#pensacola wine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whatdoeseverybodywant · 11 months ago

Text

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 14

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @melaninsugababy @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @baconeggndcheez @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess @arination99 @m3llowww @alyyaanna @harmshake @jeysbae @empressdede @theninthwonder @badbitchcentralinc @bluesole16 @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade @bebesobrielo @venusesworld @babysyhsyh

if your name is bold, tumblr won’t let me tag you

February 6th 2021

AIRIELLEJONES

liked by: trinity_fatu , raymondwwe and 193,000 others

AirielleJones: could u imagine fumbling me? ✌🏽💋

view all comments:

user:@ uceyjucey damn bro how u fumble?

user: so now we got a chance

uceyjucey: can't fumble something thats still mine.

yasmine_jones: oop user: @ uceyjucey so yall still together? uceyjucey: most def.

raymondwwe: wouldn't even dream of fumbling you (❤️ by author)

yasmine_jones: double oop trinity_fatu: @yasmine_jones : girlll..... lol

Yasmine shook her head with a slight smirk on her face as she put her phone down and looked at Airielle. “You better stop playing with that man.” Airielle shrugged.

“Girl you gon’ make that man pop a blood vessel” Trinity said as the three of them watched Airielle’s phone light up again with another phone call from Josh that she let go to voicemail.

“Listen, he lied and I'm supposed to be okay with it.” Airiell rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine. She, Trinity and Yasmine were having a girls night and decided to visit one of Airielle’s favorite restaurants in Pensacola.

“Girl.” Trinity stressed. “I like you a whole lot, so i’m not saying this because he’s my brother-in-law but, from what I can remember they been separated since August right before the twins birthday.” Airielle sighed and cut her eyes at Trinity. “Don’t let Tracy get in your head, I don’t know what her goal was but what she did was weird as hell.” Yas nodded in agreement.

“I mean, why would he have you around his ex-wife if he was lying about something like that?” Airielle sighed and looked down at her plate knowing they were right.

“Okay so let's say when you got with Jon and his ex said some shit like that and his response was ‘let me explain’ how would have you reacted?” Trinity bit her lip as she thought about the question.

“Honestly, I probably would have reacted the same way you are, but I would also hear him out to see what he had to say.” Airielle let out a deep sigh and decided to change the topic. She was tired of talking about Josh.

After the three girls finished eating, they were headed out to the parking lot, towards Airielle’s Jeep when something - or someone stopped them. The three of them stopped in the tracks at the sight of Josh leaning against the drivers side door, staring directly at them.

Trin and Yasmine shared a knowing glance before Yas took the keys out of Airielle’s hands. “We’ll be in the car.” She said and smiled at Josh before she and Trinity entered the car giggling. Airielle rolled her eyes at the two of them before crossing her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, scoffing as Josh’s eyes traveled along her body before he finally made eye contact with her.

“If you didn’t want me to find you, you shoulda waited until you got home to post those pictures.” She rolled her eyes again in response. “You been ignoring all my calls and messages -”

“So you decide to stalk me and block me from entering my vehicle.” She cut him off with a scoff and another eye roll. Josh chuckled and stepped away from the door.

“If you wanna leave, go ahead.” He smirked when she made no move to enter the car. He nodded his head towards his F-150 that was parked right next to her car. “Get in.” When she didn’t move he sighed. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere. I just wanna talk Airi.” Airielle nodded and muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ when he opened the passenger door for her.

When he got in the car he said nothing for a minute or two, he just sat there admiring her beauty. He cleared his throat and reached into the backseat pulling out a manilla envelope that had JAMES V. FATU - DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS written on the front. “I told you when we first started dating that I was never gon lie to you or do any of that fuck shit your ex did.” He started, keeping his eyes on her. “I wanted to explain why Tracy said that shit bout done slapped the taste out my mouth and stormed off.”

Airielle looked down at her lap and he grabbed her chin, making her look back at him. “Early October, we tried to work things out, you know for the sake of our children but I found out she was also seeing this other guy that she’d been seeing since before the separation. So I dipped. I told her she could have the house and I moved back down here with my brother and Trin and then I met you. There was no two-timing involved. All the proof is in that envelope just look at it. I wouldn’t lie to you Airielle.”

February 12th 2021 - Tropicana Field

AIRIELLEJONES

liked by raymondwwe, trinity_fatu and 192,000 others

AirielleJones: 🖤

comments on this post have been disabled

Airielle had been avoiding Josh since he popped up on her at the restaurant last Saturday. She had read everything in the envelope and saw that he actually wasn’t lying about he and Tracy not being together around the time he and Airielle went on their first date, so she was happy about that.

The problem now was.. the problem was still Tracy. Airielle thought she was okay with Josh having an ex-wife but everything that went down last week proved that she was not ready to deal with any of that.

When she was with Christopher, his baby mom was a godsend and never gave Airielle any problems and Airielle knew if she continued her relationship with Josh, Tracy would be the complete opposite and she was certain that was something she did not want to deal with at all.

She groaned as her phone went off again, knowing it wasn’t anybody but Josh.

Airielle smiled at the text message despite how she was feeling. She needed to make a decision about her relationship with Josh and she needed to do it ASAP.

I'm happy with the direction i'm going w/ this story. I hope you all are too. ❤️

Can't believe I was able to get two chapters posted back to back 🤭

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

112 notes · View notes

msbigredmachine · 10 months ago

Text

New To This - Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful response to the first chapter, I really appreciate it!

Enjoy Chapter 2!

--------------------

Home for Delilah was a small, aging modular house tucked away in an urban suburb in eastern Pensacola. It previously belonged to Andre’s father, and it served as a fairly decent abode for the young couple ever since they got engaged nearly two years ago. Andre had been living there for a decade, moving in to work at his uncle’s auto shop immediately after graduating from high school. It wasn't the most luxurious of dwellings, but it beat the miniscule space she’d been crammed in with her father, mother and older sister for years, so Delilah really couldn't complain.

Rolling her eyes at her mother’s wedding-laden text message, she pulled her keys from her pocket, guided it into the lock and pushed open the door. Closing it firmly behind her, she leaned back against it, shutting out the rest of the world for the rest of the day. Hanging her hooded jacket on the hook by the door, she kicked off her sneakers and dumped them in the corner along with her gym bag, knowing she put them in their proper place, but was too tired and hungry to worry about that right then.

She wandered into the kitchen, ignoring the small stack of unopened bills on the countertop, and opened the refrigerator. The three pieces of leftover chicken and half-full bottle of red wine wasn’t going to cut it. Sadly, ordering takeout was a bit of a luxury right now, so she had to make do with whatever she could find in the refrigerator and the pantry. Luckily, her mother had ensured that both of her daughters became creative enough cooks to see through any food shortage, which, these days, occurred more often than Delilah liked to admit. So, retrieving as many ingredients as she could find, she set about making dinner for herself and Andre, a peace offering of sorts after their turbulent morning.

It had been a stressful last few months, combining her wrestling classes with numerous double shifts at both her jobs to make ends meet. Adding the equally demanding task of planning her wedding was not helping. More frustrating, at least, according to Andre, was the fact that their nuptial plans were being delayed by her so-called ambitions, chipping away at what little income they both earned. Delilah truly wished he could see the big picture, or at the very least, show a little more support. He, of all people, should have her back. That the rest of the townspeople thought she was out of her mind didn’t mean that he had to agree with them.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the front door open. Knowing who it was, her insides clenched a little with apprehension, wondering, perhaps hopeful even, that her fiancé would be in a reconciliatory mood. The footsteps coming from the living area got louder as they got nearer. Delilah diverted her focus from the saucepan to watch Andre stroll into the kitchen. and despite the tension that had been brewing between them all day, her heart couldn’t help but welcome the affection that rushed over her for him.

Andre Gibson had been every girl’s fantasy once upon a time. Still was, if Delilah was being honest. He was yet to lose any of the physical traits that made him so desirable back in high school. Just hitting six feet, his body was lean and toned from years of doing most of the heavy lifting at his father’s landscaping business. They were inseparable when they were younger; the best thing about school for her was sneaking out to hang out with him, making out with him in the bleachers after basketball games. It was like Heaven for Delilah, elated to be in a spot so many girls were dying to be in. The romance continued after high school, to Delilah’s pleasant surprise, culminating in his proposal two years ago on her twenty-second birthday. And now here they were, living together as soon-to-be man and wife.

“Hey,” he mumbled, rubbing a dirt-streaked hand over his tired face. His worn shirt was unbuttoned with his toned abs on display, and he dumped his backpack on the ground against the wall by the back door.

“Hey,” Delilah returned his greeting. “You’re home early. How did your day go?”

His tired sigh preceded his reply. “Same old, same old. We had one breakthrough though. Pops and I finally completed Mrs. Whelan’s garden.”

“Oh yeah, I remember you talking about that,” she said, stirring the contents in the skillet. “That’s great. I’m glad to know you finally pulled it off.”

“Same here, babe.” He came up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “What’cha got cookin’?”

“Improvising a little with the leftover chicken,” she started, pausing when his hands cupped her hips and his lips met her shoulder. And right away, she knew what this was. This was his way of apologizing about this morning; showing her affection without saying a word. That was the thing about her relationship with Andre. There was something special about the way that they didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking. They fought, then acted like nothing had ever happened when they got back together. She felt he was in the wrong for this argument, but she wasn’t expecting an apology…no apologies were ever really exchanged afterwards…Everything just went back to normal, seemingly papering over the cracks, in Delilah’s humble opinion. But it kept the peace, so it was better if she kept that little discrepancy to herself.

“Now that we know how your day went, you wanna hear about mine?” she asked.

Chuckling to himself, Andre pushed gently away from her. “Sure, babe,” he said, “How was training today?”

“Tough as fuck,” Delilah grumbled, as Andre grabbed a glass and held it underneath the kitchen faucet. “Tank’s not letting up, even with two days to go till my match. But you’ll never believe who showed up at the warehouse today.”

“You really want me to guess?”

“Maybe not,” she conceded with a giggle, her eyes brightening with excitement as she recalled their brief meeting. “Jey Uso! Jey Uso of all people, Dre!”

Andre raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“He’s a big shot in the WWE. One of the top guys in the entire company,” she explained, even though it would most likely fall on deaf ears. “And the coolest part is he’s from right here. Raised in Pensacola just like we were.”

“That’s nice,” Andre responded with a nonchalant, almost bored tone as he settled down at the kitchen table. Delilah was well aware that Andre didn’t watch wrestling. He always called it fake and childish, but that opinion changed slightly when Delilah returned home from her very first class with bruises all over her body. She’d hoped he’d take interest in it, if only for her sake, but that didn’t look like it was happening anytime soon.

She finished making dinner and set a plate in front of him, shredded caramelized chicken with white rice and fresh tomato salad. It wasn’t gourmet, but Delilah had done what she could with what little they had. “Mm, smells good,” Andre complimented, grabbing his cutlery to dig in. Delilah sat beside him, casting pensive glances at him as she ate, pondering the right time to ask him a burning question. It was a few bites into her meal when she decided now was the right time.

“You know, you still ain’t told me if you’re coming to see my match or not,” she spoke up.

Andre’s cutlery ceased their skittering across his plate, and he averted his gaze. Delilah detected his answer right away, and her shoulders dropped. “You’re not,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly, “But you do understand why I won’t be able to make it, babe. You know what work is like for me these days.”

“I’ve been talking about this for weeks, Dre! You know how important this is to me! It’s my very first match! It’s in two days. Or did you forget that too?” Angrily, she stabbed her fork into a piece of chicken, trying not to imagine it was her fiancé’s eyeball. “You know what? Forget it. You don’t gotta come if you don’t want to.”

Andre started to counter her, but stopped, thinking twice about it. The last thing he wanted was yet another fight, because this was exactly how it always started. They’d been arguing a lot lately, and honestly? He was already over it. “Look…I’ll do my best to make it to your match,” he said.

“Yeah right,” Delilah rolled her eyes, ignoring the glimmer of hope that bloomed within her. “I ain’t holdin’ my breath, that’s for sure.”

“Come on, babe, I’m for real. I’ll clear out my schedule. I’ll set a reminder on my phone and stuff. I promise. Just gimme the details and I’m on it.” He stared at her with pleading eyes, determined to keep the peace between them. It had been a long, tense day, and in-house tension was the last thing he needed.

Delilah smiled, finally. “Fine. I can work with that,” she agreed. “Now finish up. Your mom sent me a few ideas on places we can have the reception. And after that…If you’re a good boy, maybe later, I’ll show you a new move I learned today.” She leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear, “In bed.”

The hand she’d placed on his thigh suggested volumes, and the tantalizing prospect made Andre smile, “Sounds like a plan, babe.” And with that, things were back to normal.

Or so they both wanted to believe.

-----------------

The next morning…

Good thing she didn’t hold her breath in the end.

As Delilah dumped the heavy weights on the ground, she let out a loud growl, trying to release the tension surging through her body. She paced back and forth frantically as she glanced around the small gym, looking for what else to take out her anger on. Every muscle in her body was begging for mercy, but she couldn't stop. She had to take her frustrations out on something, otherwise she would take it out on someone, preferably Andre. Luckily, the gym was relatively empty, sparing some poor soul from her unwarranted wrath.

Fucking coward. He couldn’t even tell her to her face that he’d changed his mind about coming to her show. If that was even his intention in the first place. He’d scribbled some lame ass excuse on a piece of paper while she slept, and left it on his side of the bed before scurrying off to work. He was long gone by the time she woke up, presenting her with fewer reasons to trust her future husband.

The music blaring in her ears made it impossible for Delilah to hear or see anyone around her. And the anger she was feeling made her essentially ignore her surroundings. So it took her completely aback when she turned towards the direction of the punching bags only to run smack into a brick wall. "What the fuck!"

Josh smirked slightly as he took a step back, watching her yank the buds out of her ears. "Ay, my bad, on me," he apologized, chuckling at the discombobulated look on her face. "Thought you saw me comin’."

"Clearly not. You ain’t that hard to miss," Delilah snapped, tearing the fingerless gloves off her hands. "What are you even doing here?" she shot, noting vaguely that he didn’t look dressed for a workout. The man who had, just the day before, seemed imposing and breath-taking, was now just another testosterone-filled asshole standing in her way, like her fiancé.

Josh crossed his tattooed arms and stared at her. "Relax," he smiled. "Thought I would stop by and see how you were feelin' about tomorrow night, but I guess that's pretty obvious," he said, eyeing her up and down. He’d been on the mark about her body…bangin’ was an understatement. He forced himself to maintain eye contact to avoid staring at her nipples protruding through her sports bra.

Delilah grabbed the bottle of water sat on the nearby bench, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps. There was more than one reason she was feeling the way she was, and none of them put the butterflies in her stomach at ease. "I don’t even know why I’m trippin’," she shrugged. "I'm only jobbin' out anyway. Why would I want him to see me lose?"

“Want who to see you lose?” Josh inquired.

Delilah pursed her lips, contemplating whether she should answer or not. “My fiancé.”

He regretted asking. “Oh. Right. Tank said something like that,” he mumbled.

Delilah stared up at the huge man with narrowed eyes. “You and Tank talked about me?”

“Not the way you think,” Josh quickly clarified at her suspicious expression. “He has a lot of faith in you, which is why you ain’t gotta worry so much about tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”

"You make it sound so easy-breezy,” Delilah groaned, shoving her sweaty hair away from her equally sweaty face. “Maybe if one of us got hurt, the fans will have something to remember the match by."

Now it was Josh's turn to roll his eyes. Damn rookies. "Yeah, then you’ll be the fragile weakling nobody wanna work with. I know Tank taught you better than that," he countered. "Look, it ain’t all about winning and losing, not right now anyway. It’s about making an impression on your audience. The fans need a reason to keep watching you, and the suits need a reason they should hire you to wrestle. So everything you do in that ring matters. As long as your match is entertaining as fuck and you don’t kill anyone, that’s all they’ll care about."

Raising an eyebrow, Delilah chuckled. "Right. I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow," she said. Biting her lip in contemplation, she met his eyes again and fought the urge to swoon.

"Ay, it’s okay to be nervous. You gotta phase that out, though,” he added. “And whatever you got going on at home, put that shit aside until after the match."

It was a little unnerving how well he’d read her. “Easier said than done,” she scoffed.

For a second, Josh thought about prying, but decided against it. "Wanna know what I was like the morning of my very first match?" He watched her countenance perk up, giving him a curious half-smile that he thought was insanely attractive. "I got so nervous, thinkin’ and worryin’ about the match and shit, that I forgot my bag with my wrestling gear in it. Boots and all. I didn’t realize it until I got to the arena," he explained. “I had to rush back home, and the traffic was so crazy, I didn’t get back to the arena until about ten minutes before my match. That shit sucked ass, man.”

Nibbling on her bottom lip again, Delilah eyed Josh with awe as he spoke, his understanding words and softer eyes putting her more at ease than before. To think that the great Jey Uso had felt this jittery before his first match made her feel like they had a little more in common now.

"I really want this, ya know?" she said, relaxing some more as she confided in him. "I've always wanted this. I had a later start than most, I’ll admit, and I’m playing catch-up. That’s why I'm busting my ass so hard," she admitted. "There’s no room for error, Jey. I gotta be perfect."

Licking his lips subconsciously, Josh watched her take another sip of her water, some of it escaping her lips and trickling down the valley between her breasts, and felt a tightness deep in his gut. "Perfection don’t exist, baby girl, not in pro wrestling," he pointed out, his eyes reactively sweeping down the curves of her body before he spoke again. "Look, if Tank thinks you ready for this, then you ready," he said.

Delilah sighed heavily. She could only hope Tank was right. As she picked up her towel and bag off of the floor, she stopped short, and then turned to face him again. “Wait…Did you just call me baby girl?” she asked him.

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. “Sorry. Bad habit. I meant no disrespect. If I offended you, I'm sorry.” He stepped closer to her. “Forgive me?”

Delilah swallowed, taking a few steps of her own backwards. She noticed his lips twitch again in amusement. “Uh…yeah. Sure.”

Josh smiled. “Preciate that, Delilah.” He backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Think about what I said, a’ight?”

She watched him walk away from her and out of the gym, so many questions on the tip of her tongue. Her hand tightened over her water bottle, and she suddenly felt the need to take a cold shower, or two.

--------------------

Thoughts?

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

TAGGING: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @mzv11 @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @caramelcleopatraa @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @ajenae @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @mindairy

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #main event jey uso #jey uso smut #jey uso imagines #jey uso x black oc #jey uso fanfic #the bloodline #the bloodline fanfiction #new to this

114 notes · View notes

callsignthirsty · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 2: On the Roof

Shit weather can only stop me for so long! Here's chapter 2

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: The boys receive their commendations, and you keep your legs crossed. Should be easy, right? Wrong. Word Count: 3680 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving) Chapter: 2/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

“Sooo,” Maria Cortell leans as far forward as her bump will allow, drawing out the word with a smile on her lips. It’s become apparent that you’ll be waiting a while for your stolen tablemates to walk onto the stage and receive their commendations. “Are wedding bells ringing?”

Your poor heart, which had only just slowed, skips an unsteady beat. Maria’s question, for as simple as it is, packs one helluva wallop.

The thought hasn’t crossed your mind. You haven’t even said I love you—not for a lack of love, but because you’ve lost many of the ones you love over your life. Admitting the depth of your feelings—whether for family, friends, or beaus—always seems to precede an abrupt departure of said person from your life. But now that Maria has mentioned it, what are you supposed to do?

Distracted, you twist your cloth napkin between clammy hands. It’s not like you can marry Ice and Slider, but you can’t date Ice forever, either. especially not if he’s trying to climb the ladder. He’s expected to marry. To have kids. The white picket fence experience. A wife to come home to.

“They must be,” Merlin’s wife jumps in.

Maria nods with the enthusiasm you wish you felt. “Bill and I were looking at houses after three months. I’m sure you’ve at least talked about it.”

Goose throws back a full glass of wine.

They think they’re being supportive, and it would be nice if it weren’t so terrifying. “I–”

“And now’s the perfect time,” Maria doesn’t even realize she’s cut you off. “Who knows how long he’ll be stationed at Miramar?”

“Ooh! You could get married on the beach.”

Cougar catches your lack of participation. “Don’t scare her off, now,” Cougar says, placing his hand on top of his wife’s to get her attention.

“Oh please,” Laura brushes Cougar aside, “they’ve been practically wrapped around each other all night. Ron said they’ve been inseparable.”

Maria sighs. “Poor Ron.” Carole chokes, but the only one who pays her any mind is Goose, who smacks her between her shoulder blades and refills her water. “I remember how close he and Tom were at Pensacola, must be hard for him to watch his friend settle down–“ something must flit across your face because she hesitates mid-sentence, her eyes widen a little as she realizes the insinuation, and she all but lunges for the distraction of her sentry of a water glass, “–but, um, I’m sure you have a friend you could set him up with?”

“Oh,” Goose interjects loud enough to turn a couple of heads and incite a stern look from Jester, “I think this is them.”

It isn’t.

“That would be fun,” Laura coos back to Maria without skipping a beat. “Think of the double dates.”

“Come on,” Goose tries again, “you don’t want to set someone up with Kerner, do you?” And didn’t Goose know it. He squawks when Carole catches him in the ribs with her elbow, but Maria and Laura are off to the races, passing the idea back and forth and painting a picture of your future while you struggle to keep up.

“You’ll always have someone to keep you company when they end up on a carrier halfway around the world.” Maria.

A sly look from Laura. “You know, if you time it right, your kids can grow up together.”

“Community is so important,” Maria agrees, ducking around a waiter’s arm as dinner plates are settled.

“Sam and I were lucky enough to be stationed near my family when we had the girls.”

“I don’t know what I’d have done without the wives’ group while I was pregnant with Robbie.” Maria gives her husband a tender smile and smoothes a hand over her belly. Whatever she says next is drowned out by applause.

This time—as Goose breathes an “Oh, thank god”—a familiar group of flyboys are led onto the stage. The commander keeps it brief; says some words about the Layton mission and the courageous efforts of the aviators who defended the boat from enemy MiGs. Everyone gets a pin on their lapel before they’re all ushered off the stage. Your legs are crossed by the time they make it back to the table.

The rest of the dinner passes without issue. Plates are cleared. The program comes to a close with the cutting of a cake. A cacophony of music and conversation erupts as the masses are released from their seats and the event finally catches its second wind. More immediately around you, the flyboys spill into the space between their tables and continue catching up.

Hollywood and Sundown introduce their dates—fiancée and wife, respectively—to the larger group. Jester and his wife sneak off, presumably to find Viper but definitely different company. It’s a relief to gain more social padding between yourself, Maria, and Laura, well-meaning though they may be.

It’s while you’re reacquainting yourself with the rest of the group when Hollywood asks Slider if he’s flying solo these days.

“What’s it look like?” Slider grumbles.

Wolfman slings an arm around his fellow RIO’s shoulders to pull him close. “Aw, man. What happened?”

Slider gives him a half-shrug, looking otherwise unaffected. “You know how it is. Couldn’t handle the job.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chipper chimes in. “You’re still at Miramar.”

“So she dumped you?” Wolf’s winces as he looks up at Slider, taking his silence for confirmation. “Yikes.”

“Hey, it wasn’t like that–”

“Don’t mind them,” Sundown says, an arm wrapped around his wife. She beams at him when he assures Slider,“The right one will stick around.”

And the conversation could’ve ended there. Wolf, Chip, and Sli could’ve spent the rest of the night wingmanning each other until it was time to turn in and Slider would slip into your quarters.

Maria Cortell had other plans. “Don’t be ridiculous! We were just talking about how the future missus must have a friend she can set you up with.” Cheeks flaming, you tuck into Ice’s side in an attempt to escape his gaze. “Future missus?” His tone gives nothing away, but the stiffening of his arm beneath your hand speaks volumes.

Beside Ice, Slider raises a brow. “Were you, now?” This is a conversation you were hoping to avoid.

“Please,” Pete scoffs. “I wouldn’t wish Kerner on anyone.”

Slider sneers, but it doesn’t have any real heat behind it. “Bite me, Mitchell.”

And bless Carole Bradshaw because she sees Pete opening his mouth to say, “Which one?” from a mile away and deploys a very loud countermeasure: “I wanna dance!”

Goose grabs his wife’s hand and pulls her to sit across his lap. “Great idea, honey!” he crows, earning a kiss on the cheek.

For as long as you’ve known him, Goose has always been a darling. Everyone knows it, too. The sun is hot. Water is wet. Everyone loves Goose. His close call on Hop 31 only cemented that last truth. Nick Bradshaw is magnetic in a way few others are, and he could pull a crowd just as easily at the piano as he could, apparently, at his wife’s beck-and-call.

The display of eager, honeyed affection drawing the eyes and smiles of the group.

“C’mon, Mav, give us a push!” Goose loops his arms around Carole as she makes herself comfortable in his lap for the taxi to the dancefloor. “Should be a—what did you call it?—a target-rich environment.”

“Wait. You not seeing Blackwood anymore?” Hollywood asks, receiving ‘oohs’ from the rest of the men. Pete’s shoulder’s bunch, but otherwise, he ignores his friends. Though she was a civilian contractor, Charlie did work for the DoD, and after her relocation to D.C., Pete was technically on her turf tonight.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Ice deflects.

Pete grabs hold of Goose’s wheelchair, finding it more difficult to maneuver with two passengers. “I wonder if Penny’s here.”

Carole throws her head back with a guffaw. “After your little joyride? I’d be surprised if her daddy lets her within a thousand feet of you!”

The group doesn’t stick together much longer, inevitably breaking up as they go their separate ways.

“What do you say?” Ice asks, nodding after the group headed to the dancefloor. Eventually, Ice needs to go back to rubbing shoulders with the brass, but there’s no harm in a quick dance or two to break up the monotony.

“That’s okay, Ice,” Slider butts in, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. You repress a shiver when the same hand that had been between your legs squeezes your shoulder, fingers ghosting over the velvet near your collarbone. “You go keep Mav out of trouble. We’ll grab dessert and meet you there.”

The twitch at the corner of his lips gives away how hard Slider is fighting to keep the wolfish grin off his lips. Your ears burn, but Ice’s only reaction is an unenthused, dismissive sound. Both of you know what Slider is playing. That doesn’t stop the pinpricks of arousal from returning as you imagine Slider’s hands—both of them this time—working to finish what he’d started under the table.

“How long have we known each other?” Ice asks Slider.

“Going on ten years.”

“And I can count the number of times I’ve seen you eat cake on one hand,” Ice muses.

Undeterred, Slider offers you a lopsided, wolfish grin, his fingers tracing down your arm and raising goosebumps in their wake. “Who said anything about cake?”

“There it is.” Ice flicks Slider’s fingers from their path and threads his fingers through your own. The same Iceman mask he wears around the tarmac is firmly in place when he levels Slider with a look. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re pissy because I had this in the bag before I was interrupted.”

“And how were you planning on getting away with it?” Ice hisses with a glance to make sure the three of you are well enough alone. “Sitting at a table full of people.”

“I had a plan,” Slider scoffs.

“A plan to get caught with your hand up her skirt.”

“You’re just upset you walked right into it.” Ice clenches his teeth. He doesn’t have a responding quip, and Slider knows it. Ice had been too excited by the sudden appearance of Cougar to realize Slider was gunning for a quick win. “All it takes is one mistake,” Slider needles.

Wearing down the competition with technical precision is a page straight out of Ice’s book and his fingers twitch ever so slightly in your grasp, Slider rubbing it in his face that he’s fallen prey to his own game. It’s a mistake he won’t make twice.

Ice takes a deep breath and looks to the barrel-vaulted ceiling as if he’ll find the answers he’s looking for among the gold leafing. “We’re leaving now.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Slider taunts, but Ice is back on his game. He serves Slider a smug look as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Goodbye, Kerner.”

In the dance hall, you’re a single drop in a rolling sea. The band is louder here, the floor tacky with spilled beverages, but you find a pocket of space as the music slows. Pete hangs onto the edge of the crowd with Goose and Carole, his face pressed between Goose’s shoulder blades as he helps his best friend stand to dance with his wife—Carole, you’re sure, is crying.

Gentle hands bring your focus back to your partner as he encourages you to step with him to the rhythm. When you look up at him through your lashes, you almost forget the rest of the room. Taken by the flint of his eyes in the low light. A smile bubbles to life on your rouged lips is an inevitability.

You spin beneath his arm and let Ice reel you in until his breath tickles your ear. “You’re stunning.” You glow under the praise, fingers playing with the short hairs at his nape. High praise.

It makes you wonder: does Ice even know what he looks like?

The ever-present tan of his skin highlighted by the contrasting white of his uniform. The smarts. The confidence. A beauty mark on his jaw. High cheekbones. The way he moves.

He has to know. Not for vanity, but for fact.

“How’re you holding up?” He must pick up on the restless twitch of your muscles or maybe the flutter of your heart in your palm.

You paint on a smile. ”I’m fine.”

You can’t suppress the shudder that wracks you or the sharp intake of breath when he lifts your chin with a finger, lashes brushing your cheeks as a kiss is pressed to your forehead. When he tugs you closer, you go easily, but you’re unable to fully relax into the embrace.

“Did you know you only say you’re fine when you aren’t?” He shifts his hold so it feels more like a hug, a soft quirk to his lips. It’s easier for him to hold you like this when you fade into the crowd. There’s less pressure. Fewer eyes on him when his hand shifts lower, dexterous fingers tracing over the knobs of your spine and raising goosebumps beneath the luxurious drape of your gown.

The band does wonders to mute your gasp, but Ice doesn’t miss the way you jerk in his grasp. Sensitive.

“Was it…?” He doesn’t finish in an overabundance of caution for who may or may not be eavesdropping. The hand you’d let linger near his nape comes to fidget against his chest as you lay your head against his shoulder and nod while focusing on the ba-dum of his heart. “Do you need to leave?”

“No.” Sure, you tingle with each brush of skin on skin. Yes, you’re eager to soak up each touch. But, as you meet his eyes, you mean it. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” you fib.

Slider may be pushing the boundaries of decency—may have definitely blown past them during the dinner— and you may be wound tight after so many days without either of their company, but you can do this. Tonight is about Ice, and you intend to see it through.

“But I don’t want to leave.”

Ice keeps you close as the song fades out and the band counts in a fast-paced number. “Look,” Ice concedes when you break free of the dancing. Playtime is over, you can practically see the cogs turning in the metal of his eyes as Ice comes up with a revised plan. “There are still some people I need to talk to, but after, I’ll get us out of–”

“Just the man I was looking for.” Ice stops so abruptly that you stumble into him. “Admiral John Benjamin,” Penny’s father introduces himself, taking Ice’s hand in a firm shake. “Really good stuff on the Enterprise.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The praise, though sparing, is well-deserved. But the obsequious nature of his comment is revealed in the way the admiral’s eyes scan the nearby crowd. Ice isn’t his target.

“Say,” the admiral drawls as he drops all pretenses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where your wingman is? I want to congratulate him on a job well done.”

You very much doubt that, but as you glance over to where Pete had been with Goose and Carole earlier, he’s long gone—Carole helping her husband back into his wheelchair, the only evidence Pete had been there at all. And Ice knows enough through retellings of Pete’s past run-ins with Admiral Benjamin that you trust him not to sell your brother out. At least, not if he doesn’t have to.

“I haven’t seen him since we received our commendation.”

“Of course. Congratulations again on those,” Benjamin clips. “But you must have some sort of idea of his whereabouts.”

“I–”

“Ice. Admiral, sir.” It never ceases to amaze you how someone as large as Slider can so easily fly under the radar when he wants to. “I need to borrow her for a minute,” he says before Ice can say anything, and because he can’t do anything when Admiral Benjamin continues to squeeze for information on Pete, Slider steers you out of the dance hall.

It had been a crisp 66 degrees in DC, the setting of the sun taking what remained of the day’s warmth with it. The cold creeps beneath your skin as Slider beckons you up the roof access, shimming the door with a wad of folded cocktail napkins so you can slip back to the party later.

Though shrouded in darkness on the flat of the rooftop, the bright lights of the capital might as well be a hair’s breadth away. Too close for comfort. Before you can protest, Slider engulfs your hand in his and looks for a more suitable, more private corner. It won’t do to be caught, though Slider doubts anyone will come looking. But it pays to be cautious.

“You have any idea how good you look in this?” Slider rumbles, voice resonating from deep within his chest in a way that makes your insides quake. He lets you know with a demanding kiss, his lips lightly stained with your rouge when he pulls back so you can suck in a breath.

“Sli.” The wind carries your whine toward the street, where it’s drowned by the brassy horns of street traffic. When goosebumps erupt along your arms, your fingers scrabble for his shoulder boards in a bid to keep him close.

It takes next to nothing to convince Slider to give in to your plea. Crowding close as he smears kisses and color down your neck. “It’s been so hard to keep my hands off you.” Said hands grab fistfuls of you over the velvet of your gown; the smooth rasp of the fabric over tender skin makes you gasp.

“You didn’t,” you point out.

“No,” he agrees, fingers reacquainting themselves with the gusset of your panties. “But can you blame me?”

“Who else would I blame?”

Dizzy with desire, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep a heady whine locked away when fingers slip between your pussy lips to tease around your entrance. “Do you want me to stop?” Slider asks with a lopsided, teasing grin.

“Don’t you dare.”

Instead of giving you what you want—two fingers to fill you where you feel hopelessly empty—Slider’s hand withdraws from your panties. You’re a second from demanding he put his hand right back where he had it when Slider lowers himself to the ground. “Wait–!” you exclaim as his first knee touches down on the unkempt rooftop floor “–your pants.”

“Don’t worry,” he says as both of his hands slip under your dress, eager fingers drawing the lacy elastic of your panties down your legs. “That’s what drycleaning’s for.” But his other knee stays decidedly off the ground.

Slider scoots himself closer, impatient hands rucking up your tight-fitting dress until he can take advantage of the slit in your skirt. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, soft skin exposed to the night, but you’re far from cold as he chases the fabric with scorching kisses up the inside of your thigh. Deliberately leaving marks where no one else at this stuffy party will see them.

His hair is just long enough that the tips begin to curl. You spear your fingers through the short waves and fist what you can. Normally, you’d hold him close as he litters your hip with hungry kisses and sharp, rosey blooms, but with the way he’d worked you up earlier, you pull his head toward the apex of your thighs. You can go back to being Ice’s pretty trophy girlfriend after you cum on Slider’s tongue.

Slider lets out a gruff rumble of a chuckle as if he’s read your mind. A nip makes your leg jump in his grasp, your heel knocking against his back, but he’s as eager to get this show on the road as you are.

Face half-obscured by black velvet, Slider’s tongue laps over your clit. Eyes slamming shut, whole body pulsing in time with your heart, head thunking back against the wall. Slack-jawed, you encourage him to do it again with a shuttered but wanton noise in the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” Slider encourages, his other hand reaching up to massage your ass and drag your hips forward in a slick grind against his mouth. You tremble in his grasp as he continues to roll your hips against his face before he opts for a new angle of attack.

A quick reposition of the leg over Slider’s shoulder grants him better access for a more thorough assault on your cunt, and your back arches when his tongue prods at your entrance. Blood roars in your ears while your walls clench around nothing at the promise of his tongue, but it only teases at your lips.

You try to drag him closer with your one leg, letting go of Slider’s hair with one hand to steady yourself against the wall. Sli takes that moment to dive in, tongue finally fucking into you and his nose bumping into your clit in a way that has your heart stuttering and limbs shaky. Your hips jolt at the touch, back arching off the wall.

It’s messy, the pinpricks of Slider’s stubble eased by the mix of arousal and spit coating the apex of your thighs. The barely muffled slurp as he parts your lips and delves his tongue inside before engulfing your clit in the wet heat of his mouth and giving it a suck.

Slider’s eyes are half-lidded when he meets your gaze. “You’re close,” he breathes, calloused fingers petting up your leg directly to your clit and drinking in the shiver it knocks loose, your lips red as you bite back a moan. “Don’t worry,” he says, two fingers dipping the slightest bit into your cunt before drawing back to rub at the opening, “we’ll get you there this time.”

Against your back, the wall rattles as the roof access bangs open.

Next Chapter

#thirsty's fics #fic: stuck in the middle #fic: stuck at the navy ball #chapter 2: on the roof #tom iceman kazansky x f!reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #ron slider kerner x reader #female reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #nick goose bradshaw #afab reader #carole bradshaw #the '86 flyboys #because is fucking your rival-turned-friend's sister even fun if you don't have to be over-the-top sneaky about it?

69 notes · View notes

saltsicklover · 1 year ago

Text

Part One

Here is part one! I hope you enjoy!!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1400+

Rating: R

Warnings: Drinking, Loneliness, Talk of Therapy/MFLAC, Mention of Deployment, swearing.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Natasha Trace has always been one to stay focused, pedal to the metal, the kind of woman who wouldn't let anything get in the way of her education, her career, her dreams. It wasn't until she hit flight school that she really learned how alone in the world she seemed to be. Going home on leave meant seeing her parents and a few 'friends' that she kept in contact with once she left college. They mostly met with her to rub their career advancements, engagements and children in her face. Their lives always the picture perfect, white picket face dreams while hers stories were full of chaos and jet fuel.

Finally, after her first off shore training, when no one was there to greet her, she finally shuffled into the MFLAC office at the nearest Navel Base after they docked in Pensacola. The counselor was kind and listened while Natasha poured her heart out about no having anyone. No romance, no friendships, she felt like she was completely slipping. Twenty two years old, too young to take on so much alone and too old to bother her mother with everything. So she settled for the Military resources available to her- even if they came in the form of a hippy looking man with too thick glasses and a potted plant problem.

After what felt like ages, with tissues crumples and used clutched in her fist, she dared a glance at the man in front of her. He wore a kind smile, a goofy beanie, and a chunky cardigan. He was truly a man who looked out of another world compared to the uniforms she was usually surrounded with and that she couldn't decide if she trusted him more of less because of that fact. He offered her a few suggestions before finally holding out a sticky note with a website scrawled across it.

"What's this?" She questioned him with a sniffle, staring down at the blue ink. She knew it was a website, of course she did, Natasha Trace is not a dumb woman, nor does she live under a rock. What she was failing to see was the significance that little website would end up being.

"That," The counselor sits back, a confident gleam in his eye, "Is the beginning of at least one new friendship," She gives him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed together. "Its a website for digital pen-pals. You go in, create an account, fill out some get-to-know-you type stuff and then you get a list of emails from people who have similar interests as you! Then you can email back and fourth and make connections!" The counselor seemed way too excited for his own good, but Natasha stuffed the small piece of paper into her pocket anyway.

She never planned on looking at it again, she almost forgot it was in her pocket. The note stuffed down deep in the pocket of her BDU's, no doubt heading for a watery grave in the barracks laundry room. It was only after a couple more weeks and an intense few rounds of mission training, she came home with the plan of killing a bottle of wine and forgetting everything having to do with the Navy until she had to report in again on Monday, did she think of that pesky little note.

Halfway through that bottle, she couldn't kick the loneliness that burrowed itself so deep within her chest that she could no longer decipher it from herself. So, after digging through a pile of laundry to procure the bright pink sticky note, she positioned herself in front of her computer.

By the time the bottle of wine was empty, she had filled out so many questions about herself from her favorite movies and foods to her hobbies. Under the "Things to Discuss" prompt, she didn't know what to write, and the cursor blinked at her for far too long before she entered "Anything but work!". It was supposed to be funny, and to her well liquored mind it certainly was.

Before she knew it, the wine fully took her over and she was drunk typing emails to random strangers, ones that the website guarenteed she would have something in common with. They came up after the end of the almost never ending list of questions.

She passed out after writing fifteen.

The next afternoon, she woke up hungover, the emails all a hazy mess in her brain. But, she had one reply, one that would start a friendship that would last a lifetime.

"Dear Nash, How wonderful it is to finally hear from someone! I started on this site a few weeks ago and had yet to receive anything until your very *colorful* email last night. I will say, it was a surprisingly vulnerable email for a first one, but I am happy to return the favor!

I have to admit, the fact that you are a pilot is so badass! The only pilots I know fly rickety, two seater planes. What do you fly? Do you fly for one of those big airlines or maybe cargo?

I am so sorry to hear about your feelings of loneliness and isolation; being the new kid on the block is never a fun experience. I would love to help you feel less lonely any way that I can!

You can call me Sunny, it's not my real name, but I'd like to curate a more adult persona going into college. I ditched my tried and true nickname the minute I graduated and I'm not looking back!

I am 18 years old, starting college out in Minnesota. I am hoping to get a degree and become a writer one day! I left home a little over three months ago, leaving my Brother and Uncle to tend the family ranch themselves. I am worried about them not having the extra set of hands but I am so glad that I can work further on my education instead of having to do heavy labor. I will miss taking care of the beehives, though!

I really hope to hear back from you, but if you're not interested in talking to someone so much younger than you, especially when you have such a cool job. Being a piolet must be so awesome.

With warmth, Sunny.

PS: Were you drunk when you wrote that last email?"

That singular exchange changed Natasha's whole world. From then on, they began emailing back and fourth every few days, slowly learning more and more about each other. They also agreed on rules, ones that they wanted to use to keep themselves safe.

No specifics about their hometowns or their families. Best to keep private information private. They used nicknames for almost everyone they talked about, which was a lot easier on Natasha's end when everyone was given callsigns. She told Sunny all the names were made up, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and it was easier to keep everyone straight in her head.

Sunny had to get more creative, but it was a challenge she loved. After getting a few silly nicknames from Natasha's side (Which were actually call signs) she started giving people from work stupid nicknames too. Her boss was Toilet Plunger. Her brother became St. Mary. Her Uncle was Pitchfork. As the years went on, names began to stick and writing the nicknames in emails became second nature.

Much to Natasha's dismay, though, Sunny only ever referred to her as Nash. A drunken mistake turned lifelong nickname.

No photos, that was a big one. It was always easier to say what you really wanted to say when you couldn't picture the other person's look of disappointment. They also agreed on no phone calls; that meant no calling and singing 'happy birthday' or wishing the other a safe flight.

That rule first bothered Natasha when she got an email six months later from Sunny, letting Nat know that Sunny had left college. She wasn't adjusting well, not to the city, or the campus or to her crazy roommate. She was close to failing out. The email made Nat's heart ache- she wanted nothing more than to call Sunny in that moment and tell her that everything would be okay, that she was smart and capable and would find her place in the world.

Sunny wanted to call Natasha a year after that, right when she found out Natasha was being deployed for the first time. Sunny wasn't an idiot but she was also a civilian, thus having no idea what a deployment could actually mean. All Sunny knew was that she wanted to hear Natasha's voice and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. She wanted to tell Nat that she could do this. She settled for an email that read

"I know this is scary but you can do it. You're a badass bitch, you'll get through this. Do it scared. I'll be waiting for an email. I love you, be safe."

Nat would never admit it, but she printed that email out and stuffed it in the chest pocket of her flight suit over her heart. "Do it scared" became her motto; the motto got her home safe.

The men on the carrier with her teased her relentlessly. They thought she was hiding some boyfriend or lover. Rumors swirled around her, and though she would never admit it to them, it made her question her sexuality. Sunny was the first person she came out to. She confided in Sunny about not being able to decide if she should say yes to the date offer from the man in her she met in line at the DEFAC or if she should say yes to the woman she met at the clinic on the day of her UA. Sunny liked to tease her about it, all out of love, saying neither were good enough stories to tell her children about. "Yeah, I met your Dad over piles of brown mush" or "Yes, I met your Mom while we were waiting to piss into cups" neither romantic in the slightest.

They were there for each other through the toughest parts of life, and all of the moments that were worth celebrating. The years rolled on and the women became closer and closer. Having never met, they were closer than most anyone they had ever met, deciding to be each other's best friend seemingly the easiest decision either ever made.

#bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #robert floyd fic #robert bob floyd #natasha trace #top gun maverick fanfiction #best friend natasha trace #best friend Phoenix #natasha phoenix trace

66 notes · View notes

thechatteringsquirrel · 7 months ago

Text

It's Thursday and we are heading down the coastline to Perdido Key - which is in Pensacola. We pack up and I drive the rental while Kev drives the hooligans. I must say, getting in to a quiet car and driving alone was a mental vacation! It took about 40 minutes to go 10 miles - but it was a nice drive. We got to our spot - which is both an RV resort and marina, and we had a spot closest to the water. It was pouring rain but given the dock and the boats - Kev and the kids put their rain coats on and stepped outside.

Gotta plug this thing in ASAP to get the AC cookin' - so Kev did that. By the time they walked around and got totally soaked, the rain storm was over. Outfit change for Ryin and time to go find some lunch. The Sunset Grill was right down the road so we piled in and headed there next.

What's better than a bar and restaurant on the water? One that has a playground for kids!

We ordered some beergaritas - the kids played, and we took deep breaths of salty air. Saw a dolphin swim buy. A little slice of heaven!

The gift shops after a couple drinks always get us - so we swung in there for a couple overpriced pieces of junk (these kids do NOT need any more stuffies. Stop the madness!).

Next up was swimming in the little private beach. One that Murphy could go to! The kids had a blast looking for crabs and chasing Murphy around. Murphy finally got to cool down.

But wait - there's more! Now it's off to the pool for more swimming.

By this time it's about 6pm and no-nap-Ryin was reallllly starting to get spicy. Not listening, slapping Gray, shaking her little toosh at me. Time to go back to the RV so I could sequester the insanity (and get some wine). Wine wine wine. A lot of wine has been consumed. But tonight it's taco night

0 notes

winefolder · 6 years ago

Link

Number Juan Tequila Extra Anejo | Wine Folder

Number Juan Tequila Extra Anejo The definition of luxury with rich flavors of plums and candied orange with a hint of hazelnut and cinnamonBody: A refined, velvety body that lingers on the palate.

0 notes

punkpixxie · 6 years ago

Text

What you see vs actually me 90% of the time

21 notes · View notes

vibrationsandlight · 7 years ago

Photo

| Pour a Glass |

by @vibrationsandlight

Pensacola, Florida

#original photography blog #original photography #original photographer #wine #wine tasting #mood #moodygrams #wine glass #nikon #nikonphotography #pensacola #Florida #photographer #photography #photographers on tumblr #aesthetic #my photography #photooftheday

8 notes · View notes

alcalavicci · 3 years ago

Text

Quantum Leap Week, Day 3: Life Before Leaping

“Okay, Sam. Now that we have our turkey breast in the oven, let’s work on the sides, prep them.” Al paced around their apartment, his plan of attack written on a piece of notebook paper in one hand. “Mashed potatoes. Go get the water ready for that now.”

Sam grabbed a large pot and filled it with water before setting it on the stove.

“Great. So you’ll peel, I’ll chop and toss into the pot.”

“Just like when I was a kid.” Sam sighed and picked up the first from a pile of potatoes to scrub in the sink.

“Hey, you’re the sous chef here, remember? Get to peeling.”

As they prepped the potatoes, they talked. Star Bright had been particularly demanding this year and they were very close to getting their new project off the ground, so there was no traveling to Indiana for Sam. It was Al’s idea that they put together a dinner at home.

“So what’s after this? The macaroni and cheese, right?”

“Yes. You’ll have some grating to do for that one.”

“Right, then cranberry sauce is last?”

“Yeah, but that’s while the others are in the oven.”

Sam squinted at the timer. They had a ways to go, and it wasn’t noon yet. “And what if we have leftovers?”

“We take them to work tomorrow. Plenty of people who’d appreciate it there.”

“Never heard of macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving until I met you.”

Al smiled. “I met friends in Pensacola who did Thanksgiving that way and I liked it. Better than lasagna.”

“Lasagna?!”

“I had off the boat relatives who did that a few times when I was a kid.”

The last of the potatoes went into the pot. Sam grabbed a beer while Al lit up a cigar. Sam sighed, put down his beer, and opened the window. “You’re cooking- aren’t you concerned about how it’ll interfere with the smells in here?”

“Only adds to it.” Al took an inhale then let it out, leaning towards the window for Sam’s sake.

After the potatoes had been drained and mashed, with Al adding in plenty of butter and sour cream, it was time for the macaroni. A fresh pot of water was started.

“So you’re not serving that as is?”

“No, the potatoes are getting baked like a casserole.”

The penne noodles were tipped into the pot. While they were going, Al directed Sam to grate the blocks of sharp cheddar and Parmesan that he’d measured out. While Sam worked on that, Al worked on the bechamel sauce, mixing together milk, butter and flour. Al then added in all the grated cheese while Sam drained the pasta. Then both sauce and noodles were mixed, heated through and poured into a pan. This pan joined its potato brother in the refrigerator. Sam collapsed into one of their armchairs while Al dug around in the refrigerator.

Al brought out an antipasti plate, then two glasses of red wine. “To Thanksgiving,” he said, handing one to Sam.

“To Thanksgiving,” Sam agreed.

#quantumleapweek #quantum leap #fanfic

8 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 5 years ago

Photo

Now, this is what I’m talkin’ about- a remodel done right. This is a 1908 home in Pensacola, Florida. It’s updated, but still retains it’s dignity.

Stately lions greet you.

She’s a beauty.

This is a pool room- complete w/a bar and pub table.

Sitting room.

Formal dining room.

This kitchen’s got it goin’ on. No crappy cheap new cabinets- these are fabulous.

Even an antique looking wine cooler.

Gorgeous powder room.

3 floors- beautiful hall closet.

Master bedroom.

Master bath.

2nd of 3 bedrooms.

Vintage bath.

And, just b/c you kept the integrity of the house’s period, doesn’t mean you can’t have a fabulous home theater.

BTW, it’s for sale for $690,000.

https://oldhousecalling.com/2020/06/24/c-1908-huge-remodeled-beach-house-with-water-views-one-block-from-gulf-in-pensacola-fl-690000/

#historic home remodel #old house dreams

166 notes · View notes

keywestlou · 4 years ago

Text

Ho Ho Yogi Bear

DAY 11…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 7, 2012 by Key West Lou

Ho ho Yogi Bear! I am having a terrific time!

Donkeys have become a part of my life all of a sudden. First in Navaro when I discovered horse meat and donkey meat were sold in butcher shops for human consumption. Donkey was viewed to horse meat as veal is to cattle meat. Now donkeys in Santorini.

Before I made the trip, many told me to be sure to ride the donkeys up and down the hill. The hill that in reality is a mountain of lava.

I saw the donkeys yesterday for the first time. I was taking a walk along the other road. The road that runs between the cave hotel apartments and lesser accommodations. Actually the other side of the road is where the working people of Santorini live. Much like Stock Island is to Key West.

All of a sudden, I came upon eight donkeys on the side of the road. All saddled up and ready to go. What beautiful animals! I am a horse lover of sorts. The horses that race at Saratoga. Especially up close. Magnificent beasts. So too were these donkeys. Beautiful shiny coats. Ears standing straight up. Big bright eyes. Muscular legs. Very muscular.

These donkeys carry people up and down the side of a nearby lava mountain. On a path running along the side. Along a five foot wide path has been constructed 2,000 feet plus long. It consists of 500 plus steps. The steps of varying widths. A short 3 foot wall on the ocean side.

The ride did not appeal to me. I did not wish to be an ass on an ass. I was fearful of either the donkey or me or both of us falling over the wall. I raised that issue with the man in charge of the donkeys. I think I insulted him. He told me very firmly that no donkey or person had ever even fallen off the path into the ocean.

The path was made of dirt and rocks.

I had Nikos give me a ride in his car down the mountain.

The volcano sitting out in the water is like a magnet. It draws me to it. I have decided to visit the volcano in the next few days. I want to look into the opening and its depths. I want to view the smoke and sulfur and whatever else my eyes can see.

The volcano is not too high. Most of it sunk into the sea. So I should be able to walk to the top.

There is an added attraction. There are springs periodically spraying water and smoke. Baths from the emissions are available on site. I want to bathe in these waters. Supposedly healthful, I will be doing it merely for the experience.

Santorini is the largest of the several islands which were born 3,500 years ago when the volcano had its major eruption. It is big. How large, I am not sure. Larger than Key West I do know.

The whole island has a mere 13,000 permanent residents. Compared to Key West which has 19,000.

Santorini is the name of the whole island. There are several villages and towns located on the island. I am staying in Oia, one of those towns. People are nice here. Just as in Key West.

Sociable, helpful.

I spoke of beauty parlor proprietor Catherine Risvani yesterday. Catherine owns the only beauty shop in Oia. One to a town, I guess. Called Hair & Soul. It is a beautifully done small place. Two chairs, two sinks, a manicure station and a counter. Two lovely ladies working for her. Catherine gave me a manicure this week.

Catherine is lovely in appearance. A typical Grecian beauty. Tall, thin and blond. Hair swept up and somehow tied in back. Interestingly, I have yet to find a Grecian woman who wears her hair down. Catherine also has high cheek bones. Another trait of Grecian women.

The bill for the manicure was 20 euros. About $28 american money. I was out of euros. I asked Catherine if she took credit cards. No. So I took out one of my $100 bills and told her to hold it while I went to the ATM machine for euros. She would not take the $100. Strangers though we were, she trusted me. In a tourist town. Typical of the Greeks here.

Which brings me to Nikos and Maria. Proprietors of my cave accommodation. Nikos and Maria are around 60. Own the Filotera Cave Houses aka Filotera Villas. A superior accommodation. Consistent with historical Santorini.

They and their son Adonis work their asses off. They have staff, but work along with staff from very early morning to late at night.

When I first arrived and met Maria, she was in a dress and apron. Smiling always. She does not speak English. I no Greek. Yet we have had several conversations. Each of us has spoken our native tongue. We understood each other!

I figured after first meeting Maria that she was the typical Mama Mia. A dress and apron. Always cooking and cleaning. Always watching the grandchildren.

Was I wrong!

The next time I saw Maria she was in peddle pushers and a tee shirt. Directing the employees.

Nice people these two.

It was Maria’s birthday the day I arrived. She sent a piece of birthday cake to my rooms. Nikos picked me up at the airport. Nikos drives me where ever I have to go. And picks me up. Their caves are lovely and clean. Very clean. Take a look at them. www.filoteravillas.gr, www.filoteravillas.com and www.santorini.com/hotels/filoteravillas. These sites will give you a flavor of cave living. They will surprise you!

The second day here, their son Adonis showed up with a bottle of wine. He said it was from his father’s vineyards. A special brew. Please enjoy it. I did, the next day. A cross between a white and red. A distinctive special taste.

Yes, Nikos and Maria besides owning the cave villas also own a vineyard and wine producing facility on Santorini. They ship world wide.

Nikos and Maria live across that street I mentioned earlier. In a small apartment less accommodating than the caves. In November, it gets cold on Santorini. They move to their home on the other side of the island. When it gets colder, they move to their home in Athens. During the winter months, they generally take a one to two month trip to the Caribbean or South Pacific.

It gets better.

Santorini and the Greek isles are not the United States. Many amenities we are accustomed to do not exist or are not provided. Like my clothes getting washed and ironed.

I was warned before I embarked on this odyssey that such would be the case. I came prepared. Purchased shirts and shorts at Orvis. That special material that is light, easy to wash and dry. Generally requiring little or no ironing.

I wash my own clothes. For real. Easy. In the bathroom sink. Drop some dish washing fluid on the clothes. A bit of water. Wash with my hands. Then shake dry.

The clothes still need hanging. Dryers are not common place on the island. Could not hang the clothes in front of my cave accommodation. It would not look right nor would it be proper.

There are clothes lines across the street at the cheaper accommodation. I hung my first washing there to dry. When I returned that evening, Maria came out to greet me. She insisted on ironing my clothes. My savior in disguise!

If you ever plan to come to Santorini, stay with Nikos and Maria. You cannot do better. Their telephone number is 003022860 71110. Fax number 003022860 71555. E-mail [email protected].

Enough for today.

There is much still to share.

This afternoon I am going to a beach somewhere on this island. Where I am guaranteed seeing bare breasted women. And, if I am lucky, some bare assed ones.

Enjoy your day!

As I have said in the past, vaccine distribution to Monroe County and Key West is not good. We seem to be forgotten. It appears political pull helps in getting enough vaccine to take care of an area.

Monroe County and Key West seem to be lacking in that regard.

I am happy for the person in Pensacola who was reported to have had excellent service. Not the case here. And none of us are doing anything wrong!

This morning’s Citizens’ Voice had two interesting comments re vaccine distribution/availability.

“Citizens of Monroe County should be outraged that the Medical Center at Ocean Reef, a private club, was allowed to administer 4,000 vaccines that were not available to the public, only to club members. This represents over 85 percent of the vaccine provided Monroe County.”

“Now I know why after five tries I am unable to get an appointment for the vaccine: politics trumps health.”

Eugene Robinson is one one of the Washington Post’s finest columnists. He also has a touch of Key West in him. Every year, he and his wife spend one month in Key West. Normally January. They were not here in January. Probably the virus.

Robinson’s Washington Post column this morning is titled “To Rebuild the Grand Old Party, First Tear It Down.”

A passage from the column: “Before a sane, responsible political party can rise like a phoenix from the ashes of today’s dangerously unhinged GOP, there must be ashes to rise from. The nation is going to have to destroy the Republican Party to save it.”

Biden has been impressive so far. As he will continue to be. I have faith in the man.

He is moving fast. The stimulus package, foreign matters, vaccine, etc.

It is very true that you cannot please all of the people all of the time.

Biden spoke before the National Prayer Breakfast. Called out white supremacy and domestic terrorism. And a multitude of other things.

Brian Burch is the President of CatholicVote. After the Breakfast, Burch slammed him for backing abortion and transgenderism. I do not know if Biden mentioned either during his talk. I suspect not.

One old, the other relatively new. Burch forgets that Biden, as with any President, represents all the people and not just one segment.

John Kennedy had a similar problem. Directed primarily at his Catholic faith. His response simple and understandable: “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s.”

Christopher Plummer died. An outstanding actor. His age at death 91. Did not pass away under normal circumstances. He fell and struck his head. The blow to his head resulted in his death.

One of Plummer’s most famous roles was that he performed in The Sound of Music.

His movies many. However, Plummer most enjoyed his Shakespearean performances. He considered himself a Shakespearean actor rather than a movie one. His famous Shakespearean parts were his performances in Hamlet, Macbeth, Richard III, and as Mark Anthony.

He won his first and only Oscar at age 82. He also was rewarded with 2 Tony and 2 Emmy Awards.

John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was published this day in 1937.

Steinbeck had a marked influence on my young life. My parents had purchased several volumes of Steinbeck’s works. For their enjoyment, not mine.

I was about 10. The books attracted me.

I would sit in a huge easy chair in the living room. A thick red dictionary at my side.

The first work I read was Of Mice and Men. Obviously I did not understand everything. One thing the book did however was to increase my vocabulary and expose me to a world I did not know. Some of which I was happy not to have experienced.

Over a period of time, I also read The Grapes of Wrath and several other Steinbeck works whose names at the moment I cannot recall.

Looking back, the reading I did probably was not uncommon. There were no television or cell phones in those days. Yes, there was radio. However radio did not particularly turn me on except for baseball.

Enjoy you day!

Ho Ho Yogi Bear was originally published on Key West Lou

1 note · View note