#last week was peach whiskey

[sunflowergirl522]

It’s amazing how cake (shots of alcohol) in the break room really turns all of our moods around (my place of business is making us alcoholics)

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 3

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: General audiences, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Flirting, discussions of deceased soulmates. Not too many warnings for this one, although Jack and shopping is a personal fantasy of mine. Summary:  A party and a day out together give you some time to get to know Jack a little bit better. Notes: Sorry for the post delay this week, everyone, but thank you all for being so supportive. Health is a struggle but fiction is a beautiful escape.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack eyes Champ, frowning slightly at the older man as he shoots him a grin across the room. He's been cagey lately, smirking at him like he knows a secret that he won't tell Jack. Something that he knows drives the senior agent crazy. Instead of walking across the room and demanding he tell him what is on his mind, Jack turns towards you. Watching as you meet Ginger's soulmate, Gabriella.

Just a little get together, Diana had said when she called you, smiling down the phone as she issued the invitation. To celebrate! Well, Diana’s idea of small was two or three dozen people - all Statesman employees and their families - gathered at the Rogers’ house for a weekend barbecue. It seems like the whirlwind of introductions may never stop, but this bright and happy woman named Gabriella and the two children that she seems to be an expert at wrangling just put you at ease. Introducing yourself seems a little redundant since this is a party to welcome you specifically, but the kids don’t care - just as kids tend not to. They wave hello and ask their mother if they can go play with the other kids, and are off like a shot the instant they get a ‘yes’.

“They’re sweet,” you say, smiling despite how much you miss your niece and nephew. It’s only been five days since you saw them last, but that’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing them ever.

"They are wild." Gabriella corrects you with a laugh, looking after her kids with the fondness of a parent of someone well accustomed to their antics. "But they promised to behave under threat of torture."

“I wish that worked on my nephew.” When she pats the arm of the chair beside her, you sit down gratefully. Deciding to dress up for this party shouldn’t have included heels, that’s your own fault. “When my niece is finally old enough to be his sidekick, everyone’s going to be in trouble.”

"Menaces, huh?" She chuckles and sips her spiked lemonade before she shrugs, keeping an eye on her own troublemakers. "That just means they will have each other's backs when they are older."

“I hope so.” They have good examples to follow, at least, with how close you are to your siblings. Even if you’re not physically close to each other anymore. “So…this is what counts as a ‘little’ get together around here?” Diana had poured you a spiked lemonade a few moments ago, and you’d added peach nectar as your fruit flavor of choice from the bar of fruit flavored syrups and liqueurs by the large bar set up in the kitchen counter. It’s the best lemonade you’ve ever had in your life.

"Any excuse to have a party is Diana's reason for living." Gabriella jokes, motioning to where she is fluttering around talking to people with the largest smile on her face. Her husband ambles behind her, much slower in pace as he allows her to do as she pleases with a fond smile on his own face and a whiskey in his hand.

“A woman after my own heart,” you laugh, looking over in time to see a young man maybe a few years younger than yourself receive an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek and be shooed inside with lipstick on his cheek. “Their son?” It’s not exactly a stretch to guess. He has Champ’s stance and his mother’s thick head of hair.

"Bobby." She confirms with a nod. "He’s back home for a bit after being overseas for the last two years."

“Something fun, I hope.” But you won’t pry, enjoying the easy atmosphere on this sunny afternoon.

"Oh yeah, he's been traveling for Statesman and has been a little homesick." She murmurs, aware that you aren't aware of the real reason for international travel from some of the Statesman employees. Her wife had filled her in before the party.

“I like that it’s a family operation.” Turning back to Gabriella, you take a sip of your lemonade and smile. “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been here?” You don’t know their story - her and Astrid - but as the newest arrival to what Champ and Diana jovially call ‘the Statesman family’ you feel like you want to know everything.

Gabriella smiles, looking over at Astrid with stars in her eyes. “We found each other about seven years ago. Damn lucky honestly. What with–” She bites her lip, knowing she shouldn’t say the real reason. “Astrid doesn’t have any scars.”

“I noticed that a lot of people don’t seem to have tattoos, either.” It’s just a vague observation, but coming from the culinary world where so many of your coworkers have large pieces or even whole sleeves, it surprises you. “I guess I’m alone in that one.”

“Yeah.” Gabriella gives a slightly nervous chuckle. “There’s actually an incentive to have them removed here. You should look into it. If you want, of course.” If she could get you to remove the tattoos without any suspicion, Jack would be in the clear.

“Why would I want to do that?” Your left hand moves protectively to cover your right elbow, and you think back to your contract to make sure you haven't glazed over anything. There had certainly been a dress code portion of the employee handbook, but nothing about tattoos or piercings. Not even a note on ‘acceptable’ hair colors.

“I meant no offense.” She immediately back pedals and gives a small smile. “I’ve just known plenty of people here who have decided they don't want their tattoos anymore. People change what they once liked…you know.”

“Oh, sure.” That’s true, certainly, and you relax a little. “I guess that’s fair. I just can’t see a single reason I would want to get rid of mine. I just made sure to get it in a place that I could cover, ya know? Just in case. Some fine dining restaurants don’t like to have them showing.”

“Of course.” She bobbles her head quickly, not wanting to alienate you with a thoughtless comment. She wasn’t supposed to know that you are Jack’s soulmate but Astrid had let it slip. “I know all about the ‘professional’ world. I was in the corporate rat race before I found Astrid.”

“Then that makes you a much braver woman than I.” You laugh and sit back in your chair. “I don’t know how you survived it, honestly.” All that corporate nonsense does nothing for you and it never has - no part of your extraordinary life is ever going to revolve around file numbers.

“Oh I’m much happier now with our little house to keep and our kids to wrangle.” She promises. “And just listening to Astrid talk about work gives me all the adventure I could ever want.”

“It’s not that little.” No, you see their house in the walk to work every morning now, and it certainly isn’t petite like yours is. Not that you need more than that for just you and the Dormouse. “You’ve got your slice of heaven, I think. It’s kind of…” You shrug, figuring you’re probably over sharing, but it’s always coming out of your mouth. “Kind of what I always wanted. That idyllic family life.”

“I never knew I wanted it.” Gabriella has no problem admitting that she had never imagined domestic bliss or being a stay-at-home mom when she was climbing the corporate ladder. “Now, I couldn’t imagine anything else.”

“I wouldn’t give up my career for anything.” Anybody who asked you to would be in for a rude awakening. “But a family? That’s…that’s still the dream.” Even with your soulmate, the idea of finding someone isn’t ridiculous. Plenty of people do it every day…right?

“I understand.” Gabriella looks over to where her youngest has spotted Jack and is currently climbing up his leg. Jack smiles and laughs as he swings the boy up onto his shoulders, but there is the underlying sadness underneath. “Sometimes the dreams are all you have.”

“Sometimes they are.” Too lost in your own melancholy overlong losing your soulmate, you don’t see Gabriella’s eyes move to Jack with her son. You don’t even notice Astrid and Tex step up onto the porch together.

“Well, look at you.” Tex whistles as he looks you up and down. “Ain’t you pretty as a picture? You having fun?”

“Hey you.” The sound of his voice is familiar - one of the only things that is familiar around here - and you perk up a little to see two familiar faces. “You made it.” To be honest, you didn’t really know who Diana had invited, but you figured it was a good chance that Tex would be here considering he had been your flight companion and part of your testing team. He seems to be involved in everything the same way Jack is.

“Damn near didn’t.” Tequila admits. “Amsterda—” He cuts off abruptly and shakes his head. “I mean, an armadillo managed to get into one of the storage houses.” He covers his slip up with a mile wide grin. “But I made it.”

“Is that why I haven’t seen you in days?” You pop up from your seat to give him a hug and choose not to say anything about the fact that he was definitely about to say something else. “Because of an armadillo?”

“Tricky suckers.” He huffs, giving you an extra squeeze before he lets go of you. Gabriella sends Astrid a pointed look and then glances at Tequila.

“If I find one in my garden, I’m calling you.” It’s barely a threat, and you don’t have a proper garden yet, but you’ll get there eventually.

“You can call me even if you don’t.” Tex tells you, making Astrid clear her throat and capture everyone’s attention. “Should we get something to eat?” She asks when your head turns towards her.

“Lead the way.” Champ seems to have deputized his son to help him look after the large grill on the other side of the yard, and Jack is nearby with a drink in hand when the four of you approach together.

Astrid and Gabriella whisper together ahead of you as you make your way towards the tables laden down with sides and desserts. None of them yours yet, but a potluck off all those who wanted to contribute.

“I wish Diana hadn’t insisted on just being a guest.” Walking beside Tex, you look over at the table of various desserts with affection. Sweets are what you do, after all. “I would have made a couple of cakes to bring.”

"You aren't supposed to bring food to your own shindig." Jack huffs, walking up toward the group and nods towards you. "It's not how it's done here in the south, sugar."

“I guess I have a few things to learn.” You half step forward to offer him a hug, having left things on a good note after your night at the bar earlier in the week, but you’re not still quite sure what Jack thinks of you and you don’t want to make things weird - so instead you end up just stepping forward awkwardly and looking like your arms don’t work properly. “How have you been, Jack?”

He knows that you are expecting a hug and doesn't know quite how to ask for one. It's slightly awkward, especially since Jack just came back from the funeral of your former soulmate. It had taken a couple of days for his family to be notified and then another week for the body to be shipped back to his hometown. Jack hadn't introduced himself, just stood off a respectful distance while the man he had taken a future from had been lowered into the ground. "As good as I can be." He tells you, looping his arm around you and squeezing you to his side in a friendly manner, although his hand is lower than appropriate on your waist.

“I hope nothing’s wrong?” The side hug is a little awkward but there’s warmth to it - or at least there is to you. It wouldn’t be the first time you imagined that someone enjoyed your company more than they actually did. “Sweets can solve any myriad of problems, you know.”

"Nothing that a party with everyone I care about can't fix." Jack hums, a flash of pain that seems bittersweet and vague for Abigail not being here is almost as a reflex now. He suppresses it and grins. "But I'm eager for another sample of your cakes."

“I’m going to start working on the menu next week,” you tell everyone, chest absolutely bursting with pride. “So I’m going to need everybody to stop by the kitchen a couple of times to try out what I’ll be baking. As many times as you want to come by, I’d love to get the feedback.”

"Everyday." The promise pops out of his lips before he could ever even think about not speaking.

Not expecting such an immediate and earnest response, you practically beam. “Then I’ll start with cakes. By the end of the week you’ll never want to go near buttercream again.”

"Don't tell him that." Tequila rolls his eyes and shoulder checks Jack playfully. "This man keeps bags of candy in his desk all the time."

“Oh yeah?” You raise an eyebrow at Jack and smirk. “What’s your favorite?” Sometimes the smallest thing can be a big inspiration, so you’re never going to shy away from asking the question.

Jack frowns at Tequila for ratting him out and huffs. "I like Snickers." He admits with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“Noted.” The urge to do something in Jack’s honor on your menu is seemingly expanding far beyond his affinity for your tea sandwiches, but on the outside all you do is smile. You haven’t had a crush like this in ages, and it doesn’t help that you’re nursing one for Tex at the same time.

"I like Zero bars." Tex adds, his brows lifted hopefully as he pushes his hands into his pockets. He really likes you, drawn to you in a way he hasn't felt before and he wants to ask you out.

“Which are, arguably, a white chocolate version of a Snickers.” It starts to turn your wheels even more, wondering if you can’t do something with caramel and peanuts that uses two types of chocolate.

"I keep telling you that." Jack smirks at Tex and shakes his head. "Boy doesn't know anything."

“It just means they can work well together.” Completely oblivious to any undertones in the conversation, you just shrug your shoulders and let your wheels grind on a recipe idea while the group of you moves up along the picnic tables to get something to eat.

Tequila frowns at Jack but he doesn’t feel guilty. The boy needs to sniff around somewhere else. It’s obvious you aren’t interested and you’re grieving your soulmate.

“What in the hell is going on?” Ginger whispers, hiding in Jack’s ear as Gabriella and Tequila whisk you toward one end of the tables to the immense batch of tamales that Ginger’s wife made for the occasion.

“What are you talking about?” Jack asks, feigning ignorance. “We’re at a party. That’s what’s going on.”

“You and Tequila.” She fixes him with a frown and pushes her glasses up on her nose a little. “You’re not normally this subtle, I’ll give you that. But it’s like watching peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” Jack frowns and looks over at where you and Tequila have your heads together over the table and there are the sounds of laughter. “You’re imagining things.” He scoffs. “Nobody’s actin’ like a peacock. Just bein’ friendly to the girl.”

“Jack.” Ginger frowns. She wears her cover for her friends on her sleeve and makes no apologies for it. “I know you might not…all things considered, I get it. Not saying anything to her. But please tell me that you told him?”

“Sure I did.” Jack nods, rolling his eyes. “Showed him the damn tattoos the day Champ benched me.”

“But you’re sure he knows it’s her?” She asks, searching his face with concern. When he rolls his eyes, her eyes pinch shut immediately. “It’s February, Jack. It might be warm enough for a backyard barbecue, but we’re all still wearing long sleeves.”

“Come on Ging– he went to pick her up.” Jack scoffs. “Don’t you think Champ told him that he was on an escort mission for my supposed soulmate?

“Honestly?” She shrugs, biting the inside of her lip while she thinks. “I think Champ told as few people as possible. So maybe he didn’t.” There is nothing supposed about you, but this isn’t the moment for that argument.

“Don’t see why it matters.” Liar. The voice in his head screams it but Jack just ignores it and forges ahead. “They are friendly. End of story.”

“If you say so.” The last thing she wants is to start an argument, so she’ll let it go for now. But Ginger knows Jack and Tequila and she knows their habits - and you’re getting at least one request for a date for Valentine’s Day next week. She just doesn’t know which one of them will be first.

Jack is happy she’s willing to drop it. Uncomfortable with the conversation, although he does side eye Tequila before he dismisses it. It’s not like he has a claim over you even if it was true. You aren’t his soulmate and there’s no way he’s yours. Not when his heart died years ago.

It takes two full plates before you’re finally stuffed, sitting in the afternoon sun in Champ’s backyard as most of the party has migrated indoors in anticipation of that same sun setting. There are still a few stragglers outside and you’re happy to be one of them - enjoying the sun’s rays while they’re still there to beat down on you. It’s been a lively afternoon and you’ve met a lot of very nice people, but stealing a few minutes alone has been nice, too.

Jack notices you off alone, nursing his beer as he watches you. Wondering what you think about this place, everyone here. He huffs to himself and stands, closing the gap between the two of you with no clue as to why. “Appreciating the silence or wantin’ some company?” He asks, knowing that if you want to be alone he’ll respect that.

“I wouldn’t say no to company.” Shifting to one side on the little bench you’ve been occupying, you make room for him to sit. You’ve always come to the conclusion that it would take a hell of a lot for you to say no to Jack.

He tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t be so pleased that you accepted his presence, but that doesn’t stop the quiet pride filling his chest. “No regrets so far?” He asks, looking over the party. Champ would have found something to make you stay, but he’s curious as to you wanting to be here. “Get your stuff easy enough?”

“I’m planning on running out tomorrow for a few things, but honestly the house is great.” It’s not like you owned that much to begin with, and the house came fully furnished. You’re just going to go wandering around housewares stores tomorrow to pick up some personal touches and to try some local restaurants while you’re out. “Everybody’s been so nice. Astrid actually sent flowers after I settled in, and Champ’s given me a key to the restaurant so I can be in the kitchen whenever I want. It’s all…pretty perfect.”

Jack knows that Champ might have put a tracker in the keys that he gave you. But he doesn’t like the idea of you going to town without some protection. “Want some company? Tomorrow?” Jack hears the edge to his voice and scolds himself for acting like an idiot. “I mean, I’ve got some errands to run and you can put whatever you buy into the back of the Bronco.” He tells himself that he’s responsible, at least until your tattoo on his skin goes away. Still convinced it’s the universe’s idea of a sick joke.

“You wouldn’t mind?” It’s not flirting, you remind yourself, although your heart does seem to pick up speed a little at the offer. “I mean…I was going to have lunch out while I was picking things up. So…my treat? As a thank you for driving?”

It’s his immediate reaction to protest. To remind you that his daddy would box his ears, but he catches your eyes. Pride. He’s more than a little familiar with the trait and he sees that you aren’t one to just expect someone to go and do. That you need to contribute to the outing. So he nods. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite country kitchen.” He offers. “They do a buffet of all the things folks love around here. Give you a feel for the area.”

“I’d love that.” It’s exactly the kind of thing you were hoping to find for yourself, but doing it with him sounds infinitely better. “Most of what I know about Southern cooking comes from my grandma, so I definitely want to try as many local places as I can.”

“Best food ever, although, come hungry.” He warns you. “They will be asking why you aren’t going back for thirds.”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t happily eat thirds,” you laugh, amused by his serious tone. “I’ll go back every week if it’s that good.”

“Have you ever had cornbread so thin it’s like a pancake and fried until it’s crispy on the edges?” Jack asks you with a grin.

“We have something like that at home.” Johnnycakes are a New England classic, and you fell in love with the quick and tasty cornmeal pancakes during culinary school. “But I can’t wait to try the Southern version.” It sounds like it would be perfect for a caviar service if the tea room ever got that fancy…

“That with a piece of catfish fried to perfection is just like momma used to make.” He confides, winking at you playfully.

“Sounds like heaven.” One of these days you really have to stop shivering whenever he winks at you. But it won’t be today.

“That sounds like a plan.” Jack hates shopping, but he’s not going to let you go out to town by yourself. Or with Tequila, although he knows the boy is leaving on another mission.

“I haven’t lived on my own for a while, so there’s just some finishing touches I don’t have,” you explain, wondering why you feel the need to actually explain yourself at all. It just sort of…compels itself out of your mouth.

“Oh?” It almost startles him how quickly he focuses on that. “Lived with a lover?” He asks. “Statesman will let you bring someone to live with you if you’re trying the long distance thing. It doesn’t work - trust me.”

“I know it doesn’t.” While you didn’t really have any intention of talking about it today, there’s a Nudging feeling inside you that just wants to spill everything to Jack. To lay yourself proverbially bare and let this whole new beginning at Statesman be made of honesty instead of hiding pieces of yourself away. “I—a few years ago, I was with this person. Someone I thought was really going to last, ya know? I mean it wasn’t my soulmate but we had been together for years. Anyway…they got offered a job in New York. And we had all these plans for me to drive down to them and visit on off days and to make things work and they just…” You sigh, hating that everything that happened with your ex still hurts so badly. “It only took them two weeks to find someone else. So I left the apartment we’d been living in with our other friend and moved back in with my family. My little sister had just given birth to my nephew and every pair of hands that could help was welcome.” Rubbing your eyes, you huff ruefully and shrug your shoulders. “Sorry if that’s oversharing, I guess.”

“It’s not.” Jack wants to reach out and hug you, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve to comfort you and he doesn’t trust himself to not try. “Whoever they were, they were an idiot.” He can’t imagine just finding someone else. Not when you claim to love them. It’s why he’s been very careful to make sure that what he did have was very surface level physical pleasure. He hasn’t had an intimate connection since Abigail. Not real intimacy.

“They’re somebody else’s problem now.” If you wanted to, you could probably argue to yourself that Jack moved closer with this small moment of comfort, but you don’t want to tease yourself like that. You do like him, but it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t see you as more than a potential friend, so you don’t want to push anything. “I appreciate that.”

"Hopefully they step on Legos in the dark for the rest of their life." Jack jokes.

“You are cruel.” It draws a laugh from you anyway, a grateful feeling from being supported in a moment of emotional need. Things like this are easy with Jack - no matter how nervous you may get from your little crush, the softest moments are always easy. “But…on point, honestly. A lifetime of barefoot Lego steps would be pretty suitable.”

He laughs and feels like the moment is light and easy with you. Letting it settle over him like a soft blanket.

“Oh…” The memory hits you immediately and out of nowhere, as you sit in a moment of comfortable silence with Jack. “Tomorrow…I was going to go dress shopping, also. I completely forgot. So…if that doesn’t exactly sound like fun for you, I’ll totally get it.” It would be a disappointment to not spend the day with Jack now that you’ve made the plan, but you can’t imagine that womens’ clothes shopping holds any great appeal for him.

“I don’t mind going dress shoppin’.” Jack shrugs. “You know that it could be fun.” He hums, unable to resist imagining you in a sleek and sexy dress.

“I said yes to this wedding invitation ages ago and I just…haven't had any time to prepare.” The impulse to continue to explain yourself is obviously strong. “The plan was just to ignore my plus one and drive down to Boston on the day, but now it’ll be a flight and a hotel and all kinds of craziness and I—” You shrug. “They’re family, so I can’t just not go. So…I have to find a dress.”

“Wedding huh?” He relaxes slightly and shrugs. “You don’t have to ignore the plus one, I’m sure someone would love to go to a wedding.”

“Well, I’m friendly with about six people at the moment, and four of them are married couples.” Hope flames so strong in your chest that you’re sure he must see it. Maybe misinterpreted as a flash of desperation, but that isn’t it. You’re just…so fucking drawn to him. “So unless you or Tex is willing, I’ll just hang out with my siblings that night like I’ve been planning.”

“When and where is this little shindig happening?” Jack asks, smirking as he imagines perching you on his arm for a wedding and seeing how the rest of your family is. Even though the thought confuses him.

“The Whitney Hotel in Boston, a week from today.” Hope. It flares bright and beautiful in your whole body but you try not to look too much like a fawning schoolgirl. Without knowing how old Jack is, you would guess that he had about ten years on you, and you don’t want to come across as immature when you’re just being sincere.

Instantly, it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. Except it’s no team celebration for winning a playoff or prank by Tequila. It’s the horror of realizing that you would have met the man you were supposed to be with if Jack hadn’t been there two weeks ago. Guilt curls in Jack’s stomach and the barbecue and baked beans he had eaten along with about a fourth of the dessert table threatens to make a reappearance. “Sounds- sounds good, sugar.” Jack manages to croak as he leaps ungracefully to his feet. “Excuse me.” He can’t even tip his hat towards you before he is rushing across the yard like the hounds of hell are after him.

******

“I miss you guys.” Hours later, on the phone with your sister, you still haven’t quite shaken the unease left behind by Jack’s abrupt exit from the party. Everyone has started going their separate ways by evening time and you had come home with the intention of starting to write out a shopping list for tomorrow, only to be interrupted by a call from Eliza. “How are my little prince and princess doing?”

“Missing their favorite aunt.” She huffs, even though she’s laughing down the phone. “Driving me crazy and asking when they are going to see you again.”

“At Cassie’s wedding.” You promise, shifting the phone in your hand as you look out into your backyard from the bedroom window seat. “I’m not skipping out on my family just because I moved.”

“I felt like you weren’t going to miss it.” She agrees, happy to hear it. “Have you found your dress already?”

“I’m going shopping tomorrow.” Obviously not with her, like you had been planning, but you’re still going to get it done. Even if Jack backs out of coming with you after leaving the party on such a weird note, you still need to go. “I need a couple more things for the house, so tomorrow is going to be dresses and housewares.”

“I’m so excited to see you.” She huffs, even though it’s only been a couple of days. “Are you settling in okay? I’m just amazed that the job comes with housing.”

“It’s like a little company town out here. There’s a whole neighborhood of full time employees and we all have these cute little houses and manicured yards. And the guest room is open any time you want to come visit.” Other places might have made it suspect or oppressive, but Statesman seemed to thrive on being a family company. “The owner even threw a little welcome party this afternoon. Backyard barbecue, amazing drinks, lots of people just hanging out and kids playing. I met most of the higher ups.”

“It sounds amazing. Friendly atmosphere plus booze?” She laughs. “Tell me the men are handsome.”

“I—” You laugh before you can stop yourself, glancing out the window again into the backyard of the house next door - owned by a woman you met today who works in HR. “Yeah. I’m not even going to be coy about it. Some of these men are stunning.”

“Really?” She knows you can hear the wicked grin on her face through the phone. “Tell me allllllll about them. I need a little cowboy in my life.” She laughs again, well aware she’s never even really interacted with one before but you are in the thick of them apparently.

“So…there are two that stick out.” The only person in the world who knows all your stupid relationship and crush bullshit is your sister. She’s been your best friend for your whole life and never wavered. “They both work security, and they’re…” This time when you laugh it’s a slightly embarrassed sound. “They’re really close friends. So I’m trying not to rock any boats by showing interest.”

“Let me guess, there is one of them that’s older and you like that one best?” She knows her sister better than anyone and whether you want to admit it or not, you have an eye for older men.

“Shut up.” There’s no heat whatsoever behind the scolding and you end up laughing at yourself, appreciating that Eliza isn’t beating around the bush with you. “There is, but if you meet him you have to swear not to embarrass me.”

“Ohhhh, I can meet him?” She asks evilly. “Are you bringing him to the wedding?”

“Maybe.” A part of you instantly wishes you hadn’t said anything, but you know that Eliza always has the best advice. “I don’t know. He offered to go shopping with me tomorrow and come to the wedding but then immediately got weird about it and I don’t know what to think. I’m getting super mixed signals from him.”

“Why do you think he got weird about it? Most men get weird about the wedding part, but you said he basically agreed to go with you, right?” She asks.

“He offered, I didn’t even really ask.” The kids in the yard next door are cackling, laughing as they play with their dog, and you watch them so that you don’t relocate to the living room windows downstairs - which gives you a view of Jack’s house. “It’s like…remember I told you I went to a bar earlier in the week and cleaned up some bikers at a pool game?” At the time, you hadn’t exactly told her the entire story.

“Yeah?” On her end of the phone, she ticks her eyebrow up curiously. “Did you go with old handsome?”

“He’s not old!” You both laugh anyway. “But yes. I went with Jack.” There is a longer-than-necessary pause while you debate with yourself, but you end up shrugging your shoulders. “He calls me ‘sugar’, but I really don’t think I should be reading too much into that because even my boss uses nicknames with literally everyone. It’s just a Southern thing.”

“But he wants to go shopping with you?” She reminds you. “Most men hate shopping.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna let him into the dressing room.” You protest, although you immediately think that if he made a move, you probably would.

“Sure you wouldn’t.” Clearly not believing your bullshit, she laughs. “Maybe he has something weird about the date? A Valentine’s Day wedding is very sappy.”

“Maybe. I really don’t know. And I don’t want to pry, ya know? Because as much as I get mixed signals from Jack, Tex has been nothing but sweet.” Talking it out will help, you tell yourself. It absolutely is not just going to pave the way for further frustration…

“But you don’t really want sweet.” She guesses. “Do you? You’ve always been attracted to the troublemakers.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re both trouble.” Another laugh bubbles out of you and you shake your head. “Remember the guy that came back on the jet with me to help me pack? That was Tex.”

“Oh he was cute, you mean the other one is even better looking? You better bring his ass to the wedding.” She huffs. “Bring both of them.”

“You want me to just strut into our cousin’s wedding with a cowboy in either arm?” God…your whole family would just lose their minds…

“Fuck…a girl can dream can’t she?” Your sister giggles. “I’ll be living vicariously through you.”

“Oh please.” Rolling your eyes is a useless gesture because she can’t see you, but you’re sure she can hear it in your voice. “Is having a surgeon for a husband not enough of a bragging right anymore?” You adore her husband - They’ve been together since high school and discovered their soulmate status after she graduated - but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease her. “Picture perfect kids, a successful husband, and your own amazing career aren’t doing the trick these days?”

“Nope.” She has zero shame and you know it. “I want to hear how hot cowboy sex is.”

When you huff at her it’s supposed to be indignant, but it comes out completely agonized. “If I ever have any, I promise I’ll let you know. But I genuinely doubt I have an actual chance.”

“Please, you’re gorgeous and it sounds like both of them are sniffing around.” She teases. “They want your sugar.”

“I never should have told you that,” you groan, knowing it will probably never die now.

“Hell no, you should save a horse and ride a cowboy.” She laughs and loves how you are sounding better. She knows about your loss of a soulmate and how much it has affected you.

“Oookay.” Snickering, you let out a sigh that is actually more like a half-groan and wipe one hand down your face. “Tell the kids I love them, will you? I’m going to see if I can get some sleep. I think I ate my body weight in barbecue today and it’s catching up with me.”

“I will, okay. I love you,” As much as she misses you, it’s best that you have a fresh start and it sounds like Kentucky is a good place for you.

“I love you, too.” Faintly on the other end, you can hear your mother’s dog barking and laugh softly. The sounds of home are absolute comfort and you do miss it. But this is the right place for you to be right now. “I’ll try to text you a sneaky picture of Jack tomorrow.”

“You better.” She warns you with a cackle. “Otherwise I’m going to embarrass you when he comes to the wedding.”

“If.” The nagging feeling you have that he doesn’t want to go is very real, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He either will or he won’t, and that’s that. “I’ll talk to you later in the week.” Another round of goodbyes is murmured before you hang up, and you sit in the window seat a while longer before dragging yourself to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

******

Jack feels like an ass. No– he is an ass. Actin’ like a fucking pup who had been scolded as he shot across the lawn and away from you. There’s nothing coincidental about where your little wedding is being held and he knows that artistically culinary talented you would have made your way to the kitchens even if they were off limits. He just knows it. Now, he’s watching your house like a damned stalker. Wanting to still keep his promises even though you might slam the door in his face. Spending most of the night up, hearing Abigail’s voice in his head, chewing him a new one for not apologizing for his behavior earlier. As soon as he sees movement, Jack is out the door. His jeaned legs eating up the distance between your house and his, ready to go if you're still wanting, and ready to apologize and just let you use his Bronco if you’re not.

Up, showered, and dressed after a night of lousy sleep and bad dreams, you drag yourself downstairs to make a cup of coffee. This coffeemaker is going to be the first thing you replace, you’ve decided, because you can finally afford a fancy espresso machine like you’ve always wanted. Kitchen gadgets are happening today, and it’s going to be a good time. Whether you go alone or otherwise, you tell yourself. Not knowing what the hell happened with Jack yesterday, you’re not assuming you’ll see him. Until your doorbell rings. Hopefully that’s just Jack holding up his promise to come with you, and not some random coworker wondering if you’ll be coming to church with them.

Shuffling on your small porch, Jack adjusts his hat before he swipes it off his head altogether. Nervous as a teenager going to his first dance, Jack rolls his eyes at himself. He just needs to relax, but for some reason he can't. He doesn't like the idea of you being mad at him. His stomach flips as he hears you walking towards the door.

The door swings open without a single creak, and you bite the inside of your lip when you see him standing there on your porch. “Morning, Jack,” you murmur, stepping aside to let him in. Whether this is an excuse not to come out today or an explanation for his departure last night, you have to admit that you’re just glad to see him. It means you probably didn’t do some unknown mysterious horrible thing to make him hate you - which is definitely what every dream you had last night was about.

Your neutral greeting gives him a smidgeon of hope and feels tension draining away in minute amounts. "Sugar, I-" He steps inside and huffs. "I need to apologize for leavin' so quickly yesterday." He turns and stares at you with a repentant expression on his face. "After makin' a fool of myself, I realized we didn't set our plans for today in concrete and while you might not even want the addition of my presence to your outing, I didn't want to be even more of an asshole and not show up." He manages to rattle this off in one breath and stops to inhale. "However, if you're wishin' to not be in my company, I at least want to offer the use of my bronco to you, since that had been a main sellin' point of the day." Offering for someone to drive Betsy is unheard of, but he's pulling his keys out of his leather jacket to extend them to you if you want.

Verbose. Jack Daniels is a verbose man, who can and will turn any four word sentence into four paragraphs. But you don’t hate that - it flies in the face of ‘quick’ communication like texting or shouting across a kitchen. It’s kind of nice, actually, when you’re not generally upset. “Did I say something wrong?” You finally ask, looking from his keys up to the sincere expression of reticence on his face. “Or did I do something to make you leave?”

"No." Jack assures you quickly, shaking his head and wondering how the hell he could possibly explain. "It was all me, sugar. All me and I apologize for worryin' you. It was never- I feel nearly sick at the idea of makin' you think that you had done anything." He's going to just pray you don't ask him for details.

“But everything’s okay?” If it wasn’t you, then it likely was something personal, and he seems like a fairly private person. A conclusion that’s only being reinforced by the fact that he hasn’t actually explained what happened. You decide, though, that you’ve only known the man a week and he doesn’t owe you his life story, so a sincere apology is enough.

"Right as rain, sugar." He manages to paint on a half grin, rocking forward towards you and there is a magnetism that he feels, like he's being drawn to you. "Does this mean you might still want me to squire you around town?" It's old fashioned and a little a lot flirty, but it feels right.

“Do you want a cup of coffee before we go?” Closing the front door is the silent signal that you want him to stay, and you can feel relief coursing through you that he seems to want to do this. The last thing you would ever want to do is drag him along unwillingly.

"If you're havin' one. If not, we can always swing by the best little coffee shop in town." Jack offers, not wanting to inconvenience you.

“We could do that.” Instead of retreating back into the kitchen, you reach for your jacket and purse instead. “A new coffee maker is on the list of things we’re picking up today.”

Jack chuckles as looks at your standard Mr. Coffee maker that was left in the cabins. "Doesn't quite do it for you?" He guesses, figuring you drink those fancy coffees with art made from the foam.

“My very first job was as a barista in a bakery in the town where I grew up,” you tell him. Keys, phone, purse, jacket, you’ve got everything you need so you open the door again and move to set the alarm via the panel on the wall. “I started drinking espresso and never looked back.”

"Figured." He gives a small chuckle and waits for you patiently, his hand moving to the small of your back when the two of you set out of the cabin and you close the door behind you. "Have you set up your biometric lock yet?" He asks, noticing that you are using the fob for the door.

“Not yet.” Keys go into your purse and you close your eyes momentarily against the warmth of his hand at your back. “Someone is coming tomorrow morning to set it up. Then I’ll lock myself in the kitchen at the restaurant and bake cakes all day.”

"What kind of cakes?" Jack immediately starts drooling, imagining what you might make. His sweet tooth is happy at the prospect.

“Well everybody seemed to like the coconut cake, so I think I’ll leave that recipe alone.” He opens the door of the Bronco for you and you slide in, loving that Kentucky in February is warm enough for an open air drive. “I think I’ll work on the red velvet or a hummingbird cake first. Try to nail down the classics.”

"Diana will adore you if you make her a fancy red velvet." Jack promises you as the two of you get situated in the truck and he turns the engine over. "And Champ will adore you for his wife being happy."

“They’re very sweet together.” The older couple have been nothing but lovely and welcoming to you, and you’re grateful for it. “And I wouldn’t dare open a tea room in the south without red velvet cake on the menu.”

"Maybe one of those scone thingys." Jack rolls his eyes. "She's always talkin' about how no one makes scones here."

"I can do scones." Any suggestions he has are more than welcome, as they give you a pretty good idea of what people in the area are actually looking to eat and that helps you focus your energy while you're putting together your menu. "Scones. Tea sandwiches. Maybe tartlets or quiches. I have way too many ideas."

"Was this always your dream?" He asks, pulling onto the main road and heading towards town. It's in the opposite direction of the bar he had taken you to the first time, but it's amusing to think that he has been showing you all the area himself.

"For my career?" You glance at him as he drives, recognizing the placid look of contentment there. He likes to drive, and you file that away in the back of your mind. "I mean, I did have a pretty decent stretch of time as a kid where I wanted to be a princess, and then about a month in middle school when I decided that I wanted to build a time machine, but...yeah. I pretty much always knew I wanted to be a chef. The debate was savory or pastry, and obviously pastry won."

"You're good at both." He promises you with a chuckle, enjoying the sass that seems to come naturally to you. "A princess, huh?" He looks over at you with a grin. "You know that job title comes with a high chance of being stuck in a tower, right?"

"Yeah, but traditionally it also comes with a handsome prince and really good clothes, so nine-year-old me was okay with it." When he laughs softly you grin, glad to see the tension between you has dissipated. "What about you? Was CEO of an international distillery always on your radar?"

"Definitely not." Jack shakes his head and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Smaller plans. Much smaller." He thinks about all the dreams him and Abigail had talked about, laying in the dark and holding onto one another. "Just a happy life, family, you know - the normal stuff."

"Not everything happens early in life. Sometimes the best things are worth waiting for." Obviously he never got his wish - or at least he hasn't yet - and you frown slightly. Surely he hasn't had any shortage of offers? He must be waiting for his soulmate, and you can't blame him for that.

"Yeah." It's better to agree instead of laying out his own sob story. He knows it would make you soft, probably make you want to comfort him and although he's enough of a man to appreciate the ways women love to comfort widowers - he can't do that with you. He's already doing more than he needs. He should be maintaining some distance but he can't quite stay away.

"It's none of my business." You know that, and can recognize it, but there's something about Jack that just continues to draw you like a magnet. "But if you ever want to talk about it...you very literally know where I live."

"I appreciate it, sugar." He does, he really does but he doesn't want to talk about that right now. Not when the day is turning out to be a beautiful one.

The drive turns back to pleasanter topics and Jack lets you play with the radio, laughing when you settle on a classic rock station just before he pulls into the parking lot of his little coffee shop. There are plenty of chains around - Louisville is a city after all - but Jack prefers this little place to Starbucks or - according to him - just about any place else.

“The corporate places are okay- don’t get me wrong, but you can’t get that hankering for something unusual and bring in what you need and have them make it for you like you can here.” He offers, opening the door onto the small coffee shop.

The smell is brilliant, hitting you in the face all at once, and you inhale almost greedily. Whatever sweets they're doing here, they're baking fresh. It washes over you and makes you eager to get up to the counter to see what they're working with. "What's your favorite?" You ask Jack, seeing a fairly standard bar menu when it comes to coffee drinks, but a plethora of tea options and syrups for flavor.

Jack grins at you, sure that you’re going to give him a dirty look. “Plain black coffee.”

"I can't believe you don't drink sweet coffee with the way you go after desserts." Is it teasing? Probably. But it's still a surprise.

“The bitterness of the coffee enhances the sweets.” Jack argues, huffing slightly. “I will have some of that syrup in a coffee if I’m not having a pastry with it, but that’s rare.”

"You know you don't have to defend that to me." You nudge him a little as the two of you step into line. "I always put a little coffee in my chocolate things. It amps up the flavor so much."

“Well then you should know.” He grins, eyes greedy as they roam over the case. Trying to see what they have for today. “They change pastries daily.”

"How often do you come in here?" It must be a lot, judging from the way the baristas call their hellos to him by name, and the cup of coffee already waiting for him at the counter when the two of you finally make it to the front of the line.

"It's my go to spot when I'm in town." He admits, shooting the girls behind the counter a wink and a nod for the coffee. "I'll take one of those sausage, maple and blueberry crumb cakes." He tells the one waiting for his pastry order. "They look good."

"Could I have one of the tomato, leek, and goat cheese quiches?" You ask, when the girl nods to Jack and asks you for your order right away. "And a café au lait of whatever your single origin coffee in today." The cashier dutifully types everything in, gets your milk preference, and gets everything moving. "Is it even worth my offering to pay?" You ask Jack, slightly smirking at how you had to bargain to even get him to allow you to pay for lunch when you planned out today.

"Nope." Jack shakes his head and his own wallet comes out. "I don't think you understand how badly my daddy would whoop my ass." He chuckles.

"Thank you for breakfast, then." If it's something he feels strongly about, then you'll learn to pick your battles. He's sure as hell not paying for any of your shopping today. "I wouldn't want your daddy to appear out of nowhere just because I'm stubborn."

"He'd be coming from the grave, so don't put it past him." Jack jokes, shuffling down the line and collecting his cup while you wait for the pastries and your own coffee. "Man could probably convince Satan himself to open the gates of hell to let him come back to whoop me."

You snort, laughing as you bring over plates of warm pastries and your oversized coffee to the table he has chosen. "Sounds like our fathers would have gotten along," you admit ruefully. "I love my dad but he is a ballbuster of the highest degree."

"Something about a father that does that." He murmurs, remembering his own pride at learning he was going to be papa. It had been the proudest seven months of his life.

"Yeah, I noticed that with my brother-in-law." Everything looks amazing, and you hum happily over the first sip of your coffee. Sweet and creamy but not overpowering the natural flavors of the coffee. You might have to see if this shop is interested in partnering, so you can use their coffee in the restaurant.

Jack is damn thankful that you didn't pick up on the momentary flash of pain, maybe he hid it well enough. Instead of saying anything else about it, he just ticks a brow up. "So? Whadya think?"

He had to ask while you have food in your mouth? You roll your eyes at him for a second but grin, nodding as you finish chewing the perfect first bite. Choosing not to say anything about the dark clouds in his eyes was apparently a good choice - you're just desperate not to do anything to rock the boat between you. "It's sooo good," you groan after a second, laughing at your own exaggerated reaction.

"Try some of mine." He offers, nudging a piece of his crumb cake with scrambled sausage, fresh blueberries and dots of real maple syrup over towards you along with his plain coffee.

Immediately offering him the same, you both try each others' breakfasts and hum happily. Whatever this place is using for their house coffee blend, it works gorgeously with maple. You'll have to remember that if they agree to a partnership. "So everything is good here? That's the vibe I'm getting?"

"Eh." Jack shrugs. "I don't like some of their stuff. Their cookies are a little too crumbly. I like 'em soft and chewy."

"How do you feel about shortbread?" The question comes with a raised eyebrow as you switch breakfasts again and file away Jack's cookie preferences. You're still not sure why you're so invested in making sure that everything you make is going to be to his taste, but it feels important that it is.

"Only if they have a sweet jam on top or sandwiched between layers." Jack admits, giving a small shrug.

"You realize that you have been all of my menu consults so far?" You ask him, thoroughly enjoying your breakfast and trying not to look too embarrassed or eager about that fact. "I ought to just call the place Jack's."

The joke makes him grin, contemplating it seriously for a moment before he shakes his head. "You don't have to take all my advice, sugar. I just like what you're offerin'."

"I'm sure I'll make something that doesn't suit you but everyone else likes, and that's fine." It's an inevitability of your career. Not everyone is going to like every single item on the menu. But that's why having multiple testers is important. "Champ's giving me three months to get the place up and running. He wants to have it ready for the summer tourist season, so I'll be asking for plenty more opinions before that time comes."

"I'm sure it will be amazing." Jack praises honestly. "You seem like you have a passion for makin' people happy and their belt tighter."

"Hopefully." The sting is unexpected - how the thought that smacks you out of nowhere is wondering whether or not your soulmate would have liked your baking. "Hopefully."

Jack sees the way your mood shifts, and he knows it's because of him. From what he can tell, you had been looking forward to a future with your soulmate and he's taken that from you. Guilt settles on him and suddenly, he's not hungry anymore.

An uneasy silence settles between you and you know it's your fault, the thick melancholy hanging over your shoulders making you blurt out and unasked for explanation. "My soulmate died," you tell him, not able to actually look him in the eye but staring into your coffee instead. "Less than two weeks ago. So I'm sorry if I get...awkward sometimes. I never met them or anything, it's just...it's hard to adjust to."

His stomach drops and he opens his mouth to confess. To take the look of sadness off your face and replace it with anger. Maybe it would help you. Help you focus on something else, direct your emotions on hating him. His lips part and the words are on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry," is what comes out instead. "I know how you feel, losing someone - I mean."

"Did you--?" Your fingers squeeze into fists on the table, curling in on yourself to try to keep from crying in public. Jack is the first person beyond your immediate family that you've told, and saying the words out loud again makes you ache. "Your soulmate?"

He figures it's safe. That if you know he's lost a soulmate you wouldn't think he has your marks on his body. After all, he's never heard of another set of soulmates in real life. It's always that hopeful whisper. "Yeah." He admits, frowning slightly and reaching out for your hands to cover them with his before he realizes he's doing it. "Her and- and our little boy."

"Oh my god..." Immediately feeling mortified, your fingers open to squeeze his instead of letting your nails bite into your palm. "I'm so sorry. Here I am getting upset about someone I never even met and you...you lost both of them. Shit, Jack."

"It was a long time ago." Jack offers, not wanting you to feel even worse than you do. "You just- it's different. You are allowed to grieve, sugar."

"I think it's part of why I took this job," you admit, feeling all the thoughts you've been keeping a lid on come bubbling to the surface. "A new start, ya know? A brand new life. I have no idea what it would have been like if I had known them, but I'm willing to bet anything that I wouldn't be working at Statesman if I had." Something makes you absolutely certain of it, in fact, and that's almost comforting. Everything in this new life is something you'll choose for yourself.

Jack's nodding covers the way that he swallows, knowing that you had no choice in this. The ink on his skin makes sure that you would end up at Statesman. He can only hope that you are happy here. "Statesman was my fresh start." He tells you honestly.

“And look how well you’ve done for yourself.” The smile on your face might actually be pride, except you have no claim over him in any kind of way that would justify that feeling. “All the way to CEO. I don’t think that it’s…any kind of exaggeration at all…to think that she’d be so proud of you.”

He tells himself that you are trying to be nice. Smiling weakly and giving a small shrug. "Hopefully so."

“Well,” you shrug, sensing that the topic isn’t exactly comforting to him, and pick up your coffee again. “I would be, if I were your soulmate.”

Jack closes his eyes and gives a soft chuckle. "If I were your soulmate, you'd hate me, sugar." He tells you, knowing that the secret he keeps from you would completely change your thoughts on him.

“I doubt it.” There are very few people on earth that you actually hate, and you can’t imagine a single thing he could ever do to cause that kind of reaction from you. “But I guess we’ll never know.”

"Yeah." That was true because he knew that no one was going to tell you. You would be happy and safe here at Statesman, maybe meet someone and fall in love with them, never aware that Jack is your soulmate. He frowns deeply at that thought and takes a sip of his coffee as he wonders why he hates that idea.

******

Dragging him around Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma ends up being a fully entertaining morning after an awkward breakfast. The shiny kitchen appliances and soft, fluffy throw pillows and blankets that end up in his Bronco pile up, punctuated with scented candles, a few decor pieces, and a beautiful full set of dishes and glasses for your table. The house stuff is easy, earns you a little teasing here and there, and is done before you know it.

"Where to now, sugar?" Jack asks, raising a brow at everything that is packed in the back. "Your dress or you want some more knick knacks?" He is in an indulgent mood and the slight bickering you had entertained him with had showcased how funny you are.

“Seems like dress time. I think I can put off more knick-knacks for another day.” You laugh and roll your eyes at him playfully. Jack had ragged on you the entire time you were in Bath & Body Works picking out scented candles, just as bad as the search for decor items in Pottery Barn. “You keep teasing me and I’m gonna make you buy me flowers for my new vase.”

"Aww, sugar, now you've gone and ruined my housewarming gift." He huffs, scowling at you playfully. He hadn't really been thinking about getting you flowers, but now that you mention it - it seems like a fine idea. "I'll get you the best ragweed Kentucky has to offer."

“If you do, you’ll lose taste testing privileges.” That is a very real threat, since your allergies affect your senses of smell and taste fairly dramatically. Allergies have cost you more than one exam grade in culinary school.

"No ragweed. Check." Jack drolls, just to make you laugh as he guides the Bronco towards some boutique that the women folk went to. Ginger had designed several outfits for formal affairs off what she had seen there.

“This is fancy.” When he pulls up in front of the building you can see into the big picture windows. Ladies sitting on settees with glasses of champagne that is probably cava - just as delicious at a third of the price - and women in crisp suits toting beautiful gowns in and out of dressing rooms.

"Hopefully you can find something beautiful here." He tells you. "They dress a lot of people around here for fancy things."

“Statesman people for fancy Statesman things?” You both climb out of the truck and he leads you to the door, giving you the feeling once more that all his gentlemanly behavior is just how he is with women and has nothing to do with you. Which is fine. It is. You’re just trying to talk your crush down off that ledge before you do or say something stupid. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” But your credit card will be laid respectfully to rest after today for a very long time.

"Sometimes." Jack grins. "We get a hell of a discount here."

“Now you’re talking my language.” The grin you shoot him is broad, morphing into something infinitely more amused when the woman behind the counter recognizes him immediately. “Mr. Daniels!” She practically purrs. “What can we do for you on this beautiful day?”

"Now Stephanie..." Jack turns and introduces you to the shop owner. "This here is our newest Statesman employee and she's lookin' for a dress." He tells her. "And of course, your shop was the first and only one I could recommend to her."

“Oh, you’re too kind.” She titters, downright blushing like he’s just outright flirted. It makes your stomach twist in something awful like jealousy. “My dear, what occasion do you need to be dressed for?”

“Um…a formal wedding.” You know you should have taken care of this ages ago, but if you’re honest with yourself you had just figured you would raid your sister’s closet and called it a day. She has plenty of nice things. “Black tie optional, the invitation said.”

"Black tie." She purses her lips and cuts her eyes over at Jack playfully. "I'm assuming you're attending and wearing the velvet Tom Ford we tailored to you with the black stetson?" She asks, tapping her finger to chin thoughtfully. "We will get a bow tie and pocket square that matches the color of the dress we find her." She decides.

“I really appreciate the help.” That’s undeniable. Clearly you hadn’t managed to get this done just by walking through a mall. “The, uh…the wedding colors are pink and white…if that helps? Obviously no one wears white to a wedding but I guess no pink, either?”

"Red is a no-no." She hums and her eyes light up as she thinks of a dress. "What about a blush champagne colored dress?" She offers. "I have a new design I just got in and it would look magnificent with your coloring."

"That sounds like a good place to start." You nod gratefully and let her whisk the pair of you over to one of the smaller sitting areas beside a dressing room. As soon as she disappears down a hallway another young woman appears with drinks and all but winks at Jack when she hands his over.

Jack winks back at her and nods in appreciation of the drink before he turns to you. "What do you think of this place?" He asks, looking around at it like he hasn't been there a hundred times.

"I have a feeling I'm nowhere near the first woman you've brought here for a dress." It's just an observation, and you try very hard not to sound sour about it, but your stomach is churning as you set your drink down on the small table beside you. "It's nice. They obviously take pride in their business."

"Well, I've brought Astrid, Gabriella, Diana when she wanted to surprise Champ." Jack ticks off names playfully, aware that's not how you meant it, but it's kind of rewarding to see the tinge of jealousy in your eyes.

"I do...appreciate you doing this." There is absolutely no reason to be jealous. Just because you have a stupid crush on the man does not mean he owes you anything. "I know it's a big ask, this whole weekend away thing. Even more so because we really just met."

He gives you a smile, shoving down the worries and insecurities under the veneer of confidence. "It's not a big deal, we'll go and drink, dance, have some canapés and you'll tell me who is the family black sheep and I'll make friends with them."

You snort, shaking your head at him and reaching for your drink as an anchor. "You already have," you tell him honestly. "I'm her."

"Now why would you be the black sheep?" Jack huffs, shaking his head at the mere thought.

"It's more like my family are the black sheep family out of the whole extended group." Having very independent and capable parents with strong opinions had meant that you and your siblings turned out just as independent and opinionated. "But my siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles and all of that...even my parents...they all have really incredible success stories in their education and careers, and everyone in my family has married their soulmate. No one is even going to believe that the restaurant is real. They all turned up their noses when I chose pastry in culinary school. Apparently bakers can't be celebrity chefs, and if I'm not a celebrity chef then I'm nobody." You shrug, long having since given up on gaining the approval of your extended family. "My parents and my siblings are great. And that's really all I care about."

"Ahhhh." Jack nods as he settles back in his chair. "I bet you would blow their fifty dollar socks off when you get your tea room set up. Have you come up with a name yet?"

"I'm still debating." One sip from your glass proves that you were right about the theory that it was cava to save money, but it's still a lovely glass of bubbly. "An Alice in Wonderland reference probably won't mesh with the general feeling around Statesman, so I might name it after my grandmother."

Jack gives a small shrug. "You could always call it The Rabbit-Hole and use the Red Rabbit Burrow blend they are working on marketing for." He tells you, thinking about the new line that is about to come out.

You stare, mouth open, and a hollow laugh sticks in your throat while your brain vaguely short circuits. If you had known about this new blend, you would already have the name down on the paperwork. "I could kiss you." Is the declaration that comes out of your mouth instead, gratitude and giddy glee reaching all the way to your toes. "Jack, that's perfect!"

It's on the tip of his tongue to take you up on that offer, watching your eyes light up with delight and joy. Making you seem even more beautiful than you normally are. "It's going to be launching in about five months." He tells you with an offhand shrug. "I can get you a few gallons to sample and experiment with if you want."

"That would be amazing." You're already itching to get your hands on it, wondering what the tasting notes will be like and what you can pair it with. "The Rabbit-Hole." Humming happily, you barely manage to keep your little wiggling happy dance under wraps when the woman - Stephanie - comes back with a handful of dresses.

Jack takes your glass of champagne from you and smirks. “Go play with the dresses and pretend you're a princess, sugar.” He winks and motions you off.

The large handful of dresses that Stephanie has reappeared with are grand and sparkling in tone of gold, champagne, and rose that will obviously compliment a pink-themed wedding but not upstage it. She seems to have picked out a style she likes for you - glamorous and evoking a bombshell look that would guarantee that the first person anyone in the room looks at after the bride, will be you. "These are stunning," you breathe, letting your fingers graze the sequins on the first dress on the rack. "I've never worn anything like them. But...I guess after today I won't be able to say that."

“Try them all on.” Jack encourages you. “We don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He's right, of course. The only other plan you have today is to have dinner together, so you disappear into the fitting room to swap your clothes for the first dress that might wind up in your closet by the end of the afternoon. The cut is flattering and the color is brilliant, but it doesn't quite feel right in some amorphous way that you can't quite put your finger on. Still, you step out to show Jack and see what he has to say.

Jack whistles and his eyes drag up and down your body. “Damn, sugar.” He huffs. “How do you like it?”

You can't help preening a little, even though you're sure he would compliment absolutely anyone he was with the same way. "It's nice, but I don't think it's quite right. I do love the color, though."

“Well then I guess we can mark that off the list.” Jack smirks. “Next one sugar.”

The next two dresses are nixed - one by you and one by Jack, who insists that the skirt doesn't fall right and you just end up smiling and nodding because you're trying not to spontaneously combust from him paying so much attention to your figure. When you go back into the dressing room, you skip the next one that Stephanie had chosen for you and go straight to the last, sighing over the flowers embroidered all over the dress and its accompanying sheer cape. The rose coloured fabric is darker than the Barbie-pink you know your cousin has chosen and the purple and gold accents make it fascinating to watch shimmer. It's gorgeous and the price tag makes you wince, but you have to try it on.

When you step out of the dressing room, Jack immediately stands and sweeps his hat off his head as he stares. “This- this is the one, sugar.” His body tells him that he really likes the way you look and he motions towards the mirror. “What do you think?”

"It's amazing." His reaction doesn't hurt either, and you turn to face the wall-sized mirror beside your dressing room. The cape falling around your shoulders is the closest to being a princess you'll ever come, and you glance at Jack over your shoulder as you watch your reflection. "It's so comfortable," you admit, laughing that that is so exciting to you when you're wearing such a gorgeous piece of art.

“So this is the one? Yeah?” Jack waits for you to nod and then turns to Stephanie. “Does there need to be any alterations?”

"A slight hem, depending on what shoes your friend will be wearing." Stephanie smiles, making sure to stay polite. "Oh...I guess I do need shoes, don't I?" Turning around in place, you look between them both. "I'm not too steady on high high heels, but...can a hem be done this week? The purchase is...sort of last minute." "I can have it done by mid week for you." Stephanie assures you, stepping forward to inspect the dress on your body and make sure she's correct that nothing more needs to be done. "We do have some heels here, if you would like to look. Gold will work well, or we can dye a fabric pair to match the gown if you prefer."

Jack chuckles. “Go check the shoes out, sugar.” As much as he doesn’t ‘shop’, he’s enjoying himself. Enjoying learning things about you. Maybe it’s crazy, he doesn’t know, but he looks at it like he’s taking care of you. Making you happy.

With a few very careful steps, you get down from the little platform that your dressing room was on and follow the saleswoman around the corner to a large display of heels in nearly two dozen shapes, styles, and heights. There are so many that it’s a bit overwhelming, but your eyes settle on a pair with intricate caging and open toes that will strap onto your feet and hopefully not move an inch all night. Something worth putting up with high heels for. “What about these?” You ask out loud, almost afraid to see this price tag on top of the dress.

Stephanie chuckles, actually chuckles and admires the boldness of your choice. “They are statement pieces, aren’t they?” She reaches for the shoes and pulls them off the display. “They are gorgeous and actually probably some of the more comfortable heels. Let me get your size and we will see how they look?”

“Thank you.” Your fingers subtly stroke the fabric of the dress as she retrieves your shoe size from the back and you walk back to where Jack is waiting.

Jack looks up, still in awe of the way the dress looks on you and gives you a smile. “Are they dying shoes or did you find some?”

“I saw a nice gold pair. Hopefully they have my size.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before you go back into the dressing room, retrieving your cell phone from your pants pocket to bring it out to him. “Would you…mind taking a picture? I…it’s silly. I just really want to show my sister.”

“One without the shoes and one with?” Jack guesses with an indulgent and slightly naughty grin. “I never have a problem taking a picture of a beautiful woman, sugar.”

Stephanie returns with the shoes while your face is still burning from Jack’s compliments. Absolutely no part of this is what you figured today would be like. You had pictures hunting through the dress department at Dillard’s quickly so as not to bore Jack, coming up with something passable but unremarkable. This is an altogether opposite experience to that - and definitely the closest to being a princess that you’ve ever felt.

Jack hums as Stephanie brings the shoes over and you sit down on one of those little poofy circle things women love. Standing, he moves over to you. “Let me help you put them on, sugar.” He murmurs silkily as he drops down to one knee in front of you and takes the shoes from the other woman.

It’s a damn Cinderella moment and all you can do is sit, frozen, trying not to react to the strength and gentleness of Jack’s large hands working the delicate straps on the heels. It’s not that you have a foot fetish, or anything even akin to it. It’s the warm way your skin tingles under his touch and the absolute intimacy of helping someone get dressed that have you holding your breath while Stephanie makes her unnoticed escape. You two clearly ought to be left alone.

He’s never thought of a foot as pretty. Never given them much thought beyond walking and laughing then Abigail had stuck her feet in his lap and demanded foot rubs for carrying his boy. He had acquiesced every time willingly. Now he keeps his fingers light as they move, sliding across your skin or holding your heel while he slips the heels on and buckles the straps.

It’s soft. Gentle. And you have no fucking clue why having him help you with your shoes has you in the verge of tears but here you are. Once they’re in place you shift slightly on the pouf, not sure that you want to break the spell of whatever the hell was just happening, but you need to see if the damn things are actually going to work for you. “Would you…?” You hold your hands out to him awkwardly, asking for help up.

“Of course, sugar.” Jack stands and dusts off his pants before he offers his hand to you with a wink and a slightly embellished flourish. “A Princess should not stand on her own.”

The way you huff is quiet - almost mournful but more like boarding indignant as he helps you to stand and just keeps you in front of him like this. Looking you over like it’s his privilege instead of a right. “If you treat the women you’ve just made friends with like this,” you observe, trying to shake off how special it makes you feel. “I don’t understand how somebody hasn’t snatched you up since being single.” You shrug, a little gesture but an honest one. “That’s just to say…your wife was a very lucky woman.”

“No sugar, I was the lucky one.” He promises, shoving down the wave of sadness and bitterness so he can concentrate on you. You deserve to feel beautiful at this moment. “Remember, manners maketh man.”

“Not in a dress shop, I hope.” A little smile crosses your lips, remembering he had said the same thing before taking those bikers to task a week ago. “And…it’s possible for you both to have been lucky. That’s—that’s what finding a soulmate is. At least…that’s what it seems like.”

It slips out, the dreaded words he hated for so long. “Maybe you will be lucky and have another soulmate.” He murmurs, knowing that according to the universe - you do.

You’ve heard those words before. From your father and brother, mostly, and you paint on the patient smile that you offered both of them when they said it. “Second soulmates are a fairy tale,” you remind him gently. “They don’t happen in real life. I’ll— I’ll just be glad if I ever find somebody willing to put up with my own specific brand of weird bullshit. That’s the dream now.” Companionship, not true love. That’s the best that you’ll dare to hope for.

He sees the brittleness in your smile because he has been far less kind with those words spoken to him. “I know.” He murmurs. “We just have to say it, right? It’s almost required.”

“Right.” You nod, stepping away from him before you say something incredibly stupid, and move back to the mirror to see the dress with these shoes on. It’s a spectacular combination and your smile softens, wondering what your soulmate would have thought of this kind of glamor.

Jack takes the picture you asked for and hands you back the phone. “Excuse me for a moment, sugar. Too much champagne, and I need to use the facilities.” He steps away, disappearing from the private dressing room.

******

“Mr. Daniels.” Stephanie’s head pops up from the front desk in surprise when she spots him, looking like he’s slinked away from where he was supposed to be. “Did you require assistance?”

“Sure can, darlin’.” Jack pulls out his wallet and lays down his credit card. “Everything she wants goes on this card. Tell her that it’s on the Statesman account and she’ll be billed at a heavy discount.” He requests, needing to buy that dress for you for some strange reason.

“You don’t want her to know it’s a gift?” She asks, head tilting slightly like she’s intrigued at the request.

“No.” Jack shakes his head adamantly. “This is a secret between you and me.” He makes it seem more charming with a wink and a flash of a flirty smile.

“Alright.” She’s damn well not going to question it. Not when she makes a commission. “Shall I encourage your friend to peruse our jewelry and clutches to complete the outfit, or would you prefer to keep the purchase small?”

“Whatever she wants.” Jack reiterates. Perhaps some of it is that underlying guilt that springs up around you, but this is mostly to make sure you look amazing at an event where your family will be.

“Very good.” Offering him a nod, she enters his credit card information into the purchase order under your name and hands it back with a smile. “If it’s not overstepping, the two of you do make a very sweet couple.”

“I wouldn’t be good for her.” Jack murmurs as he shoves his wallet back into his back pocket and sighs. “Now to actually use the bathroom.”

When Jack does return several minutes later, you are changed back into your own clothes and pour over a small display of gold earrings with Stephanie. “Hey!” Your smile is wide and true, eyes lighting up when you see him. “For a second there I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m harder to shake than a tic on a dog’s ass, sugar.” Jack jokes, just to make you giggle at his inappropriate comeback.

“Noted,” you snicker, even more amused because Stephanie looks so horrified. “I swear I’m almost done here, and then we can get dinner.”

“Take your time, sugar. The decorations make the cake more delicious.” Jack muses.

“He says to a baker.” This time you throw him a wink, deciding that playful things are just that much more fun today. It doesn’t matter that he’s just being kind, whereas you would willingly and easily drag him into that dressing room to find out exactly how much of that cocky attitude actually comes from his cock.

Grinning, he can’t help the way that his cock twitches in his jeans. You are a sexy woman and even more so when you are playful. He likes that in a woman. “So go on and pick out your doodads.” He motions towards the display case. “Gotta work up an appetite.”

Doodads. You shake your head, feeling the action be much more affectionate than you meant for it to be, and turn back to the case of jewelry in various colors, tones, and styles. The earrings you end up picking are simple but beautiful sparkling gold stud, and a nearby soft fabric clutch in gorgeous metallic gold. Stephanie tries directing you to other pieces like elaborate bracelets, but you just end up wrapping your hand around the simple gold cuff you wear every day on your wrist. It was a gift from your sister and you haven't skipped wearing it a day in the three years since she gave it to you. "I think this is plenty," you announce, when you really understand that she isn't going to stop pushing. It's fine - she probably works on commission and you're making her a lot of money today. But you're not replacing the bracelet your sister gave you for any reason. "Dress, shoes, earrings, and a purse. That's more than I expected to do today, anyway."

“Alright.” Stephanie wants to tell you to spend more money. She knows Jack Daniels can afford it, but you aren’t supposed to know. “I don’t think with the heels you need any hemming, so would you like to take the dress with you now?”

“Please.” The placid smile on your face belies how excited you actually are about the dress - it’s just your credit card bill you’re dreading. “I really appreciate all your help today. I would have been lost on my own.”

“I love helping people dress for special occasions.” Stephanie tells you brightly and scans all the items, wrapping them up and putting them in a boutique bag before pulling out a garment bag for the dress.

“My cousin’s wedding is sure to be memorable.” That’s just the sort of person she is - a very big personality that should never be silenced. You shift your purse off your arm at the counter, digging for your wallet to hand over your credit card.

“That’s great.” Stephanie zips up the dress and smiles at you as she pushes the bag forward. “Well, I hope you enjoy it and have a great rest of your day.”

"I--um..." Standing there with your credit card out, you tilt your head and furrow your brow at the shop employee. "I haven't paid yet," you remind her gently.

“Don’t worry about that.” She waves away your card with a smile. “It’s been put on Statesman’s account.” She explains breezily. “It will be billed to you, at a heavy discount.”

"Oh." Vaguely wondering how many local businesses Statesman simply has an account at, you put your card away and give the woman a slightly dazed nod as you accept the bags she has packed for you. "Well-I...thank you, again."

Jack winks at Stephanie and nods at her politely before taking your bags. “Are we ready, sugar?”

"We're ready." This whole we and sugar business is the kind of thing that makes you feel like a schoolgirl - like you're going to go home tonight and call your sister from bed while you kick your legs and gleefully recall every detail of every interaction. And fuck - who knows - maybe you will. He's been wonderful today. Completely relieving you of any worry you had last night. "Time for dinner?"

“Only if you are ready for the best collards and cornbread you’ve ever stuffed in your sweet lookin’ little mouth.” The urge to compliment you is just too much. Depending on what he says, he gets a sassy comeback or you turn charmingly shy. Both are perfect in Jack’s book.

The eyebrow you raise in his direction is matched by a smirk, and you can’t help yourself. He’s getting more outlandish in his comments and it’s either a Southern thing that you just don’t have up in New England, or he might actually be flirting. “Been thinking about my mouth today, have you?”

“It’s a nice mouth.” Jack opens the door to the shop and lets you proceed him. “The day a man doesn’t think about a mouth that is sassy and sweet, sour and sugary, well - it’s the day they put him in the ground.”

You practically gasp at the admission, taking the garment bag with your gown and carefully arranging it amongst all the other boxes and bags in the back of the Bronco when you get outside. “So you’ve actually been flirting with me and I’m the idiot who just caught on?”

Jack shuffles, looking for the world like a man who’s gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. He had been flirting and he hadn’t even realized it, the feeling so natural with you. Jack Daniels claims to be a born flirt, but ninety percent of it is an act. He hadn’t been acting with you. “Yes?” He asks, slightly worried that it might offend, given what you had said earlier.

He sounds worried, and you almost round the car to press a kiss to his cheek right there. But since the two of you had a short but legitimate conversation this morning about your dead soulmates, you decide not to push it and to just move with the flow of teasing. He seems to like it, and you have to admit to loving finding out that this man returns your attraction. “Good,” you hum, instead of doing anything sappy or too forward. “Keep it up.”

Jack’s grin is slow and he winks at you after he hops into the Bronco again, defying the need for the door. “Bossy lady.” He teases as he turns the key and the engine roars to life. “Easiest order ever, sugar.”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.” The victorious grin that overtakes your face settles there and stays as he pulls out onto the main road. You know what you like and you like him - right from the first second you saw him. It’s just that simple.

Jack drives you about five miles from the dress shop. The outside of the restaurant doesn’t look appealing, it’s the same facade of any strip mall in anywhere U.S.A. For Jack, that was part of the charm. Looks were deceiving. “Here we are, sugar.”

The outside looks like nothing at all, but through the glass windows you can see a line at the cafeteria counter that goes almost to the door. “Looks like we’re just in time for the dinner rush,” you shoot him a grin. “Perfect. Everything will be fresh.”

“Get two scoops of the collards or you’ll be waiting on a new pan.” Jack warns you, smirking as he opens the door and the scent of the buffet wafts out.

“Oh my god it smells like heaven.” The second you’re through the door you’re salivating, eagerly hopping into line with Jack at your side. “It smells like my grandmother’s house in here.”

“Your grandma cooked like this?” Jack asks, arching an eyebrow at you doubtfully.

“You think my coconut cake story was a lie?” You challenge him, grin twisting into the corner of your lips. “Grandma Jane was born and raised in Virginia. She only moved north after my older brother was born. According to her, being a long-distance granny simply was not an option.”

“Well then, let’s see if they cook as good as Grandma Jane from Virginia.” Jack teases, sending you a wink as the two of you get in line.

The building is absolutely packed to the gills, busy employees and happy customers all buzzing with their own energies. You and Jack slowly make your way up to the front of the line where regulars are being greeted by name, and you grin when one very maternal woman behind the counter lights up at the sight of him - this man seems to make an impression wherever he goes.

"Miss Mary, how are you doin' today?" Jack coos as he shuffles forward with you, a grin on his face and he sweeps his hat off his head and snatches her hand to kiss it playfully.

“Always missin’ you, Jack,” the woman laughs, swatting at him ineffectually and obviously enjoying this ritual playful flirtation. “You been in New York again? We ain’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

"No ma'am." Jack shakes his head mournfully. "Work pulled me farther away than New York, otherwise you know I would be flyin' down to sample your famous biscuits." He motions towards you and introduces you to the older woman. "Just had to show our newest Statesman member the best damn home cookin' around."

“Well, welcome, honey!” She shifts her attention to you with a beaming smile. “What is it you’re doin’ over there at the distillery, sweetheart?” “I’m a chef, actually.” You flash her a grin as if you’re both guilty of the same crime. “Brand new to the area, and I asked Jack to show me his favorite place. So here we are.”

"Oh well, I don't know if our cookin' 'ill be up to your standards, but let me know what you think." She looks impressed at the fact that you are a chef, as if running a wildly successful restaurant doesn't qualify her for the same thing. "Sweet Jack here was one of my first customers and sometimes he can be a little biased."

“I haven’t had real Southern cooking in about three years, so I’m excited to dig in.” You tell the woman honestly, making sure not to react to the inquisitive look on Jack’s face that you’re sure you’ll be answering for later. “I’m sure Jack’s bias is completely earned.”

Mary flusters, looking extremely pleased and flattered as she shoos you past. "Well you just enjoy and tell me all about it, you hear?" She demands, motioning you towards the drink station. "Get the sweet tea, honey. It's the real star of the show."

“I’m under orders, I guess. Not that anyone needs to encourage me to drink more sweet tea.” Turning to Jack as you move down the line together, you can see the question still in his eyes. “My grandmother died three years ago,” you explain. “There’s nowhere to get good Southern food in New Hampshire, and…cooking it myself hurt a little too much. Made me miss her too much. So I haven’t made anything except her coconut cake since the funeral.”

"I'm sorry, sugar." Jack knows about loss that just cripples you. He's lived with it for so long, he's functioning. At least as much as he could with his heart ripped out of his chest.

“Thank you.” It’s not ‘okay’, so you won’t say so even off-handedly, but you do slip the thin gold band from your wrist and show him the words written inside: Beautiful girl, you can do hard things. “My little sister had these made a few months later. It’s what she always used to tell us when we were worried or scared. So…she’s still with me. I know it’s not the same as losing your wife and son, but…I get what it feels like. Being so sad you can’t even open your eyes in the morning. I know that feeling.”

Jack stares at the phrase, his own eyes pricking with tears and he nods. "Loving someone is a curse sometimes, as much as it is a privilege."

“It is.” You nod and slip the band back on your wrist. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop. It just means the next person should be worth loving.”

Jack can't comment on that. Not when he's vowed to never love someone again. His own tea in hand, it's a silent perusal for a table, one set up in a small corner and he points to it. Unsure of if you will like it. He knows the silence is his fault, but how could he tell someone that he is wearing their tattoo that loving someone else wasn't in the cards for him.

It’s telling, the way chatty and openly flirtatious Jack clams up at your point of view, and you follow him to the table with a flash of melancholy in your understanding. He’s the kind of man who will simply never let go. No one will ever take his wife’s place and anyone that’s drawn his eye since is just a distraction. And for the life of you, you can’t understand why that makes your chest feel hollow and empty the way it does.

He hates that he's put a pall over the outing and once the teas are set down, he reaches for your hand. "Sorry, sugar." He murmurs softly. "It's just— it's hard to talk about. I don't mean to make you feel bad."

“Oh, I’m fine.” Lying through your teeth is what you are, but you smile for him anyway and squeeze his hand. “I think I went too long without eating, that’s all. It can affect my mood. Nothing to worry about.” Swallowing the lump squeezing your heart, you manage to find his eyes. “You can always talk to me. If you want to, I mean.”

"I appreciate that." He does, but he can't. Not without giving away the real issue. It's like your tattoo is burning and he rubs his arm absentmindedly. "Why don't we get you some grub and we can talk about less haunting things?"

“Sure.” You find yourself nodding around him quite a lot, content to be led by him through this new world you’re navigating. After all, you do like him. And Jack’s never given you a single reason not to trust him. “That sounds like a plan.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv

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My Masterlist!

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part V

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: As always, if you’re interested in learning more about the historical context of any of the letters, or if you have any questions about anything that gets discussed, feel free to reach out! I will say that Bob’s mother’s remedy for influenza that gets mentioned in this chapter was a real “home cure” that people used to use back in the day!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from The Andrews Sisters song of the same name.

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to @luminousnotmatter​. I could thank you endlessly for all the love and support!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, mentions of rationing, discussion of war casualties and death, references to church and prayer, a ton of fluff as always.

October 12, 1942

Dear Peach,

First of all, I want to start by saying that I’m so sorry for the troubles your family went through at the end of the summer. Little Frankie sounds like quite the trooper, but I’m sure it must have been hard on all of you to see him so sick like that. I’m real, real glad to hear that he’s on the mend. Dottie, too.

It’s funny—even though I’ve never met her, it’s not hard at all for me to believe that your sister was one of the few babies who survived the Spanish Flu back in 1918. From everything you’ve shared with me, it sounds like it would take a lot to break Dottie Sheridan. I’d bet my last dollar that she gives Paddy a run for his money on a regular basis. Maybe don’t tell her I said that though. I do want her to like me, should we ever get to meet in person one day.

You know, a couple summers back, my little brothers ended up coming down with a case of influenza. It seemed as though they picked it up from some of the kids they’d been playing with. It might sound crazy, but my mother would take a handkerchief, sprinkle it with whiskey, and make my brothers inhale the fumes every night before they went to bed. I don’t know where she learned that remedy, but would you believe that the two of them were right as rain after just four days? I’m confident that everyone in your household is the picture of health now, but you might want to give it a try should anyone else come down with the flu. I can’t explain it, but it did seem to do the trick!

I’ll selfishly admit that the weeks that went by without receiving a letter from you were desolate ones indeed. I received a couple letters from home, which were wonderful, but I found that my mind kept wandering back to sunny Charleston instead of the farmlands of Iowa. When I finally saw your handwriting on the envelope they handed me during Mail Call, it took everything in me not to jump up and down like a fool and make a scene. Just like you, I’ve been rereading your letters each night before lights out. I know we haven’t been exchanging messages for long, but each one lifts my spirits more than you could know. And around these parts, that’s a real special thing.

Despite being so far away from home and from everything that’s familiar and comfortable, when I close my eyes and imagine sharing a slice of your mama’s peach tart or getting to dance with you again and hear your pretty voice, I feel as though everything’s going to be alright. Even if the feeling only lasts for a minute or two, it gives me something to hold onto in the moments when it feels like maybe the world really is going to pieces. So thank you for that. Your kindness and your sweet words of encouragement are helping me get through this war, minute by minute and day by day.

I think, if you’re agreeable to it, that I’d really like to take you up on your offer to show you the world one day. Maybe even from up in the air. I may be Paul’s backseat gunner, but I know a thing or two about piloting an aircraft. You can trust me. Any places in particular you’d like to see, Peach? I’m all ears.

I promise you that I am most certainly NOT remembering you through rose-colored glasses. If you remember, my glasses are very much of the non-rose-tinted variety. But they do aid my vision, which helped me to see that night back in May just how absolutely swell you are. I hope it doesn’t embarrass you if I say that I still remember the way your smile put the stars to shame that night on King Street. And though I know no rehearsal is necessary, it does make me quite happy to think that you’ll be practicing a song with me in mind. I know any song you pick will be beautiful, but how about “Someone to Watch Over Me?” It was the first song we danced to, after all. And I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park. If Gershwin was still alive, I know he’d be thrilled to hear someone doing such justice to his music.

I’ll have you know that it took me quite some time to get the peace and quiet I needed to write this letter because Tommy Boy and Benny simply would not stop chattering in my ear. At first, it was just more of their usual advice—most of which, for your sake, I don’t actually take—but then I realized they were trying to pass along messages of their own to you! I very clearly, and perhaps a bit selfishly, told them that you were my pen pal and that they’d just have to go find some of their own. Benny pouted a bit, but Tommy Boy just grinned, slapped me on the shoulder, and told me he’d never been prouder.

They both say hello, by the way. I did agree to pass that much along.

Paul’s sitting near me right now, writing his own letter home to Natasha and the kids. He wanted me to thank you for your prayers and for your kind words. He’s not one to get all mushy most of the time, but I can tell that your thoughts for him and his family really do mean a lot to him. And he said he’s definitely going to take you up on that jewelry offer when we get home. He may have made some comment about buttering Natasha up when we finally return home, after leaving her alone with two babies for so long. Although, now that I think about it, my little goddaughter, Clara always insists that she’s a big girl. So I’m sure she would take great offense at me referring to her as a baby. Promise you won’t tell on me?

Peach, I hope you know how truly extraordinary you are. I find it just about impossible to believe that people don’t take notice of you. To me, that feels like people taking a stroll outside and not taking notice of the sun. But it means more to me than words can say that you can relate to me in that way. Feeling like you see me, like you really understand me—that doesn’t happen to me often. Especially not with girls as lovely as you. I’m very much looking forward to us getting to know each other better and better.

As far as childhood stories go, I want to make it very clear that Paul and Natasha were solely responsible for any and all mischief that was had in our youth. I was very much just along for the ride. I promise you that it wasn’t my idea to put frogs in our mean teacher’s purse during the school picnic when we were in the third grade. And I certainly wasn’t the one who kidnapped our class hamster so that he could “live a life of freedom in the great outdoors.” Though I will admit I may have been present when the crime was committed. I was a very nerdy and awkward kid, which I’m sure isn’t hard at all for you to imagine, so I do have to credit Paul and Natasha with providing me with some of the most exciting and interesting moments of my life. There’s hardly a memory I have that doesn’t involve the two of them. I think you and Natasha would get on wonderfully. Maybe one day, the two of you will get to meet.

What about you, Miss Peach? Were you a rebel growing up in Georgia, or a goody two shoes like me?

I’m glad to hear that President Roosevelt is keeping you all informed back home, but I’m sorry to hear that the prices are still going up. I know you already mentioned that they started rationing sugar. I hope more rations aren’t coming your way, but, truth be told, I have a sinking feeling that they will be. We’ve been burning through supplies like crazy over here, and it always feels like a scramble to get more of what we need. But I’d still hate to think of you or anyone else having to go without. It just doesn’t seem right. But then, I suppose a lot in this world doesn’t feel right at the moment.

Thank you for sharing the president’s words with me, Peach. I passed them on to the rest of the fellas, and we’re all mighty appreciative of it. I have to say, even if it was Roosevelt’s words, they sounded a lot sweeter coming from you. My safety and comfort feel like a small price to pay if it means that you and my family and the rest of the good folks back home get to rest well each night.

I hate to end my letter to you on a sad note, but thinking of men who aren’t concerned about themselves makes me think of some of the boys that we just lost recently. Just last week, in fact. They weren’t part of my squadron, but I did know several of them. They were a couple years ahead of me at Annapolis, and they were bunking on the carrier with my squadron. Good men, every single one of them. They were shot down during what was supposed to be a fairly routine fly-over. They leave behind mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, fiancées, sweethearts, and friends. But I think a part of them will still be here, so long as those of us who remember them are still around. They were men, like President Roosevelt said, who put duty and country before themselves. And they deserve to be remembered.

We also recently lost some enlisted men—some sailors on a nearby carrier. We’d gotten to know them pretty well these past few months, and it was a tough blow. I was saddest to learn about the death of a boy named Timmy [REDACTED]. I say boy because that’s what he was. We got to talking one night, him and I, and he admitted to me that he was only sixteen. He’d lied about his age and somehow managed to squeak on by—my guess is that with the draft on, they’re willing to look the other way when boys jump up to volunteer. Sixteen years old. I tell you, I don’t think I could have stomached this at sixteen. I can barely stomach it now at twenty-two. I promised him I wouldn’t tell, and I feel a little guilty to be breaking that promise now that he’s gone, but I think someone else besides me should know how brave he was. He gave everything he had for the family and the country that he loved. I know I’ll never forget him. I know I keep piling more and more names on your list, but maybe you can remember him, too? That way, his legacy will live on. I think he’d be happy to know that.

If any of my letters ever feel like too much to you, Peach, please let me know. I don’t want to unburden my own heart at the cost of your peace of mind. I’m thankful for all the ways you listen and make me feel heard, even with the entire Atlantic in between us. Just getting these words down on paper, knowing that you’ll be reading them soon, fills me with a great sense of calm. Has anyone ever told you what a great pen pal you are?

My mother wouldn’t be happy if she heard me admitting this, but sometimes I’m so dead tired at the end of the night that I fall asleep without saying my prayers. On the nights that I do manage to stay awake, however, I pray for you right after my family, you and Paddy and Dottie and Frankie. I pray that you’re safe and happy and well. I’m always glad to hear that it’s so.

Goodbye for now, Peach. I look forward to your next letter, as I always do.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

November 3, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I was so thrilled to receive your last letter in the mail, but I admit that I was crying like a baby by the end of it. I’m so sorry for the friends that you lost, especially young Timmy. Sorry always seems like such a trite thing to say in the face of such a tragedy, doesn’t it? It doesn’t feel like it encompasses even half of the pain and the grief and the sorrow that follow in the wake of such horror. But for lack of any other words that would suffice, I’m afraid that “I’m sorry” is all that I can say. Please know that I mean it from the very bottom of my heart.

I hope you don’t mind, but I showed the last part of your letter to Dottie. She walked into the kitchen and was very concerned about why I was such a bawling mess, so I thought it would be better if she heard it directly from you. My big sister is much less prone to tears than I am, but even she cried when she read your beautiful tribute to that young man. We went to church the next day and lit candles in honor of Timmy and all the young men who were lost. I’m so incredibly touched that you would want to share their memories with me, Bobby. I will most certainly treasure them in my heart and pass them along to anyone I can. I don’t want them to be forgotten either. I don’t think anyone deserves to be forgotten. Everyone leaves their mark on this world, no matter how tiny it might seem to others. Even at just sixteen, Timmy clearly left his mark.

I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for you over there, flying dangerous missions yourself and watching those around you, men who you’ve shared laughs and good times with, make that final sacrifice. Please don’t ever feel like you can’t share it with me, Bobby. If you have to live it every day, and face that reality, then the very least I can do is lend a listening ear. I’m always here for you, whatever you need to get off your chest.

To be honest, you’re the first real pen pal I’ve ever had. I’m glad to hear that I’m doing a good job, because I happen to think you’re a terrific pen pal, and I wouldn’t want to let you down in return. It’s kind of funny—when I’m sitting down to read your letters or write one of my own, I sometimes forget that there’s an entire ocean between us. Sometimes, when I read your words, it feels like you’re right here next to me. I can hear your voice, even if it was so long ago now that we were last together. And it just makes it all feel so real to me. You’re a rather wonderful writer, you know.

Hm, now let’s see. Which part of your wonderful letter should I respond to next? I have it laid out in front of me right now, so that I don’t miss or forget anything. Should we discuss your mother’s rather unorthodox cure for the flu? I’d never heard of whiskey in a handkerchief before! I thought Paddy was going to split his sides from laughing so hard when I told him and Dottie. He said that he’s not so sure he should be sticking booze in his baby’s face, but that he’d be more than happy to try that remedy himself! We’d only ever been aware of good, old-fashioned chicken noodle soup and lots of rest. I’m hoping we don’t have another influenza scare any time soon, but we’ll be sure to try the whiskey trick if we do.

Now as for seeing the world—I’ve never been flying before. On the one hand, it seems very exciting and exhilarating, but on the other hand, it seems like the most terrifying prospect in the world. Bless those Wright brothers for being the first ones to give it a go. I suppose if I ever wanted to expand my horizons, however, I’d have to get on an airplane. Ocean liners aren’t exactly the most efficient means of travel. And if I’d trust anyone to take me up in the air for the first time, it would be you, Bobby. Like I mentioned once before, my parents went to Paris for their honeymoon, so I’ve always wanted to see it. Did you know that they call it the city of love? I suppose it must be very romantic with a nickname like that. I’ve also always wanted to see Italy—the Colosseum, the Pantheon, all that amazing art. I imagine it must be so magical. Maybe not right this moment, but Rome has certainly survived its fair share of catastrophes, if I remember my history correctly. I’m sure it will survive this, too.

How about you, Bobby? What parts of the world would you like to see when all of this is over?

“Someone to Watch Over Me” is one of my favorite songs. And now every time I hear it, I think of you and that dance we shared at the USO. If that’s the song that you’d like to hear, then I’ll happily start practicing it right away. Mr. Gershwin certainly knew what he was doing when it came to composing, didn’t he?

Don’t tell them this—we wouldn’t want them getting big heads now—but I always find it to be a delight when you share stories of Tommy Boy and Benny. It makes me so happy to know that you have such good friends over there with you. And I always get a good laugh, imagining their antics. You must have the patience of a saint, Bobby, to put up with all of it. As I’ve said before, I know all too well what it’s like to have to hide away to carve out a little peace for letter writing—Dottie is constantly trying to throw her two cents in whenever she can. I actually have Frankie to thank for my solitude at the moment. He’s been a bit fussy, so Dottie hurried off to check on him. I adore my sister more than life itself, but even I can admit that it’s a bit easier to concentrate when she’s distracted.

I absolutely cross my heart that I will never let it slip past my lips that you called our young Clara a baby. It will be our little secret. I’m sure she and Natasha and Paul, Jr. will be thrilled to receive the letter Paul’s writing to them. Paul sounds like such a wonderful husband and father. He reminds me of Paddy in that way. The two of them seem to have a lot in common. Tell Paul that I’m more than happy to lend any assistance I can to helping him pick out the perfect gift for buttering up his wife. Trust me, I’ve helped my dear brother-in-law do it on more than one occasion.

Speaking of Paul and Natasha, I’m shocked to learn they were such little hooligans when the three of you were growing up. Frogs in your teacher’s purse? Kidnapping the classroom hamster? What kind of trouble did you not get into, I should ask? I think that perhaps you were more of a little rebel than you’re willing to admit, Ensign Floyd. I myself was quite the prim and proper little lady growing up back home in Georgia. Believe me, I was much too shy to be getting into any sort of trouble with anyone. Truth be told, I really sort of kept to myself, even when I was a child. But I always had Dottie, thank goodness. She’s four years older, and she’s always looked out for me. She’s my best friend and my biggest champion. It would be lovely to get to meet Natasha one day, too. Any friend of yours must be a delightful person who I’m sure I would like very much.

Your words are sweet as honey, Bobby, and make me feel just as warm and cozy inside. Whenever I’m having a difficult day, or the weight of the world’s troubles feel like they’re pressing down on me, I read your letters and they never fail to make me smile. I always knew that there were good men out there in the world—my father and Paddy have always been prime examples of that to me—but I think I was starting to doubt that there were many men left who were truly kind and good-hearted. You put those fears in my heart to rest. You are such a good man. I know we haven’t known each other long, and that most of our conversations have been through letters, but your warmth and your kindness always shine through.

I may not be able to speak to how unhappy your mother would be to learn about you falling asleep before your prayers—I like to think she’d understand, given the circumstances—but I can say with total confidence, despite never having met her, that she would be very happy and proud to know just what kind of man her oldest son is. I’m sure she already knows and is already so proud.

I keep you in my prayers every night, too, Bobby. You and Paul and his family and Tommy Boy and Benny, and all the rest of your squadron. All I ask for is that you all come home safely. And soon.

You’re in my thoughts. I look forward, as always, to your next letter, whenever it may arrive.

Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost forgot to mention that it was Frankie’s first Halloween! Unfortunately, the annual parade in town was canceled, but everyone still decorated and the children in the neighborhood got to go trick-or-treating. Dottie made Frankie a little pumpkin costume—he was the cutest little pumpkin you ever did see! We still have some candy lying around the house, which I wish I could send to you. Did Clara, Paul, Jr., and your brothers dress up this year? I hope they had lots of fun!

[palmofafreezinghand]

under the apple trees

Charles Evenson searches for his wife in 1920 and finds something haunting under the apple trees, or Charles thinks he killed his wife. on ao3 here. content warnings: references to domestic violence, sexual assault, burying alive, murder, and alcohol abuse.

June 16, 1920.

Charles Evenson awoke to the feeling of an ice pick piercing his skull. The sip of bootlegged whiskey he presumed to be water, had last night’s dinner threatening to make itself known. As the wrinkles in his face deepened — making him look like his father more each passing day — his tolerance for the drink that once sustained his youth deteriorated. 

He stumbled to the bathroom, tripping over his own feet as he squinted to avoid the rising sun peeking through the blinds. He had asked his wife to replace the flimsy lace curtains to something more substantial. She refused, whining she had spent hours crocheting them while he was away. He didn’t have the energy to fight her. 

The bathroom door was closed, a sliver of light telling him his wife was holed up in there, again. The same sight and pain in his head had greeted him the morning prior, and the one before that. 

Naively he had presumed she was avoiding him, throwing one of her hysteric fits after a disagreement. The memory of their fight had evaded him, the cause long forgotten. What remained was dried blood caked to his knuckles, pools of rust-colored stains on their bedsheets, and a knife lodged in the kitchen countertop. 

That morning, unlike the two previously, he twisted the doorknob. His shoulders straightened, preparing for one of their early morning fights. It was a habit of theirs. The oak door creaked open to reveal an empty room. 

“Hello?” He muttered. The only response he received was the flicker of the overhead light. 

The impending disagreement escalated. He let the anger simmer as he went about his routine; using the restroom, showering, cooking himself a breakfast he burned, smoking a cigarette without opening a window. 

He half-heartedly searched the rest of the house, paying closer attention to her typical hiding places. She was nowhere to be found. The impending battle jumped another pitch, his nails dug into his palm. 

She had insisted on publicly embarrassing him before. Less than a month into marriage, after she had pushed him too far, she had run off to her parents. A weekend with her cousin for Christmas had turned into a week. He was forced to traipse all the way out to Milwaukee. He refused to acknowledge how exhilarating those fights had been. The hours spent sitting in ugly silence as a train engine chugged along, a tea kettle at a near boiling point for an uncomfortable, unnatural amount of time until the kettle nearly exploded. A shrill scream as a room was drowned in blinding steam. 

A thrill ran down his spine as he began to think of the hunt. It was cut abruptly by the realization she may not be hiding but hidden.      

———————   

He pulled his automobile off the dirt farm road, parking in between dense rows of fruit trees he knew well. Despite its density, Charles knew the orchard had not turned a profit in nearly a decade. The peaches were never quite sweet enough, the apples never red enough, the plums too tart. 

The Platt’s grove had made a brilliant hiding place for Charles over the years. In the few months they courted, they had secretly met in the orchard a handful of times, away from her mother’s grating inquisitiveness. 

Once they were married, many months in, he had met another woman among the trees. One less stubborn, who did not pester, a woman whose name he could not, nor cared to, remember. He had met a half dozen forgettable women thereafter. 

A little over a year into their marriage, in the middle of the night he had raced to the grove. His wife wrapped in a bed sheet lying lifeless on the back bench seat. Frantically he had dug a grave under the apple trees, under the light of his headlights and the full moon. Four scoops of dirt had been thrown into the shallow grave —  making a point to cover her face first — when she screamed. He helped her out, and they went home and never spoke again. 

Less than a month later, after one particularly loud argument, he snuck back onto the property, spending most of the night digging the small hole into a proper grave. He covered the grave with a board and leaves, telling himself it was a precaution. He would never need it.  

When he returned from the front the times he thought he would need it were countless — countless fights and snide remarks — but he had never used it, at least not as a grave. An occasional barrel from his friends in New Straitsville had been stored in the hole to avoid his wife’s nagging. 

The engine shut off as he stepped out of the car, scanning the night. It smelled like rain and wet soil. The cicadas screamed, a deafening incessant buzz. 

He looked for the heart he had carved in the trunk of an old apple tree; hoping if someone ever discovered the symbol they would suspect adolescent antics, not a morbid gravestone. The trunks looked as if they went on for miles, rows, and rows of evenly spaced trees taunting him. 

He walked further into the grove, twigs crunching under his boots, his step quickening. The sun was almost done rising, the old farmer was undoubtedly moving about his routine, unaware of the potential disaster lurking in his yard. 

Charles could foresee one of the old hounds digging up the grave, dropping her femur at the front door. He shook his head violently, the ice pick returning to its familiar place in his skull. 

She was hiding, throwing a fit, mocking him. She was not buried hundreds of feet from her childhood home at the hands of her husband. 

His search was a precaution, he would not kill his wife. 

The boy’s face flickered across his mind. He shook his head. That was different, war. His life had been on the line, anyone would have done that. 

He was not evil. His wife’s screams echoed in his brain, her pleading, the words ‘no, God no,’ beat in his brain like a pulse. The blood, hers, under his nails, on his knuckles, the bruise on his forearm. Disagreements, like any other married couple. 

They had disagreements, but it wasn’t the only thing they had. The happy moments. Summer evenings were spent watching the neighborhood as they sat on the porch swing, nursing a drink. The feast she had cooked when he returned home after sixteen months. The taste of apple pie, the promise he made to do better, her genuine smile. The first time he had brought her to his house, she had prattled on about decorations and Christmas stockings. The moment they learned she was expecting, and every moment after, the bump, the kicks, the nursery that would never be used. 

The light of his lantern fell on a mound of fresh dirt, five feet long, and three feet wide. Shit. Shit. Shit.

No. 

She was not dead. 

He did not kill her. 

He had not held a pathetic burial for a pitiful woman, and forgotten entirely. 

No. 

Excuses for the public began racing through his head: she ran in the middle of the night, it was a complete surprise. No, that would lead to questions about why she would leave him. She could not handle the grief any longer. She slipped on the stairs. 

He could move, let her slip from everyone’s memory as he lived a life without her. 

“Charles?” A deep voice called out through the trees. 

Charles's head snapped to attention. “Hello, George,” he called to the father-in-law he had not seen in nearly four years. 

He needed an excuse, now, because she was, he did, and he had. Or at least that’s what he believed. 

[tf2-oneshots]

(2/3) and then Snap to a few weeks later, where Everyone is gathered into what would be the Mercs equivalent to a Living room. Engie makes a comment like "thanks, Darlin' you're the best" after Spy got him something he needed, which then instinctively both Demo and Scout rise to argue for their partners, and all three are just having this compliment war in complete view of their partners and their teammates, which they all swore to never do for fear of their partners never letting it go(which they were correct, they don't)

Part two! Part one is here!

Warnings: none!

Rating: Teen and up for Medic boobs lol

“We all set for movie night?” Bowl of popcorn in hand, Scout takes his seat in the common room. He steals a few pieces, washing them down with a sip of his Bonk. He gets comfy on the good side of the couch as Engineer and Demo take their seats.

“Got the beer, the candy, and the film. Ain’t nothing left, right?” The three look around, mentally checking off each item. There were enough snacks to make it through half the movie between the three of them. Drinks to combat the salty seasoning Demo mixed into the popcorn.

“You know what? Forgot the blanket. Goddamnit, I just got comfy.” The Engineer huffs, picturing the massive blanket folded on the kitchen table where he left it. The Texan grunts, begrudgingly working himself to standing when soft fabric grazes his cheek. Turning to the source, Spy is placing their blanket in Engineer’s lap.

“I believe this is yours, mon inventeur.” Spy leans in, stealing a chaste kiss. Her gloved hand rests on the American’s cheek before they part ways. Spy gives him a smile before he stands upright once more.

“Well, ain’t you a peach? Thank you kindly, Spy.” Scout gags, unusually loud this time. The couple roll their eyes and Spy huffs. Leave it to the brat to find real romance unappealing. He steps away from the couch to join everyone else in the adjacent dining room.

“I’ll take my leave. If I stay, Scout may shrivel and die.” She comments before crossing through the doorframe. Once out of earshot, Engineer spreads the blanket between the three of them. He gives the men a smug look, hitting the play button for their movie.

“Y’all’s boys ever do that for you?” Both Scout and Demo roll their eyes. Despite the film beginning, Scout makes a point to turn and face Engineer. He’s careful not to spill the popcorn sitting in his lap while doing so.

“Sniper got me a whole case of Irish whiskey. The top shelf brand too. That’s love right there.” Said case sits in his room with the rest of his special occasion drinks. As tempted as he is to snatch a bottle or two, Demo has to reserve them for when it matters.

“Dude, that’s nothing. Medic called me his dove last night. Yeah, you heard me! Dove. Do you even, like, know how much that means? I’m basically a married man now.” The older men groan, denying the fact that Scout is married over a pet name. If it were that easy, Engineer would be married to every woman he’s called ‘hon’ in his life.

“Spy’s got eyes as blue as the summer sky. Ain’t nothing like them.” A pretty blue that Engineer can’t help stare into when they spend time together. He never noticed at first due to his tinted goggles, but when he saw the pair unfiltered, his heart skipped a beat.

“Medic’s the best to cuddle though. That dude is soft as hell cause he’s got huge—“ A metal hand slaps itself over Scout’s mouth. If Engineer had done it any harder, the impact might have finally fixed Scout’s overbite.

Adjacent to the trio, the three men in question had been playing a game of poker. A game that was discarded the moment they heard their lovers debating who was best. All three sit in shock, listening to their partners bicker.

“Congrats on the jugs, mate.” Sniper chuckles as Medic crosses his arms to cover the pair. The doctor rolls his eyes, listening in as Engineer goes on a tirade of compliments towards Spy. Said Frenchman leans back to sip his wine.

“Well, isn’t Engineer a romantic? Your brutes could learn from him.” The ramble is cut off by Demo who begins listing off many of Sniper’s best qualities. His rugged voice, he’s upper body strength, that cute birthmark on his lower back. The last of which causing the Aussie to blush.

“Don’t need romance when my mate’s obsessed with me. Love’s got a big heart in him.” This of course, is only the beginning. With compliments and praises pouring from the three men, their lover’s egos inflated rapidly. Spy’s smugness doubled, Sniper’s pride grew massive, and Medic felt the sudden urge to pull more praises from Scout by any means possible.

Part two is done! Stay tuned for part three! -H

[carmenized-onions]

Oh my onions ,

This chapter was the first thing I saw when I opened my phone this morning and I immediately started reading cause when I tell u I have been waiting for it like crazy. I took a break and kept reading after my statistics class (master’s thesis kicking my ass thank u). 

It was such a relief of the tension in the previous chapters, some honest moments between Carm and Tony and also the reality and craziness of their family and faks being around. 

I am so curious to see how the DD and kids dynamic will unfold cause in season 3 I bawled my eyes out in the ice chips episode and I was so happy Sug is taking those baby steps towards redefining her relationship with her mom now that she herself is one. It would be nice to see some cathartic moments here too(obviously given the complexity of the relationships cause lord knows it’s fucked to the core). 

HELL YOU ARE MAKING ME MISS CHRISTMAS NOW I KINDA WISH WE HAD LIKE A WEEK TILL CHRISTMAS IRL CAUSE I HATE THE SUMMER. 

cuteness baby Michaela and Tony (hohoho make her and Carmy babysit pls pls) 

RICHIE THE MAN THAT U ARE. he totally is an old fashioned in my brain so I get the whiskey and peaches thought Tony u are right. 

Also …. Sydney baby I can sense the tension…. I see u getting off the floor … I SEE U NOT SAYING IT BACK SO …. 

Also side note I always listen to music while reading this to set the cinematic vibe yk yk and today I happened to listen to father John Misty’s “I love u honey bear” and “everything is free” and COINCIDENTALLY they match the vibe quite perfectly make sure to check them out if that’s your vibe, I feel the lyrics to these 2 songs were kinda fitting to this chapter (are they my personal soundtrack that played in this episode ?! Yes they are !) 

Can’t wait for next one u never fail! Can’t wait for the Christmas special if u will. ALSO 14 K I know u said for both our sanities it’s getting shorter but I’m so glad I saw a double digit no pressure my love Heheheheheh !!!! I gotta stop yapping stay safe till next one :)))))

AHHH I hope the next one isn't shit, we're dropping in like idk whenever I finish answering these last couple asks that i've let sit in my inbox for DECADES (a couple weeks). If I failed this time, no one tell me. Let's all let onion live in ignorance okay. a handful of times i was like "what if I simply restarted" at like 8k in.

But I've finished my final draft edits and I think it's fine. I think it's a very necessary chapter. It's like how I felt about Doing Too Much back in the day, but now that one's like, one of my faves in terms of how much it actually establishes--- ANYWAYS WHAT THE FUCK AM I TALKING ABOUT let's talk about your talkings

I hope your thesis went/is going well!! It's been so fucking long where is everyone on their life projects. Me personally I'm applying to OTHER FUCKING JOBS. Who wants to pay me to write CK full time? I'm so fr.

Chapter 14 will always be that girl when it comes to tension breaking. Like christ. Two Steps Back is my favourite chapter to reread because I love Mikey and Chip and I also think I am the most in my bag when I'm writing sad shit but Chapter 14 is always nice when I'm havin a ROUGH DAYY

I hope. When I do eventually cover DD. Which is tragically for me, quite soon, that I do it fucking any justice. I'm very thankful for the compliments comparing me to canon but MAN if anything is a test of my ability to understand these characters, Donna is my final fucking exam. I am so bad. At writing moms. Just in general. Ice Chips was truly like my favourite episode of the season too, so I hope I can do all the fucking insane dynamics of adulthood blended with motherhood justice. I can barely do them justice in my own life, YKNOW??? man.

Me and my roommates take christmas so fucking seriously. As we have for the past... 3 years. And now that this is our first christmas living together again, I truly start gift planning now. did someone say psychotic? NO. i just PUT THE DATES OF EVERY SALE OF EVERY IMPORTANT RELEVANT RETAILER IN MY PERSONAL CALENDAR. I'M NORMAL. FUCK YOU I'M NORMAL!! what i'm trying to say is, it's christmas whenever you decide it's christmas.

Ohhhh Michaela Blurb. Someone request it someone request it. I so hope in S4 they let that man be a good Uncle. I know he avoids family like the plague but come on man. its a BABY!!!!!

I hope everyone loves the drink menu I have planned, or I mean--- Sorry, the drink menu chip has planned. Jerimovich you whiskey peach bitch da MAN YOU ARE!!!

It's s o hard to not write like a little bit of tension with Syd. Like I can't not. It's so in my brain I cannot get squidink out of there someone call the police dont actually

i love. when an indie bitch enters my domain. i love father john misty!! I can so see those songs. There's a lot of songs I adored for this chapter. I think my most probably unagreed with would be I Like It, by DeBarge--- Listen, I know it's so cheery-- But that's exactly it. That is so Song That's Playing At The Wedding Outside The Bathroom While We Full Breakdown In Here. HEAR ME OUT OKAY

We are,,, at 15k for this chap. Chap 14 was 14k,,,, I feel like Chap 16 is not going to be 16k (but rather, horrifically, more), but it'd be cute to continue the pattern. I'll attempt to reduce myself.

Also:

I WISH THEY MADE A CHICAGO JOKE IN CANON, esp with Carmen's drive by about Musicals in ep2? Come on man. Chicago's (the city) like. top 3 of american cities for theatre. what the fuck. SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARTS???

i love chicago (the musical) (maybe also the city idk), so I had to give a little credit. And frankly, while writing that bit, I watched the moment back--- He did KIND OF RUN INTO IT, LIKE I HONESTLY THINK THAT WAS KIND OF AN ACCIDENT

anyways i'm gonna shut the fuck up now chapter out soon love you bye gotta answer more asks!!

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 8.25

Holidays

American Oil Discovery Day (Pennsylvania)

Apocynum Day (French Republic)

Aromatic Visibility Day

Australian South Sea Islander Recognition Day (Australia)

Battle Of Blair Mountain Anniversary Day

Clio Asteroid Day

English Channel Swim Day

Gene Simmons Day

Great American Duck Day

The Great Moon Hoax Day

Healthy Lifestyle Day

Honorable Artillery Company Day (UK)

International Day of the Hairstylist

International Redhead Day

Kiss and Make Up Day

Lake Sevan Day (Armenia)

Liberation of Paris Day (Paris, France)

National Don't Utter a Word Day

National Park Service Founders Day

National Poetry Day (New Zealand)

National Second-Hand Wardrobe Day

National Tech-Voc Day (Philippines)

Nils Lofgren Day

Pops Staples Day (Chicago, Illinois)

Private Eye Day

Rohingya Genocide Remembrance Day

Second-Hand Wardrobe Day

Soldier's Day (Brazil)

Songun (North Korea)

South Sea Islander Recognition Day (Australia)

Tim Burton Day

Wizard of Oz Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Feast of the Green Corn

Instant Ramen Day (Japan)

National Banana Split Day

National Lamington Day

National Whiskey Sour Day

Independence & Related Days

Belarus (from USSR, 1991)

Constitution Day (Paraguay)

Iloilo City Charter Day (Philippines)

New Orleans (Founded; 1718)

Parva Domus Magna Quies (Declared; 1878) [unrecognized]

Uruguay (from Brazil, 1825)

4th & Last Sunday in August

Burning Man begins (Nevada) [8.27 thru 9.4]

Family Day (Tennessee) [Last Sunday]

Go Topless Day [ website ] [Sunday nearest 26th] (Also 8.24)

International Bereaved Father’s Day [Last Sunday]

Miner’s Day (USSR) [Last Sunday]

National Faith HIV/AIDS Awareness Day [Last Sunday]

National Fantasy Football Draft Day [Last Sunday]

Notting Hill Carnival begins (UK) [Sunday before Last Monday]

Plague Sunday (Gloucestershire, UK) [Last Sunday]

Pony Express Day [Last Sunday]

Sacrifice Our Wants For Other’s Needs Sunday [Sunday of Be Kind to Humankind Week]

Seven For Sunday [Every Sunday]

Social Justice Sunday [Last Sunday]

Soothing Sunday [4th Sunday of Each Month]

Spud Sunday [4th Sunday of Each Month]

Souper Sunday [Last Sunday of Each Month]

Sultry Sunday [Last Sunday of Each Month]

Sundae Sunday [Every Sunday]

Sunday Funday [Every Sunday]

World Kitchen Garden Day [4th Sunday]

Weekly Holidays beginning August 25 (4th Full Week of August)

Be Kind to Humankind Week (thru 8.31)

Brake Safety Week (thru 8.31)

Contact Lens Health Week [4th Week]

National Composites Week [Last Week]

World Water Week (thru 8.29)

Festivals Beginning August 25, 2024

Bloemencorso Blankenberge (Blankenberge, Belgium)

Burning Man (Black Rock City, Nevada) [thru 9.2]

California Restaurant Show (Los Angeles, California) [thru 8.27]

Coffee Fest Los Angeles (Los Angeles, California) [thru 8.27]

Detroit Bourbon & Blues Festival (Detroit, Michigan)

Georgia VegFest (Atlanta, Georgia)

Notting Hill Carnival (London, United Kingdom) [thru 8.26]

Nutty Pie Contest, at the Alaska State Fair (Palmer, Alaska)

Peach Festival (Grafton, Illinois)

Sharq Taronalari International Music Festival (Samarkand, Uzbekistan) [thru 8.30]

Taste of Huntington Beach (Huntington Beach, California)

Terptown Throwdown (Boston, Massachusetts)

Feast Days

Æbbe of Coldingham (Christian; Saint)

Aredius (Christian; Saint)

Bret Harte (Writerism)

Charles-Amédée-Philippe van Loo (Artology)

Conté (Positivist; Saint)

Daniel Hulet (Artology)

Discovery of the Runes (Norse)

Dorothea Tanning (Artology)

Duke (Price Charming’s Horse; Muppetism)

Ebba (a.k.a. Tabbs; Christian; Saint)

Frederick Forsyth (Writerism)

Ganesh Chaturthi (a.k.a. Vinayaka Chaturthi; India)

Genesius of Arles (Christian; Saint)

Genesius of Rome (Christian; Saint)

Ginés de la Jara (a.k.a. Genesius of Cartagena; Christian; Saint)

George Stubbs (Artology)

Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato (Artology)

Gregory of Utrecht (Christian; Saint)

Heliogabalus Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Horus Nativity (Ancient Egypt)

Ian Falconer (Artology)

Jacob Maris (Artology)

Joan Antide-Thouret (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Joseph of Calasanz (Christian; Saint)

Leonard Bernstein (Humanism)

Louis IX of France (Christian; Saint)

Ludovicus Baba (Christian; Blessed)

Ludovicus Sasada (Christian; Blessed)

Luis Sotelo (Christian; Blessed)

Maelrubha (Celtic Book of Days)

Martin Amis (Writerism)

Mary Michaela Desmaisieres (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Menas of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Michael Kaluta (Artology)

Miguel de Carvalho (Christian; Blessed)

Opiconsivia (Roman festival to Ops, goddess of fertility & abundance)

Patricia of Naples (Christian; Saint)

Pedro Vásquez, Blessed (Christian; Saint)

Rumpleskunkskin’s Bride Escapes to Heerwigoland (Fairy Celebration; Shamanism)

Thomas de Cantilupe (a.k.a. of Hereford; Christian; Saint)

Walt Kelly (Artology)

Whiskey Sour Day (Pastafarian)

Hindu Calendar Holidays [Begins at Sundown Day Before]

Krishna Janmashtami (a.k.a. Krishnashtami, Janmashtami, or Gokulashtami)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [34 of 53]

Premieres

Advance and Be Mechanized (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1967)

And Justice For All, by Metallica (Album; 1988)

Barnacle Bill (Betty Boop Cartoon; 1930)

Beerfest (Film; 2006)

Bertie the Brain (Video Game; 1950)

Born to Run, by Bruce Springsteen (Album; 1975)

Boston, by Boston (Album; 1976)

Bring It On (Film; 2000)

Carrotblanca (WB LT Cartoon; 1995)

Cheese Chasers (WB MM Cartoon; 1951)

Desperado (Film; 1995)

Electric Ladyland Studio (Recording Studio; 1970)

The Golden West (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1939)

Graceland, by Paul Simon (Album; 1986)

Grand Uproar (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1933)

Humboldt's Gift, by Saul Bellow (Novel; 1975)

Invasion of the Bunny Snatchers (WB TV Cartoon; 1992)

Laughable Loves, by Milan Kundera (Short Stories; 1969)

Leap!, a.k.a. Ballerina (Animated Film; 2017)

Madame Bovary (Film; 1949)

Miracle on 34th Street, by Valentine Davies (Novel; 1947)

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, by Lauryn Hill (Album; 1998)

Mutt ’n’ Bones (Phantasies Cartoon; 1944)

My So-Called Life (TV Series; 1994)

The Pink Tail Fly (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1965)

The Pique Poquette of Paris (The Inspector Cartoon; 1966)

Raw! Raw! Rooster! (WB LT Cartoon; 1956)

Samurai!, by Saburo Sakai (Autobiography; 1957)

Solid Ivory (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1947)

Swing Shift Cinderella (Tex Avery MGM Cartoon; 1945)

The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo (Children’s Book; 2003)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Animated Film; 1995)

The Wizard of Oz (Film; 1939)

Wrecking Ball, by Miley Cyrus (Song; 2013)

Today’s Name Days

Elvira, Josef, Ludwig, Patricia (Austria)

Grgur, Josip, Ljudevit (Croatia)

Radim (Czech Republic)

Ludvig (Denmark)

Tauno, Tunne (Estonia)

Loviisa (Finland)

Louis (France)

Ebba, Elvira, Ludwig (Germany)

Bartholomeos, Titos (Greece)

Lajos, Patrícia (Hungary)

Ludovico, Luigi (Italy)

Ivonna, Ludis, Ludvigs (Latvia)

Liucija, Liudas, Liudvikas, Mangailas, Mangailė (Lithuania)

Louise, Lovise, Ludvig (Norway)

Gaudencjusz, Gaudenty, Grzegorz, Ludwik, Luiza, Michał, Sieciesław (Poland)

Ľudovít (Slovakia)

Ginés, José, Luis, Patricia (Spain)

Louise, Lovisa (Sweden)

Dorcas, Lanard, Lennie, Lenny, Leonard, Leonardo, Tabatha, Tabitha (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 238 of 2024; 128 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 7 of Week 34 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Coll (Hazel) [Day 23 of 28]

Chinese: Month 7 (Ren-Shen), Day 22 (Xin-You)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 21 Av 5784

Islamic: 19 Safar 1446

J Cal: 28 Purple; Sevenday [28 of 30]

Julian: 12 August 2024

Moon: 58%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 13 Gutenberg (9th Month) [Conté]

Runic Half Month: Rad (Motion) [Day 3 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 67 of 94)

Week: 4th Full Week of August

Zodiac: Virgo (Day 4 of 32)

[waywardnerd67]

Cupcake Wars

Title: Cupcake Wars Summary: Jensen has to team up with his rival for a charity event. Paring: Jensen Ackles x Reader Word Count: 1260 Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff Square Filled: Baker!Jensen AU Bingo Card: @spnchristmasbingo​ A/N: None

Check Out: 2022 Christmas Bingo Masterlist

Jensen arrived on set for the filming of a new charity event in Austin. The who’s who of bakers were going to be teaming up with one another in a competition where the charity of their choice would receive ten thousand dollars. Their partners would be decided by blind draw and would have one week to bake a new cupcake creation. Walking in, he waved to the other participants, including his good buddy Jason Manns.

“Jay! How the hell are you? It’s been forever since we’ve hung out.”

He hugged his friend, “I know. Your bakery food truck is traveling everywhere nowadays. I’m surprised you were able to come here and participate. At least now I know who I need to get as my partner.”

The door opened as all eyes landed on the last baker of the competition and Jensen groaned.

“Seriously?”

Jason chuckled, “You know, she’s not a bad person once you get to know her and her cheesecakes are to die for.”

Jensen rolled his eyes as (Y/N) walked past him without a word or glance. She waved to Jason continuing towards another group of bakers.

“Oh yeah, she’s a real peach.”

The rival between Jensen and (Y/N) was famous in Austin. Their bakeries were across the street from one another. At first, it had been as simple as supply and demand. His business was there first and he wanted her to move further down 6th street. Even suggesting the building next to his best friend’s bar. In return, she held the biggest grand opening event in history and shut down all of 6th street. From that moment on, Jensen and (Y/N) did not get along.

The show runner came out to discuss how the blind draw would take place and filming schedule for each set of partners. He was thankful to know that the blind draw would not be filmed and their partners would be announced to the world when they filmed their episode.

There would be six pairs of bakers and they were down to the last four to be paired up. Jensen and Jason were still holding out hope to work together. Jensen was already planning to mix Jason’s signature smoky whiskey truffle sauce with one of his famous salted caramel and peanut butter cupcakes.

“Our next pairing will be Jensen Ackles from Batter Splatter and…”

Jensen crossed his fingers praying to the baking gods that Jason’s name was announced.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N) from CheesyCakes!”

“What the…”

“Son of a…”

Jensen and (Y/N) both said slowly turning to look at one another. He should have known the universe would not cooperate with him.

“Bakers, you will meet with your partners and our producer will be around to let you know when they will be at your shops to film.”

(Y/N) walked over to him, “Let’s get this over with.”

He rolled his eyes hearing Jason wishing him luck as he followed her towards a table to sit at. If Jensen was being perfectly honest, (Y/N) was definitely easy on the eyes and knew her stuff. It was her attitude that made her insufferable.

“Look, either of us want to work with the other.” She started with.

“Agreed.”

She rolled her eyes, “Then this is how it will go. You bake your famous cupcake and I’ll make my famous cheesecake cupcake. Wham-bam, display and good to go.”

“That won’t win the competition. You do want to win, right?” He asked, arching his eyebrow at her.

He took note of the shaky breath she took in looking up at him. She bit the corner of her lip and suddenly he found himself curious to know what was running through her mind.

“Of course I want to win. My charity is important to me.”

“As is mine. We need to push aside this stupid, petty, rivalry and work together.”

The producer came at that moment discussing they would be filming four days, two each at their bakeries. They had one week to come up with the recipe and design they wanted to use to represent their charities.

“Oh wow, well at least you have it easier than the other bakeries. You both have the same charity of Out Youth Austin. Great choice. The day before filming I will come out to meet with you both and go over the exact schedule. Good luck.”

(Y/N) stared at him, “Out Youth?”

“Yes. I have a lot of the kiddos use my bakery as a meeting spot for when their schools will not allow them to meet. I make sure they all know they have an open invitation to a safe and welcoming spot.”

For the first time since meeting her, (Y/N) wore a genuine smile on her face. Jensen had not been prepared for how that smile would make his heart skip and jump within his chest. Or how he would do anything to see it again.

“That’s amazing.” She cleared her throat, “So, let’s meet up tomorrow if you have time to come up with a game plan.”

He nodded, “Sounds good. How about the little coffee shop on 6th, my treat.”

“It’s a date.” Her eyes snapped to him, “I mean, it’s a meeting… uh yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He chuckled watching her walk away quickly.

The week leading up to them filming, Jensen met with (Y/N) before their stores opened, after they closed and any time either of them had a brilliant idea pop into their heads. It was the night before their meeting and they were making a test batch of their cupcakes.

“Be careful, cheesecake batter is sensitive. We have to be precise.” (Y/N) warned him for the millionth time.

“I know. Believe it or not, I went to school for this and have made cheesecake before and successfully. Trust me.”

She scoffed, “Maybe I should do this.”

When (Y/N) tried to push him out of the way, Jensen grabbed a hold of her shoulders and gently forced her back to her spot. For a moment they were mere inches from one another and then tension pressing between them had a quiet gasp escaping from her lips. The effect it had on him was one that he had been battling all week working with her.  

“If you have to let me do something. You can’t do it all.”

“O-Okay…” She ran her hands down her thighs clasping her hands over her knees.

Now it was his turn to let out a shaky breath as he poured the batter into the cupcake pan and slid it into the oven. He left it up to her to decide when they would be ready to pull out. Nearly three hours later, their final product was plated and they were digging into one of the cupcakes.

“Hot damn!”

“Oh my god…” They both started laughing.

Suddenly (Y/N) hugged him, “We did it! We really did it!”

He looked down into her beautiful eyes and wide grin on her face. Next thing he knew, his lips were pressed against hers, tasting hints of caramel and cheesecake from their creation.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He backed away from her.

“Jensen, don’t…”

He turned around in time for her to press herself against him, bringing his lips to hers. He lifted her up onto the counter sliding the remaining cupcakes on the floor with a loud crash. Not long after, their clothes joined the mess ending their rivalry once and for all.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

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[nobedofroses]

Day 14: Double Penetration

pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x fem!reader

warnings: p-in-v sex, use of toys, anal penetration with a dildo, mention of cunnilingus

words: 657

a/n: i don’t have anything to say asldjfalj

Last, Full List, Next

🎃🎃🎃

“Yeah, just like that, Jack,” you breathed out a moan as you adjusted to the feeling of him fucking you slowly. “But you can go deeper.”

“A-are you su-re, peach? I don’t wa-nt it to be t-too much,” Jack replied hesitantly, but you could tell how much he wanted to by the breathlessness of his voice. 

“I’ll tell you if it is,” you reassured him. He was being so cute, worrying about you like this. The two of you had been working up to this particular activity for a few weeks now. Jack was fucking your pussy with his cock while also fucking your ass with a dildo. 

For once, you had been the one to bring up the idea and to make sure you were working towards the goal. Not that Jack didn’t love the idea and find it incredibly hot; he did. He was just so conscientious when it came to your safety, especially sexually, that he didn’t want to push anything. So it all had to come explicitly from you, and while it took some getting used to to be the one initiating things and taking charge (especially because Jack tended to be more dominant and leading), you were enjoying the switch up and now you were really enjoying reaping the benefits. 

As soon as Jack started fucking you all the way in and out, with both his cock and the toy, he was moaning more than you were. He was moving them in and out in sync with each other, making you feel so much fuller and, you assumed, tighter. 

You weren’t getting any clit stimulation at the moment, your hands were holding you up since you were on your hands and knees and Jack was too focused on your cunt and ass to even remember his own name. So you thought you’d remind him. 

“Jack, honey, you have a free hand. I need you to rub my clit,” you tried to sound stern, and apparently it worked because Jack’s hand came clumsy and hurried around your hip to find your clit. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to think to know how you liked to be touched, and found the perfect rhythm just by muscle memory. You dropped your head and moaned, feeling your previously slow-growing orgasm amplifying much faster. 

But that meant your cunt was clenching around Jack’s cock more than before. And he had already been very near close before. 

“Oh fu-uck, sugar, you feel so— I’m getting too close— I d-don’t wanna cum before you do,” he warned and whined. 

“O-kay, you can stop if you- if you need to, honey. Stay inside and then just keep- just keep fucking my ass so I can cum,” you told him, imminently close with the combination of his cock, touch, and pleas. 

Jack didn’t even get the chance to stop fucking you. The thought of you getting off just from (in his hazy brain) being filled by his cock and getting fucked in the ass was too much, and in the next two thrusts he was cumming, gasping out your name in surprise as he filled you with his cum. 

You hummed, pleased but unsurprised. Jack tended to have much less stamina with anything that included anal, and you had known this would probably happen. Plus, as soon as he had recovered enough to breathe, Jack would bury his face between your thighs to make you cum, and he was very talented with his mouth.

 Moving your weight off of one hand, you reached down to pull his from your clit. Intertwining your fingers with his from behind and giving a little squeeze. 

Jack was panting but he managed a sheepish little, “I’m sorry, darlin’,” but you shook your head. 

“It’s alright honey, we’ll just try again tomorrow,” you told him easily, and even as he hissed in sensitivity, his cock twitched inside you like he was ready to go again right then.

🎃🎃🎃

[acorncoffeeformysweetheart]

Edward Deegan post game headcanons

My magnum opus, hehe.

Ed is two years younger than Sole, they are joking a lot about this.

He was 26 when the bombs fell (not 40+). 

I really love @chibikinesis version of Ed's prewar appearance, please check her jackward hashtag.

Long dark wavy hair, thin lips, roman nose, pale blue eyes and pale skin, maybe with freckles. Always smirking with a cigarette in the corner of mouth. He was such a sweet boy.

206 cm (6 '9"?) tall, wide and heavy built. This type of mature man who does a lot of heavy work. Makes a really dreadful impression on those, who don't know him closely.

He is very stable and calm in everyday life. Phlegmatic and moderately optimistic temper is the main reason why ghouls do not go feral for a long time. Ed is a good listener and loyal friend. Confident, but modest. 

But in combat he is absolutely coldblooded and knows no mercy. But, instead of Gage, Ed does not enjoy violence.

Despite his appearance and combat and survival skills, he really enjoys peaceful everyday life, he is not an adventurer. He was very happy with the offer to join Sole and boys at the lakeside farm.

Ed likes children. They make good friends with Duncan, spending a lot of time together fishing, cooking, reading and collecting plants and berries in the woods (as they have similar calm and silent nature).

In general he is the elder brother/grandfather type. He is protective to Sole, he is feeling sorry for her and tries to comfort her and make her life easier. Just because he can. 

So it was the typical situation when you fall in love with someone just because he is very kind to you, the first kind person you have met for a long time.

Ed has drinking issues, but the work is always first. He can be sober for a long time if he is busy with something important or dangerous, but in between he is drinking every day. Not that much, just to be a little bit more relaxed and make the world nicer. Sole is drinking harder, then Ed, but he never stops her, understanding her reasons.

After losing the Cabots Ed drank heavily for three months, Daisy even had to take his three cats to her house.

So, Ed is quite good at distilling. Moonshines that resemble whiskey and gin are his favorites.

Gage is afraid of ghouls and their relationship is complicated and controversial. Gage is suspicious and jealous, but can't find any proof of his feelings. So he is trying to be as friendly as possible, because he knows how important to Sole this is (but he's not doing very well).

Ed is very patient with Gage, like with a spoiled child.

Ed has chronic knee pain because of his height, but this is one of his favorite themes to laugh at.

(-No, Porter, I can not pick all those acorns. Let Duncun do this. I can carry them. How much? All of them. Eeeeh, maybe, 40 kilos or so. What do you mean that’s not enough? 0_o).

Wears that awful dog hair knee pads ("Not such a high price for immortality, hehe").

Smokes more than Sole, Mac and Gage all together . 

Skin feels like a sphynx cat, peach and a very old used suede couch. Nice and soft, absolutely hairless.

He cares a lot about his body, that's why he has no rotten and bleeding wounds, like a lot of other ghouls. Only  a lot of scars, but who cares about scars?

Sometimes at the darkest of times his wounds start to inflame, it is something similar to psoriasis, and will heal in a couple of weeks.

Has vitiligo on hands, like a lot of old people do.

His hands are very large, with long knotted fingers, very veiny, with thin wrists and wide forearms. Ed bites his nails. Sole loves to watch him doing any fine work, smoking or just sitting with his head resting on his hand.

Smells with homemade skin balm, prepared from plants. This is an old habit left from the times when he recovered from ghoulification. Smells similar to spiced tea and wet bitter piny forest soil. You know, that grandmother smell, but more intelligent and sexy, hehe. Ed is the last good smelling man on earth, Sole said.

He appreciates Sole's textile working skills a lot. Asked her to do funny cat embroideries on his working shirts.

He likes good clothes and has some at Cabots house. Good tailored shirts, high waisted trousers and matched leather boots, belts and holsters (looks like Brendan Fraser in the Mummy), hand knitted textured socks and fine weaved scarves. Things that resemble old life, absolutely luxurious.

He asked Sole to find a nice dress at the beginning of their relationship, and brought her to a couple of  old-fashioned dates with drinks, dancing and flirting in the darkest corner of the Third Rail.

Hancock always goes green with envy and anger, when sees them together at Goodneighbor. Sole is cold with him.

Knows a lot, but forgot a lot too. In his Cabot bedroom has tons of notebooks, written with instructions, recipes and other notes. Has childish square-ish handwriting that is very easy to read.

Wears reading glasses for working with small things, attached with rubber strap to hold the glasses better on what remains of his ears.

Anyway, wears silver earrings on occasion.  As well as other plain silver jewelry (but not his wedding ring).

Got married a couple of years after the bombs fell and raised his wife's son. Had no grandchildren and never had another family, only Cabots.

People think that Daisy and Ed are ex lovers, but they are just really close friends. Daisy always loved girls. She was twice older than Ed prewar and still keeps acting like his auntie. Daisy is the only one, who knows Ed (and people in general) so well, that she guessed about him and Sole by the look in his eyes. But she is silent as a grave, good friends can keep secrets.

Hates when women fetishize him. So Sole do this silently))

.

.

.

!!! SOFT NSFW PART

.

.

.

Well known fact that ghouls are sterile and not interested in sexual activities. This was absolutely shocking to Sole, when she first tried to kiss Ed.

He chuckled and told her that both of his hands are still at their place. The problem was solved.

So Ed is very tender and skilled.

But he is not very serious. Always smirking, doing this face ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  and "no problem, I don't mind, come here".  He is also absolutely not jealous. He admits he was late, too shy to kiss Sole in the asylum. And then she met Mac. 

It doesn't mean he doesn't care. He just learned to reconcile and accept.

Mac is convincing Gage that there is no need to be jealous, who would be jealous to ghouls?

Once on a hot summer night Mac saw undressed Ed in the light of oil lantern, 

while he was preparing to step into the waters of the lake. And Mac definitely did not like what he saw, brrrr.

Gage thinks that the wrong look is already a betrayal. But he cheated on Sole, how can he condemn her? Deep inside he understands that each of the three has strengths and Sole needs all of them. And they also need her in their own way.

[kmlaney]

so, about a month ago, I posted this bit of background material for the @sipofsnips word game. I made a comment to @fallenscintilla that I might post the entire scene, just to show how bad a mental health day Phil had. Here it is, basically not edited at all.

It occurs immediately after this snip, posted last week. CW for language, drinking, alcohol, mention of execution, and detailed description of a person vomiting.

long post

One of my brothers-in-law takes Mama. Whether home or with him I don't recall. Or care, either. All I care about is getting piss drunk and hopefully wiping the last week or so out of my memory. I buy a bottle in low town--the one place around not picky about who they sell to on execution day, provided your coin is good. It burns going down and makes my eyes water. Utter shit but it’s getting the job done.

The main road is too bright and cheery for my mood right now. All these fucking idiots. Laughing. Singing. Alive. Fuck ‘em. I turn down a sidestreet. Maybe an alley. Whatever. Music isn’t so goddamn loud. It’s nice and shadowy. Smells like shit and garbage. Just like this whole damn town. Whole damn world, all of it shit and garbage. I take a hearty swig from my emptying bottle and cough a few times. “TO HELL WITH ALL OF YOU!” I shout to no one in particular. "RATFUCKING BASTARDS!" Damn, that feels good. Just. Get it out there. Yeah.

Something scampers off a barrel and I swivel toward the sound. “YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, SPRINGER! RUN OFF AND HIDE! IN THE TRASH! WHERE YA BELONG, CHICKENSHIT!” Might not be him. Might be a rat. ‘Course he is a rat. “CHICKENSHIT RAT BASTARD! YA LIKE TOADYING FOR WHIDBY? KISS HIS ARSE GOOD?”

A door opens up in one of the buildings and light spills into the alley. A person steps out. I think they notice me. “Shut up, ya drunk,” they call.

“FUCK OFF!” I yell back. “FUCK OFF! FUCK YA'LL OFF!” The glow is too godamn bright in my nice dark alley. “GONNA FUCKING HANG WHIDBY ON HIS OWN GODDAMN GALLOWS AND ALL HIS FRIENDS BESIDES!” They disappear into the building but leave the door open. When I spin around my shadow’s ten feet tall. I take another drink. Barely notice the burn. "SEND 'EM ALL TO HELL! DEVIL'S WAITING ON YA!"

"Philla?" There's a soft touch on my elbow and a voice beside me.

I lurch around. "WHO FUCKING WANTS TO KNOW?"

"A friend."

"AlN'T GOT NO FRIENDS!" Bring up the bottle and some sloshes out. Damn shame, waste. "Cept this right here." Another glug. Nice.

"How about you come inside?"

Do I know this person? I'm not sure. "Fuck the fuck off."

“I was a friend to your father.”

“THEN WHY AIN’T YOU SWINGING WITH HIM?” I scream. Fucking remind me, goddammit. I upend the bottle and guzzle the rest. Toss it away. It breaks against a building. Now I gotta buy another.

“There’s more inside. How about you come with me?”

Oh, lucky me. “More?” I stand, wavering.

“Yes. As much as you’d like. Come in off the street, Philla.” They tug my elbow toward the open doorway.

I let them guide me. “I got coin.” Coin is important. Coin means booze. Booze means oblivion.

“Don’t worry about that.”

The light’s bright. I hear music and conversation but it flows together. Noise. “Too cheery,” I complain.

They help me up the two or three or ten steps to the open door. “I’ll put you up private. Don’t worry.”

I squint against the glare from the lamps in the hallway. Far, far, far in the distance, I think I see a crowd. Tobacco smoke scents the air. Tobacco and whiskey and leather. That’s where the booze is. I take a tottering step that direction but that same soft touch at my elbow redirects me.

“This way, Philla.”

There’s stairs. Oh, fuck me. I grasp for the handrail and miss. Twice.

Behind me, I hear the voice speaking but not to me. “Take her up to one of the empty rooms on the third floor. Don't leave her alone, even for a minute. Keep her lubed if she wants but most of all quiet. There’s been enough death today.”

"Yes, Miss Peaches." Different voice. A strong arm grips me around my chest and there's a shoulder under my armpit, helping me up the stairs. "Come on, Philla. Up we go."

I wake in my own bed and immediately wish I hadn't. Sunlight streams in around the closed curtain, tunnels through my eyeballs, and curdles my brain. My stomach churns and gurgles in a decidedly unfriendly way. Something reeks to high heaven. It might be me. I groan and throw an arm over my eyes. It doesn't help much.

"Well, maybe fourth time's a charm. How are you feeling?"

I move my arm and crack open one eye. A woman sits in Mama's old rocker across the room. Strawberry blonde hair, simple blue dress, and quite frankly that's all I notice before covering my eyes again because they ache so bad. "Like shit." My voice sounds nauseous.

"Answering questions. That's a good sign," she says.

I groan again. Thinking about words is an effort. "Mind telling me who the fuck you are and why you're in my house?"

"Asking questions, even better." She giggles. "My name's Liese. Miss Peaches sent me home to take care of you."

"Nungh," I grunt in reply.

"We'll see if it sticks this time," Liese says.

I slowly, slowly, sort through her answer. "Peaches?" I ask, settling on the most pressing issue.

"Miss Peaches, yes."

"Mama here?" Any loud noises and my head will explode, and if Mother discovers one of Miss Peaches’ ladies here there will be a lot of loud noise.

"No."

Her answer brings it back, all of it, everything I was trying to forget. The arrest, the executions, the…the hanging. The whole thing. Something between a sob and a moan escapes my lips and my stomach rolls. I’m going to be sick. I try to turn on my side and Liese is there, helping. She even has a slop bucket. But it doesn’t matter because all I manage is dry heaves. My nose is running a steady stream. I wipe it away with the back of one hand. Liese cleans off my hand and nose with a dry cloth. Like Mama or---that train of thought leads to another choked sob and more heaving.

I have to know. When the spasms pass I ask, “What day is it?”

"Tuesday."

"Fuck me." Tuesday. Fuck.

Liese places one arm around my shoulders. “How about sitting up?”

I try to lay back down. "How about no?”

It doesn't matter because Liese hauls me up anyway. My head swims with the change of position and I gag a few times. “There. How do you feel?” she asks.

I squint my eyes open against the light. I’m wearing a long shirt I don’t think is mine. I certainly don’t remember changing into it. My legs and feet are bare. "Like shit and also confused."

< stuff happens > < Location: Phil's house later that day >

I think it’ll stay down this time. But I’m wrong, and Liese realizes it a half-second before I do. She shoves the slop pail at me barely in time to catch my spew. I vomit up the food I just ate until there’s nothing left in my stomach. Then I vomit up sour yellow bile until I run out of that, too. I puke until my belly aches from the effort and I can’t anymore. She gives me a mouthful of water to rinse, setting off another round of dry heaves. God, everything hurts.

Liese wipes my face and mouth with a damp cloth like I’m a child. She crouches down beside me and puts my arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get you to the jakes. On three. One, two, three!” She stands and brings me with her despite my groaning protests. I struggle to make my legs work. They don’t want to. My heels slip on the floorboards. Eventually I manage to get them under me but it’s Liese bearing my weight. She leans to grab the slop bucket in her free hand. “Come on, Philla.”

< stuff happens > < New Location: Peach House, Later >

Miss Peaches walks around the end of the bar to stand beside me. "There's a line between drowning your sorrows and drinking yourself to death and you rolled right over it without slowing down. So I cut you off and sent Liese home with you once you dried out enough to stand."

"I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised. I ought to have done sooner,” she says. “My condolences, Philla. He was--"

I hold up a hand to stop her. "Don't. Just don't. I had to go past the square to get here and if I have to think about it I'll be sick. Not today. Not now, please." Christ, I'm begging. I can't look at her. I can't look at anything but the dark polished wood of the bar I’m leaning on. My haggard, distorted reflection stares back at me. There's a black chasm, a cliff, barely beyond my toes and only the thinnest wire keeping me from taking that final step and falling in. "I want a drink."

"I won't serve you," Miss Peaches says.

“I've half a mind to find someone who will.” More than half, if I’m honest. Wouldn’t be hard even this early. Not in low town.

She rests her hand gently on my arm. “Don’t.”

It’s so like my father I feel tears forming hot in the corners of my eyes. They roll down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyelids shut to try to stop them but they creep out anyway. My breath hitches in a sob. Fuck. I can’t lose it now. Not here. Not in public. I blink a lot, snurfle the tears back, then drag out a coin purse and set it on the bar. “I, ah, I owe you…for the, ah, the room and all.” The words come out ragged and hoarse. I almost don’t recognize my own voice.

Miss Peaches folds my fingers back over the bag. “No, you're paid full,” she says. Her other hand brushes my hair behind my ear and ends resting across my shoulders in a gentle embrace.

I choke out another sob and feel her soft pat on my shoulder. It breaks the dam. My eyes squeeze shut again and I start shaking. No sounds. She gathers me in and I cling to her shoulders, curled into her embrace, when the wailing begins in earnest. She holds me while I cry out all the pain I tried to drink away before and then some. At some point she guides me to one of the card tables and eases me down into a chair, then sits with me until I'm all wrung out. It’s ugly. It feels like hours.

When the shakes finally stop and the tears slow she smooths my hair and asks, "Better?"

"Not really." I feel like I did when I stopped puking. Nothing's fixed. I'm not done. I'm just spent. Numb and hurting at the same time. “I ruined your dress,” I say. Snot and tears pucker the shimmering blue material. It looks like someone’s baby spit up and then some.

Her face shows no disapproval. “I have others.”

[writingismylove]

wait for me

Cody was never interested in romance. Not his brothers who would trip and fall over their feet for someone else. Not like Bly who wouldn't shut up about his Jedi or Colt who wouldn't shut up about his either. Romance just wasn't for him.

That only lasted until he exchanged numbers with a waitress at 79's. Maybe romance was more interesting than Cody thought.

A/N: I never really thought about giving Cody a partner. He really wasn't supposed to have one, but I was playing sims and gave him a friend to keep him company. Let's just say things spiraled from there. Not sure if I should do a part two. Let me know what y'all think. Enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings: mention of alcohol and light drinking

"Dude, you need to try going on a date," Bly said as they sat down in a booth at 79's. "You need to try it. It's the best."

Cody rolled his eyes. "I'm not going on a date. I don't do romance. You guys know that."

"But have you ever actually gone on a date?"

"I have hookups."

"That is not the same thing," Bly sighed. "Come on, even Fox goes on dates."

"I do not!" Fox said indignantly. "I don't go on dates either."

"What exactly do you call your little cuddle sessions at Dex's with that Togruta of yours then?"

Fox blushed and mumbled something about professional meetings.

Cody shook his head and waved over a pretty waitress. "I'm too sober for you idiots. I'll take a whiskey, the red one wants a tequila, and the yellow one wants that peach margarita thing."

The waitress smiled and nodded. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail and bright purple eyes. If Cody had a type, she would be it. "Of course. Anything else for you?"

"The biggest bucket of fries you can bring me."

"Of course! I'll be right back with that." She walked back through the crowd, hips swaying to the music.

"See, why don't you ask her out?" Bly waved a hand in the direction the waitress had disappeared in. "She was cute."

Cody rolled his eyes and leaned back in the booth. "She's pretty, but why would I go through the effort to ask her on a date? I don't spend that much time on Corsucant."

"Yeah but you could have someone to come back to when you're on leave. And we'd leave you alone."

"You leave Gree alone."

"Gree is aromantic. You are not. Come on, Cody. What's the harm in asking a pretty girl on a date?"

There really wasn't any harm in it besides the teasing he'd get from his brothers about the girl. He just didn't see the point in asking a girl out then taking her on dates and building up feelings only to leave again in a few weeks. It just wasn't worth it.

Besides, romance wasn't his thing.

"She could like me and get attached only for me to leave her right when things are getting good. You don't even know if she likes men or clones at all. Why should I bother?"

Bly shrugged. "Neyo manages with his bae. Dude, she works in a clone bar. I don't think she's a hater. I don't know if she likes men, but you won't find out until you ask."

"Maybe you should drop it, Bly. Cody doesn't have the guts to ask a girl out." Fox grinned at him. "He's too scared."

Cody glared at him. "I am not too scared of asking a girl out."

"Yes you are. Commander Scaredy Tooka can't admit he thinks a girl is cute or ask for her number."

He smacked Fox upside the head and glared at him. "I am not a scaredy tooka. I think she's very pretty and definitely my type. I could get her number if I asked."

"Do it coward. You won't."

Cody didn't have time to respond before the waitress returned with their drinks and his fries. She set them down with another smile before stepping back. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Your number would be nice," Cody said before he could regret it. Her eyes were really pretty. "And your name?"

A pink flush spread across the waitress's face as she pulled out her notepad and scribbled something on it. "Macari. You can um, call me later. Bye." She set the paper on the table and scurried away.

Cody took the paper and held it up, smirking at his brothers' shocked faces. "Told you I could do it."

A grin spread slowly across Bly's face. "Now let's see if you have the balls to call her later."

"Oh shut up."

Hours later as Cody laid in his bunk, he pulled out the small paper and read the number. It wouldn't take much effort to enter it into his comm and send a text. All he had to do was hit a few buttons.

But something held him back. An odd, nervous energy settled over him as he considered the paper. It was one thing to do something to make his brothers shut up, but it was an entirely different thing to do it in the quiet of his room.

Cody shook his head and sighed. "I'm being ridiculous. It's just a number."

Before he could reconsider, he grabbed his comm and entered the number. After another moment of hesitation, he sent a short text.

Cody: hey this is the commander from the bar. My name is Cody

A chirp came a few minutes later.

M: hi! i'm macari. nice to meet you cody

He hesitated again before sending his next message. This was harder than he'd expected it to be.

Cody: are you interested in a date?

M: my shift ends at eight tomorrow. meet you at 79s?

Cody: Sure. See you then

M: see you then cutie ;)

He set his comm on his nightstand and smirked. That would show Bly and Fox. He could ask a girl on a date.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

[breakerwhiskey]

037 - THIRTY-SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

Week 8 - Breaker Whiskey

[click, static]

Breaker, breaker, channel nineteen, this is Whiskey Alpha Romeo, calling out for anyone on the line.

[click, static]

Breaker, breaker, this is WAR1974. Currently on State Highway 37, just west of Norman, Oklahoma.

[click, static] Yeah, I figured it was a bit of a long shot. [click, static]

So I finally got to the point where I needed to start looking for more food —I’ve still got some jerky and some canned peaches, but I’ve definitely burned through my supply faster than I thought I would.

I’m not a huge fan of peaches.

[click, static]

Anyway, I popped into a grocery store in Norman—it was like every other grocery I’ve been to in the last six years. A lot of rot. Thank god for America’s insistence on canned food, huh? Otherwise I really would be shit out of luck.

I restocked, got some more beans and what not, but here's the really exciting thing—

[click, static] Cigarettes. [click, static]

God, remember cigarettes? I’d half forgotten that they existed. I hadn’t even thought to look for them until now because Harry never let me have them in the house. She hates the smell, always despised the habit. Which I always told her was absurd give she was an artist in New York - isn’t it, you know, mandatory for people like her? But she wouldn’t budge.

First year or so, I would just smoke out in the yard—way out in the yard —but I had to have a designated smoking jacket—not, you know, an actual smoking jacket, not a velvet thing, though I’m now understanding why smoking jackets exist. Huh. I’d never put two and two together on that one.

Um, mine was this massive Carhartt that was in the house we settled in —it must’ve belonged to a man who was about six five because I swam in it and I’m not a small person. It was too big to really do any work in, but it became the coat I smoked in. Because not only did I have to do it outside, but Harry would throw a fit when I came in smelling like smoke, so that Carhartt was designated to soak up cigarette smoke and be hung up in the shed.

That all got old after a while—having to skulk off anytime I wanted to enjoy a cigarette in my own home. So I just...stopped.

[click, static]

Harry was so annoying about it when I finally got over withdrawal. Because, yeah, I did feel better, but that could’ve been all the exercise I was getting or the lack of drinking or eating food fresh from the ground. It wasn’t necessarily giving up smoking.

[click, static]

Well, I don’t have to give it up anymore! I grabbed a bunch of different brands and I’m going to indulge, figure out which is the best now that I don’t have to worry about paying for them. Lemme tell you, it has really improved my day.

I hope you’ve got something to brighten your day too, Birdie. Whiskey out. [click, static]

[foxesonstilts]

people you would like to get to know better

tagged by @kathastrophen

1. Three ships: Fraser/RayK (due South), Franz/Ivo (Tatort München), and William Brandt/Benji Dunn (Mission Impossible)

2. First ever ship: Booth/Brennan from the Bones TV show (2005!)

3. Last song: August - flipturn

4. Last movie: asdjfhaskjdf it's actually Balto (1995)

5. Currently reading: Death's Acre by Dr. Bill Bass (about the creation of the body farm); Selected poems of Frank O'Hara

6. Currently watching: p much nothing but Tatort oh my god

7. Currently consuming: I have the rest of the week off so...peach whiskey and a cookie

8. Currently craving: a good night's sleep

tagging @weidli @greaseonmymouth @noctuabunda and also @littledozerbaby

[let-love-run-red]

8 - Peaches

AO3 Link | Masterlist

It took her six weeks to swallow her pride after kicking him out. Six weeks of a quiet house and cold bed to admit she was wrong. The weather was warming as they moved from April to May but the house felt just as cold as the day she moved in.

She didn't miss Javier for the work he did, the things he fixed, or the food he made. She missed his singing filling the house, she missed hearing his laugh, she missed waking up in the night to him pulling her closer while he slept. She didn't miss him for what he did for the way he made her feel.

She found herself in the produce section of the store filling a bag with nearly a dozen of the ripest peaches they had. Her tree wasn't in season yet, but she had promised to pay him in whiskey and peaches all those months ago. She already had a bottle of his favorite whiskey in the basket, she'd drowned her sorrows with the last one. 

The image of that woman kissing him flashed through her mind and she shook her head. She'd let her emotions get the better of her and hadn't given him a chance to explain. At the very least she owed him the whiskey and peaches she promised him and a chance to explain.

Once she heard it she could decide what to do.

The drive from Howling Buck to the motel at the edge of town was a long and lonely one. It gave her a good hour to think about what she would say to him. She wanted to start by apologizing, and letting him explain his side of things.

She didn't even know if he was still here. For all she knew he could be miles away. She took a breath and stepped out of her car, walking around the passenger side to pick up the basket of whiskey and peaches she'd put together. She could hear people arguing somewhere, and if she listened close enough she could make out the conversation.

“Just come back and we can start over!"

"Estas loca? I'm not going to Durango! I had a good thing here until you fucked it up!" A door slammed and the conversation grew louder as the people got closer to her. She quickly leaned back into the car so it didn't look like she was listening.

"Eres un hijo de puta! Stubborn and pig headed and stupid." The woman shouted. A car door slammed, and a car started before tires squealed against the pavement. She heard the man muttering under his breath and figured it was safe for her to stand.

When she stood straight and closed the door she turned, and came face to face with Javier. She froze when she saw him standing a few feet away, watching her with a lit cigarette between his fingers. His hair was loose and longer than she remembered, and the bags under his eyes were darker, but it was still Javier.

"Laura." He said in surprise, dropping the cigarette on the ground and crushing it under the heel of his gold-tipped boot. So the woman he was arguing with, must have been the woman who was at the ranch. The argument just made her feel worse for kicking him out. It seemed like he was truly innocent, and she had overreacted.

"I owe you some whiskey and peaches." She waited for him to respond. He didn't say a word, but he took a few steps closer and accepted the basket from her hands. His movements were stiff and he avoided touching her. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

"Gracias." He nearly whispered the word and took a step back. They stood in silence for a moment, avoiding looking each other in the eye, and Javier turned on his heel to walk away.

"Javier, wait," Laura said, reaching out but stopping just short of touching his jacket. He shied away from her touch and she withdrew her hand.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kicked you out, I should have let you explain." She rushed. This wasn't the heartfelt apology she had practiced on the drive but she had to keep him from walking away. He relaxed slightly and shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking down at the basket in his hands.

"Want to split a peach?" He asked hesitantly, jerking his head in the direction of the rooms. She smiled softly and nodded, following in the footsteps Javier left in the light dusting of snow. 

She was sitting at the small table in the motel room with Javier across from her. He'd cut up one of the peaches and given her half. It was sweet and ripe, but Javier hardly touched his half. Instead he tapped his fingertips against the table and bounced his leg nervously.

Neither was sure how to proceed from here. Javier wasn't sure Laura wanted to hear his excuses and Laura wasn't sure Javier would ever be willing to forgive her. Finally she took a breath that caught Javier's attention.

"Who was she?" She asked, steeling herself for his answer. Javier took a deep breath and rested his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers together and clenching his jaw. Laura waited patiently, and let him gather his thoughts.

"Sofía. We grew up in Mexico together." He said softly, sitting up and leaning back in his chair. Laura nodded slowly and waited to see if he would continue. Javier sat silently and ran his hand through his hair, brushing it off his neck. Her eyes flickered to the barbed wire tattoo he had around his neck and caught a glimpse of the scar he never talked about before his hair fell back in place.

"She's the reason I left." He finally continued. He leaned back in his chair and scratched at the stubble on his cheek. Laura watched as he stared aimlessly at the wall.

"Did you love her?" She asked. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know, but part of her felt she needed to. Javier took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks out.

"Once. It wasn't good." He said quietly. Laura waited patiently.

"She liked to test me, to see if I was loyal." He picked at a spot on the table.

"When we were young it was innocent things but when I turned nineteen, she, there was a man in our town who tried to assault her." He cleared his throat and looked at her before continuing.

"I need you to promise that you won't hate me, for what I'm going to tell you." He pleaded, his voice was soft and meek and his expression was one of a scared boy rather than the confident man she knew. His request made her afraid, and she had to remind herself this was Javier. She trusted him, he was safe and a good man at heart.

She nodded hesitantly. Javier nodded back and took a breath, turning in his chair to face the table.

"Sofía told me if I loved her, then I would get rid of him." He paused and Laura felt her heart drop. She could guess where his story was going, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"I, I killed him, for her. I didn't know who he was until after it was done." He whispered.

"It turns out he was a pretty important member of the cartel that ran the town. I had to leave, I was going to bring Sofía but," He paused and swiped at his cheeks and Laura realized he was crying. Javier cleared his throat and shook his head.

"She fell in love with another man and told the cartel where I was, they came after me." He said. He sat up straighter and rubbed at his throat. The pieces slowly fell into place and her blood ran cold.

"I wasn't safe anywhere in Mexico, so I came to America." He explained. Laura stood from her chair and walked around the table to stand beside him. She reached out hesitantly, gently setting her fingertips under his chin. He let her, and even leaned into her touch.

She tipped his head up and turned his face away from her. She reached out slowly with her opposite hand and gently traced the scar across his neck. He shuddered and the muscles in his jaw jumped. She pulled her hand away and he let out a breath before turning back to face her, taking her hand in his own.

"I hitchhiked and took a few jobs along the way and I ended up here. I didn't speak much english and I was out of money, I was about to move on when your uncle bought me food." He said with a small smile.

"I'd been in America two years before I got here, and he was the first person to show me any kindness." He brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

"I was skeptical at first, because why would a stranger want to help me, but he kept bringing me food, and then he got me the job at Dutch's, and I decided to stick around." Laura brushed his hair away from his face and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile, before his face fell again.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this, I never thought I'd see Sofía again." He explained. Laura shook her head and took a breath, mulling over the story. Javier had never struck her as a killer. Knowing what he'd done should have scared her but, looking down at him, she didn't feel fear.

He was fiercely loyal, and loved with his whole heart. He would do anything for the people he cared about and do whatever it took to protect them. He'd already proven that when he encountered Chris in town. She took a breath.

"It's ok. I should have listened when you tried to tell me." She said gently, letting him lean into her hand. When she pulled away a silence settled over the room again. But this was a comfortable and familiar silence, rather than a tense one.

Javier finally took a bite of the peach that sat  in front of him, smiling slightly at the taste. Laura thought for a moment before setting her hand on his shoulder.

"Will you come home?" She asked. Javier paused before turning to look up at her, brows furrowed.

"You mean just for tonight?" He asked, tilting his head to one side. Laura shook her head.

"No, to stay. I miss you." She gently squeezed his shoulder and he paused for a moment before nodding slowly with a sly grin.

"What's in it for me?" He asked with a teasing tilt to his voice. Laura smirked and leaned in, pressing her forehead against his.

"A warm bed and a home?" She offered. Javier hummed and shook his head, brushing his nose against hers.

"How about whiskey and peaches?" He asked. Laura chuckled and nodded.

"Whiskey and peaches."

@rdrbigbang

[brookston]

Holidays 8.25

Holidays

American Oil Discovery Day (Pennsylvania)

Apocynum Day (French Republic)

Aromatic Visibility Day

Australian South Sea Islander Recognition Day (Australia)

Battle Of Blair Mountain Anniversary Day

Clio Asteroid Day

English Channel Swim Day

Gene Simmons Day

Great American Duck Day

The Great Moon Hoax Day

Healthy Lifestyle Day

Honorable Artillery Company Day (UK)

International Day of the Hairstylist

International Redhead Day

Kiss and Make Up Day

Lake Sevan Day (Armenia)

Liberation of Paris Day (Paris, France)

National Don't Utter a Word Day

National Park Service Founders Day

National Poetry Day (New Zealand)

National Second-Hand Wardrobe Day

National Tech-Voc Day (Philippines)

Nils Lofgren Day

Pops Staples Day (Chicago, Illinois)

Private Eye Day

Rohingya Genocide Remembrance Day

Second-Hand Wardrobe Day

Soldier's Day (Brazil)

Songun (North Korea)

South Sea Islander Recognition Day (Australia)

Tim Burton Day

Wizard of Oz Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Feast of the Green Corn

Instant Ramen Day (Japan)

National Banana Split Day

National Lamington Day

National Whiskey Sour Day

Independence & Related Days

Belarus (from USSR, 1991)

Constitution Day (Paraguay)

Iloilo City Charter Day (Philippines)

New Orleans (Founded; 1718)

Parva Domus Magna Quies (Declared; 1878) [unrecognized]

Uruguay (from Brazil, 1825)

4th & Last Sunday in August

Burning Man begins (Nevada) [8.27 thru 9.4]

Family Day (Tennessee) [Last Sunday]

Go Topless Day [ website ] [Sunday nearest 26th] (Also 8.24)

International Bereaved Father’s Day [Last Sunday]

Miner’s Day (USSR) [Last Sunday]

National Faith HIV/AIDS Awareness Day [Last Sunday]

National Fantasy Football Draft Day [Last Sunday]

Notting Hill Carnival begins (UK) [Sunday before Last Monday]

Plague Sunday (Gloucestershire, UK) [Last Sunday]

Pony Express Day [Last Sunday]

Sacrifice Our Wants For Other’s Needs Sunday [Sunday of Be Kind to Humankind Week]

Seven For Sunday [Every Sunday]

Social Justice Sunday [Last Sunday]

Soothing Sunday [4th Sunday of Each Month]

Spud Sunday [4th Sunday of Each Month]

Souper Sunday [Last Sunday of Each Month]

Sultry Sunday [Last Sunday of Each Month]

Sundae Sunday [Every Sunday]

Sunday Funday [Every Sunday]

World Kitchen Garden Day [4th Sunday]

Weekly Holidays beginning August 25 (4th Full Week of August)

Be Kind to Humankind Week (thru 8.31)

Brake Safety Week (thru 8.31)

Contact Lens Health Week [4th Week]

National Composites Week [Last Week]

World Water Week (thru 8.29)

Festivals Beginning August 25, 2024

Bloemencorso Blankenberge (Blankenberge, Belgium)

Burning Man (Black Rock City, Nevada) [thru 9.2]

California Restaurant Show (Los Angeles, California) [thru 8.27]

Coffee Fest Los Angeles (Los Angeles, California) [thru 8.27]

Detroit Bourbon & Blues Festival (Detroit, Michigan)

Georgia VegFest (Atlanta, Georgia)

Notting Hill Carnival (London, United Kingdom) [thru 8.26]

Nutty Pie Contest, at the Alaska State Fair (Palmer, Alaska)

Peach Festival (Grafton, Illinois)

Sharq Taronalari International Music Festival (Samarkand, Uzbekistan) [thru 8.30]

Taste of Huntington Beach (Huntington Beach, California)

Terptown Throwdown (Boston, Massachusetts)

Feast Days

Æbbe of Coldingham (Christian; Saint)

Aredius (Christian; Saint)

Bret Harte (Writerism)

Charles-Amédée-Philippe van Loo (Artology)

Conté (Positivist; Saint)

Daniel Hulet (Artology)

Discovery of the Runes (Norse)

Dorothea Tanning (Artology)

Duke (Price Charming’s Horse; Muppetism)

Ebba (a.k.a. Tabbs; Christian; Saint)

Frederick Forsyth (Writerism)

Ganesh Chaturthi (a.k.a. Vinayaka Chaturthi; India)

Genesius of Arles (Christian; Saint)

Genesius of Rome (Christian; Saint)

Ginés de la Jara (a.k.a. Genesius of Cartagena; Christian; Saint)

George Stubbs (Artology)

Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato (Artology)

Gregory of Utrecht (Christian; Saint)

Heliogabalus Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Horus Nativity (Ancient Egypt)

Ian Falconer (Artology)

Jacob Maris (Artology)

Joan Antide-Thouret (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Joseph of Calasanz (Christian; Saint)

Leonard Bernstein (Humanism)

Louis IX of France (Christian; Saint)

Ludovicus Baba (Christian; Blessed)

Ludovicus Sasada (Christian; Blessed)

Luis Sotelo (Christian; Blessed)

Maelrubha (Celtic Book of Days)

Martin Amis (Writerism)

Mary Michaela Desmaisieres (Christian; Saint & Virgin)

Menas of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Michael Kaluta (Artology)

Miguel de Carvalho (Christian; Blessed)

Opiconsivia (Roman festival to Ops, goddess of fertility & abundance)

Patricia of Naples (Christian; Saint)

Pedro Vásquez, Blessed (Christian; Saint)

Rumpleskunkskin’s Bride Escapes to Heerwigoland (Fairy Celebration; Shamanism)

Thomas de Cantilupe (a.k.a. of Hereford; Christian; Saint)

Walt Kelly (Artology)

Whiskey Sour Day (Pastafarian)

Hindu Calendar Holidays [Begins at Sundown Day Before]

Krishna Janmashtami (a.k.a. Krishnashtami, Janmashtami, or Gokulashtami)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [34 of 53]

Premieres

Advance and Be Mechanized (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1967)

And Justice For All, by Metallica (Album; 1988)

Barnacle Bill (Betty Boop Cartoon; 1930)

Beerfest (Film; 2006)

Bertie the Brain (Video Game; 1950)

Born to Run, by Bruce Springsteen (Album; 1975)

Boston, by Boston (Album; 1976)

Bring It On (Film; 2000)

Carrotblanca (WB LT Cartoon; 1995)

Cheese Chasers (WB MM Cartoon; 1951)

Desperado (Film; 1995)

Electric Ladyland Studio (Recording Studio; 1970)

The Golden West (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1939)

Graceland, by Paul Simon (Album; 1986)

Grand Uproar (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1933)

Humboldt's Gift, by Saul Bellow (Novel; 1975)

Invasion of the Bunny Snatchers (WB TV Cartoon; 1992)

Laughable Loves, by Milan Kundera (Short Stories; 1969)

Leap!, a.k.a. Ballerina (Animated Film; 2017)

Madame Bovary (Film; 1949)

Miracle on 34th Street, by Valentine Davies (Novel; 1947)

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, by Lauryn Hill (Album; 1998)

Mutt ’n’ Bones (Phantasies Cartoon; 1944)

My So-Called Life (TV Series; 1994)

The Pink Tail Fly (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1965)

The Pique Poquette of Paris (The Inspector Cartoon; 1966)

Raw! Raw! Rooster! (WB LT Cartoon; 1956)

Samurai!, by Saburo Sakai (Autobiography; 1957)

Solid Ivory (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1947)

Swing Shift Cinderella (Tex Avery MGM Cartoon; 1945)

The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo (Children’s Book; 2003)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Animated Film; 1995)

The Wizard of Oz (Film; 1939)

Wrecking Ball, by Miley Cyrus (Song; 2013)

Today’s Name Days

Elvira, Josef, Ludwig, Patricia (Austria)

Grgur, Josip, Ljudevit (Croatia)

Radim (Czech Republic)

Ludvig (Denmark)

Tauno, Tunne (Estonia)

Loviisa (Finland)

Louis (France)

Ebba, Elvira, Ludwig (Germany)

Bartholomeos, Titos (Greece)

Lajos, Patrícia (Hungary)

Ludovico, Luigi (Italy)

Ivonna, Ludis, Ludvigs (Latvia)

Liucija, Liudas, Liudvikas, Mangailas, Mangailė (Lithuania)

Louise, Lovise, Ludvig (Norway)

Gaudencjusz, Gaudenty, Grzegorz, Ludwik, Luiza, Michał, Sieciesław (Poland)

Ľudovít (Slovakia)

Ginés, José, Luis, Patricia (Spain)

Louise, Lovisa (Sweden)

Dorcas, Lanard, Lennie, Lenny, Leonard, Leonardo, Tabatha, Tabitha (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 238 of 2024; 128 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 7 of Week 34 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Coll (Hazel) [Day 23 of 28]

Chinese: Month 7 (Ren-Shen), Day 22 (Xin-You)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 21 Av 5784

Islamic: 19 Safar 1446

J Cal: 28 Purple; Sevenday [28 of 30]

Julian: 12 August 2024

Moon: 58%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 13 Gutenberg (9th Month) [Conté]

Runic Half Month: Rad (Motion) [Day 3 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 67 of 94)

Week: 4th Full Week of August

Zodiac: Virgo (Day 4 of 32)