#whiskey distillery near me

[taphousebourbon1]

Kentucky

Bourbon making can be traced back to the late 18th century, standing as a uniquely American spirit known for quality and craftsmanship. Because of specific and high standards, bourbon tastes different than other whiskies such as Scotch, Irish, Canadian or Tennessee whiskey. Bourbon must be made in America and predominantly from corn. This makes bourbon unique among all other styles of whiskey. Furthermore, bourbon is never stored in used barrels. New oak barrels age bourbon slowly over time so it garners a deep amber color and rich flavors as it matures. No artificial colors or additives are ever added. Remember, all bourbons are whiskeys, but not all whiskeys are bourbons.

[missdirection26]

Joel Millers hair was going to be the death of you (Chapter Two)

Summary: After the kiss at the dance, you wonder if anything else would come of it

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: Mature (just for swearing and drinking)

Tags: Jackson!Joel, Fluff, Angst with a happy ending, Romance, First Date

Chapter Two (Chapter One - here)

Also, finished this chapter as I wanted to join in @justagalwhowrites Joel Birthday Celebration, and this is a cutesy Jackson Joel with Friends to Lovers fic. I just want the old man to be happy and content, living out his life in Jackson with his family!

A few days had passed since the Winter Dance, but the memory of Joel’s kiss had haunted you every night. His scent—whiskey and woodsmoke—seemed to cling to your skin long after you'd parted ways. You hadn’t seen him since that night, and despite telling yourself you needed to move on, the yearning gnawed at you. Something had shifted between the two of you, and no amount of distilling could take your mind off it.

You were busy now, though. With the dance over, your operation had scaled back to a more manageable pace, and you were grateful to get back to some semblance of normalcy. Still, you couldn’t help but glance toward the door of your makeshift distillery every time you heard footsteps. Part of you knew it was irrational to expect him to just show up—but deep down, you wanted him to. The idea of Joel standing in your doorway again, maybe with that same look in his eyes from the dance, made your chest ache.

It was nearing dusk when there was a knock at the door. For a second, you hesitated, but before you could convince yourself it was someone else, you swung it open.

And there he was. Joel stood on your threshold, hands in his pockets, looking as if he’d been debating whether or not to knock for a while.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, rough.

“Hey yourself.” You stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Joel hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. His eyes scanned the distillery, the barrels lined up against the wall, the equipment you’d scavenged over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and it kept Jackson in good spirits - literally. He seemed to take it all in before his gaze landed back on you.

“I brought you somethin’,” he said, pulling a hand from his pocket. He held out a small wooden carving - a bird this time, wings spread wide as if in mid-flight. You smiled as you took it, turning it over in your hands.

“You spoil me, Miller,” you said, brushing your fingers over the finely carved details. “What’s the occasion?”

Joel’s eyes flickered toward the floor, then back up at you. He seemed to wrestle with his words, and for a moment, the two of you stood in the quiet hum of the distillery.

“Wanted to talk about the other night,” he finally said, his voice steady but cautious. “About… what happened.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a knot form in your throat. It wasn’t regret you felt- definitely not. But the uncertainty, the vulnerability that had come with that kiss, it all came rushing back. You hadn’t thought too much beyond the moment itself, hadn’t let yourself consider what it meant. Now, standing here in the soft glow of the distillery’s lights, you realised you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Joel…” you started, unsure where to begin. “That night - it was…” You trailed off, not wanting to call it a mistake, but unsure of how to describe it otherwise.

Joel stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you. His eyes softened as he looked at you, like he could see right through the walls you’d spent years building.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice a low rasp. “I don’t… I don’t have the right words, but I didn’t want to leave it hangin’ in the air. I ain’t blind - I know we’ve been dancin’ around somethin’ for a while now. And I need to know… if that’s what you want, too.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness. For years, you’d thought Joel kept his distance, that he wasn’t interested in anything beyond the whiskey you traded and the occasional conversation. But here he was, laying it out in front of you like a hand of cards, waiting to see if you’d fold or match his bet.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t think you… I didn’t think you wanted that kind of thing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that rumbled low in his chest. “I didn’t think I did either. But with you…” His words trailed off as he took another step closer, his hand reaching up, almost instinctively, to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “With you, I’m thinkin’ maybe I do.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for a long moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. This was Joel - gruff, hard-edged Joel - standing in your distillery and telling you he wanted more. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“I didn’t think I could do this again,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the confession. “After Talia, I just… I didn’t think I had it in me.”

Joel’s expression softened, and he took another step forward, until there was barely any space left between the two of you. “I get it,” he murmured. “I thought I’d lost that part of me, too. But you… you’ve been gettin’ under my skin for years now. Maybe it’s time we stop fightin’ it.”

You couldn’t help but let out a short, breathless laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Ain’t nothin’ about this easy. But we’ve both survived worse, haven’t we?”

The air between you felt charged, like one wrong move could send the whole thing crashing down. But as Joel stood there, his hand still brushing against your cheek, you realised you didn’t want to back away from this. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “We have.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Joel’s lips found yours again. This kiss wasn’t hesitant like the last - it was certain, slow, like the two of you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Joel rested his forehead against yours. “We can take this slow,” he murmured. “Figure it out as we go.”

You nodded, feeling something uncoil in your chest - something that had been wound tight for far too long.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to feel hopeful.

–

The next few days after your conversation with Joel felt like a dream, a slow, simmering anticipation building in the quiet moments when you were alone. You didn’t know what to expect - Joel Miller wasn’t exactly the “romantic” type. Still, when he suggested you go on a “proper date” after his patrol, you had to suppress the giddy smile threatening to creep across your face. He told you to meet him by the grain store barn at sunset, and though he didn’t say much more, the subtle warmth in his eyes was enough to send your mind racing.

As the day drew closer, you tried not to think too much about it. You told yourself to keep it simple. After all, this was Joel - gruff, practical, no-nonsense Joel. It wasn’t going to be anything elaborate, and that was fine with you. But still, you found yourself lingering a little longer in front of the mirror, brushing your hair with more care than usual.

You made your way to the barn just as the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting the town of Jackson in soft shades of amber and pink. Your heart thrummed in your chest as you neared the building, half-expecting to find Joel leaning against the fence, all casual and unbothered like he usually was. But when you rounded the corner, you saw something entirely different.

Joel was there, all right, but he wasn’t just waiting. He’d set up a small table just outside the barn, far enough from the bustle of town that you’d have privacy, but close enough that the soft sounds of life still carried on the breeze. On the table sat two mismatched plates and a couple of candles - an attempt at elegance despite the rough surroundings. Next to the table was a small firepit he must have made earlier, its flames flickering gently in the dusk.

You blinked, completely taken aback. This was... more effort than you had expected. A lot more.

Joel stood there, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was nervous. When he saw your expression, he gave you a lopsided, slightly sheepish smile. “It ain’t much,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “But I figured we deserved somethin’... nice.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “Joel, this is... this is more than nice. It’s perfect.”

He let out a breath he must’ve been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you were the candlelight kinda girl.”

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to the table. “Normally, I’m not, but for you? I can make an exception.”

The fire crackled softly in the background as Joel pulled out the chair for you, his hand brushing yours as you sat down. There was a tension in the air - not the kind of tension you’d felt all those years when you were tiptoeing around each other, but something softer, more promising.

Joel sat across from you, and the two of you shared a comfortable silence for a moment, the warmth of the fire keeping the evening chill at bay. The flickering light cast soft shadows on Joel’s face, and you found yourself staring at him longer than you intended, memorising every detail - the lines etched into his skin, the silver threading through his sparse beard, the way his hair curled just above his ears (he still hadn’t cut it, thank whatever deity may be out there). He looked more at ease than you’d ever seen him, and that alone was enough to make your chest tighten.

After a moment, Joel reached into a small cooler at his feet and pulled out two bottles of beer - your beer. He handed you one with a grin. “Figured it’s only right, seein’ as you’re the expert.”

You laughed, accepting the bottle and taking a long sip. “You know how to charm a girl.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, taking a drink from his own bottle. “Wasn’t sure what to cook,” he said, nodding toward a small pot hanging over the fire. “But Ellie swore up and down I couldn’t screw up stew. So… stew it is.”

The mention of Ellie made you smile. You knew how much she meant to him - how the work he did around Jackson was always to keep her safe. The fact that he’d even mentioned this “date” to her was surprising, but it made you feel a little more grounded in whatever this thing between you was becoming.

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said, leaning back in your chair, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your skin. “I’m not too picky. Anything cooked over a fire tastes better anyway.”

Joel gave a quiet hum of agreement, stirring the pot with slow, careful movements. He looked content, peaceful in a way that seemed foreign to both of you. You hadn’t seen Joel like this before - not so open, so relaxed. And you liked it.

As the stew simmered and the conversation flowed, you found yourselves slipping into the same comfortable banter that had always been there between you. Joel teased you about the time you accidentally mixed up batches of whiskey and moonshine, and you shot back about his less-than-graceful attempts at fixing the leaky roof on the distillery. It felt easy, natural, like nothing had really changed, even though everything had.

When the stew was ready, Joel served you both, and the two of you ate in the firelight, the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It was simple, but perfect, exactly what you both needed after years of surviving and making do with whatever scraps of happiness you could find.

After the meal, you leaned back in your chair, staring up at the night sky, the stars just beginning to blink into existence. Joel was quiet beside you, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity of it making your skin warm.

“What’re you thinking about?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Joel hesitated for a moment, then shook his head with a soft, almost embarrassed smile. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout how long I’ve been fightin’ this.”

“Fighting what?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes still fixed on you. “This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “You. For years, I told myself I wasn’t ready. That I couldn’t… let anyone in again. But now… now I’m wonderin’ why the hell I waited so long.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You’d felt the same way - terrified of opening yourself up, of letting anyone get too close. But here you were, with Joel, on what was undoubtedly the best date you’d had in years. Hell, maybe the best date you’d ever had.

You smiled, reaching across the small table to take his hand in yours. “Maybe we just needed time,” you said softly, your thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. “We both had a lot of walls to break down.”

Joel’s fingers tightened around yours, his grip firm but gentle. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he finally looked up at you, there was something different in his eyes - something deeper, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen before.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe you’re right.”

You stayed like that for a while, sitting in the quiet, your hands intertwined. It was enough. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t worried about what came next. You weren’t thinking about tomorrow, or the dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of Jackson. All that mattered was the here and now—the firelight, the stars, and the man sitting across from you, his hand warm in yours.

As the night wore on, the fire began to die down, the embers glowing faintly in the dark. Joel stood, offering you his hand to help you up, and when you took it, he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both protective and tender.

“You wanna walk me home, cowboy?” you teased, looking up at him with a grin.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You know damn well I’m gonna, my mama would turn in her grave if I let a lady walk home alone.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, walking side by side.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Queen Of Kings - Chapter Three.

Ao3

Chapter 3: Overwhelmed by the advice to sell her father's business, Nellie feels an urge to take the opposite path.

When she finds herself in a dangerous situation, an old friend steps in to defend her.

Masterlist here.

The Garrison's smoky haze hung heavily in the air, swirling like ghostly tendrils above the patrons who filled the room, with a low hum of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of glasses. The dim lighting cast long shadows, creating an almost clandestine atmosphere, perfect for the exchange of secrets and hushed confessions.

Nellie Ensor sat at a secluded corner table, a small island of solitude amidst the bustling tavern. Her fingers traced the rim of her untouched glass of whiskey, the amber liquid inside catching the flickering candlelight and casting a warm glow on her sombre face. Her eyes, sharp and vigilant, darted to the door every few seconds, a subconscious reaction born from the lingering dread of Victor Crowley's recent threats at her father’s distillery. His menacing words replayed in her mind, a haunting echo that chilled her to the core and made her heart race with a mix of fear and anger.

Across from her sat Mr. Edward Hayes, her father’s most trusted advisor and confidant. Edward's presence was a steadying force, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to the turmoil within Nellie. His weathered face, marked by deep lines and the shadows of countless sleepless nights, revealed the weight of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of the distillery business. His grey eyes, though tired, held a spark of determination and a glint of paternal affection as they rested on Nellie.

Edward had known her father since their youth, their bond forged through shared dreams and mutual respect, more akin to that of brothers than mere colleagues. He had watched Nellie grow from a spirited child into a strong-willed woman, and the current situation pained him deeply. The concern etched on his face was not just professional but deeply personal, as he worried not only for the future of the distillery but for Nellie's safety and well-being.

"Nellie," Edward began, his voice gentle yet imbued with an underlying firmness that commanded attention. His eyes, filled with a mix of sorrow and determination, locked onto hers. "I know how much the distillery means to you. It meant the world to your father too. But I have reason to believe that the same people who murdered him did so because they wanted his business."

Nellie’s breath hitched slightly at his words, a painful reminder of the loss that still felt raw and unhealed. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the swirling amber liquid in her glass, as if it held the answers to questions she wasn’t ready to ask.

Edward leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laden with urgency and concern. "They won’t stop, Nellie," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "They won’t stop until they have what they want. And I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt like your father."

Nellie finally looked up, her eyes locking with Edward’s. The genuine worry etched into his weathered features spoke volumes, and she felt a pang of guilt for being the source of his distress.

“Edward, I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “But selling the distillery…” She trailed off, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her. “It feels like giving up. Like betraying my father’s memory.”

Edward's eyes softened as he reached across the table, his hand enveloping hers in a gesture of comfort and solidarity. “Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away,” he said gently, his voice carrying the wisdom of years. “Think about it, Nellie. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

The sincerity in his tone struck a chord within her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined not to let them fall. “I promise, Edward,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”

Edward stood, his movements slow and deliberate as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His expression softened into a sad, yet hopeful smile. “Take care, lass,” he murmured, giving her hand a final, reassuring squeeze.

As he turned to leave, the dim light of The Garrison cast long shadows that seemed to follow him. Nellie watched him go, the smoky haze of the tavern swirling around him like a shroud. She felt a profound sense of loss and uncertainty, but also a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way to honour her father’s legacy without losing herself in the process.

Left alone at the corner table, Nellie let her gaze fall back to the untouched glass of whiskey. The amber liquid seemed to glow with a life of its own, reflecting the fire that still burned within her.

Nellie exhaled shakily, her mind a turbulent sea of thoughts and emotions as she processed the weight of her conversation with Edward. The familiar, comforting presence of The Garrison seemed almost suffocating now. She barely noticed when Tommy Shelby, with his characteristic stealth, slid into the seat Edward had vacated.

“Eleanor,” Tommy greeted, his voice smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos in her mind. His piercing blue eyes, as sharp as ever, bore into hers with an intensity that could unsettle anyone else. But for Nellie, it was a familiar gaze.

“Thomas,” she replied, straightening her posture, a reflexive act of maintaining composure in his imposing presence.

Tommy leaned back slightly, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table. “I heard Edward’s advice,” he said, cutting straight to the point as always. “He’s making a fair point, you know. Selling the distillery may be the smartest move.”

Nellie’s eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance igniting within them. “So you think I should just give up? Let them win?” Her voice was steady, but the underlying bitterness was unmistakable.

Tommy’s jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of the internal struggle he was masking behind his stoic exterior. His eyes, usually so inscrutable, flickered with a rare glimpse of vulnerability, an unspoken plea for her to understand the gravity of the situation. Despite the tension coiled within him, he kept his tone measured, each word carefully chosen. “It’s not about giving up, Nellie. It’s about staying alive. I don’t want you ending up like your father.”

The words hit Nellie with the force of a physical blow, her heart aching at the cold detachment in his voice. She knew Tommy well enough to recognize the walls he erected around his emotions, the barriers he constructed to prevent his true feelings from betraying him. Yet, it was precisely that controlled facade that made his concern all the more poignant.

“Tommy, his business is all I have left of him,” she said, her voice faltering with a mix of sorrow and defiance. She leaned forward, her eyes searching for any sign of understanding. “Selling it feels wrong. It’s not what he would have wanted.”

Tommy’s expression hardened, his jawline becoming more pronounced as a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. It was a look Nellie had seen many times before, a mask he wore to hide the tempest of emotions beneath. His voice, when he spoke, was as cold and unyielding as steel. “Sometimes, what we want isn't important. It’s about surviving.”

Nellie’s temper flared, her cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and frustration. She straightened her back, her eyes blazing with defiance. “You don’t get to tell me what’s best for me, Tommy Shelby,” she snapped, her voice rising above the din of the tavern. The patrons around them cast curious glances, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the man in front of her and the words she needed him to hear. “You think being cold and detached will protect you, but all it does is push people away.”

Tommy’s eyes flashed with a brief, almost imperceptible hint of regret, a shadow crossing his features. For a moment, the mask slipped, revealing the vulnerability he kept hidden from the world. But just as quickly, it was gone. He remained silent, his gaze unwavering, a fortress of stoicism.

Nellie could feel the tension radiating from him, a palpable force that pressed against her. She wanted to reach out, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but she knew it was futile. Tommy Shelby was a man who carried his burdens alone, a lone wolf in a world of chaos.

“Thank you for your concern,” she said icily, her voice cutting through the thick air like a blade. Each word was laced with a mixture of bitterness and sorrow, a reflection of the emotional chasm between them. She stood up, her movements sharp and decisive, as if to underscore her resolve. “But I’ll make my own decisions.”

As she walked away, her silhouette gradually fading into the haze of The Garrison, Tommy watched her go, his eyes narrowing with a complex blend of emotions. A mixture of respect and frustration churned within him, warring for dominance. He admired her spirit, the fierce independence that mirrored his own, and her refusal to be intimidated by anyone, not even him. It was a quality he valued deeply, a trait that resonated with his own relentless drive. But alongside that admiration was a gnawing fear, a deep-seated worry that her stubbornness, her unyielding determination to forge her own path, might lead her into peril. He clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of his own protective instincts battling against the harsh realities of their world. Each step she took away from him felt like a step closer to the unknown dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Nellie’s footsteps echoed sharply against the uneven cobblestones, each step reverberating in the cool evening air as she made her way toward the entrance of Small Heath Spirits. The distillery loomed ahead, the weathered brick façade bathed in the dim glow of the street lamps, casting shadows that danced across the alley. The sight of the building stirred a tumultuous wave of memories within her—moments of laughter and hard work shared with her father, mingled with the bittersweet ache of loss. The scent of aged whiskey, faint but familiar, hung in the air, adding to the nostalgic pull of the place.

As she neared the heavy wooden door, her eyes narrowed, a niggling sense of unease prickling at the back of her mind. Standing just outside the entrance were three figures, their presence incongruous against the otherwise quiet scene. Victor Crowley, with his calculating gaze, was flanked by two men dressed in smart, tailored suits, their postures rigid and alert. The sight of them sent a chill down her spine, her instincts screaming that this was more than a casual visit.

Victor’s smile was cold, predatory, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of amusement and malice. He stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking softly on the cobblestones, and inclined his head in a mock gesture of respect. “Miss Ensor, a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his voice smooth and oily, each word dripping with insincerity.

Nellie’s expression remained stony, her eyes hard as flint, her voice firm and unyielding. “Leave, Mr Crowley. You’re not welcome here.”

Victor chuckled, a sinister undertone lacing his laughter, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. His smile was more a baring of teeth, a predator toying with its prey. “I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” he replied, his tone dripping with false amiability.

Ignoring the icy fingers of fear that traced her spine, Nellie squared her shoulders, her resolve hardening. Without another word, she pushed past the trio, her movements deliberate and unhesitant. The scent of oak barrels and aged spirits enveloped her as she crossed the threshold into the distillery, a familiar and comforting aroma that fortified her determination.

The click of her heels against the worn wooden floor echoed in the vast space, a rhythmic declaration of her defiance. She could hear Victor and his men following closely behind, their footsteps a heavy, oppressive presence that seemed to fill the room. The air inside was cooler, the ambient hum of the machinery a constant backdrop that she had always found oddly soothing. Today, however, it did little to calm her nerves.

As she made her way to her office, she forced herself to project an air of calm authority, her back straight and her pace measured. The narrow corridor leading to her sanctuary felt longer than usual, the walls closing in around her. The soft, golden light from the overhead lamps cast long shadows that danced on the floor, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.

Reaching her office door, she paused for a fraction of a second, her hand poised on the brass handle. She could sense Victor’s presence just behind her, his breath warm and unsettling on the back of her neck. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings of her father’s old office lending her a much-needed sense of reassurance.

Once inside, Nellie moved with deliberate grace, each step measured, as she rounded her desk and took her seat. The mahogany surface, polished to a gleam, was a symbol of her father’s legacy and her own unyielding resolve. She looked up at Victor with a cold gaze. “What do you want, Mr Crowley?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Victor’s smile widened, a malicious glint in his eyes that sent a fresh surge of anger through her. One of his men, a burly figure with a permanent scowl etched into his face, stepped forward obediently. He produced a set of papers from his briefcase, the crisp rustling of the documents sounding almost ominous in the stillness of the room. The man laid the papers on her desk with an air of finality, as if sealing her fate.

Victor took a step closer, his presence looming over her like a dark cloud. “I want you to sign these,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Transfer ownership of the distillery to me, and all your problems go away.”

Nellie’s eyes flicked down to the papers, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She could feel the weight of Victor’s gaze on her, a predatory intensity that made her skin crawl. For a moment, she allowed her eyes to scan the contents, each line a testament to his greed and ambition. But she kept her expression neutral, her face a mask of calm defiance.

Without a word, she picked up the papers, the weight of them feeling like a tangible burden in her hands. Her fingers traced the edges of the documents, her mind racing with the implications of what he was asking. Then, with a sudden, decisive motion, she tore the papers in half, the ripping sound sharp and final, echoing like a gunshot in the confined space.

Victor’s smile faltered, a flicker of surprise and anger crossing his features. Nellie leaned forward, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. “Get out,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, each word laced with venom. “Now.”

Victor’s smile vanished, his lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line as a look of cold fury settled over his features. The transformation was chilling, like the sudden drop in temperature before a storm. He leaned over the desk, his shadow falling across Nellie, his voice a menacing whisper that seemed to suck the air out of the room. “You’re making a big mistake, Miss Ensor. This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”

Nellie’s pulse quickened, a primal instinct warning her of the danger that loomed so close. But she refused to let him see her fear. Her eyes locked onto his with unwavering resolve, a silent battle of wills playing out in the space between them. “You don’t scare me, Mr Crowley,” she said, her voice steady and clear, though her heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

Victor’s eyes darkened, the predatory gleam intensifying as his fury simmered just beneath the surface. His voice, when he spoke, was dripping with malice, each word a dagger aimed at her resolve. “You should be scared. I can make your life very difficult, Miss Ensor. Or I can end it.”

Before Nellie could muster a response, the door to the office swung open with a forceful bang, and John Shelby strode in. His presence was like a sudden storm, commanding and calm yet brimming with an underlying menace. He surveyed the room with a piercing gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto Victor and his men.

“Is there a problem here?” John asked, his voice deceptively casual, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

Victor straightened, his sneer faltering for just a moment before he regained his composure. “Just a business discussion,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

John’s smile didn’t reach his eyes; instead, a cold, predatory gleam flickered in their depths. He took a deliberate step closer, closing the distance between himself and Victor, his posture radiating a quiet but unmistakable threat. His tone shifted, becoming darker and more dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder. “I think you should leave. Now." His tone absolute, left no room for argument. "Nellie is under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. You don’t want to make an enemy of us.”

Victor’s eyes widened slightly, the true gravity of his situation beginning to dawn on him. He glanced at his men, who now looked decidedly less confident. The reputation of the Peaky Blinders was notorious, their reach and ruthlessness legendary.

The colour drained from Victor’s face, his bravado crumbling under the weight of John Shelby’s menacing presence. He forced a smile, but it was tight and insincere, a desperate attempt to mask his fear. “Of course, Mr. Shelby. We were just leaving,” he said, his voice lacking its earlier confidence.

Victor and his men turned to go, their movements stiff and hurried as if they couldn’t escape the room fast enough. But not before Victor shot Nellie a final, venomous glare, his eyes burning with a promise of future retribution. “I'll be in touch, Miss Ensor,” he muttered, the words dripping with malice.

John’s eyes never left Victor, his gaze as sharp and unyielding as a blade. He stood perfectly still, exuding a calm yet deadly aura that spoke volumes without a single word. It was only when the door closed behind Victor and his lackeys, the sound echoing through the now silent office, that John allowed his posture to relax slightly.

He turned to Nellie, his expression softening from the cold, ruthless enforcer to a concerned friend. “Are you alright, Nell?” he asked, his voice gentler but still carrying the underlying strength that defined him.

Nellie let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the adrenaline began to ebb. The tension that had gripped her body started to dissolve, though her heart still pounded in her chest. “I’m fine, John. Thank you,” she replied. Though her voice was tinged with the remnants of the confrontation’s intensity, she still managed to offer him a smile.

John nodded, a protective glint in his eyes that spoke of years of unspoken vows and unwavering loyalty. "You don't have to face this alone, Nellie. I've got your back," he said, his voice a blend of steel and warmth, a promise forged in the fires of countless shared memories.

Nellie managed a small, grateful smile, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and appreciation. “I know, John. And I appreciate it. More than you know,” she replied, her voice soft but laden with sincerity. The weight of her gratitude was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the burden he had just lifted from her shoulders.

John moved around to her side of the desk and perched opposite her. He reached out, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, a simple gesture that conveyed volumes. It was the same comforting touch he had offered during childhood scrapes and teenage heartbreaks. “We’re in this together. No one messes with the Peaky Blinders,” he said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble.

John’s hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment before he pulled her into a gentle hug, the embrace warm and reassuring. Nellie closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of solace in the familiarity of his arms, drawing strength from the unspoken support of her oldest friend.

[kayhi808]

Farmer's Market

A while ago, @e-dubbc11 created this moodboard from a request during a milestone follower celebration. It came out so CUTE I had to think up of a story to use it. It's also a shout out to some fun vendors at the Union Square Green Market on Saturdays in NYC. Enjoy!

"Where do you think you're going?" You let out a squeak as an arm wraps around your middle, hauling you back into bed. Pulling you flush against the warm body of Billy Russo. He rubs his beard between your shoulder blades making you sqirm.

Wiggling around to face him, "Billy, stop." Hooking a leg over his hip, "G'morning." His palm rests on your thigh as his other hand brings your head closer for a kiss.

"It's the weekend. Sleep in with me."

"But it's Farmer's Market day," you mumble against his lips. You feel them turn down in a frown. "The one near here is so much better than mine."

"Is that why you agreed to sleep over?" You give Billy what you hope is an angelic smile. He shoves away from you and smacks your bottom. Hard.

"OW!" But it still makes you laugh. "Billlyyyy." He's already up and making his way to the bathroom. He gives you the finger as he walks away, which makes you laugh harder. He's so grumpy in the morning. You decide what to wear from your drawer that Billy had cleared out for when you stay over. You settle on some shorts, a tank top & you dig through Bill's closet for a button down to use as a coverup.

Bill emerges from the bathroom & walks over to you & drops a kiss on the top of your head. "Come with me."

"Why can't we just go to the store?"

"No! Farmer's Markets are so much more fun. Their produce are fresh. We're helping the local businesses. And there's so much good food to try. Come with me & I'll buy you breakfast & coffee." Pulling him down so you can wrap your arms around his neck, "Please, Billy. The day will be nice. We'll get some exercise; get in a nice walk. It's not going to get too hot. Please." He growls but he gets dressed.

*******

It's early enough for the air to still be a bit chilly but you know it'll warm up. You pick up coffee at your favorite coffee shop and head towards Union Square. The closer you get, the sidewalks become busier. Bill didn't realize how popular the Market would be. He reaches down & laces his fingers with yours and leads you to the entrance.

The first stall you visit is a bakery. Making good on the promise of getting Bill breakfast. "Bakers Bounty" always has the flakiest pastries and you're a fan of their cottage bread. Billy was not expecting the high quality of the goods that are offered there.

You're able to get all the fresh produce you were looking for, and then some! "City Saucery" is there with all their homemade tomato sauces. "I need to confess. My bolognese sauce that you love so much is because of their sauce."

"You said it was an old family recipe!"

"Well...it is! Their family." Paying for 2 jars of their sauce and handing it to Bill to put in the bag. "Not mine."

"You little liar!" You smile up at him & weave your arm through his to pull him along.

To make up for your lie and because he's been so good about joining you and not fussing. You steer him over to a few stalls selling Bourbon, Gin, & Brandy. "Stillhouse Whiskey" & "Unbounded Bourbon & Gin" offered Bill a sampling after a lengthy discussion on their distilleries. Shrugging, "It's not even 10 o'clock but I'm not judging. Enjoy yourself." You laugh and leave him to his sampling. You hit up the next stall, "Neversink Brandy." They had an apple & a pear brandy that you really enjoyed.

Keeping an eye on Billy you go over to a food truck to get him something hardier than pastries since he's drinking already. You pick up a Sunrise Sammy; scrambled eggs, thick cut bacon, with cheese on a sweet roll.

You start to head back to Billy but you notice he's not at the tent. Where'd he go off to?? You're about to get out your phone when you see him walking over with a fresh bouquet of flowers. "Billy??" You trade his sandwich for the flowers. "Thank you!"

He bends to kiss you and you can taste the smokey spice of the whiskey he's had. "You were right. This was fun." It's hard to tell if his smile is from the alcohol or if he truly enjoyed himself. Maybe a little of both.

@idaofinfinity @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @e-dubbc11

[capricorntea]

Pls tell me about your oc, I need more info about them 🤲

Hi friend!

OC is Charlotte Samaritan, usually goes by Lottie! She's a corporal/sergeant who's spent the majoirty of her service down south on the border near Fotset. By trade she's a medic who tends to 'specialise' in lines runs or being attached to units over ward work. She's early twenties during the whole Promised Day Palava, but she enlisted pretty early (17-18). She originally wanted to be a midwife but it's kinda difficult to do that when you don't have the right qualifications/grades. So army was her back-up to get some experience/training before retiring. She didn't intend on staying in the military for as long as she has but due to the situation on the border, she felt a little guilty leaving friends to continue on… and she genuinely enjoys the job. I figured she gets sent to Briggs after the Promised day - with Grumman as the new fuhrer, and peace being a goal (heavily pressured by Mustang I'm sure), I figure the conflict down south winds down. Some more personal information, however:

SHE HAS A PUPPO - She's got Sven, a german shepherd who's been trained as a military dog. She's had him since she was 16 and she considers him her ~son~ (jokingly)

She's from a small town in the middle of the southern countryside - literally 30 miles from Fotset - and with only around 80 people population. Her parents are farmers that run there own distillery making cider, beer, and whiskey, but it's very much a small, family-run business - though they do send out regular care packages to some of her friends that have been transferred further afield

Her main hobbies are music and archery, though she hasn't had much time for them since she joined

She's got a gaggle of brothers, being the second eldest of seven - and is pretty family (and friend) focused as a result

She's generally cheerful though she can get a little too overfamiliar too quickly - so she can struggle when dealing with the higher ups - very much the type to be like "hey, you okay?" first, followed by a delayed "oh shit *salute* Sir!". Her cheekiness makes her either ballsy or too far forward depending on who you ask

Side note to previous point - I've thought in the past that people might question why she didn't get sent to Briggs sooner - truth is, I doubt the higher ups care much about Fotset, and those that do are too busy drowning to care about a medic, especially one who's good at their job and somewhat important at keeping medics on that portion of the front running

She's short, 5ft3 (no I'm not projecting, what are you talking about, she's a full inch taller than me), but pretty strong for her size. Her legs are stronger than her arms though so if she has to move a crate you should not be surprised if you find her sat on the floor pushing it with her legs as opposed to lifting it like any normal person would do. She takes genuine joy and pride from being able to lift men twice her size with relative ease (granted with a sprint), as it's literally in her job description and yet people still tend to underestimate her

HERE HAVE A WIP (I started this back in Auguest before the school year started up again and yet when I found time and motivation, I decided to prioritise the comic instead, whoops):

As an aside, I chronically forget about a scar she on her left temple whenever I draw her - deadass the first three times that I drew her IT WAS ON THE WRONG SIDE - and I've got a 15 page google doc (filled out for an RP server) with more information but I've spammed enough for today. For the time being have some images that I have saved to my phone as things that remind me of her:

[varchasspirit]

This blog offers a structured approach to tasting straight bourbon whiskey and straight rye whiskey, unlocking the nuances that make each sip memorable. You’ll discover how to use sight, smell, and taste to discern the complex layers in premium whiskeys. Learn to appreciate the rich, sweet profile of bourbon and the bold, spicy nature of rye, honing your skills to distinguish quality spirits. With the insights gained, next time you search for a whiskey distillery near me, you’ll be ready to truly savor the experience.

[elsalouisa]

"I was born in the four-poster bed in me parents bedroom at I Cancelli, A sixteenth-century villa on the hills overlooking Florence. It was on the fourth of May 1927, My brother Carlo had been born in that same room some eighteenth months earlier and Nicola, our younger brother, made his first appearance there four years later. I still remember many details of my parents’ bedroom on the first floor of the villa: the crackling fireplace, the south-facing windows overlooking the garden and the hills, the pink gauze curtains flowing in the breeze… My mother spent a great deal of her time in this roam reading books on philosophy and theology, a soft cover of pink marabou feathers draping her legs. My mother, Margaret Clarke, was beautiful, intelligent, and complicated. There were no preordained timetables at home and there was often a sense of experimental precariousness. My mother had a developed aesthetic sense but no interest at all in domesticity. Whenever we traveled, however, she would open a trunk and bring out piece after piece of magnificent fabric to drape over sofas and lamps. She would fail the vases with ) flowers. Thanks to her, those anonymous rooms became immedtately beautiful and familiar to us, My mother was an American from Peoria, Illinois. Her father, Charles, belonged to a family of old Puritan stock that had made a considerable fortune with Clarke Bros. & Co., a whiskey distillery that claimed to be the largest in the world, though this was an exaggeration. His father had been a close friend of President Lincoln, and Charles, who was elected mayor of Peoria twice, was known for his enlightened policies and public administration. He died young, when my mother was a child. In the aftermath of World War I, my mother, who was then twenty-one, moved to Europe with her much-older half sister, Mary, and their mother, Alice Chandler Clarke—London first, then Paris, and finally Florence, where she eventually met her husband to be, Filippo Caracciolo di Melito, my father. He was a handsome officer seven years younger than she, with a passion for writing and poetry.

The first garden I remember is the one belonging to I Cancelli, the villa my brothers and I grew up in. My grandmother, following in the steps of other Anglo-American expatriates, had bought this villa surrounded by olive groves for my mother in 1923. The garden was divided into many “rooms,” which we children named. The thick vegetation near the pond, fascinating and mysterious, became “the Jungle” while the fruit orchard was the “pomario.” Then there was “Grandma Clarkes garden.” I had not met my American grandmother, whe died two years before I was born, but her garden, which was surrounded by tall walls of clipped laurel and filled with colorful herbaceous borders, was my favorite. It had a bright blue wooden bench at its cenfer, like in a painting by the Viennese Secessionist Carl Moll. It was the most romantic part of the garden, which is why I liked it so much. Hoping to please me, my parents had renamed another area “Marellas garden.” It was classical in style, all clipped boxwood and white gravel. I found ‘'Marellas garden” desperately ugly and longed for Grandma Clarkes one instead. Another childhood home I loved was one my mother had built in the mountains near Brixen, in the Italian Dolomites. It was a plain fwo-story house with spectacular mountain views and a stream running past it. With the help of Gina, our gardener from Florence, my mother created terraced gardens that she filled with dog roses and wildflowers. All around it was a forest of pine trees, chestnuts, and beeches. As children, we would spend every summer there going for long walks, riding bicycles, swimming in the local pool. There was a large terrace furnished with wicker chairs and tables. My mother had taste. Her houses were elegant and cozy. A vague sense of disorder pervaded every room but there was also a great attention to detail: vases filled with freshly picked flowers, embroidered bed linens, attention to each day's menus, things like that. As a child, I remember having roaring fights with her over the decoration of my bedroom. I liked some paintings, while she preferred others. She loved pale blue; I wanted nothing but pink. I was very stubborn and to the end my mother succumbed. My father, Filippo, was not so interested in these aesthetic disquisitions. What he longed to do was write and when he was young be published several novels and a few collections of poetry. The financial crash of 1929, however, badly affected my mothers fortune and so my father applied far a past in the diplomatic service. I think he was fhe first member of his family to have a proper job: traditionally members of the old southern aristocracy, like him, rarely worked for a living. So off we went to Ankara, Turkey, where we lived for most of the late 1930s. in Turkey I was allowed to adopt all of the district's stray dogs. I took care of them, fed them, gave each one of them a name. When we left, in 1939, I had to leave them behind—all of them except one, Tommaso. I was deeply grieved... This passion of mine was something I shared with Gianni. We had all kinds of dogs: Labradors, Huskies, mongrels. Dogs offer great companionship and I am convinced that their loyalty and purity protect us. I had a German shepherd once who looked over my children for many years. His name was Makyu and he was a gift from my brother-in-law Umberto. When the war broke out, my father was appointed Italian general consul in Lugano, Switzerland. It was during that time that he made contact with the Partito d’Azione, an anfi-Fascist political movement supported by the Allies. My father, who spoke perfect English, was a liaison agent who kept in constant touch with the British secret service".

Marella Agnelli: The Last Swan

[bullbrandwhiskey]

Yamazaki whiskey for sale online usa, Yamazaki whiskey for sale online near me, yamazaki 12, yamazaki whiskey price, yamazaki single malt 12 years price, yamazaki 18,

[2brothersdistillers]

Art of Collecting: Building Your Whiskey Collection and Investment Tips

Embark on a journey into the captivating world of whiskey collecting an art that combines passion, knowledge, and investment savvy. We'll explore the intricacies of building a whiskey collection, from selecting rare bottles to maximizing investment potential. Whether you're a seasoned collector or just starting, discover the joys and strategies of whiskey collecting.

Collecting whiskey

Take a journey into the exciting world of whiskey collecting, an art form that mixes love, expertise, and investment acumen. In this article, we'll go over the subtleties of creating a whiskey collection, from choosing uncommon bottles to optimizing financial potential. Whether you're an experienced collector or just getting started, learn about the delights and methods of whiskey collecting.

Selecting your focus

When creating a whiskey collection, it's useful to have a certain emphasis or theme in mind. Some collectors may specialize in a certain type of whiskey, such as Scotch, bourbon, or Japanese whisky, whilst others may concentrate on specific distilleries, vintages, or areas. By establishing your focus, you may limit your options and build a cohesive collection that matches your interests and preferences.

Researching and educating yourself

To become a successful whiskey collector, you must first educate yourself about the world of whiskey. Take the time to study various styles and manufacturing processes, become acquainted with well-known distilleries and brands, and remain updated on industry trends and releases. Attend tastings, join whiskey groups, and look for ways to broaden your knowledge and palate.

Building your collection

Building a whiskey collection is a long process that demands perseverance and commitment. Begin by purchasing bottles that fit your focus and budget, keeping in mind that quality is sometimes more essential than quantity. Seek out bottles with unusual packaging, restricted availability, or historical importance, since they may add depth and value to your collection over time.

Storage and display

Proper storage is essential for preserving the quality and value of your whiskey collection. Store bottles upright in a cool, dark area away from direct sunlight and temperature variations. Purchase a nice whiskey cabinet or display case to showcase your collection, allowing you to appreciate your bottles while keeping them safe from harm.

Investment tips

While whiskey collecting may be a gratifying hobby, it can also be a profitable financial option for those who are prepared to be patient. To optimize your collection's financial potential, consider the following tips:

Invest in limited-edition releases

Limited-edition or uncommon bottlings from respected distilleries tend to appreciate with time, especially if they are highly valued by collectors and reviewers.

Pay attention to market trends

Keep track of market trends and variations in whiskey pricing, since they might affect the value of your collection. Keep a watch out for developing distilleries, new releases, and industry news that might affect the market.

Buy low, sell high

When purchasing whiskey for investment purposes, search for opportunities to get bottles at a good deal, such as during sales or auctions. Be patient and intelligent in your sales technique, waiting for the appropriate moment to capitalize on market needs.

Seek expert advice

Consider obtaining counsel from whiskey specialists or investment professionals who can help you grow and manage your whiskey collection. They can provide significant information on market trends, investing strategies, and portfolio management. Building a whiskey collection requires passion, dedication, and knowledge. Whether you collect for personal enjoyment or investment, the art of whiskey collecting provides limitless chances for exploration and appreciation. If you are looking for a distillery near me, or 2 Brothers bourbon, James Two Brothers Distillery is the best option. They offer small boutique-style production of beverage-grade spirit alcohol with simple principles; hard work and honesty. Contact them by writing to paulj@2brothersdistillers.com or call at 352-291-0585.

[taphousebourbon1]

Distillery bourbon

Welcome to our online bourbon shop, where you can explore a wide selection of premium American bourbons from top distilleries across the country. Our curated collection features small batch and handcrafted bourbons, perfect for enthusiasts looking to discover unique and high-quality spirits. Whether you're a seasoned bourbon connoisseur or just starting your journey into the world of whiskey, our shop offers a variety of options to suit every taste and preference. Shop with us and elevate your bourbon experience from the comfort of your own home. Cheers!

[fauvester]

ok Ive been unable to do anything on my commute but listen to Lana del ray and play with fake aliens. This is everyone else's problem now

chauncey nilufer-ieri is a betazoid and one of the youngest SICs in Starfleet. his parents are dad 1. worlds most charming professional storyteller and dad 2. politician scarred by the dominion occupation who now wants Betazoid to secede from the Federation and is dipping his toe into terrorism. dad 2 is also an extremely powerful telepath who's blazing a trail for Thought Insertion and mind control. chauncey gets along well with both, but they both want him to be either 1. more emotionally demonstrative, fun, artistic, friendly, or 2. more sedulous in practicing what may be record-breaking telepathic abilities. He joined starfleet in a vague effort to get away from them and from all the other betazoids who want to get in his head. He thinks it's rude. he's a massive mindprude.

He's not as reserved outside of his head. He has a detached but genuine love for whiskey, plays several instruments, dances, raconteurs, cockfights and gambles (most people won't play cards with a betazoid, sadly). Like many Betazoids he also enjoys casual hookups.

Anyways, he has other things to do with his life then let people poke around in his pretty gourd.

His parents were Soulmates. Their minds Resonated with each other before they even locked eyes. They knew everything about each other instantly, all the dark crevasses and bright ambitions, and accept and love each unconditionally other even though they don't like each other much anymore (see: terrorism). Chauncey grew up on the Romance of Resonant Soulmates thinking that it was something that he'd probably never experience. And then he found his!

On his 2nd year externship his ship was caught in a skirmish with some Romulans and he was briefly in the same room as Captain Stephen Breckinridge, Starfleet Darling, who had rushed to their rescue, and his mind Resonated with his.

He understood the Captain completely. his daring professional successes built on lack of regard for rules. his bad temper and his fierce loyalty. personal regrets and weird quirks. and Chauncey's life instantly switched track from idk retire early and open a whiskey distillery on tellatran-1 to serve captain breckinridge in every conceivable way, including twisting the universe to suit his needs. and even though he's never actually met the man (!) and he probably doesn't even know chauncey exists (he's not even a telepath!) he's going to become the greatest captain in starfleet history if chauncey has anything to do with it.

Chauncey might have assisted the Federation in some very illegal telepathic war criminal interrogations in return for them reinstating Breckinridge after a particularly grievous Starfleet regulations violation. He also made them get Breckinridge a ship (it's a BUSTED ass ship) and a mission (that nobody else wanted). and Chauncey's his totally unrelatedly chosen chosen SIC. and NOBODY on the crew knows that this was all engineered.

Would he love it if Breckinridge fell in love with his incredibly competent and handsome but somewhat remote, mysterious SIC? of course. but ultimately he's just happy to be near him. share private jokes. reparteè. some fun alien adventures. To know he's happy is enough. And to subtly nudge events to position things so that His Captain will be wildly successful and happy (with varying levels of success.)

Iskra, his cardassian friend, finding out that the entire crew's lives and the potentially quadrant-changing ramifications of their mission have been engineered by one teenager's single-minded erotomaniac fixation: OH HOLD THE FUCK ON. LET ME CALL MY YADEK. LET ME CALL MY YADEK. OH MY GOD.

'im vibrating with Thoughts and feelings about the silly little betazoid OC i made for iskra to play around with but he's 2 degrees removed from garashir so i'm worried people dont like him.... earnestly pushes my son in front of me to offer him to the crowd...

[peashooter85]

Whiskey Review Time--- Thistle Finch Rye

Recently I tried and did a short review on a really bad whiskey, in fact I don't think it can be called whiskey as it was a non-alcoholic imitation. So to offset that abomination, I thought I would do a review of some good whiskey. Thistle Finch Distillery is a small craft micro-distillery located in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I stopped there on my way to vacation in Stone Harbor, New Jersey and after sampling purchased a few bottles. They have a lot of different products; vodka, gin, rye, and bourbon. I tried their coffee rye, the bourbon, and the straight rye. The coffee rye wasn't that great but I don't really like coffee, the bourbon was meh, but the straight rye, one sip and I knew it was something special.

Long before Kentucky even existed Pennsylvania was the whiskey capital of the United States and the rye capital of the world. In particular the area around Pittsburgh was the largest whiskey producer in the new world, and whiskey ran so deep in the blood of Pennsylvania that when the Federal government attempted to impose a whiskey tax, the region rose up in a rebellion that could be only quelled by an army personally led by George Washington. PA maintained this dominance over whiskey production until prohibition in 1920, which resulted in the near collapse of the whiskey industry. After prohibition Kentucky became the whiskey capital of the US and rye generally fell out of favor. Now rye is making a comeback and PA distilleries are bringing back old fashioned Pennsylvania rye.

Thistlefinch rye uses a mash bill of 60% rye, 30% wheat, and 10% malted barley. They claim 90% of the grains used for their whiskey is locally sourced. The whiskey is aged in oak barrels for at least two years. Final product has an alcohol content of 45% and costs $47 for a 750 ml bottle.

The whiskey has a light oaky aroma, most likely from the oak it was aged in. As well it has a very floral aroma, like fresh flowers. On sampling I noticed it tastes very floral with a hint of citrus, like a light zest of orange. It also tastes very bready, like fresh whole wheat or rye bread. It is mildly sweet, slightly bitter, slight oak flavor. On finishing I get a nice crisp peppery punch in the mouth, white pepper to be more precise, not overwhelming but still a nice little surprise. There is little raw alcohol burn. It is a very light whiskey despite having a very thick body and being very flavorful. Finally it leaves a very refreshing aftertaste, like floral citrusy wintergreen. This after taste will linger in your mouth for a hour or two after drinking and is very delightful.

Looking at older reviews I have found a lot of mediocre and some bad reviews. But over time I've noticed the reviews improve more and more which leads me to believe that they are just hitting their stride and becoming experts in their craft. I personally rate their rye 4.4 stars out of 5. I'm especially impressed because this is a very small distillery located in a little hole in the wall place in Lancaster, PA. I hope they improve their rye even more, I wish them much success, and every time I go to the beach I'm gonna stop there to pick up a few bottles. If you like whiskey in general and rye in particular, and you are passing through the Lancaster area, I recommended you stop and see for yourself.

[dyns33]

The Agency

I decided to write an Agent Whiskey story 

Y/N had met Jack by accident, during a mission.

Normally you shouldn't get involved with civilians during missions, the rules of the Agency were very clear on this subject, but when her target had almost spotted her in the crowd, Y/N had taken refuge near the bar, and it was then that the cowboy approached her with a big smile.

           "Hello Sugar. You seem nervous ?"

           "Watch out number 8." said number 11 in her ear. "I don't know if this guy is with our man. Be careful, I'm checking."

           "Just tired. And I'm not really used to this kind of events, I came to please a friend."

           "It's very nice of you to want to please, but if you're not comfortable, you shouldn't force yourself. May I buy you a drink ?"

           "I'm not used of drinking with strangers."

           "I'm Jack. Jack Daniels. If you give me your name, we won't be strangers anymore."

           "I checked, Jack Daniels, works for a distillery, he's clean. Our man is still looking for you, lay low."

           "Well, dear Jack, I'm Y/N, and I wouldn't say no to a drink."

           "You don't ask me if that's my real name ? Most people don't believe me."

           "I'm not most people."

This made Jack smile even more. He had a charming smile. He was charming. If number 11 hadn't been there to remind her that she had a mission, Y/N could have spent the whole evening talking with him.

When he asked for her phone number, she almost refused. Because it was against protocol and her target was leaving, and she had to follow it quickly... But Y/N still took the time to jot down her number on a napkin.

As silly as he was adorable, Jack kissed her hand with a huge happy smile.

The next morning, while she was on the plane to continue her mission, she received a first message. He asked her if she had come home safely, if she had slept well and when he could see her again.

They had been together for almost a year now.

At first, the Agency hadn't been very okay with it. Of course, it was not forbidden to have relations, a family, but one had to be careful. The rules were very clear, nobody should know that Y/N was working for a secret and independent agency.

It wasn't easy lying to Jack.

Oh, not because he was asking questions. Because of his own work, he was also very often on the move and he was so glad to find her that he kissed her more than he spoke when they finally met at home.

No, it was difficult, because Jack was really a lovely, kind, patient man who had no secrets from her.

On their first date, he told her about his first wife, whom he had married when he was still very young, and who had been killed when she was pregnant. The problems he'd had with alcohol, dealing with anger, depression, lack of self-confidence, fear of losing someone important again.

He told her briefly about his job at the Statesmen's Distillery, talking about his boss and his co-workers. He sneered when Y/N asked him more or less seriously if it was a good idea for him to sell whiskey if he had had drinking problems.

           "Hmm, good question. It's true that whiskey is not always good for me sometimes, but I'm a big boy now, I know how to control myself and be reasonable. Without that, I would never have had the chance to meet you, angel."

           "Promise to talk to me if you ever feel unreasonable."

           "Don't worry about me, baby. I'm watching over you."

That might sound a little macho, and with his cowboy looks some might have thought Jack was annoying, but he didn't treat Y/N like she was a fragile, incompetent little thing at all. On the contrary, he trusted her completely and he only helped her if she asked him to.

On the other hand, with his past, he only wanted to make sure that she was not in danger, and that she was happy. It was the only two things he asked her, on the phone when they were apart, and when he had her in his arms.

So yeah, it wasn't easy to lie to him, because even though it was wonderful to be with him, Y/N was almost always in danger with her job. If anything happened to her and she was hurt, Jack would lose his mind. And if something worse happened...

Instead of stressing about it, Y/N tried to make it a source of motivation, a reason to be careful and to come home to kiss this amazing man again.

There came a mission that seemed quite easy, since they were going to receive the help of two other agencies to carry it out. American's and English's.

She and Number 3 were to meet some of their agents in a neutral location, where there would be few civilians to avoid witnesses or injuries if things didn't go well.

A little park, in the morning, seemed like the best place.

Sitting on a bench, Number 3 pretended to read a newspaper, while Y/N played tourist, taking several pictures of the surroundings. She kept her best smile when someone patted her on the shoulder… And she tried to remain calm when she turned to face the person.

           "... Jack ?"

           "Sugar ! I knew I recognized you ! What are you doing here ?!"

           "I..." she stammered, trying not to panic. "I have a bit of free time between two appointments so I'm going for a walk. How about you ?"

           "Same ! I'm here with some colleagues ! See the three idiots over there ?"

The other cowboy and the two guys in suits and ties who looked like nobles ? Yes, Y/N could see them very well. Number 3 saw them well too. The whole agency. Even before Number 11 spoke in her ear, Y/N thought they looked very American, and very English.

           "... Number 8, extraction. Number 3, don't move, Number 6 will come in as a replacement."

           "Do you want to come with us ?" Jack asked kindly, who didn't seem to realize the situation at all, as his agent friends stared at him tiredly, indicating that he wasn't supposed to do this.

           "I..."

           "Number 8, I said extraction, now. Number 1 wants to talk to you."

           "I unfortunately have to go. But I'll call you when I'm done, if you're still in town. We can have lunch together."

           "Great !" he said, kissing her tenderly before going back to his fellow spies.

The discussion with Number 1 was not easy.

The boss wasn't mad at her. No one would have guessed that Jack also worked for a secret service, the Statesmen seemed to be very good at covering for their agents.

He didn't seem at all familiar with Y/N's real work, but he could act very well. Either way, it was too risky for her to date a spy from another agency. It was against the rules.

But she couldn't just break up with him. Jack might ask questions, he might want to win her back, he might try to find out about her.

No, she had to go.

           "...I can't do this to him." Y/N muttered, surveying the park. In her car, she could see Jack, who was chatting with Number 3.

           "I know that sounds cruel and unfair. But we have no choice. The Agency comes first, you know that."

           "It's going to hurt him, a lot."

           "And I'm really sorry about that. You knew the risks and the priorities. A team is already taking care of everything. You will have a terrible car accident, and your body will be completely charred due to an explosion. Impossible to identify .If it helps, we'll say you died instantly, painlessly."

           "Thank you Number 1, but I don't think that helps."

           "I know." he sighed with sincere sadness. "We'll find you a new identity, and a new place."

Y/N put her phone in her pocket and stared at the road, before driving off without looking back towards the park. If she stared at Jack for too long, she would never be able to obey orders. She still cried all the way to the airport where a private jet was waiting for her, knowing she would never see him again, and imagining how he would feel when he learned of her death.

The poor man was going to be devastated. Y/N hoped his colleagues would be there for him. That they wouldn't leave him alone, sinking like when he lost his first lover.

She hoped Jack wasn't going to feel guilty, thinking he could have avoided this somehow.

Then she boarded the plane and as the Agency was already sending her on a new mission, she was forced to focus on something else.

The problem was that Jack was a secret agent, like her. And even though they didn't work much with the Statesmen and Kingsmen, and didn't let most of their secret out to them, there was still a risk that some missions were happening in the same place, at the same time.

Several months later, while playing waitress at a party, trying to get into a host's office to gain access to his computer, Y/N came face to face with Jack.

Of course one day it was going to happen.

He hadn't really changed, but he was less smiling. Maybe because he was working. Maybe because he was still in mourning.

Of course he made a funny face when he saw her.

Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Y/N really tried to stay calm, to look neutral, like she didn't know him at all, continuing to walk between the guests, offering drinks, but she knew that he recognized her, Jack wasn't stupid, and she knew he was following her now.

           "Number 8, there is..."

           "I know."

           "Do you need assistance ?"

           "No." she whispered, muting her microphone before walking into an empty room, letting Jack grab her shoulder.

Contrary to what she had imagined, he did not shout. He didn't shake her, he wasn't violent. Y/N would have understood all this. He was certainly angry, he must have had a lot of questions, that was perfectly natural, but he didn't ask anything.

No, he hugged her tightly, starting to sob.

           "You're alive."

           "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Jack. I had no choice. When I found out you were a Stateman... The rules... I'm sorry, I..."

           "Shh. You're here. You... I'll talk to your bosses. I'll send Champ, he'll kick their ass, and you'll go home with me. Well, if you want to, Sugar, but you can also just pick up your things and I would have the pleasure of meeting you from time to time during missions."

           "Have you been reasonable ?" she whispered, squeezing him, already knowing the answer.

           "... I missed you my love. I thought I was dying when they told me about the accident."

           "I thought I was going to die when I realized I was going to have to do this to you. I wanted to stay, I wanted to be with you, so if you want me..."

           "Angel." Jack sighed taking her face in his hands, smiling between his tears. "Don't worry. I'm watching over you. We'll go home."

It wasn't easy to convince Number 1. Oh, he was a bit glad for her, and he knew he'd never be able to separate them, but he was afraid that she would not concentrate enough on her missions, by focusing too much on her relationship and turning her attention to Jack when he would also be on the field. There was also the question of loyalty.

But with Champagne's help, and the determination of Agent 'Whiskey', Y/N finally understood his jokes about alcohol, they got it right, and she was appointed as liaison between the two agencies.

           "The other option would be for 'Number 8' to just come and work for us, becoming Agent Cognac or something, but..."

           "No. Number 8 is a great asset. Think about what would happen if she was on your premises, all the time with Agent Whiskey. Do you really think that would be a good idea ?"

           "I think that would be a great idea !" Jack had said.

           "I see what you mean Number 1. It was hard enough controlling him because he always wanted to call her when he was on a mission, he always talked about her when he had to work, Tequila almost shot him several times because of it, and he had Ginger hack into the city cameras so he could see her, so that would definitely be a disaster."

           "You asked someone to hack the town cameras to see me ?"

           "Just once ! I haven't seen you for two weeks, I just wanted to check that you were okay !"

Although she thought it was a bit cute, Y/N asked Champagne and Number 1 if she could have a drink, which made them chuckle, while Jack didn't seem to see where the problem was.

[deadhumourist]

Under Marula Trees - Chapter 4

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long! Thank you to everyone who's been reblogging and commenting, I treasure all of that feedback because this is my baby. It's literally spurred me on to write more. Thank you to the LOVELY @just-here-for-the-moment for beta-ing (a few times) and allowing me to yell at her about shitty drafts..

There is a section in here about canned hunting - those not familiar with it, it's an unethical, awful practice. There's no detail in the story apart from mentioning the practice so I've marked it with an asterisk if you'd rather skip that paragraph.

Warnings: References to shooting and hunting (not detailed or explicit), alcohol, getting drunk, flirting, Whiskey on the prowl is its own warning.

Series Masterlist | Taglist sign-up

------

Breakfast was served near the pool in the large communal area, and it was bustling. On bright, sunny days like this it wasn’t unusual to find guests in the sparkling saltwater pool by 9am. Splashes and peals of laughter echoed across the large space and disappeared into the folds of the surrounding mountains.

The large tiled deck area was framed by teak pool loungers, filled out with luxurious sage-green pillows which were perfect for relaxing after a brisk dip in the sparkling pool. Large tan parasols were dotted among the chairs, offering a respite from the bright sunshine if you wanted to read a book or stretch out for a nap.

The lively space offered such a sharp contrast to the surrounding savanna, the expanse of burnt sienna and gold glinting as the sun climbed to its peak.

Peace like this was almost intoxicating and you didn't envy people returning to the humdrum of their daily life when their vacation was over. This kind of landscape settled into your bones and coaxed a wistful melancholy from you when you left. 

You clutched your bottle of water, the condensation running onto your hand in the heat.

Pretty soon, you would need to find your charges for the day. Even though it was only the second day, they had a packed schedule and for you, that meant a long day of babysitting. You were still feeling a bit grumpy but you had a good night’s sleep and normally busy days passed quickly.

As you walked across the large space, you clocked your group at a table in the corner. Champ spotted you first, waving you over. He reminded you of a kindly but eccentric uncle. One that had undoubtedly been a catch in his younger days. His easy manner and dry sense of humour drew you in quickly and you found yourself wondering whether he had been a serious, cut-throat agent in his youth. 

Now he had a cigar almost permanently perched between his lips, and by some miracle he managed to talk, laugh, and tell the most outrageous stories without this thing simply falling out. He was also sporting a bright, floral shirt that you could practically see from space. 

It hung apathetically from his shoulders, barely concealing a tuft of white chest hair that refused to play nice with physics. He was clearly very determined to be on vacation. Like wearing a beacon saying “Could I be more relaxed right now?”  It made him look a little self-conscious and you liked him even more for it. 

Some covert Googling revealed that he ran an impressive distillery back in the US, but today he was just Randy with the beach bum shirt next to the pool. 

You swerved between the tables and chairs with a practised ease that came with the territory. Narrowly missing a waiter carrying a giant pitcher of water, you closed in on them. They were sat at the furthest end of the area, far enough away from other holidaymakers to allow them some privacy.  

As you came closer, snippets of an animated debate floated up above the general din of the guests. You only managed to catch the tail end of it.  

“And I wouldn’t know, now would I?” Jack spat out, his tone suggesting that he was keen to move away from the topic of discussion.

He was in the pool, his arms folded and anchoring him to the edge. Dark hair slicked back, water droplets running down his neck as he spoke. For the first time he wasn’t wearing his whole cowboy get-up and your eyes were glued to his back muscles and strong arms. You were vaguely aware that you were staring but you had little hope of tearing your eyes away. 

Soft swells of saltwater sloshed against his back as he pushed away and dipped underwater again. Ginger rolled her eyes in exasperation, looking at Champ. 

“I don’t know what he’s so defensive about, he was quick in Singapore with the...y’know…” her sentence drifted off as she locked eyes with you.

The look went on just a second too long. 

Remembering what you were meant to be doing, you gently patted Champ’s shoulder. “Well, you all look good and rested, did you sleep well?”

Ginger had recovered her composure admirably but the screws were still turning in the back of your mind on how you could draw her out. You were dying to know what they were talking about. As she prattled on you only appeared to be listening, wondering if her poison was alcohol or something stronger. Or nothing? She looked like the type who would run her mouth on a sugar high if you pushed gently enough. 

Feeling your attention on her, she scrambled for a deflection. 

“This place is really beautiful, you must enjoy it here. Do you live nearby or at the resort?” 

“I’m based here, I have a little cottage just down the footpath from where the tented areas are. It’s small but private, but it’s really all I need. I’m comfortable.”

Ginger nodded and smiled at you. You felt like you were inadvertently squaring off, each side tipping their hat in mock deference. For the first time you felt like you had taken an inadvertent peek behind the curtain. What shocked you was that there was a curtain in the first place. They were on holiday. Taking a break. You must be mistaken. 

Jack, having dipped back in the water as soon as you arrived, seemed to be swimming lazy laps, earning a few admiring looks from people lounging nearby. He didn’t seem to be aware of it. It really was unfair that someone so obnoxious was so good-looking. How rude of the universe to do that, you thought. 

Your attention turned back to the group. 

"Alright, enjoy breakfast, I’ll see you this afternoon for your cub visit. Tomorrow night we have a special surprise for you, so you’ll have to rest up.".

“We’re gonna ride a lion?”

Champ looked at Tequila and deadpanned. “Son, you don’t ride predators. You ride giraffes, the view is better.” He shot you a naughty wink. 

You had to count to 10 to keep your laugh bottled but you were losing the battle. Champ had picked up on your acerbic answers to wildlife related questions and was now dishing it out himself, and you loved it.  

A smile bursting with the first tendrils of laughter graced your lips before you spun on your heels and walked away. You weren't laughing at them per se, but at the dynamic that leaned heavily towards a bickering family. Close, good-natured and all too familiar with each other. 

At the very back of your mind the niggling unease of the exchange at the pool shouted for attention, but you pushed it back down. They were clearly all relaxed and just unwinding, some conflict as people let go of worries and latent stress was probably expected. 

The rest of the morning was taken up by doing the rounds with housekeeping. At this level of VVIP hosts were required to personally oversee the comfort of their guests and your case was no different. 

After going through the rooms and the lunch menu, you spoke to Aaron about the following evening’s midnight excursion. “Please make sure there’s enough hot chocolate as well as fleece blankets, you know how cold it can get at the back of the Jeep.  

“You should just offer to keep them warm yourself. Especially the one making big cow eyes at you.” 

You laughed. “No one is making cow eyes at anyone. Least of all that one.” 

He shook his head and chuckled “Okay you realise you just outed yourself by knowing EXACTLY who I was talking about right? And he does. He moons over you like a big ol’ Jersey cow looking for skitches.” 

You fixed him with glare but struggled to suppress a smile. “He doesn’t. Let it go Aaron.”

Aaron gave you a side eye but kept silent. 

You playfully punched him in the shoulder and started out the door. 

“I’ll see you later, I need to go pick them up for the cub camp. My babies are getting so big!”

Jumping in the jeep, you made your way to the Statesman suites. Once outside, you climbed out and dusted off your jumpsuit. Although practical and dared you say it, kinda cute, driving in the outdoors with this thing on meant you got permanently dusty. Some days you felt more like Pigpen from Peanuts than a high-end hostess to the rich and famous. 

Champ opened on the second knock at his door with a. “Hey! Time already? Gimme a minute, I just need my shoes. Go on, get the others in the meantime, I’ll meet ya out there.” You knocked on the second door and almost simultaneously the other doors opened and the group drifted out and piled into the vehicle. 

As you took off on the dusty road which snaked onto a mountainside, you turned your head slightly so they could hear you over the noise of the engine. 

“We’re meeting up with Alexander Umbra, who runs our conservation programme. He’s been with the resort for little over two years, heading up various projects that keep the animals safe and cared for. Since he’s been here we’ve had a record number of rhino births!”

The group seemed to be listening and but not really reacting, save for a vague nod from Tequila. It was a short drive, as a conscious decision had been made to keep the babies closer to camp. As you pulled into the clearing, you continued. 

***

“What you’ll be seeing today is some of our rescue lion cubs. They were extracted from canned hunting farms, and if we hadn’t gotten to them, they would have been shot.” You knew they were safe here but recounting the fate they could have ended up with always made your stomach turn. It disgusted you and it made you grateful for people like Alex who put their heart and souls into fighting this practice. 

***

As you hopped off the Jeep, a tall, sandy-haired man made his way to you. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved button-down with the resort logo emblazoned on it. Trying to combat the heat, the first two buttons were undone and you couldn’t help but admire how damn good he made this dull, compulsory outfit look. 

The nature of his job meant he was almost always outside and had cultivated a sun-kissed tan which really emphasised the muscles he developed dealing with beasts that far outweighed him in strength. 

He greeted the group warmly and pressed a kiss to your cheek like an old friend. 

Turning to them, he started talking.

“Now, we’re about to go into the cub camp. I’ve no doubt you would have already been filled in on the details by my colleague here, so I’ll just go over some basic safety rules.

One. The cubs are cute, but they have fangs and serious claws. Please be careful around them. Two, if you have brought any snacks, please don’t feed it to them. We have some choice cuts of meat on the bone that we’ve brought along as treats. 

Three, and this really is the most important rule. They may be babies but they are still lions. Do not turn your back on them or let them round you, because they will pounce and attempt to take you down. This is playing but essential prep for hunting during adulthood. They are small but very strong and you are prey to them. Always ensure they’re in front of you. Got that?”

The group nodded. In what was becoming a habit over the last few days, your eyes strayed to Jack. You felt your stomach drop. 

He was staring at Alex like he was the last drink of water in the desert. His dark eyes roaming over the other man's form like a storm rolling in, brooding and intense.

You frowned and looked back at Alex, who seemed to be completely unaware of the other man’s attention. Tearing your eyes away at what seemed like a private moment for Jack, you reached back into the Jeep for the cooler with the meat. 

Lugging it down in front of the camp entrance, you turned to Alex, who was just completing the safety briefing. 

“Alright, let’s go. If you need anything, please speak up.”

He opened the gate and everyone filed into the camp. It was a large camp with rocks, a small natural pool and plenty of umbrella Acacia trees, which had horizontal branches perfect for climbing and playing.

The group approached the little cubs carefully, and split up as they wandered around. Jack had wandered right to the back of the camp, inspecting a little cub who was fast asleep and draped over a branch. 

You fought the urge to go talk to him, staying back and keeping an eye on Champ and Ginger instead. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Alex walk over to him, making conversation and chuckling.

Jack was so attentive to Alex that he hadn’t noticed a sneaky cub prowling behind him. The cat lowered his head and body in an instinctual hunting pose. 

Alex immediately saw his plan and leapt past Jack, catching the little guy before he could pounce. He was smaller than the rest and after getting a good grip on him and turning him around, Alex gently handed him to Jack to hold.

The other man curled his arm around the cub protectively and leaned in closer to Alex to ask him something. They were so close that it definitely bordered on ‘personal space invasion’ and you had to take measured breaths to keep your heart rate steady.

Alex was gorgeous. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t stolen a few looks anytime he was busy with the cubs. Anyone would. 

But it also meant that Aaron was completely wrong about Jack. You felt a little pang of disappointment that struck deep in your chest. You didn’t want to think about why it was there. Instead you took a final deep breath in through your nose, breathing out through your mouth, hoping to dispel the pain particles from your lungs out into the world. 

Your eyes fell on the two men again, just in time to see Jack rest his hand on Alex’s bicep in what looked to you like an intimate gesture.

You felt something snap. This was stupid. So fucking incredibly stupid of you. He was just a guest. 

You turned away, scoffing under your breath, and opened the cooler. The moment the scent of raw meat hit the air the cubs trotted to you excitedly, amber-gold eyes trained on the meat. The cub in Jack’s arms scrambled to get out of his hold, scratching him in the process. Alex reached over to inspect the cut. You wished it had cut a little deeper. Just to hurt a little. 

As the cubs feasted, the group eventually drifted back over to you. Jack crossed his arms, coming to stand next to you. 

A little bit of blood from the cut on his arm had dried, leaving a thin red line and an angry raised welt on his skin. 

Your eyes flicked down to it and you drily remarked to Jack “Pretty bad cut that cub gave you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so distracted around dangerous animals.” 

He looked at you for a long moment, his eyes inexplicably soft, but with a smirk resting on his full lips.

“The cub hasn’t cut deeper than your words have, Sugar.” 

"If you really caught the sharp edge of my tongue, you would be more significantly injured." you snarked.

"But it would hurt so good.” 

You stared ahead of you grumpily. He was really playing fast and loose here, flirting with you right after putting the moves on Alex. You bent down to scratch the scruff of the closest cub, fingers digging into its thick fur to drive the irritation away. Some animals were wilder than others, you mused. 

When you came back up, he continued. “He’s really passionate about endangered species.” He continued to look at Alex appreciatively. 

“Uhm…I guess. Apparently he was hired on the spot. James, our CEO, loved his idea of some of our rarer animals receiving tracking chips so we can always see where they are. There are other…measures…which have been taken to keep them safe.”

“What measures?”

“I can’t really talk about that. Any detail about the rhinos are off limits. Why do you ask?”

The question came out sharper than you intended, but this was sensitive territory and he had already ruffled your feathers today. 

He focused on the middle distance, narrowing his eyes.

“Just curious, is all.” 

You decided to leave it at that.

After the feed, the group clambered back into the vehicle. By that time the sun had started to drift down over the savanna. It looked like it was melting into a large watering hole just outside of the resort. 

You left your group at their doorstep, with the promise to pick them up for a late supper.

----

Walking into your house for the first time as dusk settled, you could feel the day wearing on you like a heavy blanket. You were desperate to just take a shower and get to bed but you still had the entire night on duty. It irritated you anew that you even had to be here instead of South America on your well-deserved holiday. 

You showered and freshened up, the cool water running down your back and breathing new life into you. Drying off and patting on some moisturiser, you felt ready to tackle the second part of your shift. Zipping up your dress and slipping on your ankle boots, you checked the time. You had to be out of here in 5 minutes. Taking one last look at your appearance, you dashed out the door. 

Entering the private dining room just off the main dining area, you found a few of the Statesman group already there, with Champ and Jack standing on the veranda seemingly deep in conversation.

You smiled broadly at Ginger, who you now knew went by Erin. Your curiosity was still piqued from that morning, and you were intent on finding out what they had been talking about that elicited such a reaction from Jack. You were struggling to piece together all the pieces. 

Part of you felt guilty. You were good-natured but you weren’t above some mischievous plotting. Besides, you reasoned, she was in a safe space and the worst that could happen was that she would let you in on a little gossip…maybe a little secret. Maybe that secret would even have something to do with Jack. 

Cradling her shoulder, you steered her to the bar. “You know, we have this amazing cocktail named after you? It’s called a ‘Sparkling Ginger’ and is just, wow, it’s delicious. Just so sweet and refreshing, you know?” You motioned to the bartender, who had heard your conversation, and was already busy mixing the drink in question. She carefully watched him reach for ginger syrup, bourbon, lemon juice and syrup. 

She turned to you, flustered. “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really drink. Is it…strong?”

You mentally debated the relativity of strong and settled on a lie of omission. Somehow it seemed slightly less harmful than an outright lie. Both were as bad as the other and you mentally crossed your heart and promised to atone for this later. 

“It’s sooo good, you gotta try it.” you said in your sweetest tone, and with that you swiped the drink off the bar and pressed it into her hand. The bubbles fizzed and popped in the martini-style glass. She took a hesitant sip and instantly brightened up. 

“You’re right, this is delicious!” 

She took another sip and hummed appreciatively. Heart leaping, you gave her shoulder a squeeze and went to check on the food. This magic would take a little while to work. You couldn’t rush it. 

You were seated opposite Jack at supper, who kept sneaking glances at you. Pretending not to see them, you secretly burned to face him full on and do something about it. You knew you could never  - that would mean risking your job and reputation, as well as that of the resort. 

Unbidden the image of him clasping Alex's tanned, gorgeous bicep also drifted to the surface of your mind and you felt that pinch of hurt again.

You poked at your salad, thoughts a thousand miles away while the group chattered. You needed a distraction otherwise you were going to brood all night. 

Ginger, seated to your left, now seemed to be what you liked to term ‘socially lubricated’. Her eyes were a little glassier than usual and an easy smile framed her perfect teeth. 

You trod lightly into the murky waters of small talk. 

“So do you come here often?" You teased.

Ginger snort-laughed at your silly question and breathlessly replied "Uhmm…to eat? Often, but first time in Africa."

"I can tell, I love how excited you are about everything. Jake is a treat, he treats every animal sighting like it's the first time he's ever seen anything." 

You tilted your head. 

"You guys seem close, do you travel together a lot? What about your families?"

Ginger looked up at Champ for a brief moment before answering. "We are close, when you work together this much you don't really have a choice. Family, I dunno. Tequila and I don't have anyone at home, and Champ's been married for 40 years. Sheila is lovely, so patient with him."

"Jack…" her voice drifted off, like she was recalling a very distant memory. Her speech had started to slur a little, a tell-tale sign that the fizzy alcohol was humming through her veins. 

You felt curiosity tickle at the base of your spine and gently pressed her for more. 

"And Jack?"

She seemed to suddenly snap back to the present and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

"He's lonely….alone. I mean alone…now. Not…" she waved her hand as if shooing the troublesome word that had slipped out without permission. 

"Oh". You didn't know what to do with this and let the statement hang between you, getting thinner with each moment that passed. 

Ginger excused herself to get some fresh air. 

As the last plates were cleared away, Champ ordered a round of nightcaps for everyone. 

You started to protest but he shushed you with a wave of his hand and a wink. He really got away with everything by deciding that he would, and the universe just went along with it. 

“You take good care of us, ‘least you can do is enjoy a drink before we turn in for the night. Let’s move over to the lounge, my ass ain’t what it used to be for sittin’ all day.”

The group moved to the large leather couches around the fire, when Tequila reappeared. 

“Look what I found! Scored it off the barman.” he smiled, very pleased with himself. 

“The booze is free, Jake. You can literally walk in and take whatever.” you giggled. The cognac nightcap was velvety smooth but still felt like a lit fire inside your tummy. You sipped slowly, cognisant of the fact that you were still on the clock. 

Tequila motioned to a few wait staff to join them, and as it was the end of their shift, they carefully took off their name tags and got comfortable as Tequila poured them all a measure. 

Then he firmly closed the bottle and placed it on its side in the middle of the coffee table. 

Champ groaned.

“Son we’re all just enjoying a relaxing nightcap, you gonna start with your shenanigans again?”

The other man laughed. “Night’s still young Champ, and we have some very lovely company” he motioned to the waitresses sitting on both sides of him. They were very pretty, and clearly interested in him. The seats had filled up when you popped out to the restroom, and now the only space open was next to Jack. 

Ginger, having returned from the veranda some time ago, had been quiet for a long time. You looked over at her, and cringed a little. You should have known someone unaccustomed to alcohol would sip that cocktail like it was a coke. Three cocktail glasses stood as evidence near her place at the table. 

Her eyes were drooping slightly but she seemed very relaxed, a big, silly smile plastered on her face. 

Tequila looked around and yelped “Ready? Lessgo!” 

He spun the bottle, which landed on Marie, one of the waitresses. She looked at Jeannie on his right, and they giggled to one another. 

Tequila, realising what was going on, held his face out and closed his eyes. They both pecked a sweet kiss on the cheek closest to them and a big smile lit up his face. 

Jeannie spun the bottle, which landed on Champ. She threw him a coy look.

Champ scoffed. “My missus will be terribly unhappy darlin'. I’ma sit this game out.”

Ginger leaned forward and spun the bottle.

It spun a few times and slowly came to a stop on Jack.

She looked at the bottle for a long time, then grinned. "I'm not gonna kiss Whiskey, I have a better idea. He has to kiss our hostess."

 "I know he wants to.” she mumbled almost inaudibly, before a loud hiccup escaped her. 

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him in a panic, the liquor in your system suddenly seeming to evaporate as your heart throbbed uncomfortably against your sternum. 

The ache from earlier flared up when you told yourself he would probably laugh at this. 

Make a spectacle, playing it up like the yeehonk asshole he was. 

Jack’s searching eyes took in your discomfort. 

He turned to Ginger, mouth opened and poised to say something, but decided against it and turned back to you. By now the atmosphere was palpable, an artificial silence that made the crickets outside sound abnormally loud. Everyone was watching Ginger's taunt unfold. 

Jack shifted sideways until he was facing you, your knees touching at the edge of the plush leather couch. His eyes narrowed and a small smile tugged at his mouth corners. Something like amusement played across his features. 

Jack's hand came up to your face and settled with his thumb on your cheekbone, his fingers resting at the base of your skull. It felt warm and protective and you fought the urge to lean into it like a cat stretching out in warm sunlight. 

Selfishly, you allowed yourself to enjoy the sensation for a moment, as your eyelids dropped closed. The firm but gentle grip was an intoxicating feeling you could get used to.

You felt the warmth of him close to your face, his breath spilling over your lips like a wisp of invisible smoke. Anticipation snaked its way between your ribs, tugging at your chest and making your heart rabbit all over again. 

"You don't have to do this."

It was barely a whisper, spoken close to your lips. The words dropped to the floor between you, and your eyes flew open. 

He was giving you an out. He didn't want to do this, not with you, and he was asking you to make this easier without embarrassing you.

Merciful and cruel in equal measure.

You harshly pulled out of his grip, getting up like an unsteady foal. Humiliation and anger made tears well up in your eyes and you blinked quickly to dissipate your body's betrayal. You turned, grabbed your bag and made for the door. 

"I gotta go, Jim will pick you up in 20 minutes, goodnight!" 

You called over your shoulder, the last vestige of your normal voice leaving your throat before it pinched closed in a silent sob. Your legs went on autopilot to take you home as your mind reeled. 

God you were stupid. That was hopeful and stupid and so close. 

You slammed your front door behind you. You were still angry at yourself when you went to bed, and as you fitfully fell asleep, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd shown too much of your hand tonight. 

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

[sirensmojo]

"A Man Who Drinks Tea" Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big Fluff & Mushy

{not my gif, credits to its owner}

Summary: Tommy being oh so soft every time you prepare him some hot tea.

*Masterlist*

*Arrow House*

One of your shoulders leant on the frame of the doorstep, your arms crossed on your chest as your eyes were staring towards the lamps of the car coming near you.

It was past nine, which meant it was Tommy coming home. He sometimes would come home past eleven or even twelve, but you knew his “normal” hour for him to come home.

If you were not asleep when he was back, you would always welcome him properly, which meant at the doorstep. Whatever the weather was, you were here.

It was your way of saying that you cared about him, that you missed him, without stepping into his zone.

You knew Tommy needed balance, and he could never find that at work or in his business. You weren’t pretentious enough to say you were bringing him that, but you were the closest thing to balance for him, without a doubt.

Although if you were into your husband’s mind you would know that for him you were not only his balance but also his light and hope. Not that he believed in such thing anymore, but it wasn’t about “believing” in that situation, it was facts, you were hope to him.

Once he got out of the car, a smile drew on your face and you straightened up. “Hey, honey.” You muttered with an enthusiastic tone as he stopped in front of you, dropping his briefcase to the ground to be able to grab your face with both his hands.

This was something you were used to now, whenever he would see you leaning against the front door frame, he would drop anything that was in his hands and rushed to hold your head.

This moment was the first skin contact you and him had each day as he was leaving early in the morning, and that was his favourite one. All-day long he could only see you by closing his eyes, and there you were, sleeping under his lids waiting for him to reach for you.

The picture of your smile and your hair perfectly framing your face was his way out from a too harsh and complicated world. But the thing he liked the most in thinking about you at work was when he was imagining you welcoming him, the twinkling of the stars reflecting in your staring eyes.

He knew, only by looking into them, all of the things he needed to know. All your feelings and the depth of them.

The wrinkles at the corner of his blue eyes alarmed you about the hard day he must have had. Still, it was with nothing but tenderness that he was rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs before he slowly pecked your lips.

His lips were so soft and tasted like whiskey. You loved that liquor, even more on your husband’s lips, but there wasn’t a day his lips tasted any different, there wasn’t a day when he wasn’t drinking.

Since the first time you met to this day, he hasn't stopped drinking, not even less with time. It seems like the more he was reaching his goals, the more whiskey he needed.

Maybe there was a hole somewhere that needed to be filled and he tried to fill it with what he had, or maybe he just never had enough of anything, as he wanted everything? You didn’t have the answer to that question and you probably never will.

“Tea?” You offered him when he pulled away to keep looking at you. You raised your brows, waiting for his answer but you already knew that answer. Of course, he wanted your tea.

This was all he ever took when coming back from work, a hot English tea that you would make from leaves coming straight from the garden.

If you couldn’t stop him from drinking whiskey, you could still fill his tummy with something else than alcohol.

You could glimpse his lips curving to a smile as a curious gleam appeared in his eyes, “How was your day?” His deep voice echoed in your head like a hammer, you missed him so much during the day that every of his few first words to you when coming home would bring shivers down your spine.

“Went to the gin factory, trying other combinations.” You let him know.

He took back his briefcase in one hand, the other around your waist so he could pull you closer.

“Found any?” He raised a brow to you as he entered the house. The maids were here to meet him and before they could say anything, you dismissed them by a single look.

“I’m still working on it.”

No need to say here that in that house you were in charge. Tommy ran the professional part of this family and you ran the personal part.

Organizing dinners with high-society people, socializing and creating connections with them so Tommy could have more opportunities.

Tommy trusted you with his life, he wouldn’t let anyone get close to his business, not even his own brothers and family. Nevertheless, he put you in charge of the Gin Distillery, even got your name on the bottles.

It was true, you were the one that told him about investing in alcohol, but what man listens to his wife in this area? Not many, but your Tommy did, he knew your value and was seeking your judgment when unsure of anything, truly, even business sometimes.

You were a team, you were here for him and he was here for you.

“I got the tea served in your office, my love.” You called him out when seeing him walking towards the living room. “It’s Thursday, you’ll speak at the House Of Commons tomorrow, I thought you would want to read more of that political book you started a few days ago.” You offered him a warm smile while pushing the door of his office.

At this very moment, he could literally come to you and carry you to your bedroom so he could express to you how grateful he was for taking care of him like you did, but he knew he got work to do, and you knew it too.

It wasn’t tonight you’ll try to make a baby.

Once he got behind his desk, you purred him some tea in a cup that you knew to be his favourite.

Tommy took a sip on it directly, even if the hotness of the liquid was burning the tip of his tongue. He closed his lids for some seconds, and you could literally witness his tensed muscles relaxing

You neared his chair and slid your fingers under his coat to make him known you wanted it off. Tom shifted position so you could clear it off. You came hanging his coat before dropping both your hands on his shoulders, beginning to massage the knots under his skin.

Your husband let out a growl, still sipping on that tea of yours before he exhaled deeply.

He mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“Huh?” You asked, leaning your head to one of his sides.

He turned his chair towards you, his icy blue eyes reached your Y/E/C ones before he put down the cup and pulled onto one of your hands laying on his shoulders. You let out a whimper as you fell on him, butt on his lap and arms around his neck.

“I’m never empty of you, not even for a moment.” His dimples lightened up his face so brightly you could swear you were squinting your eyes, trying to get accustomed to that much light on Tommy’s face.

“Is it my tea, troubling you?” You asked, confused but pleased to meet with your Tommy again.

The tips of your fingers were scratching the back of his neck when you couldn’t resist anymore. This vision of him made your heart bumping into your chest so loudly you thought it wanted to get out, to which you responded by sealing your lips to Tommy’s.

He was holding you tight, the distance between your bodies being nonexistent.

And as you thought, his whiskey flavoured lips eased you instantly, it was like your body knew it was home, with your Shelby.

HUBBY! TOMMY SHELBY TAG: @theamuz ;

TOMMY SHELBY TAG: @captivatedbycillianmurphy ; @theamuz ;

PEAKY BLINDERS TAG: @retromafia ;

(ask me if you want to get in one of the tag lists)

[something-tofightfor]

Buried: Part 9

Pairing: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Female Reader (Agent Cider)

Word Count: 7,187

Rating: N S F W (and everything that goes along with it! - Language, sex, mentions of past womanizing, talk of various birth control methods, etc)

Summary: The cards have all been laid out on the table - or so you think. Jack still has one more trick up his sleeve ... but you’re both going to get  exactly what you’ve wanted for years. 

Author’s note:

I am so sorry that it’s taken so long to get this out - but I got very sidetracked. Cider and Jack deserved my full attention, and I wanted to wait to write and post this until I could give it to them. It will not be three months until the next update - I promise. I’m already working on Jack’s POV of this chapter, so stay tuned for part 9.5 soon (ish)

Catch up on this story via my masterlist (link in the taglist reblog)

Side note: writing smut for Jack Daniels was a very daunting task. He’s a lot to handle in every sense of the word. 

It hadn’t even been a few minutes, and you were already certain that you never wanted Jack to stop touching you. Ever. His hands were warm against your sides - large palms curved around your ribs, the ends of his fingers holding on at just the right side of too tight. It wasn’t just that he was placing them somewhere convenient; Jack was holding you, urging you to press your chest to his as he kissed you, and at the realization, you pulled on his hair again, sighing into his mouth. He wants me as much as I want him, and he means it. 

You trusted Jack implicitly with your life; that had been true even before you’d begun to understand the feelings you had for the man. But you were also trusting him with your heart, and in your mind, that was more important - and more dangerous. 

“Jack.” Whispering his name when the two of you separated long enough for you to take a breath, you leaned back, wetting your lips and meeting his eyes. “I mean it when I said to prove it. I -” You saw his eyes widen, the man waiting silently for you to continue. “I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to…” I want you to know. You had nothing to lose; the two of you were being as open as you’d ever been with each other, and while you didn’t think he’d pull back in on himself and stop being as honest when the night ended, you didn’t want to waste an opportunity. “You deserve happiness, Jack. It’s been so long for you. You should be happy. And if it’s not with me, it -” “Who else would it be with?” He said your name, and at the sound of it, you felt your chest constrict. He’d never said it that way before, and while there was pain in it, there was also surprise - almost like he couldn’t believe the things you were saying to him. “Everything else has just been a… distraction. A way to make me forget about my wife for a couple hours. Women. The job. The distillery. But you… you’re…” His eyes narrowed as he paused, and you saw sadness briefly appear within the depths of them - but it was gone only moments later. “You’re a distraction, too, but not … not in the same way.” He swore, ducking his head and you moved with him, pulling your hands away from his face and back before letting them fall onto his forearms. 

“Jack, hey.” You squeezed, but he didn’t look back up. What’s he … I don’t know where he’s going with this. You weren’t upset that he’d called you a distraction, because if you were being honest, he’d been the same for you. But I couldn’t ever do or say anything about it. “It’s alright, I promise. Just … take your time.” When he looked back up at you, you saw resolve in his eyes; the warmth back in them, too. “There you are, Jack Daniels.” 

“You’re the first thing in damn near 20 years that I haven’t wanted to be temporary.” That shook you, your grip on his arms tightening further, though you didn’t look away. “And I couldn’t even tell you that before now, because it never …” He winced as he spoke again and you lifted a hand, reaching up to settle it on his chest - palm flat and fingers splayed. This is so hard for him. “You wouldn’t have believed it because of what I’ve been doin’ for the whole time you’ve known me.” Jack swallowed, blinking quickly. “And that’s my fault, but fuck, Agent, I…” He leaned closer again, hands still on your sides and pressed his lips to yours. “You make it so goddamn easy to love you.” 

You were frozen, his lips barely separated from yours as he spoke, but the words sent a jolt of emotion throughout your body. Does he realize what he just said? Is he talking about himself, or… You’d never heard Jack say that he loved anything but his wife in the entire time you’d known him - and so you knew that his use of the word meant something. But does he mean… “What?” You forced the word out, the hand on his chest pushing the man away from you. “What did you -” “I said,” he replied, voice steady. “That you make it so goddamn easy to love you. I don’t even think you realize it, either.” His eyes were nearly blazing with intensity, but Jack didn’t look away, instead pulling one of the hands away from your body and bringing it up to the back of your neck. “I didn’t even realize it at first. Not for a long time, and after I did, I didn’t … couldn’t admit it.” Why? But you knew why - and so you didn’t even ask. Jack would always feel guilty when it came to his wife and the way he actually felt about other women, even after she’d been gone for so long. “But you know what?” He squeezed your neck before moving his hand - bringing it back to your face and letting his thumb run over your cheek, the other fingers curled beneath your jaw. “It’s the truth. And I was so fucking stupid for not letting myself…” Jack wet his lips and took a deep breath, thumb paused next to your lips. “I fell in love with you, even though I did everything I could to stop it from happening.” 

“Jack…” You knew that your lower lip was trembling, and that the man could likely feel the erratic beating of your heart, but you didn’t care. “You… you did what?” You got a brief smile in return at that, Jack leaning forward again. He fell in love with me. That means that he … His thumb moved over, swiping slowly across your lips in the moments before he kissed you again, but when you spoke, it was against the pad of it, because he hadn’t moved it out of the way. “I love you, too, Jack.” 

You’d never thought you’d hear yourself say the words out loud, but once they were out, it was like a dam had broken, the depth of the feelings you’d harbored toward the man for years overflowing. He didn’t pull his hand away before he kissed you, instead pressing his lips to both  his thumb and your mouth with a bruising intensity, almost like he couldn’t believe that you’d spoken - or what you’d said to him. Not after what we’ve been through. The tip of his finger caught on your lower lip as he pulled his hand down, and on autopilot, you arched your neck, unwilling to lose the contact even though his forehead was still pressed to yours. Wait. Inhaling sharply through your nose, you opened your eyes fully. He… we… “What’s goin’ on? You alright?” 

I remember. You remembered the way he’d kissed you in the hotel room in St. Paul the moment both of you had removed your boots - your fingers working to undo the zipper on the man’s coat as you stumbled through the small space, Jack’s hands pushing the bottom of your coat up - right along with the shirt you wore beneath it. He couldn’t stop touching me, and I didn’t … “I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to stop touching you, Jack. And you couldn’t… in St. Paul, you couldn’t stop -” “You had to tell me to stop kissin’ you when it was time to go and do what we were there to do.” It was his turn to stare at you with wide eyes, the man’s mouth hanging open after he’d said the words to you. I did. I had to tell you to stop otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to. 

“You wouldn’t have let it go all the way, and I know that, but the way you kissed me, Jack? The way we…” You curled your fingers against his chest, the material of his shirt wrinkled against your palm. We both wanted it. We both still do. Why are we waiting? “Can we go to bed, Jack? We can stay right here if you want, but…” You felt him shudder, but he never looked away, eyes locked with yours. “But I’d rather we -” 

He didn’t let go of you, instead just shifting the position of his hands to pull you closer to the edge of the counter, urging you to slide off of it. I guess that means he… “You want a bed?” Swallowing hard, you nodded once. “Then I’m gonna give you a bed.” Jack steadied you as your feet made contact with the floor, his hands resting at your hips. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want, Agent.” He murmured the words as he leaned in again, kissing you once more as your lower back was pressed against the edge of the countertop, and you found yourself winding both arms around his neck to hold him in place, sighing as your lips moved with his. I could stay right here and be happy. “C’mon.” 

He spoke again when he pulled away, standing up straight and looking down at you. This is really … it’s really happening.  “Lead the way, Jack.” Holding out a hand as a joke, you were shocked when he took it, the man’s grip tight but not painfully so. It didn’t take much time to go the distance to his bedroom, and even though you’d seen it before, you’d never been led inside by the man himself. “Door open or -” “Whatever you want.” Jack was facing you again, though he’d dropped your hand to flip the light on, the overhead bulb dimming as he adjusted the sliding switch. “Nobody else is coming in here, but if you’d rather …” You turned as he spoke, closing your eyes and taking a long breath as you pushed the door shut - the quiet click echoing through the otherwise silent room. The man said your name, and before you could turn back toward him, you felt his arms wrapping around your body, Jack urging you to press your back to his front while he lowered his head next to yours. “Before anything … happens here, I …” He kissed you just below your ear, punctuating his words. “I want you to stay with me tonight. You can go and get new clothes or whatever you need tomorrow, but I…” He said your name again, then pressed his lips to your cheek. “Stay here with me.” 

You knew that hearing him say that was rare - that he knew what the implication of repeated nights spent together meant to most women. We’ve spent the last … and now he … Turning, you felt Jack’s hold on you loosen just enough to make the motion possible, your own arms going around his waist. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Jack.” It was the truth - you wanted nothing more than to wake up next to the man as often as you could, and you didn’t think that he would be overwhelmed by you giving him a real, honest answer. ”I’ll stay as long as…” “Don’t say that.” He smirked at you, clearing his throat. “Might try to keep you here permanently.” It was a nice thought, and even though you smiled at the words, you didn’t quite let yourself believe them. He’s going to have to go back to New York eventually, and I might not … I might not be a Statesman anymore soon. But almost as though Jack could see your thought process, he moved to distract you, the tips of his fingers snaking beneath the bottom of your shirt and beginning to tug it upward. “You’re wearin’ too much.” He bit down on his lower lip and you pulled away from him, straightening your arms enough so that he could pull the shirt over your head. “That’s better.” He didn’t let go of the material, lowering his hand to hold it by his side, and without asking permission, you used both hands to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt - starting at the bottom. 

As each was undone, you eased your hands up, the material parting to reveal his bare skin beneath it. You didn’t know what was making you move so slowly, but even that realization didn’t change your speed, and when you reached the final button you closed your eyes briefly before pushing the material back and over Jack’s shoulders, the man shrugging out of it and letting it - and your shirt - fall to the floor in the same motion. “Halfway there.” Your gaze flicked back up, meeting his, and you saw Jack staring at you with an intensity that you’d never seen before from anyone. “What?” 

“I want to do this right. I… we’ve waited so goddamn long, and …” He wet his lips, one of his hands moving back to settle against your hip - only his thumb sweeping over the bare skin above your waistband. “But I don’t know that I … can.” Blinking, you tilted your head to one side. Can’t what? “I’m barely holdin’ it together right now and we’re still on our feet, so -” “What’s right, Jack?” Digging your nails gently into the tops of his shoulders, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Easing into it? Going slow? Because I think that this is the slowest anyone’s ever gone, and I’m pretty sure that after what we just said to each other in the kitchen, there’s no wrong way to -” He laughed at that, pulling you tightly against his chest, and even though the reaction surprised you, you let him - turning your head so that you could press your cheek against against his skin, his heartbeat loud in your ears. Or is that mine? The man’s laugh died down and you felt his chest rising and falling, but in the seconds that followed, you were somewhat confused. What is he waiting for? Why isn’t he trying to… 

It hit you then - Jack wasn’t doing what he usually did, because the situation wasn’t typical. He’s … he’s trying to be … oh. Turning your head slowly, you pressed your lips to the man’s body, palms flattening against his sides. He inhaled sharply but didn’t say anything, waiting until you’d shifted your position, kissing another portion of his chest to lower his head, mouth finding the top of your shoulder. You hummed against his sternum, angling your head so that you didn’t get in his way, and Jack’s breath washed over your skin in a hot burst, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he mumbled - though you heard him clearly. “I will. I -” Never. 

But you nodded instead, registering one of the man’s hands slowly sliding up your back and landing on the band of your bra at the same moment he bit down against your skin - harder that time. Your lower body rocked against his, and you couldn’t help letting out a quiet gasp at the feeling of him through his jeans. Oh, shit, Jack. 

“Gonna take this off now, alright?” You nodded without speaking, and you felt the material at your chest loosen, Jack’s large hand swiping up the newly bare center of your back. Warmth followed where he touched you, and at the sensation you couldn’t take it anymore, pulling your mouth away from his body and saying his name, Jack straightening up, too. “What?” You heard the slight waver in his voice and took it as a sign, finally letting your fingers run through his hair to push it away from his face. 

“If you don’t kiss me right now, Jack Daniels, I don’t know what I -” The man didn’t let you finish, closing the distance between the two of you with one swift motion, and when his mouth was sealed over yours, you stopped thinking about anything that wasn’t him. The kiss quickly progressed - the man’s mouth opening, his tongue running along the seam of your lips. You opened your mouth without hesitation, welcoming him to deepen the kiss. He did just that - and as you shifted against him, one arm going around his neck and the fingers of the other hand digging into his hip, you felt the material of your bra shifting, too, the fabric sliding against your skin and his. 

“Take that thing off.” When he pulled back to breathe, you saw that the man’s eyes were nearly black, the pupils larger than you’d ever seen them. “Unless you want me to do it for you.” You had no idea if he’d used the same line on other women, but in the moment, you didn’t care - quickly shrugging the strap down one arm and then the other before letting it drop to the ground with both of your shirts. Jack closed his eyes almost as though he was fighting with himself, and when he spoke, his voice was strained. “Lemme look at you, let me -” “You don’t just have to look, Jack.” Feeling emboldened by the way he was reacting to you, you decided to take a chance. “You can touch, too.” You didn’t expect a tentative touch from the man - that wasn’t his style, but as soon as the words left your mouth, Jack moved, bringing his hands up to rest beneath your breasts, thumbs side by side between them. “Oh, fuck.” At his touch, your knees nearly buckled, and when Jack finally looked down, you watched his posture change, the man’s head lowering, too. He’s going to - he… The moment Jack’s lips made contact with the top swell of your newly bared flesh, you whimpered, the sound loud - but it only spurred him on, lips replaced with the warmth of his tongue as he licked at your skin. 

There was nothing you could do aside from bury your nose in his hair as he continued, mouth making its way down until he closed his lips around one nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking over the already sensitive area. This is exactly what I wanted. You ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, the edges of your other hand’s nails dragging over the center of his back, but Jack was focused on what he was doing, tongue replaced with teeth after only a few moments, the pressure sending a jolt of arousal straight into the pit of your stomach. 

Leaving a damp trail behind, he switched to the other side of your chest, and when you felt his thumb moving in a slow circle over the pebbled skin he’d just tasted, you sighed, the hold on his hair tightening. “Jack.” His name came out in a quiet whine, but at the sound he immediately straightened up, eyes back on you as his hold on your chest loosened. 

“What? I’m -” Don’t you dare apologize. “No.” You cut him off, taking a deep breath and then swallowing to steady yourself. “You’re fine, I just …” Fighting back a grin, you pressed your lips together. “You’re a lot, Jack Daniels, and I wasn’t … prepared.” The look in his eyes changed again, and before you could speak to reply he was pushing you toward the bed, eyes moving between your face and chest. 

“That was nothing, Agent.” You believed him - and also believed that you were about to find out just how true his statement was. Good. It’s about time. He didn’t say anything else, and you would have been lying if you’d tried to say that you didn’t like the way Jack was looking at you - gaze roaming over your upper body and face, the man’s tongue darting over his lower lip as he took in the sight of you. 

You’d wanted him to look at you that way for years, and now that he was, it didn’t seem real. But it is. We’re here, and he’s… he just said he loves me. That was something that the two of you would need to talk about more. It wasn’t that you’d wanted to gloss over it - that kind of admission wasn’t something to ignore. But he’d heard your reply - and it hadn’t sent him running, so you figured you had time. Not now. Now we’re… 

“Let’s get these jeans off.” Jack’s voice interrupted your thoughts, the man moving his hands to unbutton your pants, though he made no move to push them down. 

“Might be easier if I take them off myself, Jack. Same for you. I think we’re both a little -” He laughed but pulled his hands away, moving them to his own waist. You watched what he was doing, hands poised over the waistband of the denim you wore, and it wasn’t until the dark gray material of his underwear came into view that you moved again - easing your jeans down and over your hips without looking away. You’d seen him in various states of undress before - and as recently as the previous couple of days, but it was something entirely different to see him in only a pair of soft boxer briefs, the material clinging to his muscular thighs and toned waist and stretched taut over the prominent bulge at his front. This is really happening. 

“You’re gorgeous.” He spoke quietly, eyes back on your face. “I mean it.” He said your name again, reaching for you with one hand and you took it, letting him pull you away from the bed and closer to him. “I say a lot of things to a lot of people, but that?” He cocked his head to one side before shaking it back and forth slowly. “That’s somethin’ I mean.” 

“You’re not too bad yourself, Jack.” With your free hand, you trailed a finger down the center of his chest and toward his abdomen, feeling the way the muscles beneath it tightened when you stopped near his belly button. “Not at all.” But now’s where it gets weird. “I hate to be that girl, but … I know you haven’t been here in a while. Is… do you have condoms?” It was a loaded question - not because you didn’t think he’d expect it to be a concern, but because you figured he’d think it was a trap - that no matter how he answered, it would be the wrong response. “Because if not, we -” 

“I do.” He nodded. “Not because I thought that this was gonna happen, but because I always do. Might have gotten the implant like we all do as agents, but I’m still careful.” It was easier for you and the other female agents to brush off questions about using additional methods of protection during sex, since the Statesman implant wasn’t unlike the others on the market, but you realized that for Jack and Tequila and all of the other men on staff, it wouldn’t be as simple. Can’t explain having something like that without explaining what they do. “But, uh…” He cleared his throat, still staring at you. “I still get tested regularly, and the only person I’ve been with in the last couple months is Steph, and everything’s… clean.” Oh, you’re saying … He was giving you options, which you appreciated - and bringing up a potentially painful piece of information to let you make a decision. But he has no idea how I’m going to answer. 

“I haven’t … been with anyone in a long time, Jack. So you don’t have anything to worry about there.” You chewed on your lower lip, unable to meet his eyes. Because it sounds like I was waiting. And I wasn’t, but I … sort of was. It hadn’t been on purpose, but many of the men you’d dated in the past, you’d compared to Jack - in the smallest ways possible, and without even realizing it. But I don’t have to do that anymore. “I … think the implants are good enough. As long as that works for you?” 

He’d barely let you finish speaking before he was moving forward again, hands on your hips to push you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. “It works.” You sat, Jack bending at the waist and putting a hand on either side of your body while he nuzzled against your jaw. “As long as you’re sure.” Telling him that you were, you angled your head so that you had access to his mouth, arms once again going around his neck. As Jack kissed you, he eased you backward, the motion smooth and controlled. Before you knew it, you were laying down on the center of the bed, feet still on the floor and Jack hovering over you with his thigh between your legs and his hands on either side of your body. “I’m not done kissin’ you yet, though.” He winked as he dropped another kiss along your jawline, but you weren’t expecting the push of his thigh against your center, the man’s bare skin moving over the soaked material of your underwear. “I can feel that,” he murmured, still pressing his lips to your heated skin every few seconds. “Haven’t even touched you and -” “I wish you’d change that.” The words came out before you could stop them, but even though your eyes flew all the way open as you spoke - shocked at your lack of filter - it didn’t seem to faze him, Jack reacting without pause. Trailing a hand down your side, he flattened his palm against the top of your thigh and then squeezed, pressing his leg against you once more before he withdrew it, giving himself plenty of room for his fingers. 

He didn’t push them into you right away - or move the material to the side; instead, Jack kissed you on the mouth at the same time as he ran his knuckles downward over the dampened fabric, adding a little pressure when he brought them back up. Oh, fuck. Your hips jerked at the touch, rising off of the bed a few inches, and you could feel him smiling against your lips as he continued to tease you. But it wasn’t just you that was reacting to his touch - you felt his thighs tighten around your leg, the firm press of him along the top of your other leg. I can touch him, too. Sighing into his mouth, you moved your hand from the blanket, aiming for the opening of his underwear and the moment your fingertips parted the fabric, he slid a single finger into you. His hand froze when you made contact with his skin, but his hips didn’t - the man’s lower half jerking forward as you wrapped your fingers around him and squeezed, pulling him free through the slit in the cotton. “Fuck me sideways,” he breathed, resuming the movement of his hand, and then kissed you again - that one much messier, almost desperate. “Been waitin’ I don’t even know how long to feel your -” 

He closed his eyes at the sensation of you moving your hand up his length - thumb passing over the tip of him and circling slowly to spread the moisture that had gathered in a large bead there before moving it back down, tightening your hold at his base and then turning your wrist slightly before you started over. I’ve been waiting just as long. Your eyes closed as he picked up the pace of his finger, the occasional curl of it within you forcing your breaths out in short pants. 

“Gonna need another one, Jack. More” You reached up with your free hand, grasping his hair between your fingers and forcing him to look into your eyes. “Otherwise -” You saw the change in his expression at your direction, the rest of your words dying in your throat and your grip on him tightening for a moment. It didn’t surprise you that the man enjoyed hearing things like that, nor did it shock you when he did as you asked immediately - the insertion of another thick digit making all the difference. It’s still not the same, but it’s… closer. 

You touched each other for a few minutes, learning the way your bodies responded to the stimulation, and then Jack stood up suddenly, pulling himself from your hold and removing his fingers from you. What is - “I don’t wanna rush anything, but I need to -” His chest was nearly heaving as he stood over you, eyes locked on your face. “Need you to let me -” He fisted himself with the hand he’d been using on you and your eyes were drawn to the movement - his slick fingers lubricating every inch of himself as he waited. “Christ, Agent, I’ve never -” 

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you reached down, lifting your hips and pulling the last remaining piece of clothing you wore off, letting the material fall to the ground next to the bed. “I’m right here. Waiting, Jack.” You’d never spoken to anyone so boldly before in the bedroom, and your words surprised you a little. Your previous sex life hadn’t been bad, but it had been lacking something, especially after you’d realized you had feelings for Jack. Maybe this is what I was waiting for the whole time. The thought crossed your mind as he let go and then pulled off his underwear, baring his entire body to you for the first time, but you didn’t have too long to think about it as he stepped closer again, urging your legs further apart and stepping between them, his hands running up your thighs. 

He only looked away when he reached for a pillow, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The man met your eyes again as he nodded with his chin, urging you to lift your lower half enough so that he could slide it beneath you, elevating your hips a few inches. “Keep your feet on the floor.” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “If you can.” Who do you think you are? You - The thought was interrupted by the press of him against your entrance, the man once again wrapped in his own fingers as he bent over to find the right angle. 

Your feet were barely on the floor as it was - but when he pushed into you, pausing after the first initial thrust, you knew immediately that it wasn’t going to last. Not if I want him to go harder, not if - Jack moved again, his eyes on your face, but you realized that you wanted to see, and so you raised onto your elbows, staring down at the place where your bodies were joined to watch him disappear into you. Fuck. Fuck, it… he… You heard him groan, and when you glanced up, saw that his eyes were screwed shut, mouth hanging open. “Fucking finally.” Sighing as you collapsed onto your back again, your head lolled to the side as he began to move, hands gripping the meaty part of your thighs as he picked up the pace. 

Your feet lasted all of 30 seconds in his requested position, but it wasn’t your doing; instead, Jack urged your lower body off of the bed, straightening up as he did so. Every thrust hit a different spot inside you, and though he was large, it didn’t hurt, the man filling you in a way that you’d only dreamed about previously. Knees bent and pressed against his sides, you watched the expression on his face change - the corner of his lip curling up, his eyes closed but not squeezed shut. He was enjoying himself - and so were you, the feeling of him inside of you better than you’d imagined it to be, somehow more intimate even though you were barely touching each other, your eyes falling shut as he swiveled his hips before pushing all the way in again. But I want to touch him. 

You opened your eyes as you had the thought, watching him for a few more seconds and then reached up, fingers encircling one wrist. “J-Jack.” Though you had to force the word out, it wasn’t quiet, and he slowed down at the sound of it, hands still firmly in place. “I like this, but I …” Go for it. Tell him. “We should switch places.” Taking a deep breath, you watched as his gaze moved from your face to your chest and then back up. “You sit, and I’ll…” Wetting your lips, you pushed back up onto your elbows. “I’ll do the rest.” 

“Yeah?” When you nodded in reply, he withdrew from you with a groan, the sound audible even over your breathing, but Jack stepped back, gesturing with one hand. “Tell me where you want me.” 

Instead of telling him, you showed him, rising from the bed and turning him around so that his back to was to it, your hands on his shoulders urging him into a sitting position. “Knees at the edge, Jack.” Once he was seated, the man placed his hands at your waist, thumbs circling over the front of your hips. You hadn’t thought it through, but with a tilt of your head, you stepped even closer to the man, lifting one knee and then the other to straddle his lap, lowering yourself enough so that you could feel him between your legs. “This gonna work?” 

“This is gonna work just fine.” He whispered the words, leaning in so that he could take your earlobe between his teeth. You rocked your hips into him, humming at the feeling of him twitching against the inside of your thigh, and then you reached between the two of you, rising back onto your knees as you held him in position. 

When you lowered yourself onto him that time, you moaned, the angle allowing him a deeper reach, your control over the way you moved changing the way it felt. Rotating your hips counterclockwise, you watched his expression, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted, but Jack only stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes, arms wound around your lower back. He’s waiting for me to move. And so you moved, rising and sinking down onto him slowly at first and then increasing your speed as you got more comfortable. He met your movements with slight thrusts of his hips, but the man didn’t stop there, ducking his head down to kiss along the column of your throat and then the upper part of your chest. 

You kept one arm around his shoulders, hand pressed to the center of his back, and the other was tangled in his hair, your chin grazing the crown of his head. Time passed and you realized that your movements had slowed considerably - instead of raising and lowering your body, you were almost grinding against him, slowly moving your hips back and forth. But Jack didn’t seem to mind, the man still holding you close, though it was your lips pressed against his skin instead of the other way around, your mouth on his neck as he spoke quietly into your ear. “You feel goddamn incredible.” He groaned, fingers flexing against your back. “Could do this all night with you.” 

It was tempting - but you wanted more, wanted to know what he was capable of, what it felt like when he came inside you - wanted him to know how good he made you feel, and so you raised your head, blinking slowly as you met his eyes. “Make me come, Jack.” Though you spoke quietly, your tone was urgent, the need overwhelming you almost all at once. “I need to-” 

He shifted beneath you immediately, widening the spread of his legs and jerking his hips forward, the motion surprising you. Yes. Like that, like… You moved faster, too, your slow gyrations turning back into quicker thrusts, and then he removed a hand from your back, snaking it between your bodies. The moment he touched you, you cried out, the sound of his name loud in the quiet room, teeth digging into your lip as your head tilted backward. He knows what he’s doing, I’m not going to… His fingers rubbing in tight circles against you, you heard Jack say your name, your motion halting briefly while you focused on him. What do you … what… “I wanna feel you fall apart.” 

Exhaling, you mouthed his name silently, breaths quickening as you both continued to move.  Despite the fact that you tried your hardest, you couldn’t keep your eyes on him for longer than a few seconds, your head falling back against his shoulder as he urged you closer to the edge. You didn’t know who was leading who because your bodies were in sync with each other, but when Jack grunted softly into your ear, you held on tighter, his hand against your back pushing, too. 

Your orgasm snuck up on you with one final drag of his fingers against you, the pads of them pressing against the tender bundle of nerves just above where he was sliding into you. It took you by surprise, your mouth opening and then closing, teeth latching onto his shoulder as you came. Oh, my God. heart pounding in your chest, you focused as much as you could - muscles still contracting, the sensation almost dizzying in its intensity. But you were shocked to feel the muscles in Jack’s thighs tense, too, his movements picking up in speed to compensate for your decrease. Can he finish like this? Is there enough - 

With a gasp, you released his skin, but before you could lift your head, the hand that had been between your bodies was pressed against the back of your head, urging you to keep it down. Oh, he liked that. Body still buzzing from your climax, you bit at his shoulder again, the man grunting in response. Keeping your body flush against his, he scooted closer to the edge of the bed to give himself more leverage and then leaned back, pulling you down with him. 

You were still on your knees, but you widened the spread of them once he was on his back, Jack’s hips moving faster as he found a new rhythm, your mouth still working over the skin of his shoulder and chest. He let go of your head and moved both hands to your curves, guiding you along with his movements. Like you just had, he came with little warning, your only clue the way he sucked in a breath and then let it out, hips stuttering before he emptied himself into you with a series of quick, shallow thrusts. Jack’s grip on you loosened, though he didn’t let go, fingers digging in to keep you close. 

He stopped moving, the man’s body relaxing beneath yours, and you let yourself go limp, too, cheek pressed to his chest. Instead of urging you to climb off of him, Jack wrapped his arms around you again, urging you to stay where you were. When you opened your eyes, you realized that your mouth was just to the side of the scar on his chest. The one he got because of me. Before you lifted your head, you turned it further, lips finding the mark and lingering there. It shouldn’t have come to this. It shouldn’t have taken this long. 

He stroked one hand down your back, the movement almost lazy, and when you finally did sit up, carefully shifting off of him, you quickly stood, glancing down and then back up after assessing the state of your thighs. “Need to clean up, Jack. We made a mess and -” He nodded once, and even in the shadowy light, you saw a few marks on his skin - evidence of your teeth. Oops. “I’ll be right back.” 

Crossing the room, you closed the bathroom door behind you and turned the water on before flipping the light switch, eyeing yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look any different, but you felt like something had changed. Your feelings were no longer conflicted or hidden, and Jack felt the same. He loves me. He… we just … it… Unable to process a complete thought, you did what you needed to do, washing your hands before re-entering the bedroom, Jack sitting on the edge of the bed again with his shirt over his lap. “You good?” He wet his lips as he turned his attention to you. “My turn?” “Yep.” Suddenly self conscious about the fact that you were entirely naked in front of him, you turned to the side, gesturing toward the door. “ All yours, I’ll -” 

“You don’t needta get dressed.” He spoke as he stood, letting the shirt fall to the floor. “Unless you want to, and there’s some -” He stopped in front of you, reaching over and settling his hand on your hip, your name little more than a whisper as he spoke it. “You gonna stay?” What? Why wouldn’t I? There wasn’t hesitation in his eyes, but you saw uncertainty. Is it because he asked me to stay? Or because he thinks I’ll still leave? 

“Bed’s pretty big, Jack.” You gestured with your chin. “Wouldn’t want you to have to sleep in it alone.” The smile you got at that was radiant, the expression lighting up the man’s face. “I’ll be there when you come back out.” Kissing your cheek before he continued into the bathroom, Jack’s hand only left your body when it had to, the door closing softly behind him. 

After a quick assessment - choosing the side of the bed that the alarm clock wasn’t on, you crawled between the blanket and sheets, stretching out and closing your eyes as you yawned. It’s been a long fucking day. It had been - for both of you - and even though you wanted to stay awake, enjoying Jack’s company for as long as possible, you knew that it was unlikely. Very unlikely, you admitted as you covered your mouth to stifle another yawn. And if I’m tired, he has to be exhausted. 

When the door opened a few minutes later, you forced your eyes open to watch Jack cross the room, the confident swing of his hips no less prevalent than it usually was. But he faltered when he saw you, his eyes going wide, the fingers on his left hand curling into a loose fist. What’s that about? Recovering quickly, the man turned the lights off and then climbed into bed with you, immediately turning onto his side and crossing an arm over your body, pulling you as close as he could. “D’you know how long I’ve wanted to see you in my bed?” He spoke with his lips against your cheek, the man’s stubble rasping over your skin. “Been a real long time.” 

“Yeah?” He nodded, and even though you couldn’t see him well in the dark, you knew that he was smiling - as were you. “I like it here, Jack. And I’m sorry it couldn’t have been this way sooner.” He kissed you then, the press of his lips against yours soft. 

“It’s this way now.” 

—