#selling your house in Southern California

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's terrifying to realize you don't know if Bradley is safe. As the lonely days stretch on and on, you try to savor the notes from him. Once the final two envelopes have been opened, you know you need the real thing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, romantic as hell Bradley, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Other than your car, everything you owned was inside Bradley's house. Over the last few weeks, Natasha helped you load up his Bronco and make a few trips down, but she looked at you like you were crazy when you told her you were going to leave most things packed up for now.

"Why?" she asked, leaning on a stack of boxes in the living room. "Even if he gets stationed in Norfolk, you'll finish out your school year here before he sells the house."

But you didn't want him to sell his house. You loved it here. Being in his living space was the closest thing to being with him when he was deployed, and you didn't think it was fair that he might have to give this up. What would Edith do without Bradley to help her? What would Bradley do in a different state without his best friend? No, you simply couldn't unpack, just in case, but you also couldn't accept Virginia with any finality until you were explicitly told it was happening.

"I just wish I could talk to him," you whispered.

"Soon," Nat replied, and you jumped, surprised to find you weren't alone in your thoughts. "I just moved a million boxes. I deserve a trip to the wine bar, and so do you. Bradley will be back soon enough."

"Nine days. Not soon enough." 

It was nine days until he was supposed to get back to Norfolk. On Valentine's Day. Then right after that, it was Career Day at your school. You had been holding onto a few of the envelopes and gift cards from him, trying to make them last, but you were almost out. You needed the real thing again.

Natasha groaned. "You are so in love with him, it's kind of gross. Let's go drink wine, and I'll tell you more tales from before the mustache."

You took one more look at the few unopened letters lined up on the coffee table before grabbing the gift card for the wine bar. But even southern California looked gloomy on the drive up. The wine was good, but you were just tired. Natasha told you all about how she tried to give Bradley the call sign Chicken Man, and you laughed at the idea of that emblazoned along the side of his jet. She also seemed to be able to tell just how melancholy you were.

"You're doing great," she told you, setting down her wine glass. "You're counting down the hours until you can talk to Bradley again. Vanessa would have probably been too busy with her water bottles to remember to pick him up from the airport. There's a reason why it's hard, and it's because he loves you as much as you love him."

You did your best to keep it together after that, but there was a lump in your throat, holding back your emotions, and when you got back home, you started crying on the couch. Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, blurring your vision, but you knew which envelope you were reaching for.

Open me when you've had a bad day

As you tore into the envelope, you realized there was another envelope inside it. The second envelope said Take me to The Bayside Florist and give me to someone who works there.

"What is this, Bradley?" you whispered out loud, reaching for your phone to see if the shop was still open this late on a Saturday. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized they closed in an hour, and you grabbed the envelope along with your phone and keys and ran out to your car.

In a matter of minutes, you parked in front of an adorable flower shop with The Bayside Florist in pink lettering on the awning. You felt a little silly taking the envelope inside, but when you were greeted by an older woman with a warm smile, you started to hand it to her.

"This might sound odd, but my boyfriend is deployed, and he left me this envelope," you said with a laugh. "Apparently I was supposed to bring it here?"

The woman adjusted her glasses as a smile found her lips. "Oh, yes. I remember him. Tall? With a mustache? Handsome?"

You bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. "Yeah, that sounds just like him."

She nodded and opened the envelope, humming in agreement with whatever she read inside. "I have something for you. Wait right here." 

Then she disappeared through a doorway, and you walked around the inside of the shop, examining the arrangements and enjoying the scent of so many types of flowers mingling together. You weren't quite sure what Bradley had up his sleeve from thousands of miles away, but you were almost positive it was about to make your day so much better.

"Special delivery from your boyfriend."

Startled, you spun around to see a stunning bouquet of flowers in every color on the counter, complete with an envelope tucked in amidst the blooms. "That's for me?" you whispered.

"From your boyfriend," she confirmed.

You stifled a whimper as you reached for the flowers. "Am I supposed to pay for this?"

"He already did."

Tears stung your eyes as you pulled the envelope that said Gorgeous from between two roses. It was written in his handwriting. You thought you should read it in the privacy of your own car, so you thanked the woman and then headed back outside. Once you were sitting behind the steering wheel, you set the flowers aside in favor of the note.

Gorgeous,

I never want you to have a bad day, but I really hate that you're having one when I'm not with you. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, I'd choose to be next to you. Will you write about your day in your journal so we can talk about it later? I can't wait to talk about everything with you. I love you.

Bradley

Now that the tears started, you just let yourself cry.

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

Constantly wondering if your boyfriend was even okay was taking a toll on you. Your classroom was supposed to be your safe haven right now. Your place of comfort. Your refuge. But a few days before Bradley was supposed to get back into Norfolk, you were short and snippy with your class. You didn't mean to be, but it was happening anyway.

"Just sit down," you told Oliver, voice taking on a sharp, scolding edge that was usually never there. All eighteen of your kids sat with their backs straight in their seats and their hands folded on their desks like they were worried you were going to start yelling. This was never how you wanted to conduct your class. These kids were really well behaved for the most part, and you wanted them to have a lot of fun mixed in with their school lessons.

You turned away from them to try to catch your breath. The past few nights had been filled with restless sleep and a pain in your heart that wouldn't go away until you knew Bradley was safe. You cleared your throat, trying so hard to figure out what you wanted to say for your social studies lesson, but you couldn't shake your mind free from the anxiety you were feeling.

Picturing the flowers that you put in a Miller High Life pitcher you found in the kitchen after Bradley didn't appear to own a vase made you smile enough that you were able to turn around again.

"I need everyone to open their textbook to page eighty-seven." The only sound was pages rustling as you added, "And I promise I'll make this a fun unit for us."

When you finally left work that afternoon, you decided to let yourself open the last envelope from Bradley. It had been in your tote bag for a few days, just waiting for the right moment. Open me when you really want some coffee. You could clearly use the extra caffeine today, so you tore into the envelope as you walked across the parking lot. Just like before, there was an envelope inside the first envelope. 

Take me to Starbucks and give me to someone who works there.

Now you were smiling. You got to go to another place of business with an envelope like an absolute lunatic, and you were really looking forward to it. You stopped at the Starbucks closest to your school, and when you handed the envelope to the girl who tried to take your order, she raised one eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I think it's kind of a treasure hunt of sorts from my boyfriend who is deployed," you told her with a shrug. 

Then you watched her open the envelope and remove a note along with a gift card. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her face transformed into the sappiest smile. "Oh my god," she said, looking back up at you. "I wish someone loved me this much," she muttered and then turned away from you, reaching for the biggest cup and a Sharpie.

You waited awkwardly for a few minutes while she made your drink. You could tell it was your favorite drink. Bradley somehow ordered your favorite drink for you to enjoy. Warmth filled your body, and you accepted the cup from her. "Thanks," you murmured as she paid using the gift card, and that's when you realized she had written something on the cup.

Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley

"Does he have a brother?"

You looked up at the girl who made your coffee. "What?" you asked, taking the note and the gift card from her. 

"Does your boyfriend have a brother? Because that note is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

You shook your head, but you were smiling. "No. No brother. Sorry. Thanks for making my coffee."

As you walked outside you read the note, already feeling calmer at the sight of his hand writing. 

Dear Starbucks Employee,

The beautiful woman who handed you this envelope is my girlfriend. I am desperately in love with her, and I would be there with her if I could, but I'm fucking deployed, if you can believe it. Please make her favorite drink for her, and if you wouldn't mind, please write 'Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley' on the cup? Thank you so much.

He had scrawled your favorite drink to your exact specifications below that, and it even tasted perfect. You spent the ride back to Coronado planning out your upcoming Monday. If Bradley arrived back to Virginia on time, you'd be hearing from him by then. Every fiber of your being was hoping he'd call and tell you to pick him up in San Diego, but if he had to stay in Norfolk, you'd take a day off from work to fly out and see him. You had to. You wouldn't be able to go an extra minute without him now. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and give him a blowjob. You needed to feel his hands on your body and listen to his voice while you ran your fingers along his scars. 

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

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

The only thing Bradley wanted to do right now was get his phone in his fucking hands, but he thought that if he brought it up again, someone would tell him the thing had been mysteriously misplaced. He already asked for it three times. He'd been dropped back in Norfolk by air transport, and after a short debrief with a national security team, he would hopefully be allowed to be on his way.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. This way."

He was led into a medical facility first where his bruises and strained neck were examined and the findings were documented. When he realized he got caught up in a dog fighting scenario with the other aviators, he had been more angry than anything else. Didn't these people know he had a perfect girlfriend to get back home to? Did they even care? He made it out mostly unscathed and back to the carrier deck safely, if not a little sore. The one thing that made him almost laugh was the fact that Cyclone would undoubtedly see his medical report, and there was a good chance Admiral Walker would hear from him again.

After the medical consultation, he was led into a debriefing room where he really didn't have much to say about the mission. It had been successful, sure, but he wasn't going to be allowed to discuss it with anyone after this, so he just stuck to answering the questions he was asked.

Then finally, he was given his phone and left on his own. Of course it was nearly dead when he turned it on, but it should be good enough to reach you. Talking to you would come as his top priority before figuring out how he was getting home, but that was a close second. His heart pounded in anticipation of hearing your voice after so many weeks.

It was barely six in the morning in San Diego. Maybe you were up and getting ready for work, but maybe you were still sleeping. It didn't matter. He needed you to know he was coming home. He tapped on your photo, pulling up your contact information as the warm sun and cold Virginia air hit his skin at the same time, and he shivered as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Your voice in his ear was his reward. 

"Bradley!"

"Gorgeous," he sighed, suddenly so exhausted, he could barely stand. One word from you, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his couch with his head on your lap and let you take care of everything.

"Bradley!" You shrieked this time, and he smiled.

"Baby, I'm coming home."

"For good?" you asked, voice soft with an edge of concern that he wanted nothing more than to ease away. "Or just long enough to pack some things and head back to Norfolk?"

He hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and started walking. "I'm coming home for good. Coming home to you."

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

He's safe and he's coming home! I'm working on mapping out the remaining chapters of this story, so if there's something you want to read about, hit me up. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 23

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Kiwi

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: as I was writing this, I proclaimed in the most southern accent, “now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil!” so do that with that

Summary: Joel goes home for a month. You stay in California to work. What could possibly go wrong? [3.8k]

Warnings: HEAVILY implied casting couch culture, brief allusion to creepy Hollywood producers, yearning, I can’t think of anything else!!

Boarding my flight now.

Thanks for letting me know?

Well, I texted my mama to let her know, and she told me to text "that girlfriend of mine."

Doesn't sound like she's a huge fan.

She'll live.

You like the message and go to put your phone away when it buzzes again.

Is it weird that I kinda miss talking to you?

You smile and ignore your name being called over the intercom for another beat.

There are a lot of weird things about you, Joel Miller, but that one feels the most normal.

Text me when you land in Austin. Tell your mom I said hi.

You tuck your phone away, fighting the stupid smile on your face, and look up to see a pissed-off PA walking towards you. You apologize and half jog to the sound stage where Ryan is waiting. 

"The perfect punctual queen is late for once? Is the world going to shit?" He asks, and you slap his arm.

"People are allowed to be late."

"Does your lateness have anything to do with your boy toy?"

"Are you ever gonna call him by his name?" You ask. He senses that you're stalling his question and take a deep breath. "Joel is flying home to Texas today to visit family and get some work done. He'll be gone for a month."

"Oh, how will you ever survive?" He pouts, and you give him a look. The director calling for places stops you from responding, but you threaten him with the promise of picking up the conversation later. 

You don't ever get to tell him off for suggesting that you can't live without Joel being in the same state because of how late shooting goes. It might've been exhaustion, but you swore that you saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon by the time you finally got to leave. You knocked out a good chunk of the scenes you were still working on, which is great news, but you were mentally and physically drained. You slept most of the next day and missed Joel's messages from one whole time zone away. 

Landed.

Jesus Christ, I forgot how hot it is here.

My mama told me to ask you if you go to church since she doesn't believe me.

Attached: Two photos

You laugh as you sleepily scroll through his texts when you wake up mid-afternoon, feeling a little bit better from your long night. One of the pictures he sent is of him sitting in the cab of an old truck with the caption, "This was my first car. I can't convince my dad to sell the damn thing." The second is a blurry photo of a blue-looking weed on the side of the road surrounded by what looks like thousands of other blue weeds. "Turns out the state flower will literally grow anywhere besides in a pot in my house."

A) I'm glad you made it in safely. B) Isn't Texas the armpit of the South? C) I don't go to church, and I never have, but please feel free to lie to her. D) I can imagine a young, emo Joel Miller driving it now.

He reads your messages almost as soon as they deliver, and your screen lights up with his initials as he calls you. You yawn as you pick up and hear chatter in the background of wherever he is.

"First of all," he starts in a determined tone. "Texas ain't the armpit of the South. That's South Carolina." He says. He hasn't even been in Texas for forty-eight hours, and his accent is already thick again.

"My mistake," you laugh. "Did you have another point, or was that it?"

"Second of all, why d'you sound so tired?"

"Obviously, I was out partying with strange men all night."

"Really?" He asks, and you scoff.

"No, Joel. Filming went really late yesterday. I don't think I got home until six this morning."

"Sounds intense." 

"Not as intense as being interrogated by your mother," you say, and he hums. You hear someone laughing in the background and relish in the joy that you're not there to witness. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and you wonder if the line dropped, but when you pull the phone away from your face, you see the call is still active. "You really miss me so much that you called me just to sit on the line?"

"Maybe I did." He says. You take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. He's two hours ahead. The sun must be setting by now, casting gorgeous rays onto his skin and making his eyes look amber. You wonder what Texas air does to Joel's soul. Maybe it soothes him like only an old baby blanket can. Maybe it makes him jumpy, like he's waiting for a clap of thunder that never comes. Maybe it makes him wonder why he left in the first place. You wish you could be there to read his expression and try to decipher what he's thinking. Someone calls Joel's name in the background, and you hear him shuffle with the phone, probably covering the microphone with his hand because the voices become muffled. When the phone comes back to his ear, he takes a deep breath, and you do the same. "I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?" He asks. 

"I'm counting on it, Miller." You say, and he laughs before mumbling a good night and hanging up the phone. 

After that, it becomes a habit for Joel to call you every day from Texas. He'll tell you different stories about his parents, how Austin has changed since he left, and update you on how the newest album is coming. He listens to you rant about work, how tired you are, and how frustrated you always get toward the end of a project. Sometimes the conversations last ten minutes, and sometimes they last hours. One night, you fell asleep on the phone with him because he was trying to get your opinion on a new song, but you had spent the day filming the scene of your character giving birth, which was tiring in its own right. He doesn't chide you for it. He just sends you a goodnight text and promises to call you the following night.

You hate to admit it, but production speeds up with Joel out of town. You end up wrapping your scenes a week early while Ryan still has another couple of days of filming his scenes. You'll probably get called back in for reshoots in a few months, but you feel really good about the work you put out there, and you finally get the chance to rest before Melanie sends you more scripts to read over. You send Joel a photo of your open laptop and a glass of wine next to it as the California sun sets over your balcony. 

Wrap parties are looking different as I get older.

Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still be a drunk, no matter how old.

Asshole.

Lashing out is the first sign of a bigger problem. I think I should call Melanie.

You laugh and search for the middle finger emoji when he sends you another text.

Paul got me on the list for some charity event this Saturday. Want to come with me? He said it'd probably be better to get some more dates in sooner rather than later.

The reminder that this is all fake shifts your entire mood. Of course, it's always lingering in your mind, but the texting didn't feel fake. The late-night calls didn't feel fake. He didn't feel fake. In fact, this is the first time you feel like you have a sliver of an idea as to who Joel Miller actually is when he isn't selling out world tours and recording platinum albums. It's stupid for you to feel this way. You have no reason to. No right. You take a deep breath and type out a message.

Sure.

On Friday, you drive to the airport to pick Joel up, creating an over-the-top scene of you running and jumping into his arms. His hat falls off his head and onto the ground as he catches you and kisses you sweetly. When he sets you back on the ground, he doesn't let you go right away. He lingers in your arms, and even though your feelings are still hurt and you're still trying to remind yourself that this is all fake, you let him. He smells like a detergent you don't recognize, but underneath that, you catch a whiff of the cologne he always wears. You rub his back as you hold him in the middle of the airport. 

"'S really good to see your face," he says into your neck, and you nod. 

"You too."

As you drive him home, he brings you up to speed on how the album is coming along and how different Texas was when he was there. You tell him about the last few days on set and an upcoming press junket in New York City. He lights up when you tell him the dates as you maneuver through LA traffic.

"I'm scheduled to go to New York to work with my sound mixer that same time. He's got his own studio out there now and knows more about it than I do," he says. "Maybe we can fly together? Make it look like a couple's trip?"

"Sure," you say. He furrows his eyebrows at your lack of excitement, and you scramble for something else to talk about. "How are your parents?" You ask. The rest of the ride to his house goes off without a hitch, and he kisses you again as he gets out of the car, both of you highly aware of the car full of paparazzi that's been tailing you since you left the airport. He promises to pick you up at five the following night, and you just nod. When you get home, you walk calmly into your house, lock the door, and scream.

Joel's hand is in yours as you wait for your turn to walk the carpet. You're not sure why there's a red carpet at a charity event, but you're not about to throw a fit about it. Joel is wearing a sleek black suit, and you're matching with a long black dress. It's a low-cut backless dress, and a sparkly necklace your stylist picked out rests against your sternum. Joel taps your hand, and you look at him.

"You okay?" He asks. He looks worried as he steps between you and the wall of photographers waiting for you to stand and pose perfectly for their photos. "You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm still recovering from that last week of filming." 

"Are you sure you're not gettin' sick?" He asks, raising his other hand to your cheeks like he's checking your temperature. You smile half-heartedly and swat his hand away.

"I'm sure," you say. He tries to say more, but someone with a clipboard gets your attention and asks if you're ready. You nod and step onto the carpet, holding Joel's hand. The press erupts into a cloud of noise, startling you and making Joel laugh. You slap his chest and plaster on your rehearsed smile. You do your best to look where all the photographers are yelling at you to look and try different poses so they can get what they need. Everyone has to make a living, you suppose. You just wish their salary wasn't at the expense of your privacy. 

You get halfway down the carpet, taking pictures as a couple and some solo shots, before one of the photographers yells a new command. "Can we get a kiss?" He shouts. You pretend not to hear him and show off how the dress dips down your back, hugging you in all the right places. Still, the photographer is demanding a kiss, and now others have joined in too. It feels very "dance, monkey, dance," but you do your best to grit your teeth and smile. You catch Joel staring at you when you turn. It could be the flashing bulbs of cameras or how he's looking at you, but his eyes are sparkling, and the creases in the corners make you melt just a little. 

You hold out your hand for him to join you, which he happily obliges, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. "You alright?" He asks against your skin as you rest a hand on his chest and look up at him. You nod and glance between his eyes and his lips. The chorus of people practically begging for a picture of you two kissing is growing, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"You gonna keep them waiting, or are you gonna kiss me?" You ask, the playful lilt reserved for him returning to your voice. He gives you a look and smirks before leaning down a pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Everyone ooh's and aw's at you two, but you only care about how fast his heartbeat is against your palm. You want to blame it on the anxiety of walking the carpet and having people scream at you to do whatever they want. No, you have to blame it on that. There's no other option.

When you finally get inside, Joel gets you a glass of wine and a mixed drink for himself. The event is sweet and goes by quickly as you listen to people talk about something they're so passionate about. You decide to donate some money under an anonymous name once you are all excused to the reception, where there's food, more alcohol, and dancing. Joel leaves your side to catch up with some musician buddies, kissing your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. 

You nurse your wine as people you've never met start conversations with you. They're all polite and ask about your newest project, how LA's been treating you, and what's up next for you. You can't reveal much due to the NDA you signed at the beginning of shooting, but you tell them how excited you are for them to be able to see it and admit you've got some auditions lined up in the coming weeks. You've probably given the same answers to a handful of different people when you realize you're out of wine and Joel is still missing. You scan the room for him, but you can't find him. That's fine, you think. It's not like he's obligated to stick to my side at all times. He can have his own life.

You sigh as you belly up to the bar and order another glass of wine. You almost make it a double when someone taps your arm, making you turn. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you look exquisite tonight. I just thought you should know," ultra-famous producer Richard Pike tells you. You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up with the fact that one of the men who's made the most award-winning films in the past twenty years just noticed you. "I know everyone has probably told you that tonight, but-"

"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm sorry. I was just a little starstruck right then," you apologize before holding your hand out to introduce yourself. He takes your hand and kisses the top of it. It's very dramatic, but this is Hollywood we're talking about. Your glass of wine arrives, and he pays the bartender before you can even reach for your purse. 

"Women as gorgeous as you should never have to pay for a drink. Ever." He says, and you laugh.

"I mean, I won't argue with you on that," you say, taking your glass in your hand to clink it against his glass of scotch. "Thank you, Mr. Pike."

"Please, call me Richard," he insists. "You just finished another movie, didn't you? You're a very busy girl."

"Yes, sir. I'm already looking for new projects to audition for." 

"Oh, I remember when I had actors audition. See, that was before I started writing roles for specific actors. Some people call that crude or playing favorites, but it hasn't failed me yet." 

"No, sir, it hasn't."

"So formal! Yes, sir! No, sir! Are you like this with everyone?" He asks as he takes a big swig of his drink.

"Just people who can cast me," you say. You're partially joking, but it's enough for him. He laughs, and his hand lands perfectly on your exposed back as he cackles loudly. You force yourself to laugh along with him and suddenly get that sinking feeling in your chest. Everybody seems to strategically look away from you two at the bar, and you want to be anywhere but here. 

"You know, I've seen a few of your movies," he says, getting close to your face like he's telling you a secret. "I think you've got a lot of potential. With just a little coaching and one great role," his hand dips lower down your back, and you freeze. Ice water runs through your veins, and everything is screaming at you to run away, but your heels stay planted against the expensive hardwood. "We'll make an Oscar winner of you yet."

"Excuse me," a familiar drawl says behind you. You both turn and make eye contact with Joel. "May I steal my girlfriend for a dance? I promised her one on the way over." He asks, but he's already wrapping an arm around your waist, ready to pull you away. The hand on your back disappears and claps Joel on the shoulder.

"Of course! You take good care of this one!"

"Yes, sir," Joel says as he pulls you to the dance floor. Your heart is still beating in your throat, and you feel like you could cry, but Joel's looking at you with such kindness. You find safety in him as you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly sway with him, the soft material of his dress shirt calming you down. He waits until Pike is out of earshot to lean down to talk in your ear. "Now, I know you don't need me savin' you like that. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"He's one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He could tank my career in a single email. You want to be the one to yell at him?" You ask. "If I said or did something, he would've doubled down, but he respects you more. He backed off because, in his mind, I belong to you."

"How do you know?"

"I've dealt with people like him before. They're all the same old men who think they can offer you a legacy on a silver platter if you fuck them. I've gotten enough advice from other actors to know how to handle them. Let them get touchy but find an out before it can go too far. Stroke their egos so they feel good about themselves. Basically, do whatever to keep you and your career safe."

"I thought stuff like that didn't happen anymore."

"You and everyone else in the world. Things don't just magically change because one guy goes to jail." You sigh. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and you shake your head. 

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It was one of the first things people told me when I started. They said it was something I might just have to… endure but that the weight would get easier to carry. One actress even told me that it was the price we have to pay because everyone wants to be us," you chuckle. He doesn't interrupt you; he just stares at you with apologetic eyes like he would take this burden from you if he could. You almost believe him. "I don't think that's true. I think most people would hand this lifestyle in the second it got too real."

"What would you do if you weren't an actor?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I always thought about being a teacher. Sure, the pay is shit, and the work is thankless, but kids are our future, you know? There's something really special about shaping young minds."

"Sounds nice."

"What about you? What would you do if you weren't doing this?"

"Probably something with my hands. I worked as a mechanic for a while, and I really liked that. I liked how it was a big puzzle that needed to get sorted out and fixed up."

"Why'd you stop?" You ask. 

"I needed to grow up. My dad owned a contracting company, so I worked with him until I saved up enough to record my first album. And that was that."

"It's crazy how we fought so hard to get to where we are, and now that we're here, it's..." You trail off, trying to figure out what you want to say.

"Terrifying?" He suggests, and you nod. "Yeah, I'm terrified every second of every day."

"You don't act like it." 

"I don't act like a lot of things that I should," he says. He stares at you so intently that the rest of the world fades away. You don't hear the song die down or the applause erupt around you as the band takes a bow. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You know how crazed it is. He wets his lips before stepping back and trailing his eyes down your dress and back up to your face like he's taking you in for the first time. "You really do look beautiful tonight." You swallow around the lump in your throat and smooth your hands down your dress, suddenly self-conscious. 

"Thank you." You mumble. 

Pictures of you two kissing on the carpet and dancing inside are circulating online before you even leave the event. You wake up to a huge batch of texts— one from your mom, two from Joel, six from Ryan, and one from Melanie about your trip to New York that you barely read. You would've stayed in bed wallowing in your own bad luck if there wasn't a sharp knock on your door. You groan the whole way down the stairs like it will help you greet whoever has decided to show up at your house at eight in the morning, but nobody's there when you open the door. 

Instead, a bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase sits on your mat with a note sticking out. You glance down your street and barely catch a delivery truck turning down the block. You carefully take the flowers into your kitchen before plucking the note between the petals. 

Pretty flowers for a pretty girl - JM 

(PS bought these of my own volition)

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath as you think about his lips on yours, his soft shirt, and his stupid fucking, "I don't act like a lot of things I should."

[elekinetic]

What are your hcs about the Stranger Things characters’ futures? Like concerning their careers, where they wind up living, pets, colleges, or anything else that you want to talk about!

ohhhh i’m torn. i want them to all end up in the same place. i don’t think this is the canon answer but this is what makes me happy:

the party ends up in california for college. they all go to uc santa cruz, cause they didn’t get a chance to do the whole college application thing while saving the world and owens pulled some strings. el and max are roommates. dustin mike and lucas get put in a triple, but if mike starts staying at a certain party member’s single most of the time…..that’s none of their business. max starts as a neuroscience major until she fucking hates it. she’s at the arcade one night and watches someone repair a broken machine and is like, oh shit. that’s kinda cool. she switches to computer science, then to computer engineering bc CS is for nerds. (dustin does CS.) lucas came in as a political science major, but he realized he was way more interested in helping max with her neuroscience homework. he ends up doing a double major in political science and human health sciences. mike majors in communication cause it’s a compromise between getting a business degree like his parents insist and studying something he’s actually interested in (this is the problem. mike has no clue what he wants to study). will is a visual arts major obv. el switches her major about seventeen different times (zoology, religion, international relations, mechanical engineering). she ends up graduating w mike in communication bc its the easiest to apply her various credits to. el and dustin get really into improv. el also does theatre, and mike ends up getting dragged into the tech scene. lucas plays club basketball and gets involved in student govt. he sets up a lot of food and blood drives. the party goes to a board game club, but will goes EVERY week and makes a bunch of great friends. max learns guitar and starts playing at open mics (el is the only one who knows. and lucas, a little later). they all join the college radio station. first its dustin helping a mutual friend fix radio tech, then its will filling in for a mutual friend’s missing cohost, then it’s will and lucas starting an advice show, and el and max starting a show where max makes the tapes and el just talks about whatever she wants, and mike fucking around in the background of all his friends’ shows and shouting out unsolicited comments. when they all move off campus, mike and will, dustin and lucas, and el and max get their own apartments respectively. lumax starts talking abt moving in together and el is like “i love you both but i am not trying to third wheel in my own home.” thus, henderhop house is born. these two were BORN to be roommates. they become such good friends and are so respectful of each others space and are so so communicative! and they both love to cook. henderhop lives together for like, six years post college. listen, they have two cats together. they don’t want to traumatize them with a divorce. mike and will get a dog when they’re older (late 20s, early 30s). they used to catsit for their neighbor, but mike is crazy allergic. it always sounds like he’s going through puberty again. the party ends up in southern california. el becomes an archaeologist and travels a lot. dustin lives in pasadena and works for JPL. max does some work with him, does some contacts for a few different companies. she eventually becomes a professor and spends her off time doing research. lucas becomes a pediatrician. later in life he serves on city council, then turns to non-profit work. will get a job as an illustration intern at a comic house straight out of college and works his way up from there. mike bounces around office jobs, does some time at a publishing house, and goes back to school for a creative writing MFA. he sells some original stuff but he ends up mostly writing comics for IPs with will. they make a name for themselves in the Star Wars EA and actually get invited to a couple comic-con panels. dustin flips his shit.

[koffeetips]

25 Most Quirky Facts About Coffee That Will Blow Your Mind

What Are The Quirky Facts About Coffee? Quirky Facts About Coffee: Coffee Drinkers Live Longer Than Non-Coffee Users. Research shows moderate intake (about 3–4 cups per day) may lead a person to a longer life ( Harvard Health Publishing ). Coffee may reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease, type 2 diabetes, and Parkinson's. Two chemicals in coffee, caffeic, and chlorogenic acid, reduce inflammation. They increase the level of antioxidants in the body and decrease oxidative stress within cells. These acids in the coffee can slow down and prevent cell damage by reducing free radical activity. Decaf Does Not Mean Caffeine-Free. An eight-ounce brewed cup of decaf coffee contains two to 12 milligrams of caffeine based on a Mayo Clinic study. A standard cup of coffee has between 95 and 200 milligrams of caffeine, while a can of cola contains between 23 and 35 mg. Decaffeinated coffee comes from a chemical process where the caffeine is taken out of the beans. These coffee manufacturers then sell the caffeine to soda and pharmaceutical companies. Drinking decaf coffee fuels the soda industry.

Decaf Coffee Is NOT Caffeine Free Coffee Wasn’t Always A Drink, Coffee Was Originally Chewed. Before people learned how to brew coffee, east African tribes mixed coffee berries with animal fat and chewed them as food. They would also ferment the pulp to make a wine-like drink.

Coffee Was Consumed As Food Originally Drinking Coffee Was Once Punishable By Death! In 1511, Mecca rulers believed coffee stimulated radical thinking and banned the drink. During the same period, some Italian clergymen also tried to outlaw coffee because they believed coffee to be "satanic." Yet, Pope Clement VII loved coffee so much that he lifted the ban and had coffee baptized in 1600. In the 17th-century Ottoman Empire, the government believed that coffee contained mind-altering effects. The emperor outlawed coffee from public consumption believing it to be a type of narcotic. In 1746, Sweden's King Gustav III took things to an extreme when it banned both coffee and coffee paraphernalia, including cups and dishes. The Boston Tea Party Helped Popularize Coffee In America. Around the American Revolutionary War, it became patriotic to drink coffee instead of tea.  Also, the Civil War made coffee more common because it helped to energize tired troops.

Bostonians Dumping Tea In The Boston Harbor The Word "Coffee" Comes From The Arabic Word For "Wine". The word 'coffee' comes from the Arabic word 'qahwah' which refers to a type of wine. The Ottoman Turks then used the term “kahve”, which was followed by the Dutch word “koffie”, from which the English name was derived in 1582. One Cup Of Black Coffee Only Has One Calorie. Sweeteners, cream, and other mixes to the coffee can load up the total calorie. A Venti White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks contains 53 grams of sugar and 530 calories, which is almost equal to a McDonald's Big Mac's 590 calories ! Teddy Roosevelt Did Not Coin Maxwell House's Slogan. Some articles report that Teddy Roosevelt, the 26th president, loved coffee very much. In 1907, on a trip to Andrew Jackson's former estate, the president called a cup of Maxwell House coffee "good to the last drop".  This catchphrase is still used today. The truth is that ‘Good to the last drop’ is not presidential, just savvy marketing.

A Photo Portrait Of Teddy Roosevelt Hawaii Is Not The Only State That Produces Coffee. Hawaii is best known for its world-famous Kona coffee originally grown in the Kona region of the Big Island. With its tropical climate and areas of mountainous terrain,  Puerto Rico offers suitable conditions for coffee growing. Recently, in Southern California, small coffee-growing farms produce experimental coffees which are quite pricey.

Hawaii Was the First State to Grow Coffee Commercially In The US The Coffee Grounds Can Beautify Your Skin. Coffee grounds can lift off dead skin cells, making skin feel smooth and look fresh. Caffeine is believed to improve blood circulation in the skin. A few cosmetics brands use coffee grounds in their beauty products, though there has not had enough clinical data on its use in topical products.

Hawaii Was the First State to Grow Coffee Commercially In The US Coffee as Biofuel. Scientists are turning the oil from waste ground coffee into biodiesel. One day coffee may be fueling some lucky ones’ cars, it might be a better alternative to EVs. People get to enjoy the coffee aroma from the car exhaustion mufflers.

Coffee Biofuel May Be A Reality In the Near Future Cream Keeps Your Coffee Warm Longer. Coffee stays warm 20% longer when adding cream. Simply, because the cream thickens the coffee, and adds viscosity, so coffee evaporates slower, avoiding a lot of heat loss. Beethoven Might Not be A Torture to Baristas. Beethoven was a coffee connoisseur, he, sometimes, could have six cups of coffee a day together with Haidn who was his music teacher. The legend that he would count 60 beans exactly per cup before making his brew is more of a story than there is any real record or evidence .

The Only Oil Painting Of Beethoven By Joseph Karl Stieler Expensive Coffees From Cat Poop And Elephant Dung. In Indonesia, the local adorable weasel-like critter, the palm civet eats the coffee cherries. A unique fermentation process occurs as the beans (rather seeds, to be precise) travel through the civet’s digestive tract. Some brave coffee farmer collects the beans from the civets’ droppings. This special coffee, after roasting, has a smooth finish and a very distinctive flavor to the final brew. Thus, Kopi luwak is known as "cat poop coffee." With prices ranging from about $100 to $600 a pound. 

A Lovely Civet Cat Hanging From A Coffee Bush Branch Yet, the priciest coffee in the world is Black Ivory Coffee. It costs about $1000 and up per pound. This coffee is produced from part-digested coffee cherries eaten and defecated by Thai elephants . Oldest Cat Ever Loves Coffee. The "Oldest Cat Ever," a 38-year-old cat named Creme Puff, according to the Guinness World Record, drank coffee every week her whole life . Its owner, Jake Perry also raised another long-life cat, a 34-year-old, named Grandpa Rex Allen. Jack fed the same diet to Grandpa Rex Allen. This might be a coincidence, considering the average cat’s life is about 18 years. How Much Coffee Do Americans Drink A Day? Americans consume about 400-600 million cups of coffee every day, which is about 2 to 3 cups of coffee every American per day. Feel Gloomy? In a study of 263,923 people, the NIH (National Institutes of Health) and the AARP ( American Association of Retired Persons) found coffee may lower people’s risk of depression. Those who drank 4 or more cups of coffee a day were almost 10% less likely to become depressed than those who drank none .

A French Bulldog Lays Gloomily On A Piece of Dark Rug 100 Cups Of Coffee May Kill A 150-Pound Person. Medical studies estimate that roughly 10 grams or more of caffeine would be a lethal dose for an average 150-pound adult. 10 grams of caffeine equals 100 cups of coffee to be down in a very short period . Bees Love Coffee. Coffee plants have very sweet nectar-like flowers that are pollinated by bees. The flower also contains caffeinated nectar .

A Bee Is Busily Feeding On The Nectar of A Coffee Bush Flowers You Don't Need To Drink Coffee In The Morning. The human body produces cortisol naturally as soon as one wakes up. Drinking coffee first thing in the morning tricks our body into producing cortisol when it doesn’t need it. It is better to have a cup of coffee after lunch when one’s cortisol level drops and feels less alert and energetic . Coffee Shops Boost Your Creativity. The coffee shop's aroma and the soft background music may help people to think creatively. The coffee smell plus the atmosphere increase a person's openness and encourage a flexible mindset. Read the full article

[burythecarnival]

93, 96, 100?

oh hi, you beautiful being 🤗 my answers might sound like chaotic babble because of new meds & almost no sleep but, here we go 🥂

93. have you ever forgotten your own birthday?

iiii...have not. however, my birthdays are a bit cursed & end up making me sad partly because others typically forget. my birthday is mad hatter day (october 6th) & that helps some remember.

96. do you like carnival rides?

for the most part, i do. i just can't handle the spin wheel or any rides that have super bright lights or my audhd brain will malfunction. the last carnival thing i did was bungee jump while blue oyster cult was performing. i also love clowns & one left the haunted house to walk me around like a gentleman.

100. what's on your anti-bucket list (things you never want to do in your life)?

oh fuck, like...so many things 😅 i know i sound cantankerous but, i'm pretty much a hermit now & don't like going far from home. i have naught interest in ever going on a cruise ship. i will never own an alexa, talk to siri or anything similar because i don't trust them. i do not want to ever live in the southern united states; my NY ass was miserable in california & the deep south makes me feel icky (no offense meant to the kind, tolerant people who live there, of course.) i will never buy apple products. i will never sell content on pornhub because mindgeek is a horrendous, exploitative company that puts minors in danger & turns actual abuse into their own financial gain. my brain is mush & can't think of other things but between having a disease eating away at my insides & my severe social anxiety, lots of things are off the table.

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Today during our communal lunch hour the topic turned to real estate. Now, in America, discussing property values is as common as talking about the weather or complaining about your in-laws. But here, among my British colleagues, it took on a sort of anthropological intensity, as if they were Jane Goodall observing chimps, and the chimps were houses.

"Did you hear about that place in Southern California?" someone asked. "Bought for $199,000 in 1996, just sold for one-point-six million." They said this with the same reverence my sister-in-law might use when describing a deeply discounted designer handbag.

I wanted to be impressed, I really did. It's like when my ex-boyfriend's father would take us to Civil War battlefields, pointing out where Stonewall Jackson lost his left slipper. You know you should feel something, but all you can think about is whether the gift shop sells fudge. In this case, all I could think was, "My dead parents' house wouldn't even buy you a decent parking spot in that California neighborhood."

My parents, both gone now—Dad first, then Mom, like a grim version of "ladies first"—had a modest home on two acres. They bought it for $128,000, a sum that back in the day could have funded a rock star's cocaine habit or a lifetime supply of Hostess products. It sold in 2021 for about $100,000 after fees. In today's market, that might get you a month's rent in a Brooklyn closet advertised as a "cozy micro-loft with minimalist charm."

Then, as if to test my already strained credulity, an English colleague announced, "I think I'd like to live in Ohio." This was like hearing the Queen say she fancies a flat above a chip shop in Glasgow. I'm the only American, and even I know Ohio is where dreams go to become assistant managers at Cinnabon.

"Why on earth would you want to live there?" I asked, genuinely curious. Had he suffered a head injury? Was this a cry for help?

"Well, I've heard it's... affordable," he replied, in the same tone one might use to describe the virtues of a sturdy but unattractive shoe.

Before I could dive into the myriad reasons why "affordable" in Ohio is like saying "sanitary" in reference to a gas station bathroom, someone else chimed in: "Didn't they just have a shooting there? Twenty-six people injured."

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "Back home, shootings happen every day. It's like mosquito bites or finding hair in your food at Denny's. It's unpleasant, but hardly newsworthy."

The room fell silent. Every eye turned to me as if I'd just announced I was raised by a family of particularly gun-enthusiastic raccoons.

"You must have grown up around firearms," someone finally said. It wasn't a question.

"Actually, no," I replied. "I don't know anyone who owns a gun. The closest I've come is seeing them on police officers, like fashion accessories that say, 'I can legally ruin your day.'" I paused, then added, "I've never even fired one. I assume it's like a cap gun, but with more litigation afterward."

They stared at me, these kind, tea-drinking Brits, as if I were a particularly confusing piece of performance art. In their eyes, I saw a mix of sympathy, bewilderment, and what I can only describe as the look Europeans reserve for Americans who don't fit neatly into their stereotypes. You know, like finding out your cowboy doesn't actually ride a horse but prefers a sensibly priced hybrid car.

The conversation died there, like a houseplant given to someone without a green thumb. As we all retreated to our desks, Don McLean's "American Pie" inexplicably popped into my head: "Bye bye, Miss American Pie." It seemed fitting—a song about cultural disillusionment, played at the end of a lunch break where I'd apparently shattered some cherished notions about American life.

Back at my desk, sorting through emails as thrilling as watching paint dry, I reflected on the absurdity. My parents, pillars of my life, were gone. Their modest home, once the backdrop for every major holiday and minor argument, had been reduced to a financial footnote. And here I was, an ocean away, discussing American real estate and gun culture with people who saw Ohio as some kind of undiscovered frontier.

It was, I realized, a perfect moment where the banal collides with the bizarre, and all you can do is archive it in your mental file labeled "Material for Next Diary Entry." After all, in a world this strange, laughter isn't just the best medicine; sometimes it's the only thing that makes sense.

[joehomebuyer]

Sell My House Fast Riverside: The Ultimate Guide to Quick and Easy Home Sales

Selling a house can be a daunting process, especially when you're pressed for time. Whether you're relocating, facing financial challenges, or simply want to capitalize on a booming market, selling your house quickly can offer numerous benefits. If you're wondering how to "sell my house fast in Riverside," this comprehensive guide will provide you with actionable tips and insights to help you achieve a quick and profitable sale.

Why Sell My House Fast in Riverside?

Riverside, located in Southern California, is known for its beautiful landscapes, historic architecture, and vibrant community. As a result, the real estate market here is competitive, making it possible to sell your home quickly if you know the right strategies. Some common reasons homeowners choose to sell their homes fast in Riverside include:

Relocation: Job transfers or personal reasons often require a quick move.

Financial Distress: Avoiding foreclosure or managing debt can necessitate a swift sale.

Downsizing or Upgrading: Changing family dynamics or lifestyle preferences.

Market Conditions: Taking advantage of favorable market trends.

Preparing Your Home for a Quick Sale

The first step to sell your house fast in Riverside is to make it as appealing as possible to potential buyers. Here are some essential tips:

1. Boost Curb Appeal

First impressions are crucial. The exterior of your home should be well-maintained and inviting. Simple actions like mowing the lawn, planting flowers, and painting the front door can significantly enhance your home's curb appeal.

2. Declutter and Depersonalize

Buyers need to envision themselves living in your home. Remove personal items, excess furniture, and clutter. This not only makes your home look larger and more inviting but also helps buyers focus on the property's features.

3. Minor Repairs and Upgrades

Fixing minor issues like leaky faucets, cracked tiles, or broken fixtures can make a big difference. Consider updating outdated lighting fixtures or applying a fresh coat of paint to give your home a modern and well-maintained look.

4. Professional Staging

Staging your home can significantly impact how quickly it sells. Professional stagers know how to arrange furniture and decor to highlight your home's strengths and make it more appealing to buyers.

Pricing Your Home to Sell Fast

Pricing is a critical factor when you want to "sell my house fast Riverside." If your home is overpriced, it may sit on the market for longer, which can deter potential buyers. Here's how to set the right price:

1. Conduct a Comparative Market Analysis (CMA)

A CMA compares your home to similar properties that have recently sold in your area. This analysis provides a realistic price range for your home, helping you set a competitive and attractive price.

2. Consider Market Conditions

The real estate market can fluctuate based on the time of year, economic factors, and local trends. Work with a real estate agent who understands the Riverside market and can help you set a price that reflects current conditions.

3. Strategic Pricing

Sometimes, setting a slightly lower price can generate more interest and lead to multiple offers. This strategy can be particularly effective in a competitive market, potentially resulting in a higher final sale price.

Marketing Your Home Effectively

Effective marketing is crucial to attract the right buyers quickly. Here's how to market your home to sell fast:

1. High-Quality Photos and Videos

In today's digital age, most buyers start their home search online. High-quality photos and videos can make your listing stand out. Consider hiring a professional photographer to showcase your home's best features.

2. Online Listings

List your home on popular real estate websites and social media platforms. A well-written description that highlights your home's unique features, combined with attractive photos, can draw in potential buyers.

3. Open Houses and Virtual Tours

Open houses and virtual tours allow buyers to experience your home firsthand. Virtual tours are especially useful for out-of-town buyers or those who prefer a convenient viewing option.

4. Working with a Real Estate Agent

An experienced real estate agent can be invaluable when selling your home quickly. They have access to a network of potential buyers and other agents, can handle negotiations, and can help you navigate the paperwork and legal aspects of the sale.

Consider Cash Buyers and Real Estate Investors

If you need to sell your house even faster, consider working with cash buyers or real estate investors. These buyers are often willing to purchase homes in as-is condition and can close deals quickly, sometimes within days. Here are some advantages:

Speed: Cash transactions eliminate the need for mortgage approval, inspections, and other traditional sale contingencies, speeding up the process.

Convenience: Selling as-is means you don't have to invest time and money into repairs or staging.

Certainty: Cash buyers typically have fewer reasons to back out of a deal, providing more certainty in the sale process.

Conclusion

Sell my house fast Riverside requires careful preparation, strategic pricing, and effective marketing. By following the tips outlined in this guide, you can increase your chances of a fast and successful sale. Remember, working with a knowledgeable real estate agent and considering all your options, including cash buyers, can further expedite the process. If you're ready to "sell my house fast Riverside," start implementing these strategies today and enjoy a smooth and efficient home-selling experience.

[coastdesignbuild]

Transforming Homes, One Room at a Time: The Rise of Kitchen Remodeling and House Remodel Projects in San Diego

San Diego, with its lovely environment and different areas, is a center for homeowners hoping to improve their residing spaces. As of late, there's been a flood in interest in both house and kitchen remodelling San Diego projects across the city. This pattern mirrors a longing for useful redesigns as well as spaces that reflect individual style and expand happiness regarding the Southern California lifestyle.

Kitchen Remodeling San Diego: The Core of the Home Gets a Makeover The kitchen is much of the time thought about the core of a home, and kitchen remodeling San Diego is a main concern for some occupants. Whether it's refreshing obsolete machines, growing the design for better stream, or making a culinary specialist commendable space, kitchen remodeling projects offer a large group of advantages: • Increased Home Value: A modern, well-designed kitchen is a major selling point for potential buyers, making kitchen remodeling in San Diego a smart investment. • Enhanced Functionality: Improved layouts, storage solutions, and high-tech appliances make cooking and entertaining more enjoyable. • Personalized Style: Homeowners can tailor their kitchen design to reflect their unique tastes, from sleek and modern to warm and traditional.

Popular Kitchen Remodeling Trends in San Diego • Open Concept Layouts: Removing walls to create a seamless flow between the kitchen, dining, and living areas is a popular choice. • Smart Appliances: Refrigerators with built-in cameras, ovens that can be controlled remotely, and voice-activated faucets are just a few examples. • Sustainable Materials: From energy-efficient appliances to recycled countertops, homeowners are increasingly opting for eco-friendly options.

House Remodel San Diego: Beyond the Kitchen While kitchen remodeling is a major focus, house remodel projects in San Diego encompass much more. Homeowners are reimagining entire spaces to suit their changing needs and lifestyle preferences.

Key Areas for House Remodel San Diego Projects • Bathrooms: Spa-like retreats with luxurious features like rainfall showers and soaking tubs are in high demand. • Outdoor Living Spaces: Patios, decks, and outdoor kitchens are becoming extensions of the home, perfect for enjoying the mild weather. • Additional Living Areas: Creating home offices, gyms, or guest suites adds flexibility and value. • Whole-Home Renovations: Some homeowners are opting for a complete overhaul, transforming their houses into modern, energy-efficient dwellings.

Factors Driving the House Remodel Trend in San Diego • Aging Housing Stock: Many homes in San Diego were built decades ago and require updates to meet modern standards. • Remote Work: With more people working from home, there's a greater need for dedicated workspaces and functional living areas. • Desire for Customization: Homeowners want spaces that reflect their personal style and accommodate their specific needs.

The Importance of Choosing the Right Professionals Whether you're embarking on a kitchen remodeling San Diego project or a full house remodel San Diego endeavor, working with experienced professionals is crucial. Licensed contractors, architects, and designers can help you navigate the complexities of permits, regulations, and project management. They'll also ensure that your vision is translated into a beautiful and functional reality.

The rise of kitchen remodeling and house remodel San Diego reflects a growing desire for homes that are not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing and tailored to individual lifestyles. Whether you're dreaming of a gourmet kitchen, a luxurious bathroom, or a complete home transformation, San Diego offers a wealth of resources and professionals to help you bring your vision to life. With careful planning and the right team, your home can become the haven you've always dreamed of.

[georgesmith00x2]

Sell Properties in Los Long Beach

If you're trying to promote houses in Long Beach, California, you're in success. Long Beach is a colourful town with a robust actual estate marketplace, making it an extremely good vicinity to promote residences.

There are some key steps to consider whilst promoting a property in Long Beach. First, it’s important to find an informed real estate agent who is aware the neighbourhood market and let you price your own home competitively. A good agent can also be capable of marketplace your private home efficiently, reaching potential consumers both locally and beyond.

Second, make certain your private home is in pinnacle circumstance earlier than setting it on the market. This can also contain making necessary maintenance, decluttering, and staging the assets to appeal to consumers.

Lastly, remember the timing of your sale. While the actual estate marketplace in Long Beach is distinctly strong year-spherical, sure instances of 12 months may be more superb for selling a asset.

Overall, promoting properties in Long Beach can be a hit venture with the proper guidance and steerage. By following these recommendations and working with a good actual property agent, you can make the promoting method as clean and profitable as viable. Sell Properties in Los Long Beach.

Los Long Beach is a vibrant and diverse metropolis located in Southern California, regarded for its lovely seashores, thriving downtown region, and wealthy cultural historical past. With its best region close to major freeways and only a short pressure faraway from Los Angeles, Los Long Beach is a top vacation spot for those looking to put money into real property.

One of the most profitable opportunities in Los Long Beach is the buying and selling of houses. Whether you are a seasoned actual estate investor or a first-time consumer, there are plenty of alternatives to be had to suit your needs and budget. From luxury waterfront homes to fascinating historical cottages, there's something for everybody in this dynamic market.

When it comes to promoting residences in Los Long Beach, it's far essential to work with a good actual property agent who has a sturdy information of the neighbourhood market. A skilled agent will be capable to help you showcase your house within the high-quality viable light, attracting the eye of potential consumers and maximizing your sales charge.

In addition to operating with a certified real property agent, there are some key techniques you could use to sell your home fast and for top greenback. One of the maximum essential factors in selling a belonging is pricing it effectively. Your agent can provide you with a comparative marketplace evaluation to help you decide the proper asking price for your home.

Another critical element of promoting an asset in Los Long Beach is advertising. In contemporary digital age, it is critical to have a strong on-line presence to attain as many potential consumers as feasible. This can consist of professional, virtual tours, and social media marketing campaigns to show off your property to a much wider target market.

In addition to online marketing, traditional advertising techniques such as open homes and print advertising and marketing can also be powerful in attracting customers. By utilizing a aggregate of each online and offline marketing strategies, you could boom the visibility of your property and generate more interest from ability customers.

When it involves negotiating gives and last the deal, having a skilled real property agent to your side can make all the difference. Your agent can help you navigate the negotiation system, making sure that you get the pleasant viable terms and conditions on your sale.

In end, promoting residences in Los Long Beach may be a profitable and worthwhile venture for those willing to put inside the effort and time. By running with a knowledgeable real estate agent, pricing your own home effectively, and using effective advertising strategies, you can successfully promote your own home and acquire your financial goals. So, if you are seeking to Sell Properties in Los Long Beach, don't hesitate to reach out to a nearby actual estate agent and begin the process today.

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

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

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

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

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

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

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

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

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

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

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[lotuslovers]

'The Weeknd' // E.Y Pt. 2

Pairing : female!reader x Eren Yeager, background angst jean kirstein x reader(bashing for the sake of the plot) 

w.c: 3.2k 

Summary : Caught up in a world of money, fame, girls, and lies as the man of your dreams is ripped away from you in an unexpected cheating scandal. In response, you make a move with another high profile artist but unexpectedly it becomes a bit more than you bargained for when feelings for the brunette become unearthed. Modern fame AU/Fake dating AU

Trigger warnings: none

pt 1 | pt 2

Saturdays were what you called ‘reserved days’. If you weren’t working or coming back from a long drive from your parent’s house, you were curled up with blankets and snacks binge watching your favorite tv shows and hiding away from your friends. The truth was that in the past two months, you began to throw yourself into working far more hours. Taking on clients on the weekends, even those clients who managed to get on nerves simply because they kept coming even though they refused treatment. Many claimed they were in perfect condition, despite the pain they all held.

These reserved days became far too frequent once you began working far too many hours each week. Your boss, a little older lady named Elma, had waved you off when you asked to take on an additional shift on Saturdays and Sundays. Leaving you to pile yourself up in your apartment, the small room you had managed to get a week after news of Jean’s infidelity had leaked to the public. The apartment wasn’t much, but until you and Jean could sell your joint house, you were stuck dealing with the mess that was the Southern California housing market.

Sasha had decided to crash at your house last night, sleeping on the coach after you both came back from an all night street food fair and outdoor carnival set up. She sat beside you as the tv played the newest episode that was released from your favorite reality show, you hummed watching as Miley, your favorite cast member, began to pace hearing Hannah expose a detail about the new addition that was just brought into the show two episodes ago. “oh my god” you mumbled, connecting the dots of an attempted sabotage against Miley. The guy had known her before the show had started, she hadn’t met him before. A flashback began to play of him with another guy speaking briefly what looked like away from the filming crew.

A light buzzing noise interrupted your concentration, coming from the coffee table in front of you. Ignoring it you kept watching, reaching to grab the bag of baked chips from the table as Sasha shot you a weird look. The buzzing died out momentarily before it began again, ringing and drawing both of your attention as you refused to look down at the screen of your phone. “Y/n, are you going to answer that? Sasha said from across the living room, lounging on the large loveseat you had claimed before the move. As your phone lays lighting up non stop on top of the glass table. Glancing at you she reached over toward the table annoyed and sighing loudly, grabbing the remote and then tossing the phone in your direction as she hit the pause button. Even though you knew to expect it, the name “Mallory” on your screen still unnerved you. Pouting towards the screen, “It’s my manager, one sec” you said whilst bringing the phone up to your ear and answering the call.

“Hey, what’s up?” you spoke nervously. “y/l/n have you seen my texts?” She paused and you just knew she had rolled her eyes since she was used to you dragging your feet during any type of media campaign. “Well, I have been trying to reach you. Did you see anything I sent over? I have some serious updates on Yeager and our rollout.” “Oh” you mumbled confused on how you had missed the media finally covering the story with Eren. It surely hadn’t been too long but you missed any new trends on your platforms. Nearly a week had already passed since the night of the party, the photos you took earlier in the night were already posted, some twitter and instagram blog accounts had began spreading rumors of you being spotted with another man, and a blurry photo from far away that Sasha had taken was leaked by a few big accounts. Lots of people began speculating since the rumors were true when the image had confirmed it. The photo had shown you shyly tilting your head back while looking over your shoulder, clearly giggling as a taller male stood with his hands around your waist with his head hidden behind you in the darkness. The outline of his eyes barely being made out behind the brown hair and the small amount of light. The photo had gone around already two days ago, even close friends of your ex had reached out asking about it nonstop, wanting to know who it was. Connie, even if a friend of both of you, began to pester Sasha too. Blogs ran with the photos, youtube channels included you in their weekly drama recaps, and your dm’s were all filled asking the same questions. Who were you with that night? Had you gotten over the messy breakup?

Both you and Eren’s manager had made it clear to both of their clients that the role needed to be followed without any interference or changes to make it a successful campaign, we both knew it was said mainly meant for Jaeger to follow. Zeke and Mallory had brainstormed, basing the rollout on the idea of an image of an unknown man being pictured with you leaked to blogs, which began to trend for a few days to stir up some controversy before the eventual dropping a photo with Eren’s face in it. Between both of them, they agreed the timing just had to be perfect to get through a suitable “hard launch” and we(Eren) couldn’t get in the way of the rollout. His social media privileges were limited after his last few controversies online.

“So you won’t believe it,” she cheerily said as her tone entirely changed directions, “me and Zeke had planned to leak the final photo with Eren in the next few days after a potential soft launch story, you know a story of roses or a cropped photo of the two of you sat at a restaurant, and yada yada. Well so we decided to risk an early release, an account called dion.alise is run by this well known blogger who has a small but loyal group of followers” she said. “okay so, she’s known for her celebrity gossip and ‘insider’s appeal’ since she is a makeup artist and hairstylist for major award ceremonies-” she paused as you hummed along letting her continue the usual debrief. “Anyways, not only did she leak the photos a little over an hour ago but right after the post she found someone at the party who had taken more photos but from another time that night. Go look at what I sent to your phone. It's the very first link.”

Moving to follow her instructions, you tapped to place her on speaker phone and scrolled through notifications to open the bubble of what she sent to you. Scrolling up past a dozen links until you go to the first one from today, noisily Sasha saw and moved over to the nearest cushion as you clicked on the link. Mallory began talking again as you sat still looking over the post displayed on your phone, “The rollout is going to look a hundred times more organic, just look how grainy the photos are but we can still tell who’s in it”. Sasha hummed next to you as she pulled out her phone, shooting you a look when you stopped attempting to respond to your manager's voice. Looking at the photos under the title: “EXCLUSIVE: Y/L L/N AND EREN YEAGER TOGETHER, MYSTERY MAN CONFIRMED?” One image of you looking over at Eren from the beginning of the night as you led him outside to speak and the next few were far away photos of the two of you outside on the porch barely seen with the dimly lit patio. Through most of the photos it was clear who was there, the dress you wore had lamented in was you as the profile of you left no question. ‘Ren, wasn’t hard to recognize. There was an aura around him, the way he looked at you, pointedly but his face was not obscured by bad lighting or his hair. The recognizable smirk smile he wore and the black ink that barely peaked out from his sleeves left no questions. The tattoo you failed to recognize that night started mockingly back at you. There was no room to lie about who was there anymore and you were unsure if you were glad or annoyed with that fact.

But seeing the post made whatever you had with Yeager feel a million times more official, even if it was for the publicity you could not deny the warmth that flushed through your cheeks as you looked at the photos and how later that night you would end up making out in his car. Glancing back up, Sasha moved slowly to reach down to your screen, swiping and zooming between the photos. A brief guilty feeling coursed through you looking at her, even though she was your closest friend you decided not to tell her about the new “relationship” between you and the singer. Had she taken this photo? Had she known about the car ride and ‘Ren? Mallory repeated something but it was unclear if she said something to someone else in the office. I thought I heard my name but I was focused on the girl beside me. Whispering away from the phone, “Was that you and Niccollo?” You turned fully to the left, she shook her head. “Of course not-” cutting herself off as my manager interrupted. Should that have been a relief? Or a weight on my chest that I decided to keep those moments to myself.

“Please tell me you have looked through the comments and your analytics” she asked excitedly as if looking through new stacks of data. A new notification popped at the top of your screen alerting you to an image she sent you. Scrolling down to screenshots of the trend in profile visits from today on your instagram. “There’s a lot of opinions on the pair of you but overall it’s a lot of positive receptions, honestly far more than what Zeke expected especially for his brother.” “Look into his music, his most recent releases just began trending higher on the charts and the music category on both Spotify and Youtube for his music videos. Don’t even get me started on the reposts from the blogs and them eating the situation up. Your follower count has gone up within the hour and I got a text from Jaeger’s manager that not only are his streams going up but he has had a new influx of followers.” Her smile was heard through the phone as some confusing thoughts filled your mind. Were you and him official? What were you supposed to say if anyone confronted you in person? The last week’s endless conversations with Mallory should have told you how you react but you were unsure you wanted to voice anything when you hadn’t known any clarity between him and you.

“Hey Mallory” Sasha chimed in from beside you, “I’m here with her and she’s super excited on the rollout. Sorry we’re busy at the moment, we can’t chat for too much but thank you for the update.” I began to move to stand up and give Sasha a grateful smile, “yeah thank you so much, sorry for the late reply I have been in the middle of a lot since its my day off.”

“Oh no worries, I just needed to update you on the recent developments. I’ll text you any new information, take care okay babes?” she said before we said our goodbyes to end the call.

The red button clicked as silence filled the room, I paced around and looked at the tv show paused on the screen and I no longer wanted to watch it. My life was beginning to feel like another episode that was poorly thrown together. “What are you thinking? I can hear you angrily pace around” she said, frowning from the couch.

The hardwood floor felt cool beneath my socks, the small sounds of the air conditioning running brought my focus back and away from the loud flow of blood pumping to my head. I was angry right? Not at the media rollout, I was supposed to be angry at Jean? Any thoughts of him had made me shrivel up and scowl. I had felt anger at him, I wanted him to feel humiliated knowing I was moving on and especially with his old friend. But now, I wasn’t angry or focusing on him. The small anger I felt rise in me was a small tide of unease, a fear and a dislike of what was to be expected now? I felt so serious and committed to exploring being single and Eren made me feel more committed than any label had. He wanted me, was interested in and had liked me for years before I was living such a stable life. I hated to admit it but I was afraid, we weren't even really dating. The comments and reactions are from others who don’t know the amount of nights I cried in the last week wishing I wasted five years with someone who loved me and not Jean. A part of me felt an immense guilt that ‘Ren could only “have” me now that Jean had hurt me. He still controlled me after the break up, the night with Eren I felt like relieved of the burden. I felt like someone truly cared for me and I felt like I had a choice. I chose him, just like he always had. When we younger and even know. The glances from years ago and claims from friends that he was interested finally made sense, Jean's possessiveness when in front of him made sense. Part of my felt unworthy of his interest, I wanted a shot at love with someone I wanted. Yeager was that but it felt off in front of the eyes of thousands.

“I don’t even know. I think I’m so overwhelmed thinking about everything that has happened these past months that this is stressing me out so much” I finally broke the silence, ignoring the tidal wave that was begging for me to release. I turned and moved to sit back down, grabbing the remote to push play and hopefully allow Sasha to be distracted to not question me further. By the look she gave me I knew it did not distract her but she chose to not bring it up.

-

Hours later, Sasha had needed to head home and take care of her dogs while Niccollo got ready for his shift.

Around Midday I ate lunch, checked my emails, responded to a few texts from both managers, and spent some brief time scrolling slowly through the trending topics online. Easing myself through slow scrolls past the brief mentions of myself, after a while I kept seeing Jean’s name in the conversation and it turned my stomach. A feeling tugged at my mind the entire day, I wanted to know how Eren had felt. His name was trending, but so had far more negative news on his past issues with Jean and it felt inappropriate for me to reach out when I felt like I was hurting his image. In some reactions I was called the issue, who “quickly” moved on from her ex and purposefully got together with someone he publicly had issues with. It was true in a sense, but I hoped the news would impact my ex far more negatively.

I fidgeted, hovering my finger above the call button on his contact before my screen flashed. An incoming call from lit up, the name “Ren�� taunted me. I urged myself to at least wait ten seconds to not seem too eager, clicking accept I said, “Hey” I said. “Hey,” his voice rang out loudly, “I wanted to talk to you. I haven’t had the chance all day but I’m hoping you’re free now”

“Yeah I am, its my off day today" I said. “Okay great, I had Zeke over when the blog posts dropped.” “Oh”

“Yeah, I wanted to see how you’re dealing with it,” he spoke. “I never really saw you as the type to be use to all this coverage. I told him we might want to wait a few more days-” I hurried to interrupt him. “It's okay ‘Ren", his nickname easily slipped out. “I know you mean well but I’m sure your brother told you they need to stick to the schedule” I spoke.

“well- yeah but if you needed the time it could all wait” he spoke earnestly, his side of the call was quiet and it surprised me. I never thought about how his life must have looked daily but I imagined he was in his own apartment. Sitting on his couch, maybe petting his dog or watching a game muted while listening to the sounds of the phone held to his ear. I imagined as I look around my own living room.

“Thank you, I know but we already agreed and they know what they are doing. We can’t really argue with Mallory or Zeke since it’s started.”

“I guess you’re right but let me know if it's too much, yeah?”

“Yeah, I will” I agreed.

“Good, I also called since I wanted to ask are you busy tonight?” he shyly asked, “because if you are I totally understand but um-” I listened feeling the heat hit my cheeks. “Do you want to go out tonight? Maybe get something to eat. Or we could stay in, you can come to mine and I’ll order food or something.” He rushed out the last words.

“Would it be okay if you came over to mine and we could eat in?”

“YEAH, yeah” he repeated a little in disbelief. “Does Thai food sound good? I can send you a link to a place's menu and pick some up later”

“That’s perfect, I’ll send my address” I said.

“Great- can I come over around 5?”

“Sure, but ren,” “Yeah?” he said hesitantly. “This isn’t a date, you’ll have to actually ask me out on a date” “

So we’re already planning second dates now?” he teasingly said.

“No, just making sure I make you know just because the internet says you 're together doesn’t mean you don’t have to put some effort in. If this is going to work, I want this to be slow but serious” I said.

“Trust me, I want to see how this goes but I also want you to want me” he said. ‘So did I’ is all I could think. “I know Eren,” I said “I’ll see you later and we can talk more later yeah?”

“Yup, I will text you when I’m on the way”

As I got off the phone, I went to tidy around the house before I could even prepare to get ready. Checking and double checking that everything was nice and neat. The nerves hit me despite knowing Eren would not judge my tiny slightly shambled home. A bell chimed from my phone, turning around as I looked around the room before spotting the small device. I found it innocently looking up again from the coffee table, this time the message wasn’t from Mallory or perhaps Eren saying he was headed over. One word,

Jean: hey