#Bulleit whiskey

[bourbonandpearls]

[therealbeardedgent]

Smooth.

[thedroneranger]

Hey, bartender! ☺️ Whatcha got for a whiskey sour, an aviation, and a bramble? Cheers! 🍸

Ok! Let's start this round with a whiskey sour! Feels like you spent some time trying to convince the man that lands on boats to vacation on a boat. And he, surprisingly, love it! Hangman immensely enjoyed spending the afternoon, drinking whiskey sours on every deck with a bar. The bartenders definitely knew him by name at the end of your cruise.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin | Bon Voyage | requested by @indynerdgirl

See what others are drinking!

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[crepuscularpete]

Weekend vibes. One of the best albums ever recorded - I won't hear otherwise.

[dinnickhowellslikes]

[watchcloselynow]

[southernspiritnorthernheart]

[maltrunners]

Bulleit Bourbon

Review by: TOModera Just posted my 100th Scotch review, and thought that I should get all the upgrading out of the way, so here’s my 10th Bourbon review. My last dram in the UK, and of course, it’s a Bourbon. See my earlier rant about finding things in Canada for why. Also it is time for me to slow down a little bit. I may have foie gras my own liver, and that is, in theory, a bad idea.…

[pinkkidsludgecalzone]

[licorea-es]

Whiskey Rye vs Bourbon: Diferencias Te explicamos la diferencia entre Whiske... https://www.licorea.es/whiskey-rye-vs-bourbon-diferencias-y-parecidos/?feed_id=10978&_unique_id=63b2d0e21cbb5&Whiskey%20Rye%20vs%20Bourbon%3A%20Diferencias

[punk-in-docs]

Oooh and just thinking about detective Quinn laughing during sex, but maybe that’s just me

‼️Hold the Bourbon‼️Detective Quinn x Reader

TW: uhm filthy slutty sex, PIV, doggy, pretty damn lot of dirty talk. Just man slut behaviour- my brain is broken. This is all I’ll be thinking about for the next 3-5 working days.

He’s such a whirlwind. That doesn’t skip any damn thing when it comes to sex; he’s flippant. Dominant and he will take what he wants from you, with zero seconds notice and the biggest knife edge grin-

Grin so cunning sharp you could cut yourself on it.

The confidence this guy has? Yeah, it’s totally unmatched and he’s down for anything. He’s done it all. It’s LA man. He’s with it.

Sex is a second nature to him. The well learned back of his hand by now. He’s had partners of either gender. He knows how to touch, how to caress, to flirt and squeeze, kiss, and certainly how to fuck them.

He knows how to make the person in his bed cum like a fucking faucet and still be trembling out moans for more. He’s good that way.

Honey his dick is a solid fat ten, and he fucks like a porn star with it.

Honestly, there’s no guy you’ve ever met that’s like him. Mercurial, switchy, a changing writhing ball of slutty and well dressed energy. He’s here, there and everywhere. A storm. He’s a tropical energetic pumped storm that smells like Pour Homme.

Gold medallion swinging slamming his neck. Rattling loud. Chopping a couple lines of coke (one time, birdie, he’d winked) joint tucked in his pocket. Dancing in his kitchen mixing you a Cosmo in a cocktail shaker, in his shiny new Gucci shoes and a striped Versace silk shirt. Red cherry gum and sweet chapstick. Kissing your waxy lipstick away and mumbling how strawberry sweet you taste.

Just when he’s got you thinking you have him pegged, he’s wriggled free and a new facet of his character is ready to stun. He cancels a date, with apologies and a huge huge bouquet of yellow flowers enough for a small Italian wedding, and a handwritten card. Work took him elsewhere.

Sorry Birdie, x. Always with a kiss.

And then a night later, he’s knocking at your door. Dressed in a slutty open necked black shirt and bright pink bell bottoms. Golden Saint chain. Tilts his head at you with a smirk that’s right off some terrifying horror film. Something with teeth and predator instincts. Whiskey eyes warm you and he makes your pussy damp.

He’s got a brown paper bag in his hands. Bottle of Bourbon. Bulleit.

“I want a bourbon with ice.” He greets you with that confusing sentence.

He smiles and licks his lips when you answer the door in a scratchy old aqua blue towel. He scoffs. And then adds;

“And then I wanna fuck you, hard, doggystyle.” He announces. Eyes never leaving yours. Your heart quivers.

Such a mouth on him.

He dances inside. All intent stares and throwing his jacket in the vague direction of your coatrack. He stalks you backwards and doesn’t even look to slam the bottle down on your kitchen table.

He’s stalking you backwards. Two steps become three. Three melt to four. Backs of your knees hit bed.

Now you’re treading the worn old patchy carpet of your bedroom. Peach satin sheets all tumbled and messy behind you. Hands at your side, heart ramming as he reaches for your waist over that crappy old towel.

“On second thoughts. Hold the bourbon. Pass the pussy.” He smiles. Full with pride at his own dirty joke.

“Real nice.” You smart at him. Made you sound like a joint he could just share around.

His hands zip to the front of your makeshift towel dress. Right over your tits. He takes both sides and peels them away.

His smile curls on one side when he watches that aqua blue swim away to gone. Dropped to the floor as a damp scrap of nothing.

“She’s real nice.” He promises you. Standing toe to toe and rubbing his thumb right through the slick mess of your cunt. You watch as he pops that thumb right in his mouth and sucks-

He hums. Slipping his thumb free. You lay thick on his tongue like molasses. Only ten times sweeter. Saltier.

“I think she’s missed me. Birdie. Look how wet she’s getting.” He laughs.

His fingers are back to slipping through your cunt. Parting lips. Coaxing out more of that delightful sticky mess he always drives out of you. Drives you wild-

“She’s a filthy girl isn’t she. Just can’t help getting so slick and creamy when I’m around right?” He grins. Tongue tipped pink between his teeth.

You can’t even get a word in edgeways and he’s already shoving you back to the bed.

He’s taking off his shirt and undoing his Prada belt. Waft of cologne comes your way. “I got something for her baby. I know she must be hungry.” He winks.

Shamefully, that makes you clench. Filthy man.

And there, sprawled in your bed, you stay for a good long while-

Once he gets going you’re not entirely sure your legs will work anymore. sweat-licked skin all over, love bites on your shoulders, and he’s well on the way to fucking your brains right the hell out.

He gets his wish and does you doggystyle.

Your hips cradled snug in his hands, hurting where they’re wedged wide to make room for the drive of his cock. Bottoming out ands scraping tenderly at the warm satin depths of your cunt.

Your knees shiver into the peachy sheets. You’re drooling - it drips slick down your chin and you’re so lost in pleasure you can’t count the amount of times he’s made you cum.

A throat screaming raw amount. Enough that you know it’a not just that silky lube you use rolling in drips down your sticky thighs. Pattering to the bed.

Your hands knock onto your headboard, slamming the wall like thumps. Your palms clammy. Hair wet on the back of your neck and all clumped together thick with sweat. Stuck to your cheeks.

He stops suddenly - sits back on his heels and reaches for the bedside, lights up a cigarette. Your body bows.

“Keep that ass up.” He warns as you stay there in the dark orange wet patch. A small pinch on your thigh to enforce the lesson.

You huff for breath with the small slither of a reprieve he gives you. You hear his cig packet. The flick and burn of a lighter. The slow cloud roll of silver smoke.

He slaps his wet-smeared cock to your ass. And then your clit. Rubbing and taunting.

Drags a bone wracking shiver out of you with the sudden sensation. Then he lines his head up and slips right back on in with a slick squelch.

Moaning from deep within in his carnal chest on an exhale, puffing out smoke as he does. Holds it in his lips. Slips out the cracks of his straight white teeth.

Watching below as one hand palms open your ass and gazes at how he pushes inside you. Girth stretch stretch stretching that pretty pussy so wide. Watching the push and tug of his meaty dick slapping balls deep to your ass. Closes his eyes and savours for a second-

“This pussy has definitely missed me, Birdie. She’s swallowing me whole. Fuckkkk. Look at her go.” He starts his deep strokes again. Deep, unyielding g-spot fucking.

“I’m gonna finish in that mouth tonight baby. Fuck that throat deep and fill you with my cum. Alright?” He says like it’s an afterthought.

You barely had the energy to sob. Or nod.

He’s stroking your hip and ass. Hand slowly crawling up your spine to feel the slam of his hips rippling through you. Your ass was so fucking round and nice. Every part of you is exquisite and he wants overdose on you like bad cocaine.

Another deep drag of his cigarette. He slows. He thinks. Devours you in your post orgasm gaze with those killer eyes. He rambled on.

“Then, I’m gonna eat her for a little bit.” He pauses to lick his lips. “Oh. She’ll be so nice and juicy for me by the time I’m done. Melting into my mouth.” He decided as his thrusts picked up speed and punching ferocity.

“Then-“ He huffs as he really starts to ram you up the bed. Smacks it to the wall. Wants to wake up some of your asshole neighbours. Anger some folks.

“I might have my Bourbon.” He finishes his words with a gasp that morphs into another laugh.

Your pussy choked down clamping on his dick. He hisses through his teeth.

“Or I might lick it off your tits. Haven’t made my mind up yet.” He sighs. Smiles and smokes some more. Pounds away.

You just lay there and take it- this man in all his filthy fleeting bliss. And you wouldn’t change it for a thing- you couldn’t even if you wanted too.

~

[therealbeardedgent]

The finest whiskey.

[friendlyfaded]

more soft sam/darlin’ headcanons definitely not based on real life @thesunandmoons-blog

darlin’ makes grilled cheese sandwiches with only bread and kraft singles. sam fucking hates the kraft singles.

darlin’ will only eat mini m&ms. both they and asher will argue the superiority of mini m&ms for the rest of their lives if they have to. sam thinks they all taste the exact same. sam is wrong

sam drinks redemption bourbon. darlin’ likes bulleit rye whiskey better.

darlin’ sometimes walks around on the balls of their feet. this is both because of the autism and because they find it feels more natural, since that’s how they walk as a wolf.

sam is not afraid to ask for cuddles. he’s an absolute sucker for snuggle time. darlin’ doesn’t so much ask as they climb on top of sam and push their head against his hand to demand scritches. they’re just generally very snuggly with each other, but literally no one else knows (except vincent, who has walked in on them cuddling more times than he can count).

darlin’ has a white board on the fridge that says “days since being scolded by sam.” that number has never exceeded four.

sam has to be careful when he talks because darlin’ can and will turn most things he says into innuendos.

darlin’ has to be careful when talking about things they want, because sam will buy it for them immediately. it makes him happy that he can give his darlin’ the things they want.

[crepuscularpete]

Southern rock Sunday.

[rottingfern]

🔫 sugar daddy Noah 3x3 🔫

Combining your request with the three other anons who asked:

In truth, she doesn’t know much about whiskey and doesn’t care to find out. She doesn’t even really like it, but Noah preens a bit when the bartender compliments his choice of The Glenlivet 14 Year (something about a cognac cask) and she wants to get on his good side.  The detail about patrons having to ask for a drinks menu at a bar is a particularly sick joke, she thinks. Add on top of that the misery of having to act like she’s deciding and not just frantically trying to remember the name of a single whiskey cocktail that isn’t a whiskey sour, with the added audience of Noah and their bartender patiently waiting to “decide”. She’s surprised she hasn’t sweat through her dress yet.  “Can I have an old fashioned?” she asks, praying she lucks out. An old fashioned is a whiskey cocktail, right? Right? The bartender’s expression warms. “A classic. That’s my go-to, too. Is the house rye alright, or are you wanting something else?”  God, just make the drink already. “Ummmmm, Bulleit?” “Bourbon or rye?” asks the bartender. This is starting to feel like a test. Since when did ordering a drink become a questionnaire? “She’ll have the bourbon,” Noah interrupts, coming to her rescue. He leans in all coy, caging her between the arm that squeezes at her shoulder and his stupid, gorgeous face, whispering in her ear, “Trust me, Baby. And I could’ve just gotten you a drinks menu.”

[lamp2003]

when tumblr dies you can find me in the second cup of coffee where it’s not completely black just a little cream from the first cup. orange bulleit whiskey cup