, ten cuidado con mi espalda. Ya no soy joven.” [be careful with my back. I’m not young anymore.]

It only mildly annoyed you that he already knew you were going to go for the takedown, after priding yourself on your spontaneity earlier, but you pushed that out of your mind as you both stood a few steps apart. There would be a split second when Frankie pulled his pistol and took a readying step. That would be where you would have an opening and make your move. A tense handful of seconds that seemed to stretch on filled the air. Jack watched the new agents, the tension between you and Frankie seemed to embed itself in the junior agents’ lungs as they all waited with bated breath.

Nothing telegraphed Frankie’s quick movements as he drew his pistol, but on instinct, your body was moving. He saw your left hand fly out to redirect his momentum and push his gun hand away, quickly shifting to plant his weight, keeping you from landing the takedown this early. The training you and Frankie had received taught you to be efficient and end things quickly. That was easier said when you had spent years training together. The junior agents seemed to still be holding their breath while you traded blows. Your moment of opportunity came, and you took it. Frankie seemed to understand what was happening but his balance was off. You stepped into him, your hip bumping his as your hand came to grip over the top of his pistol. The next thing everyone knew, you were both on the ground, the gun skittering harmlessly away, and Frankie’s arm in an arm bar. He grunted and quickly tapped at your leg to surrender, and you let him go. The class was quiet until Whiskey broke the silence as you helped Frankie to his feet.

“I hope you lot were paying attention to Catfish here, he did a great job demonstrating what to do when facing a difficult opponent like Bourbon. For this exercise, the rest of you will attempt to take a shot at Catfish and he will disarm you by whatever means he deems necessary.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, knowing Whiskey was being intentional with his wording.The laugh died quickly, however, at the words of one of the junior agents.

“How was that a good example? He lost, he was disarmed. We should be practicing against someone better, who would last longer.”

At your side, you saw Frankie stand up straighter, his feet moving shoulder width apart as his hands clasped behind his back and he fixed the younger agent with a steely gaze. Even as his breathing remained calm, it was obvious the words had gotten to him. Whiskey’s good natured grin turned into a smug smirk.

“Davis,” Whiskey began, calling the man out by his last name and emphasizing he hadn’t earned a Statesman moniker. “Since you’re so eager, by all means, approach Catfish when you’re ready and show us how your Statesman training fares.”

Frankie kept his gaze leveled at the cocky junior agent, noticing in his periphery that you had moved away to give them plenty of room. Davis moved to be a few steps in front of him. Frankie continued to hold the stare as he questioned Whiskey.

“Are you sure about this, Whiskey?”

Whiskey nodded, Frankie’s gaze flickering over to him for the briefest of seconds, then he brought his hands to a loose ready position at his sides. Davis drew his pistol, but Frankie grabbed the barrel with his left hand, stepped forward and hooked his right foot behind Davis’ lead leg and pushed on the agent’s chest with his right hand. Davis went down, but found himself suspended by Frankie’s hold on his shirt. The class was filled with littered gasps and snickers. The ‘fight’ was over before it had really begun. Frankie helped right the agent and stepped aside to let him retrieve his firearm.

“Attaboy, Catfish! Davis, looks like you’ve got some work to do. Here’s another lesson, agents: Statesman agents aren’t your only competition out there. We’ve got some fancy gear and trainin’ here, but there’s a world of intelligence agents and mercs out there. Catfish served with Bourbon, and that should tell you all you need to know.” He paused a moment to let the information sink in as Davis returned to the line to lick his wounds. Then Whiskey called the next agent.

Frankie breathed in, then out through his nose, and got ready. As they went, the junior agents in waiting began to pick up on a few of his techniques, and he had to adjust, but time spent practicing and training at Benny’s gym had prepared him well for this.

You watched as Jack’s eyes danced while he followed Frankie’s movements. The circumstances earlier had prevented him from truly appreciating how efficient and capable the quiet man was. The last of the junior agents had made their attempt and consequently failed. Frankie’s breath was coming more unevenly now, and rightly so. What he had gone through would be exhausting for anyone.

“Well done, everyone, a round of applause to Catfish for taking the time to demonstrate y’all have a lot to learn before getting approved for field work. Now go on and line up at the range and get warmed up. We’ll be running sims next.”

The junior agents dispersed to the range towards the back of the room. Frankie let out a breath and rolled his shoulders to let out some of the tension he had been carrying, then started heading for the range, eager to let off some more steam.

“Where do you think you’re going, partner?”

Frankie frowned, his eyes darting between you and Whiskey in confusion.

“I thought we were going to go shoot?”

Jack smiled then winked at Frankie.

“They’re warming up, you still have one more person to disarm, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s fingers twitched, and you could see that the exercise earlier had worn at his usual restraint.

“No lasso.”

Whiskey handed you his lasso, then unloaded his revolvers and passed you the ammo. He holstered his revolvers again and stepped into position in front of Frankie. You watched as a new kind of energy seemed to crackle between them, and some of the junior agents seemed to sense it, stopping to watch as well.

Whiskey was fast, but training at the boxing gym had helped Frankie with his speed. As Whiskey drew his revolver, Frankie sprung forward. He didn’t bother to grab the gun. Instead, he brought his fist down on the barrel, sending it skittering away. Whiskey’s fist connected with Frankie’s side, and you heard, rather than saw, Frankie’s reservations fall away with a snarl. He took hold of the inside of Jack’s blazer, grabbing the grip of the other revolver holstered there and made to pull it out and take the ‘shot’. Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Frankie to go on the offensive, but he found he was impressed. He liked a challenge. Before Frankie could draw the revolver from the holster, Jack grabbed his wrists and wrenched them down, then back up quickly to break Frankie’s hold, and then Jack threw them both to the ground. Both men recovered quickly, but in the chaos, the revolver had fallen to the ground and Frankie scrambled for it. Just as his fingertips touched cold metal, Whiskey’s whip flicked the revolver further away, and they closed the distance to grapple with each other again.

Your match with Frankie had been a well practiced dance, and this was too, in its own right. However, where yours had been fluid, Whiskey and Frankie were bordering on feral. For a moment, it appeared that Frankie had gotten the upper hand. Whiskey staggered backwards, about to fall, but as he went, he flicked his whip, the corded length wrapping around Frankie’s throat. He tugged, sending them both to the ground. Frankie grunted and struggled against the snare he was in. Whiskey wasted no time in scrambling up and pinning Frankie, his knee to the pilot’s back. Frankie continued to struggle until Whiskey leaned down so that only the other man could hear.

“Easy now, Tiger, save your strength for tonight. You did good.”

Frankie relaxed under Jack’s weight and nodded. Whiskey got off of him with a grunt and unwound the corded length of the whip from Frankie’s neck, then pressed a button on the handle to recall it. He helped Frankie up and dusted him off a bit.

A few of the junior agents were still watching in awe. It was rare to see a senior agent like you or Whiskey truly need to put some effort in, and to see it twice in one day was something else entirely. You walked over to the two men and put your hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“You did great, Fish, nice to see you let loose for once.”

He scoffed good naturedly and swooped to pick his hat up from off the ground.

“You guys had quite the audience while you were at it, too.” Your smile was barely contained as you raised an eyebrow at Jack.

This time it was Whiskey’s turn to scoff.

“Well, I hope they’ve been practicing. They’ll be running the sim after Frankie does.”

Whiskey patted Frankie on his shoulder then gestured for him to follow. He led him to an enclosed area that occupied the majority of the left side of the training complex. A small structure that looked like a house sat inside the enclosure, and you knew it was furnished to match whatever simulation scenario had been determined. Whiskey stopped at a table just outside of the enclosure and gestured to the rifle, combat knife, folder, and headset.

“Alright, Flyboy, I know you’ve done this sort of exercise before. Your brief is on the table there. Good luck.”

You and Whiskey walked a bit further along the enclosure to two screens. One cycled through a variety of camera angles while the other would connect to the headset once Frankie turned it on.

“You’re really having Frankie run the simulation?”

Whiskey nodded, “I didn’t have him help with the demo just to teach those newbies a lesson, darlin’. He’s been through hell, and I figured getting him to work through some of that in sparring and the sim would help. That, and, well… you can’t blame me for bein’ curious, Bourbon. Last time I got to see what he could do, we were a bit busy trying not to get shot.”

You can’t help but to chuckle and shake your head, your attention going back to Frankie as he geared up.

“Frankie turns into a different person on missions sometimes, used to scare the hell out of people on base who saw it. No one ever suspected it because he was always the quiet one, but he’s just as competitive as the rest of the guys on the team. He was just always scary good at keeping a level head and focusing on the mission. You’ll see.”

Frankie put on the kit provided for him then flipped through the brief before lowering the headset and advancing. The brief had been fairly simple: infiltrate the compound, rescue the target, and escort the target to the exfil location. They even provided a decent description of the target. The virtual course populated guards patrolling the 3 entrances. He opted for the path of least resistance with only 2 guards posted.

From the screen, you and Jack could see Frankie take a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing even as he crept towards the two guards. You knew it was because he was willing himself to let go, to let his instincts and muscle memory take over. He was lightning fast as his knife came out and he landed brutal and precise fatal blows to the targets on the screen. In a normal situation, he would hide the bodies but the miracle of technology meant he didn’t have to. It was beautiful in a devastating way to watch Frankie move with such confidence, stealth, and precision. He peered around a hallway, noting the sudden influx of guards and catching a glimpse of red at the end of the hall. The brief had indicated the target would be in red, and it made sense that there would be more guards to ensure the target didn’t run off. He counted five hostiles in the hallway.

Five guards, five bullets.

Once he had downed the hostiles, Frankie stepped through the hallway, catching a glimpse of the target and swore at how cliché the scenario was. The brief had just said the target had last been seen wearing red.

“¡Me están jodiendo! ¿En serio? ¿Una mujer en un vestido rojo?” [They’re fucking with me. Really? A woman in a red dress?]

You could both hear Frankie through the mic link in his headset, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It quickly died as you and Whiskey tensed. The woman in red was a decoy, one that statistically caught the majority of users by surprise.

“Ma’am, are you-” She moved just barely and he saw the glint of where a gun was holstered. Frankie didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he fired a shot to her chest and grumbled to himself before moving on. Normally, it wouldn’t have taken him that long to figure it out.

Whiskey whistled, thoroughly impressed. It wasn’t long after that Frankie found the real target and reached the ‘exfil location’.

“Damn, sweetheart, you sure picked a good one.”

He winked at you, and you grinned back as Frankie pulled off the headset and his kit, then walked over to you.

“Alright, agents! Catfish successfully completed the sim in 15 minutes, that’s your time to beat!”

A chorus of groans echoed in the training room. Whiskey ignored them and clapped Frankie on his shoulder.

“You did good, Flyboy, really set the bar high. Most people get caught up by the decoy.”

Frankie’s chest puffed out a little at the praise, but he was soon shaking his head. Before he could deflect the compliment, Whiskey squeezed his shoulder.

“Feeling hungry, Flyboy? Figured the three of us could grab a quick lunch before Cran steals Bourbon here away from us.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Didn’t expect you to keep me busy like that.”

Vermouth entered the training room, and you waved him down.

“Hey, Vermouth! Watch the junior agents for us. Whiskey’s just got them running the sim. We’re going to go grab lunch!”

Without waiting for Vermouth’s answer, you grabbed Whiskey and Frankie’s hands, dragging them out of the training room and to the elevator.

“There’s a deli not far from the office we can walk to, and it’s late enough that we should miss the rush.”

Walking arm in arm with both of your boys, you could think of very few things better than right now. You didn’t care that you were in the middle of downtown New York. All that mattered was Whiskey on your right, and Frankie on your left.

Frankie did his best to relax and not let his anxiety and internal struggles get the best of him. Whiskey’s words echoed in his mind: “When it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it.” That was a lot easier said than done, but he was working on it.

You were right, the timing made it so that you had missed the lunch rush. You all ordered your food, Whiskey stepping in to pay with a look that silenced both you and Frankie, then you all went to sit down.

Whiskey practically sprawled in his chair, his legs encroaching your space under the table and Frankie’s space next to him. Frankie sat somewhat stiffly but the more he ate, the more he seemed to relax. You nudge his foot with yours playfully to grab his attention.

“How’s your back? Mr. Ya-no-soy-joven.”

The three of you laughed, and Frankie shook his head with a wide grin on his face.

“I’m not! Gotta leave that shit for the young guys who think they’re invincible.”

“Young guys like Davis?” You shot back, smug on Frankie’s behalf.

“Cocky kid had it coming.”

There was no anger in Frankie’s eyes, only the slightest lilt of mirth in his voice as his gaze met yours, then Whiskey’s. Whiskey leaned forward and barked a laugh while patting Frankie on the back.

“He sure did. The lot of them were in need of a reality check. That’s why Champ specifically likes to have me or Bourbon take at least one pass at our junior agents. After all those hours spent training, they tend to forget that there are much bigger fish out there.”

Conversation flowed easily between them for the rest of their lunch. It reminded Frankie of the prior morning, when they were enjoying breakfast and everything just felt right. It felt as if all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and this time, this time, it didn’t feel fleeting.

Walking to the office was much more comfortable than the walk to the deli had been. You noticed that Frankie was far less stiff under your touch on his arm, even leaning into you occasionally. You parted ways in the elevator. You were heading to the lab to play guinea pig for Cranberry, and your boys were headed upstairs to Whiskey’s office. Frankie seemed hesitant to let you go, and you did your best not to spook him, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Given everything that had happened, things needed to be almost wholly in Frankie’s court, at least until he was more comfortable around you. You had certainly noticed, however, how easily Frankie and Whiskey seemed to allow each other into their respective spaces. The elevator doors closed behind you as you strode down the hall. You were glad that they were comfortable together, though. It had definitely been a concern of yours, considering their respective pasts, but you also thought that there was the potential for them to relate and understand each other better than most.

The rest of the day passed by slowly, and as directed, Frankie remained Jack’s shadow. Jack did his best to keep from laughing when 5pm rolled around and Frankie began to subconsciously bounce his knee. He was scrolling on his phone, lower lip pulled between his teeth and brow furrowed as he tried to focus on whatever was on the screen.

You knocked on Jack’s open office door, raising an eyebrow when you saw Frankie startle at the sound. He wasn’t usually this jumpy. Jack’s gaze met yours, and you could see the amusement and mischief that bubbled in his eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’, you getting ready to head out for the night?”

“Just about, wanted to come see my boys before I do.”

Frankie’s knee stopped bouncing at your words, his phone falling into his lap as he looked up at you. You motion for him to scoot over a bit as you sit down on the couch next to him and rest your chin on your hand.

“We’re still on for dinner tomorrow, right?”

You posed the question to the room in general, even though the three of you knew that it was really directed towards Frankie.

“Uh yeah, I’m-I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” Frankie says after clearing his throat and gives you both a shy smile. Leaning over, you take his large hand in your own and give it a squeeze.

“Great!” Standing up from the couch, you smooth your clothes, give Frankie a kiss on his cheek, and then kiss Jack. “I’ll find us a place, and we’ll figure it out more tomorrow. Night, Frankie. Night, Jack.”

A minute later, you’re gone, and suddenly there’s nothing keeping Frankie’s mind off of the time, which is painfully close to 6pm, when Jack said he’d be done with work. The moment the clock turned that final, eternal minute, Frankie sat up straight, attentive, and alert as his eyes watched Whiskey.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching, then relocated next to Frankie on the couch.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight, Flyboy. If you feel like you’re not up for it, we’ll just grab dinner and head home.”

Frankie shook his head and took a steadying breath.

“No, I want this. I-I could really use it, Jack.”

Whiskey nodded, eyes wandering over Frankie as he adjusted on the couch.

“Alright, I use the green, yellow, red system. You need me to stop for whatever reason, call red, and that’s it, no questions, no hard feelings or fuss. I’ll get you cleaned up and help you come down. Sound good?”

Frankie nodded, his tongue suddenly thick and his mouth dry in anticipation. Jack tutted.

“I need you to use your words, Flyboy.”

Frankie swallowed, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I understand, s-sounds good.”

“Good. Now…” Jack pulled a small pad of stationary paper and a pen from the side table. “I want you to write out what you’re ok with and any hard or soft limits you have.”

Frankie nodded, then took the pen and paper and began writing.

[click for better quality]

A blush took hold of Frankie as he handed it back.

“It’s what I can come up with off the top of my head, for tonight at least. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up though.”

Jack’s eyes were dark as he perused the list, looking up from the paper to Frankie, he stood up with a smile.

“C’mon Flyboy… we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

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