PERHAPS NOT. I'LL HAVE A FORCED PROXIMITY, ENEMIES, SMOTHERED IN THERE'S ONLY ONE BED, THEN LUSTERS, LOTS AND LOTS OF PINING, AND A RACK OF ANGRY CONFESSION TO LOVERS.
when you're reading a fic and they sprinkle in references that fit the time inside the fic and you realize the writer understands cultural context so you lowkey just ascend
Synopsis: Zuko and you have been dancing around each other for years afraid to confess, but the night of the lantern festival make it the best moment to confess years of pent up emotions…with the help of certain people.
Warning: zuko and reader or BEYOND awkward around one another, (it’s painful) Sokka and Toph are straight menaces, cute ending (3.9 wc)
“Okay Keila, I’m closing up! I have to be home in time to cook dinner.” Your friend owned a popular tea house on the far east side of Republic City, and on busy days you’d come in to help her make the desserts.
As you untied your apron and hung it on the wall, a clash came from the kitchen and Keila shuffled her way to the front.
“Wait! you promised you’d get dumplings with me and go to the festival.” You frowned, remembering the promise you made last week.
“I know, and I’m sincerely sorry. My cousins Katara and Sokka are visiting with their friends, and I said they could stay at my place for a few days. They have business to attend to here again, I’m so sorry.”
She pouted but nodded in understanding.
“They’re only staying for a few days. After they leave, we can visit the festival— or maybe even tonight, it depends if they’re too tired from the trip or not. I promise.” You emphasized the last word, offering her a smile.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine, you owe me big time!” You sent her a wink with a wide grin.
You caught a trolley home and immediately began working on dinner. You knew she had a unique group of friends from all over, so you decided to make dishes from their respective homes.
From vegetarian dishes to beef stew, with a few dessert choices on the side. You smiled, satisfied with the feast you made. Just like clockwork, a knock was heard at your door.
“Coming!”
As you made your way to the door, you could hear a groan. “Ugh, hurry up, my feet are killing me and I’m starving.” You rolled your eyes, knowing that voice belonged to Sokka. You unlocked the door and swung it open with a big smile. “Hi!”
Katara engulfed you in a hug, squeezing you with all her strength.
“Ow, Tara please— can’t breathe.”
“Oh— oh, I’m so sorry, I’m just so excited. We haven’t seen you in so long.” You grinned, fixing your clothes.
“I know—”
“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you. I smell food where is it?” You rolled your eyes, pushing him out of the way.
“Sokka, don’t be rude. She’s welcoming us into her home,” Aang chimed in as he made his way in. You always adored him he was so sweet and such a perfect partner for Katara.
“Thank you, Aang. It’s nice to see you again.” He gave you a wide grin, pulling you into a quick side hug before following behind Katara. You looked outside for the last two, but no one was there. You frowned, closing the door.
“Expecting someone?” Sokka appeared behind you with an egg tart stuffed in his mouth.
You rolled your eyes, nudging him away. “You’re going to spoil your dinner eating sweets first.”
He shrugged, mouthing “so,” as crumbs fell from his mouth.
As you sat down to enjoy dinner with everyone, a knock came a few minutes later quieter this time, not nearly as impatient as before. You wiped your hands together, ridding them of any crumbs, and smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles in your clothes as you made your way to the door.
“Coming—”
The door creaked open, and your words caught in your throat. He stood there handsome, tall, and… buffer than you remembered way buffer.
He was slightly turned, like he had just knocked and immediately regretted it, shoulders tense, hands tucked behind his back like he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes flickered to yours for a split second before darting away.
“Oh uh… hi.” His voice was low, almost careful, like he didn’t know what his next words were going to be.
Your brain short-circuited, your tongue completely tied.
“Hi! You made it…obviously. Because you’re here.” You winced internally.
Geez, just stop talking.
Behind him, Toph snorted.
“Wow. This is painful already,” she muttered, stepping forward and nudging past Zuko like she owned the place. “Are you gonna let us in, or are you two just gonna stand here breathing weird at each other?”
Of course she’d point out the obvious and make things weirder. Your face burned with embarrassment as you glared at her.
“Right sorry, come in!” Zuko stepped inside carefully, like he was entering somewhere important. His gaze flickered around your home for a second before landing back on you then quickly away again.
“It smells good,” he said, almost too quiet.
You blinked a few times. “Oh thank you! I tried to make a little bit of everything since, um, everyone’s from different places and I didn’t know what you’d like and—”
You cut yourself off, heat creeping up your neck. Toph leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“Yeah,” she said flatly, “I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”
Zuko stiffened, shooting her a look. “Toph—”
“What?” she shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’m just saying. Girl cooked like it was a royal banquet.”
Your eyes widened. “It’s not that serious—!”
“It kind of is,” she cut in, smirking. “Twinkletoes didn’t even get this treatment.”
From inside, Sokka yelled, “HEY—WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”
You laughed nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “Ignore them, please. Do you want to sit? Or I mean, food’s ready, so—”
Zuko nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean whatever you… yeah.”
Spirits…
Toph walked past you, bumping your shoulder lightly as she went.
“Relax,” she murmured just loud enough for you to hear. “He’s worse than you.”
You blinked after her. “…that doesn’t make me feel any better Toph.”
Across the room, Zuko hovered awkwardly near the table, like he wasn’t sure where to stand or if he should touch anything. His eyes flicked toward you again—softer this time, lingering just a second too long before he looked away.
•••
The last of the dishes were set down with a soft clink, the room still warm with the remnants of laughter and full stomachs. The lanterns you’d lit earlier flickered gently against the walls, casting everything in a soft amber glow.
“I’ll help clean,” Katara said, already rolling up her sleeves.
“No, no, you’re guests—” you started, but she waved you off. “It’s the least we can do.”
From the table, Sokka leaned back with a satisfied groan as his bloated stomach poked out from under his clothes. “I’ve done my part. I ate everything.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Katara snapped as she threw a hand towel at her brother.
“I supported morale.” A soft laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. You truly missed being around your cousins they were like siblings to you.
“I’ll help too,” Aang chimed, already stacking plates.
You turned to grab the basin, only to nearly run into Zuko.
“Oh— sorry!”
“I— no, it’s my fault,” he said quickly, stepping back, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides before settling on the edge of the counter like he needed something to ground himself.
“I can… help. If you want.” You nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. That would be nice.” From the doorway, Toph let out a quiet snort.
Aang lingered for a second, glancing between you and Zuko with a small, knowing smile before Katara grabbed his sleeve and tugged him away.
“Come on, I need help with uh— something.”
“You just said—” Aang started, confused, but let himself be pulled along.
Sokka popped his head in, already chewing on something he’d definitely stolen from the table. “If you need me, I’ll be—”
“You’re not needed,” Katara and Toph said at the same time.
“Rude,” he mumbled, disappearing anyway.
And just like that It was quiet.
The water in the basin rippled softly as you dipped your hands in, the warmth grounding, familiar. You focused on the dishes, on the rhythm wash, rinse, pass. Zuko took them from you, drying them carefully, like each plate might shatter if he held it wrong.
For a while, neither of you spoke .Your fingers brushed when you handed him a bowl sending a jolt through you, you both pulled back quickly.
“Sorry,” you both said simultaneously.
You both froze then let out quiet, embarrassed laughs that died just as quickly as they came.
The silence that followed felt… different.
From the other room, voices carried faintly through the open doorway. You focused on them to try and ease your awkwardness but that made it worse.
“…I’m telling you,” Sokka’s voice said, low but not low enough, “if they don’t figure it out soon, I’m locking them in here.”
“You can’t just— Sokka, that’s not how feelings work,” his sister combated.
“It’s been years,” Toph cut in, blunt as ever. “They’ve been pining for each other since...well forever.”
Silence.
Your hand stilled in the water, across from you, Zuko went completely still.
As much as you wished you couldn’t unhear it. You didn’t look at him at first, the water had gone still around your hands. Your chest was tight from anticipation, you glanced at him as he was still at work.
“…is that true?” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then her softly spoke “I didn’t think you knew.”
You looked up, he wasn’t looking at you his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, jaw tight, like the words had been pulled out of him against his will.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked before you could stop yourself. He let out a small, humorless breath. “Because… I didn’t think you felt the same.”
You wanted to scream, you were so obvious how could he have not seen!?
“I thought you didn’t either,” you admitted, the words slipping out.
His head snapped toward you “You— what?”
You shook your head, a nervous laugh escaping you. “You’re always so… closed off. I didn’t want to ruin anything, we’re good friends.”
“I wasn’t trying to be…” He stopped, exhaling, shoulders dropping slightly. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”
“Neither did I,” you said, softer now. The space between you felt smaller all of a sudden. Your heart began to race, beating against your ribcage.
He stepped closer without thinking closing the space between you two and you didn’t step back. For a second just a second it felt like something might finally happen. His hand twitched at his side, like he was debating reaching for you.
Your breath hitched in your throat, waiting, hoping something happened, anything.
“Hey!” Sokka’s voice rang out suddenly. “We’re heading to the festival before all the good food’s gone are you two coming or— oh…”
He leaned against the doorway, eyes flicking between you and Zuko, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“…I see I interrupted something.”
“You did?!” Toph said from somewhere behind him, sounding far too pleased.
Your face burned as you stepped back, grabbing the nearest towel like it could shield you.
“We’re… we’re coming,” you said quickly.
Zuko cleared his throat, stepping away as well. “Yeah. We’ll be there.” Sokka’s grin widened. “No no take your time.”
“Stop it,” Katara hissed, dragging him away.
•••
The streets of Republic City were alive by the time you all arrived. Lanterns hung overhead in long, glowing strands, swaying gently with the evening breeze. Music drifted through the air flutes and drums blending with the hum of voices, vendors calling out from their stalls, the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries curling through the crowd. Keila waved excitedly from a kite stand she stood near, already mid-conversation with a group of people.
“You made it!” she called.
“Told you I would,” you shot back, smiling.
The group lingered together for a moment but not for long.
“I’m getting food,” Sokka announced immediately, already disappearing into the crowd. You’d never understand how’s he’s always so hungry…
“I’ll go with him,” Katara said quickly. “He’ll spend all our money.” Aang naturally followed practically bouncing along.
Toph tilted her head slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips with a knowing look in her eye. “I’m gonna go win some money,” she said. “You two…” she gestured vaguely between you and Zuko, “…have fun” before you could respond, she was gone.
And just like that It was you two alone again.
Zuko stood beside you, shifting slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that there was no one else to hide behind. “they did that on purpose,” you said, glancing around.
“Yeah I figured ,” he muttered. There was a pause then, “…do you still wanna walk around?” he asked, a little hesitant but still holding a hopeful look in his eyes.
You looked up at him, meeting his gaze fully for the first time that night. His amber eyes flickered, reflecting the warm glow of the festival lights. He had always been handsome to you but tonight, it felt different. What once was a silly childhood crush had deepened into something heavier, undeniable. He wasn’t a boy anymore…he was a man. And a very fine looking one at that.
“…yeah,” you said softly. “I do.” His shoulders noticeably eased and a slight smile tugged at his lips.
You sat beside each other on a low wooden bench, the lantern resting between you along with small brushes and pots of ink. For a moment, neither of you touched anything then you picked up a brush, dipping it carefully into the ink.
“…what are you supposed to write?” you asked admiring the empty lantern.
“I think it’s whatever you want?” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure.
You smiled a little. “That’s not helpful.” A faint huff of amusement left him quiet, but real “…sorry.”
You began to paint anyway small, careful strokes, your focus narrowing as you worked. Every so often, you glanced over Zuko, meanwhile, looked like he was overthinking it.
Brush hovering, brow slightly furrowed. Like this one small thing carried too much weight.
“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He glanced at you, a little defensive then paused when he caught the small smile on your lips, “…maybe a little.”
You laughed softly, returning to your work. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“…I know,” he said, quieter this time. After a moment of thought, he finally started.
The two of you stood near the water’s edge, lantern cradled carefully between your hands. The surface of the canal shimmered with reflections dozens of glowing lights already drifting slowly away.
You hesitated then came up with an idea “…you should light it,” you said.
Zuko blinked turning to you. “Me?”
You nodded with a small smile. “Yeah.” For a second, he just looked at you. Then slowly, he stepped closer one hand steadying the lantern, the other lifting slightly.
A small flame sparked at his fingertips. Warm and controlled but gentle— well gentle as a flame can be. It flickered against the paper, catching the wick inside without burning it, casting a soft glow across both your faces.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the flame danced in his eyes as you watched.
“…ready?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, together you lowered it to the water. It drifted slow at first, then carried gently by the current, joining the others. You watched float in peaceful silence.
“what did you wish for?” you asked softly watching the beautiful lanterns float together side by side. He didn’t answer right away.
“if I tell you, it won’t come true,” he said. You smiled faintly. “That’s not how that works silly.”
“…still.” You glanced at him.
You gave him a faint teasing smile “Okay then…don’t tell me.”
But something about the way he looked at you steady, quiet, certain it made your chest tighten. Zuko had never looked at you like that before…no one’s ever had. It sent a rush of warmth through you, your stomach fluttering uncontrollably as your legs weakened beneath you, like your body had suddenly forgotten how to belong to you.
•••
The walk back felt different. It was quieter, but not in a bad way. Your shoulders brushed more often now but neither of you pulled away. At one point, his hand found yours he was hesitant at first. Like he was giving you time to pull away if you wanted but you didn’t. Your fingers curled around his gently and that was it.
By the time you reached your home, the night had settled deep and calm around you. You lingered by the door neither of you moving to open it.
“…I had a nice time,” you said, softer now.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Me too.”
There was a pause, not awkward just a thinking.
“thank you for dinner and… this.”
Your lips curved into a shy smile. “Of course, It was nothing” He nodded, like he had more to say but didn’t know how to start, so you did.
“…I didn’t make a wish,” you said softly, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. Zuko blinked, caught slightly off guard. “You didn’t?”
You shook your head, glancing down for a moment before forcing yourself to look back up at him.
“I wrote something instead.”
He stilled seeming as if was trying to guess what you wrote “…what did you write?”
Your heart began to pound again harder this time, louder, like it was trying to speak for you. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” you admitted with a small breath of a laugh.
“That’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping just a little closer. “You don’t have to—”
“I wrote your name.”
There was a small pause.
The words settled between you, heavier than anything you had said all night. Embarrassment began to engulf your entire body, you knew you shouldn’t have said anything.
Zuko froze, his expression unreadable for a split second. “…mine?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t know how else to say it. I figured… if I couldn’t say it out loud, I could at least send it off and pretend it was enough.” You let out a nervous breath, shaking your head slightly. “It sounds stupid out loud I —”
“It’s not,” he cut in immediately.
You looked up meeting his warm ember eyes for the second time tonight. There was something different in his expression now something steady, something certain.
“…I didn’t make a wish either,” he said.
Your breath caught, your mind racing trying to guess his next words. “…you didn’t?”
He shook his head slowly, gaze never leaving yours. “…I wrote yours.”
Your chest tightened so fast it almost hurt. There was something to humorously relieving about this situation.
“You’re serious?” You let out a breathy laugh he lowered his head letting out a chuckle “I am.”
“I didn’t think you felt the same,” he admitted, quieter now. “So I didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t think you did either” you said, almost breathless. “I do, in fact I always have I just didn’t know how to tell you” he said, firm.
His words made your heart beat faster, “Zuko…”
He stepped closer closing the distance this time without stopping. “I’ve felt this way for a long time,” he continued, voice low but steady. “I just… didn’t want to ruin what we had. I thought if I said something and you didn’t feel the same—”
“You wouldn’t have ruined a thing,” you whispered.
“I could have,” he insisted, softer now. “I didn’t want to lose you.” Your expression softened completely.
“You weren’t going to.” There was a small pause between you two then, gentler “…you won’t.”
Something in him eased at that. You could see it the tension leaving his shoulders, the way his breath steadied. For once, he looked sure. His hand lifted slowly, like he was still giving you time to stop him but you didn’t. His fingers brushed yours warm and grounding. You stepped closer, close enough that your breaths began to mix. Close enough that neither of you could pretend anymore, not like you wanted to.
“Can I—” he started quietly.
“Yes,” you eagerly answered. He didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned in lips hovering above your, you could fill the warmth radiating off of him, finally you’d get a taste of—
“SPIRITS ABOVE—”
You both jumped apart like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have been doing. The door to your house was wide open , Sokka stumbled forward, eyes wide, hands thrown in the air. “FINALLY! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for that?!”
Your eyes widened. “SOKKA?!”
“Don’t even act surprised,” Toph said, stepping out behind him, arms crossed and smirking. “We heard everything.”
“You were listening?!” you exclaimed, mortified.
“Obviously,” she shrugged.
“This was PRIVATE!” Zuko snapped, face burning.
“Oh please,” Toph replied. “You two were practically confessing to the whole street.”
“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Sokka added helpfully. “Oh my—” Katara rushed out, grabbing Sokka by the back of his tunic. “I told you not to interrupt!”
“You said don’t force it, you didn’t say don’t celebrate it there’s a difference” he argued.
“This is not celebrating, this is embarrassing them,” she shot back, dragging him away. From behind her Aang peeked out, offering you both a bright, apologetic smile. “We’re really happy for you though.”
You covered your face with your hands. “I’m never leaving my house again.”
“That’s fine,” Toph said casually, already walking off. “We’ll just come to you…again.”
“Please don’t,” you groaned.
“Also you’re welcome!” she called back.
“For what?!” you yelled beyond frustrated with the friend group.
“For saving you from another ten years of this!” Katara finally managed to drag Sokka back in, Aang following with one last cheerful wave.
And just like that they were gone…you hoped.
Silence settled again, thick and warm and different now. You slowly lowered your hands, still flustered.
“…well,” you muttered.
“…yeah,” Zuko replied, a hint of amusement slipping through.
A pause and then you both started laughing off the embarrassing situation. Soft, breathless, a little disbelieving because of course that’s how it happened. After a moment, the laughter faded but neither of you stepped away this time.
“Well let’s not waste the moment…where were we?” you asked quietly.
Zuko stepped closer again, eyes soft, voice lower now. “…right about here.” His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing beneath your chin as he tilted your face up toward his. The touch was gentle but hesitant.
Your breath caught as he leaned in, the space between you finally closing after what felt like a lifetime.
Your lips met, soft at first. His lips were slightly chapped, but warm against yours, grounding in a way that made your chest tighten. For a second, neither of you moved, like you were both afraid the moment might disappear if you did too much.
Then he exhaled quietly against you, and everything eased. Your hand instinctively found the front of his tunic, fingers curling lightly into the fabric as you leaned just a little closer. His grip shifted, not tight, just steady like he needed to be sure you were really there. The kiss deepened, not rushed, not overwhelming but just right.
When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Your foreheads nearly touched, breaths still uneven, the warmth of him lingering in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
And this time thankfully there was no one left to interrupt.
synopsis | in which your little sister, toph, is trying so hard to make you and firelord!zuko get along despite your obvious differences (for the sake of the gaang, of course, because toph has never had ulterior motives). and toph will do anything to get her way, absolutely anything.
content | angst? (it's so buzzy), little sister!toph, evil little shit!toph, simp!zuko on the low, brief bone manipulation, small miscommunication trope
word count | 2.6k
PART ONE
You and your sister lean lazily against one of the less crowded walls of the bustling great hall, the two of you "people-watching" as she funnily calls it, listening to other people's conversations through her sharp hearing and your stilled breathing. A few stare back at the both of you, whispering in your own little world, all inside jokes and complaints about the stuck-up air of the room.
Sometime in the midst of your joking and complaining, Toph had made some off-handed comment about a very particular man across the room, a close friend of hers, though Toph had never been very good at making friends. This one, you knew of, and of course he was here, it was his home you'd been invited to, his great hall which hosted the Fire Nation's very first party of the new scorching summer.
Toph's mentioning of him blanketed something else sinister, hid something teasing.
"You know, he's not so bad once you get to know him."
Your sister, Toph, had always proved rather convincing when it came to you---like everyone else, she had you wrapped around her strong little finger from the day she was born and all the days after. Her word was your Bible most times, you both put your trust in each other so completely, and there was rarely ever a doubt in your mind that Toph didn't know exactly what she was doing. But here, you couldn't help rolling your eyes.
She'd felt it somehow, your unimpressed expression, thumping at your shoulder quickly and laughing under her breath when you'd visibly winced.
"And he's attractive, too!"
You gave her a short look, brows raised in question. "Like you'd know, Toffee." She was always saying strange things like that, being able to feel when someone was interesting, or cute, or muscular. And you supposed that's what the Firelord Zuko was as you look around the room and allow your eyes to land on him.
Interesting in the way he spoke gruffly even when he was trying to be kind. The way he dragged men over to the group he was speaking to, just to have them agree with him on whatever he'd been arguing. Interesting in the way he let his hair fall over his scarred eye in public, not ashamed, you'd gathered, but not wanting to entertain the questions that came with it.
Cute in the way a bear was cute, something broad and grizzly, eyes squinting when he laughed and teased the Avatar and the Waterbending Master's brother.
Muscular like a sea of mountains, ripples of them across his body, pushing through the fabric of his formal garments. Muscular in the way his hands flexed out when he'd caught you staring at him, the way—oh, fuck, he'd caught you staring at him.
You swiftly turn back to a grinning Toph, her eyes shining white and mischievous. You thump her shoulder back, feeling the floor rumble beneath your feet, and it's not quite so obvious who's doing it but you think it's best not to find out. There are eyes boring into your side as you try and listen to the babbling woman in front of you—something about the food from tonight, or had she asked what food you wanted for tomorrow? You didn't know and you almost didn't really care, the way you'd spot him in your peripheral still glancing your way, only ever leaving his distraction when someone grabbed his shoulder or asked him something serious.
"I need some fresh air."
"Fresh?" Toph's face scrunches in a strange disgust, arms folding over her chest. Her smirk expands over her face as she stares right through you. "It's humid everywhere, you know. It's the Fire Nation—"
"Yes, yes, thank you for the tidbit."
With a kiss of her warm cheek, you hurry away from her before she can make some crude joke about the burning in your cheeks, and just before you escape into the main corridor, the Firelord catches your eye again.
And he is so disgustingly beautiful.
You scurry through the almost empty hallway, nothing but servants carrying piles of dirty bowls and cups and royal advisors gliding back to the hall to discuss important business with the still fresh lord, his duties seemingly never-ending. You slip and sneak behind one wall, and then another, left and right and left again, the passageways seemingly endless too. Once you let your mind settle, you finally register that you've stopped hearing the bustle that once filtered out of the great hall, met with the silent whirring on wind and dry humidity that made you sweat underneath your silky green dinner gown. All of sudden, you realize you're nowhere near the outdoor garden you were aiming for, and if you hadn't been so stubborn, you would've maybe admitted that you were lost. You make a few turns here and there that you think are leading you back in the direction of the hall, but you're not entirely sure, cursing yourself for being so equally, stubbornly distracted. Too absent-minded, Toph would often tease, never paying attention to your surroundings like you ought to.
You didn't care. You didn't need to pay attention like normal people did.
With a frustrated huff, cursing under your breath in a way that's still attempting to be lady-like, you slip off your nice shoes with a swift hand, letting your cold toes hit the stone floor.
You hum out, closing your eyes and listening for those busy vibrations you and Toph had been so attentive to before in the great hall. You mind wandered and search for her familiar cadence of footsteps against the bare ground—she had a habit of tapping her foot when she wanted to drown out noise, and you loved being the only one to hear it. You stepped carefully towards the tremor sounds in the earth, inching just closer to them to guide yourself back, feeling the jittery drunk conversation bouncing off of some walls in the distance. To your left, you'd concluded, not too many corridors way. You smile when you feel Katara's laugh somewhere far-off, mixing with the low rumble of Toph's chuckle. You wonder if she can hear your heartbeat, but the idea is quickly drowned out by another sound.
You tilt your head to pay attention to both, careful not to lose the guidance of your sister and her friend, but oh-so-curious as to who might be approaching.
Your smile drops and you resist opening your eyes for a moment. You know those heavy footsteps, that soft breathing reverberating in the air and in your ears.
You let your eyes flutter, a deep sigh leaving your lips without your permission.
And he smiles as he comes closer, something simple and boyish. "Good evening." He bows his head to you politely, and you return the favor, keeping your head down as he speaks. "Sorry to disturb you." You lift your head up when he takes a step closer, your hand reaching out instinctively. He stands still, as if at attention like a solider. "I'm Zuko."
You laugh and you can practically hear his heart flutter. "What are you doing, we know each other."
"Yes, I thought perhaps you'd forgotten." He adjusts his posture, his back and shoulders broadening. He's quick with his words, tumbling out of his lips like they've betrayed him. Still, he stands firm, head held high. "Since you'd failed to say hello."
Your breath hitched at that accusatory tone and you looked away to save face, knuckles crackling. "Yes, they sat us a way's away—"
"You failed to say hello the whole night."
He takes a careful step closer once again and this time you know well enough to step back, to keep this distance between you. And still, with your feet against the warm floor, you can feel his heartbeat quicken despite its normally calm pace. His hand looks like it might reach out for you but he knows well enough too.
"You know perfectly well why it seemed inappropriate."
Now, what's the story on you and the gruff Firelord?
Perhaps it starts when Toph had first introduced you to the jumbled and unlikely Avatar group a year ago, another hot summer that you can only remember when you dream.
Scorching days at Ember Island with your sister’s traumatized buddies from the war, sweat dripping from your body in vulgar sorts of ways when one distinct friend eyed you for longer than necessary. He had this way about him, something gorgeous and mesmerizing in a way that was unfair. When the summer heat got almost entirely unbearable, you'd all spent your time in the Water Tribe, basking in whatever cool air you could find. Your room had been just next to his, in a far wing of the palace, and you'd sneak away together when sleep refused to take you, or bundled up on the floor of your visiting chambers and tell stories upon stories. His voice like honey in your ears.
So, perhaps the starts instead during that same summer, in a now humid bedroom, with his hand up your skirt, and his lips against your jaw, and your name being mumbled repeatedly from his soft lips like a prayer. It's not quite so clear how you'd gotten to this point—whether it had been the drinks he'd snuck into room to rid you of the nighttime boredom, or the way your eyes couldn't stop flickering to his slender fingers brushing against yours—but sooner or later, you're on his lap, another hand in is your hair, and all decorum has been tossed right out of the window.
And the story ends that same evening, when there's a creak in the floorboard behind the bedroom door, and a quick glance between the two of you that says this can't possibly happen again. Sure, you hadn't been caught this time, but there was something messy about mixing things up with your baby sister's friends, something filthy about meeting in secret with the new Firelord in all his broken honor and his faltering prestige. He'd been worshiping you on that bedroom floor, but it could never happen twice, you two had reputations to uphold, kingdoms and communities to lead.
So, Zuko should know why you didn't speak to him at this party, why you hadn't spoken to him in almost exactly a year (of course, you both had been counting), and why you'd really only agreed to come in the first place because of Toph. Because she'd begged like she knew why you wouldn't want to, and you knew that seeing him from a safe distance was better than not seeing him at all.
But, you see, that's why he'd invited you too. It wouldn't be suspicious, because the whole group would come, and you both could speak because the whole group would be speaking, and he would promise not to let his hand drift towards your thigh like he wanted, he'd promise. And instead, you stayed on the complete other side of the hall the whole time, laughing at what other people were saying to entertain you, talking to everyone except for him, waltzing around in that dress and that color that drove him absolutely insane. He'd been so hopeful when he finally caught your eye across the table. When you'd left almost immediately after, avoiding his gaze—he had been almost absolutely sure that it was an invitation.
However, the way you were looking at him now said differently.
You looked around carefully. No one close by, no one peeking. Still, you wouldn't relax your shoulders just yet, lest the two of you grow too comfortable. You lowered your voice and stripped that unlikeable tone out of it. "You should get back to the hall and I can follow behind. Surely people are awaiting you—“
"I can excuse myself in my home."
"You can also speak to your guests properly in—”
“Is that what you are—a guest?”
“As opposed to what?” There’s a heaviness in your breath that hadn’t been there before, and you suddenly realize how close you’ve let him come, how near his breath and heart rest sound against the arch of your feet. “My lord.” Your scowl deepens as you flick your wrist and quicker than you’d meant it to happen, Zuko stumbles back with a hand on his chest. Your lips almost fix themselves to ask it he’s okay, but you’d hate to give him fuel.
He lets out a huff of a laugh, arms lunging to grab your hands. He’s trapped you, walking you back further and further away from the party, from Toph’s clever tone, from the clinking of lingering drinks and glasses—it alls starts to fade as you struggle against him.
“You’re not supposed to be able to control the human body,” he notes breathlessly, gaze traveling and skittering all over you, like he was imagining you use those same skills for all the wrong reasons, for nefarious purposes. “What was it you said, the calcium and phosphorus in my bones?”
“Who cares what I said, we shouldn’t be here—!”
Thump, thump, thumping upon the stone floor and your sister’s voice is whispering to you three halls down, asking where you’ve run off to. But she knows exactly where you are, exactly who you’re with, she’s always been so much better at that seismic sensing than you.
You find yourself wondering why she really begged you to come to this party, why she’d insisted on mentioning Zuko in every single conversation since you’d arrived.
Toph rarely played stupid, but when she did?
Something was up her sleeve.
You rip one arm from Zuko’s slowly loosening grip and slap your hand against his lips, and you swear you hear him groan against you, leaning closer into your touch. But you know silencing him won’t matter. Toph knows. You can practically feel her smile spreading across her lips like butter. And then you hear her laugh—that evil one she does, when she’s mocked you for just long enough, when she’s won in some game, when all goes her way in the easiest way possible. She’s laughing, but she stops walking—abruptly, so it seems, and—
The ground rumbles.
“Shit.”
“Hmm?”
Before you know it, you’re dragging Zuko away from Toph’s line of fire—she’s clumsy when she’s giggling—and just then, the ground cracks before you both, the dirt and rock from beneath emerging from the opening and creating a blockage between you and every other living being in the palace.
You and Zuko. Alone.
Toph would be dead by morning, you’d make sure of it.
“Aw,” Zuko coos against your palm before you slip it away. “You trapped us together, how sweet.”
You shove at his chest with no real weight, allowing him to drift just slightly closer. “Don’t get your hopes up, it was that brat—this is your home, you know, you’ll have to clean this all up.”
“No, I owe Toph, I think this’ll do.” His hand crept closer to your face, thumb running over your jaw as soft as kisses, as light as feathers, and you burned with the feeling. But you let him. Not just let him, you wanted him to, you'd hoped he'd touch you, just like this, the whole night, knowing that you shouldn't. He smiles sweetly, dipping his head to nose the crook of your neck, the bridge running just behind your ear and down so he could take in the scent he'd been waiting for---a whole year he'd been waiting. "Please. Tell me you've thought of me."
You let in a sharp breath, straightening your figure at even the thought of your answer. How were you supposed to lie?
"Even once would be enough."
His other hand dips to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his own in this new comfortable silence, smiling gently against your skin.
"I can show you how enough it would be."
guys I'm working on part two THIS VERY SECOND I SWEAR please don't hurt me
hope you guys enjoy and let it be nourishing to our bodies
I will never ever ever forgive the Broadway version of Hadestown for changing the lyric from "May the world we dream about be the one we live in now" (hopeful, invitation to action) to "To the world we dream about and the one we live in now" (passive, dismissive of the possibility of change). Complete tonal shift for the entire musical encapsulated in the alteration of two words.
People saying that Eloise only talks and talks and never actually does anything with her white, privileged feminism.
First of all, if Eloise were to actually do something, considering she’s already hated in such an exaggerated way, people would immediately start saying that she should keep quiet, know her place, and that she’s ruining her family’s name.
Because let’s remember that in season two, Eloise did try to do something: she tried to educate herself and to understand. And because of a certain redheaded writer, she couldn’t continue. Throughout that time, while she was trying to learn and understand, you all were complaining that she was ruining her family, that she was stupid, that she wasn’t doing things the right way. Then, when she tries to adapt without giving up her beliefs, you say she only talks and does nothing.
Yes, I will always be the first to admit that Eloise is, in fact, a white, privileged feminist. I’m never going to deny it because it’s true.
But how do you think feminism started? Do you really think it was poor working-class women who started it? No. It was white, privileged women in positions like Eloise’s who began the feminist movement, because poor and working-class women were busy working just to put food on the table. They didn’t have the time or the space to question the system.
Women in Eloise’s position were the first to question things, to write, and to fight. But they didn’t start as fully formed revolutionaries: they started like Eloise, as misunderstood women, pushed aside, mocked, because questioning a woman’s role was something that brought punishment and ridicule.
Which brings us to the obvious: Eloise is in a social position where, if she were to say, do, or even think something radical and it became public, it wouldn’t just affect her. It wouldn’t only be a problem for Eloise, but also for her family. She has three siblings who are not yet married. Let’s say Benedict wouldn’t be as affected as Hyacinth and Gregory, but the mere fact that Eloise is known to have “radical” ideas would close doors for Hyacinth and Gregory: it would limit their chances of good marriages, invitations to balls, and access to important social circles. So no, Eloise can’t do much in her position without putting her family at risk. And isn’t that exactly what people keep accusing her of—not caring about her family’s reputation?
It’s the same reason why, for example, Benedict can’t just marry Sophie without consequences: the family’s reputation would suffer, and the “purity” and dignity of the Bridgerton family would be seen as compromised. That would make Eloise’s, Hyacinth’s, and Gregory’s situation even worse—especially for the girls—because let’s remember that, at that time, the main way for a woman to survive socially and economically was through a good marriage. Gregory could at least hope for a respectable job in the future, but that wasn’t an option for Eloise and Hyacinth.
And to anyone who says that Penelope “did something,” I swear I want to smack them on the head. First of all, let’s remember that Penelope ran a gossip sheet, not a radical political movement. Second, she did it in complete anonymity. Her entire arc is about how she feels more seen when she’s anonymous and how no one can ever find out—there’s a reason she hid it from Colin before marrying him. So no, Penelope didn’t really “do” anything publicly. Lady Whistledown did. Yes, Penelope was behind LW, but when you don’t put your face to it, it’s not the same thing.
And even putting aside the fact that Penelope dragged half of the Ton, including the queen—if we don’t focus on that part—what Penelope did wasn’t actually dangerous in a political sense. She mostly reported gossip that happened in public places (not always, and she didn’t always verify it, but let’s not get into that now). She wasn’t promoting radical ideas or going against the system itself. Penelope wasn’t at risk of being considered a traitor or a dangerous figure for having radical beliefs. Eloise was.
So yes: talking, complaining, and voicing her opinions was pretty much the only thing Eloise could safely do without putting herself and her family in danger. Because you all love to pull the “it was historically accurate” card to defend Anthony, Benedict, Colin, or Penelope, but then you apply a very modern mindset when judging Eloise. That’s hypocritical. Why not judge all the characters by the same standard?
On top of that, people talk about how Hyacinth “called out” Eloise because Eloise was supposedly mean and inconsiderate to her sister. Sure, Eloise shouldn’t have been rude or harsh with her sister—that wasn’t fair. But do you know what else isn’t fair? Demanding that Eloise always understand and respect other women and their choices, while never offering her the same understanding in return.
And honestly, I understand Eloise. She’s incredibly frustrated. Her mother supposedly understood that she shouldn’t pressure her, promised to go at Eloise’s pace and to accept her. Then, one season later, she tells her it’s not enough to just form friendships with women and parades her in front of men, forcing her to smile and flirt, as if Violet were showing off livestock. And if Eloise doesn’t want to be paraded around like cattle, then she’s forced to spend time with her 14-year-old sister and attend etiquette lessons she already went through when she was younger—and that she has been very vocal about hating—while also having to listen to Hyacinth chatter endlessly about the very topic Eloise despises and wants to avoid: marriage. And then she gets attacked by her sister for not celebrating her desire to marry and become the “proper lady” that high society demands Eloise herself to be.
Yes, Eloise could have chosen a better attitude at times. But people also weren’t giving her any space not to be frustrated. And Hyacinth is also behaving in a very childish, entitled way—like when she got mad at Eloise for taking her out of a ball she was literally too young to attend.
And I get Hyacinth too. She’s frustrated and lonely: all her older siblings are married, her playmate Gregory is away at school, and the only sister she has left doesn’t care about the same things she does. So she takes that frustration out on Eloise. But why is Hyacinth allowed to dump her frustration onto Eloise and be cruel to her, while Eloise is expected to endure it and still be endlessly considerate?
Why is it always Eloise who has to be understanding and empathetic toward everyone else, while no one extends her the same grace? She’s expected to accept everyone’s cruel words, but the moment she talks back, she’s labeled selfish, cruel, and childish. At this point, it feels less like genuine criticism and more like people just wanting an excuse to hate her.
Summary: Being your best friend’s maid of honour brings a lot into your life- bachelorette planning, dress fittings, and debt mainly- but, perhaps most importantly, it brings an unexpected partner-in-crime in the form of the best man, Bradley Bradshaw.
Warnings: Wedding day shenanigans, a homophobic relative who gets what she deserves, alcohol, swearing, brief reference to the current USA political climate
A/N: Strap in for a ride on the Rooster romcom rollercoaster!
You had only cried twice so far, which you thought was respectable for the morning of your childhood best friend’s wedding. You could even argue that the second cry didn’t count, considering that it had been provoked by overhearing the mother of the bride humming Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA as she helped Katie into her wedding dress.
Anyone who didn’t well up at that didn’t have a heart.
Seeing the girl you’d known since the two of you were in nappies in her wedding dress, ready to marry her soulmate, was a bittersweet kind of happiness. Natasha was the perfect partner for Katie and you knew that they were going to have the happiest life together. There was just a tiny, bitter, niggling part of you that felt painfully aware of how your own love life was lacking in comparison.
The air in the bridal suite was thick with hairspray and excitement, and you resisted the urge to check just once more that the little flower girl definitely had her spare inhaler concealed in her basket. Careful in your heels, you joined Katie in front of the mirror, slipping your hand into hers and squeezing.
“You look so beautiful,” you told her, both of you smiling at each other in the mirror. A bride in white and a maid of honour in navy blue smiled back at you both, and for a moment you swore you saw the little girls playing dress-up that the two of you used to be.
“So do you,” she answered earnestly, “You’re my something blue.”
You groaned dramatically.
“You’re so lucky Natasha loves you even with your corny jokes.”
The two of you dissolved into giggles, interrupted only by an insistent knock at the door. Katie’s smile vanished as you both recognised the rhythm, her joy replaced by nerves in a second as Julian, the well-meaning but intense MC, stuck his head around the door.
“Let’s get this show on the road, ladies! The guests are waiting!”
You glared at him before he ducked out of the room again, seeing the telltale threat of emotional tears in Katie’s perfectly made-up eyes.
“Oh my god, I’m getting married,” she whispered, as though it was the first time she was realising it. There had been several of those moments that morning, each ending in tears that had been carefully dried, however this was the first one since Katie’s makeup had been done.
And the wedding was due to start in five minutes.
You could see her starting to spiral and knew that five minutes were not going to cut it. Thinking on the spot, you set off purposefully for the door.
“Where are you going?” Katie asked frantically as her mother held a tissue under her eyes and encouraged her to tip her head back.
“Buying you time.”
The room where Natasha and her half of the wedding party were getting ready was at the other end of the corridor from where you and Katie had set up camp. Knocking, you prayed that your plan would work.
The door swung open and you were greeted by a man who looked like a Ken doll in his Navy propaganda era. Tanned skin, blond hair, and a shockingly white grin- he was the kind of man you were annoyed at yourself for finding attractive because it was so obvious.
“Well, hello, Miss,” he drawled.
Yeah, he wouldn’t do for this.
“Could I borrow Bradley?” you asked hopefully.
You had only met Bradley Bradshaw, Natasha’s best man, twice- once at the engagement party, and last night at the rehearsal dinner. Handsome, confident, and extremely loyal to his friends, you hoped that he would be the best man for this task as well.
“Rooster! The maid of honour wants you!”
You rolled your eyes at the man in front of you’s wording, and a second later your jaw was dropping as Bradley stepped out into the hallway.
He was wearing the exact same dress whites as the blond bombshell that had answered the door, but they looked even better on him. His sun-kissed dark hair was perfectly tousled, his skin looking even more deliciously tanned against the crisp white of his uniform, and he filled out the shirt and trousers sinfully well.
“Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in the doorway in a way that had you fighting the instinct to swoon. Maybe if you swooned he would catch you in those arms-
“I need you,” you blurted out, and his eyebrows raised in surprise, “I mean, Katie needs you.”
Frowning, he pulled the door shut behind him so that no one inside the room would overhear your conversation. In doing so, he stepped closer to you and you forced yourself to look up from his chest.
“What’s going on?”
“Katie needs her makeup saved because she keeps crying- happy tears, by the way- and the MC keeps rushing us. I have a plan to buy us some time, but I need you to make it work,” you told him, “I can explain on the way?”
He hummed, straightening up.
“Lead the way.”
“Wait, why me?”
You sighed in frustration after explaining your plan around the corner from where the MC was close to pacing a hole in the foyer carpet.
“What part wasn’t clear?” you whispered harshly.
“Why can’t you flirt with him?” he asked, perplexed. You fixed him with an unamused look.
“Bradley, that is a gay man. I don’t think I’m his type.”
“But I don’t know how to flirt with a guy!” he protested, sounding genuinely ashamed of the gap in his expertise.
You rolled your eyes, the prospect of the hair stylist’s wrath the only thing keeping you from tearing your hair out. Settling instead for a calming inhale and exhale that would have made your therapist proud, you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to slowly back him towards the corner.
“Tell him you’ve been cooped up at sea and haven’t felt another human’s touch in months. Channel the eighties porn star you stole that moustache from. Ask him if he wants to find out why they call you Rooster. I don’t care what you do, just buy us enough time for her setting spray to dry!”
With that, you shoved him unceremoniously around the corner.
Barely a minute later, Bradley sidled back around the corner, looking dejected. You straightened up, staring at him in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me he’s straight.”
“Yeah, no, he’s definitely gay. At least, he was until I spoke to him. I may have put him off men for good.”
“Oh.” You rolled your lips together to try and suppress your laughter, but it was in vain. “Did you use the-”
“Yes, I used the Rooster line.”
“Well, you better hope Katie’s makeup is set, otherwise I’ll be sending you back for round two.”
Miraculously, Katie was ready to go in the time it took for Bradley to unsuccessfully flirt with Julian- who kept giving him sympathetic smiles as you all gathered outside the wedding hall. Natasha was ready and waiting inside the hall, and Katie’s excitement had finally dried her tears.
As you carefully arranged Katie’s train on the floor where she was positioned behind the bridesmaids and brides-boys (as you’d been reliably informed was the title of Natasha’s friends’ group chat), you overheard Bradley talking to Jack, Natasha’s nephew and the ring-bearer.
“If you wear your tie, I’ll take you up in my plane.”
“I’ve already been up in Aunt Tasha’s plane.”
Bradley shot you a helpless look, and you sighed and went to join him in crouching in front of the little boy.
“Jack, I will give you ten dollars if you keep your tie on until the end of the ceremony,” you offered.
Jack fiddled with the end of his tie as he pondered your offer.
“Hmm…twenty and it’s a deal.”
Your eyes widened and Bradley choked on air beside you.
“You’re seven years old, what do you need twenty dollars for?” you asked incredulously.
“Savings! My mom says you’re never too young to start building a healthy credit score.”
You felt as though you were close to also doubling as Katie’s something old as you tried to process the words you’d just heard come out of the same mouth you’d been trying to keep from eating the corsages just half an hour earlier.
“Building a healthy- oh my god, just take the twenty and keep your tie on.”
“Pleasure doing business with you!” Jack said chirpily.
You and Bradley left the little conman in order to take your positions at the head of the procession before the doors, Bradley offering you his arm gallantly. You had to remind yourself there was nothing but ceremony behind the gesture, and that it was inappropriate to squeeze his bicep in awe.
“That kid is either gonna be a supervillain or the President one day,” you commented, looking over your shoulder and watching bitterly as Jack folded your twenty into his pocket. Bradley snorted.
“You can be both these days. Just look at-”
“Don’t say his name, we have to try and look happy and hopeful for the photographer.”
“You’re right.” He took a deep breath and fixed a bright smile on his face. “The Democrats are gonna get back in and we’re all gonna be fine.”
You patted his chest sympathetically.
“That’s the spirit, big guy.”
The two of you stopped talking abruptly as Julian shushed you both with a glare, shepherding everyone into their positions and reminding each and every one of you to smile.
“I’ve served under Admirals less pushy than this guy,” Bradley murmured in your ear as the procession music started, and you just barely managed not to snort in amusement. His moustache twitched as he grinned at your reaction. “Oh, and here.”
You looked at him in confusion as the doors opened to the wedding hall; he was offering you a spare pocket square.
“What’s this for?”
“I have a hunch you’re a crier.”
You just had time to hide the pocket square in your bouquet before Julian was all but shoving the two of you to start walking down the aisle.
The ceremony passed in a blur, Natasha and Katie both absolute visions in their white dresses. True to his word- and your bribe- Jack kept his tie on throughout the whole affair and only yawned once.
You dabbed subtly at your eyes as Katie said her vows, mouthing a “thank you” at Bradley when he caught your eye and grinned. You blamed the butterflies that burst into flight in your belly at his answering wink on the champagne at breakfast.
It would have been easy to let your heart get carried away at being held in Bradley Bradshaw’s arms while a corny Ed Sheeran love song played. You could so easily have melted into his strong arms, gotten addicted to the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you reminded yourself firmly that it was tradition for the best man to dance with the maid of honour.
He was just following tradition.
It meant nothing.
“We made a pretty good team today.”
You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realise he had spoken at first, not until you felt him looking at you. You swallowed, trying not to dwell on how close together your faces were.
“We did.”
His thumb rubbed over your waist gently and you wished so badly that this wasn’t the end of being in each other’s lives. After today, you would see each other once a year if you were lucky, maybe with a few glimpses into each other’s lives on social media. It had you feeling like Cinderella at the ball.
Once your sparkly shoes came off at midnight, you’d lose your handsome prince.
“I was thinking-”
You didn’t get to find out what Bradley was thinking because Jack chose that moment to barrel into your legs and ask you to dance with him. For a second, you swore that you saw disappointment flashing across his face, but then he was smiling.
“Enjoy your dance,” he said, releasing your hand and heading off to the bar.
You watched him go, trying not to think too hard about what he had been about to say.
A couple of hours into the reception, you were sitting on a stone bench outside the venue, getting some air. The summer evening air was starting to cool and you welcomed the brief respite from the loud music and sticky warmth of the ballroom.
The sound of gravel crunching under feet had you looking up to see Bradley approaching with a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
You shuffled over to make room for him, and he handed you one of the champagne flutes.
“Cheers.”
The silence between the two of you was comfortable- surprisingly comfortable, for how little you knew each other.
A gentle breeze blew and you rubbed your bare arm without thinking, feeling goosebumps appearing there.
“Are you cold?” Bradley asked in concern.
Before you could say a word, he was setting his glass down and shrugging out of his uniform jacket to drape it carefully around your shoulders. The heavy, starched material was warm from his body heat and the lingering scent of his aftershave had you tempted to bury your nose in the collar.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your mouth suddenly dry despite the champagne.
His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, making sure that the jacket was secure on your shoulder.
“I don’t think I actually said earlier…you look beautiful.”
Your lips parted in surprise.
“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”
He chuckled at that.
“What were you going to say earlier?” you surprised yourself by asking him before you could chicken out, “Before-”
“Before our future President stole you away from me?”
You giggled at that.
“Yeah. Then.”
He turned slightly more to face you.
“I was gonna ask if maybe we could keep seeing each other after this? It’s been really fun, being your sidekick today.”
The giddiness you felt at that couldn’t be blamed on the champagne. You opened your mouth to tell him that you absolutely wanted that, but then you spotted an unfortunately familiar face in the distance over his shoulder.
“Oh fuck no.”
His eyes widened in alarm at the aggression in your tone.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise I was misinterpreting this-”
You scrambled to save the situation whilst keeping a careful eye on the person approaching the venue entrance, getting to your feet.
“No, no! We are absolutely coming back to this conversation and I plan on kissing the life out of you, but we have an emergency on our hands.”
He looked utterly bewildered, getting to his feet alongside you.
“You’re gonna kiss me? Wait, what’s the emergency?”
“Thoroughly, but stay focussed, Lieutenant. That-” You pointed to the storm cloud in heels approaching the venue entrance. “-is Katie’s Aunt Angela. The most homophobic bitch of a woman you’ve ever met.”
He whirled around to see who you were pointing at, frowning at the sight.
“I’m assuming she wasn’t invited?”
“No the fuck she wasn’t. Hold my drink.”
He took your glass as soon as you held it out to him.
“Okay- wait, where are you going?” he asked in confusion as you strode off like a woman on a mission towards the entrance.
“Angela!”
His eyes widened as you called out to the woman with unmistakeable anger, and he hastily set your drink down to jog after you before you could commit a crime…unassisted.
Five minutes later, you slid nonchalantly into the seat besides Katie where she was watching Natasha dance with her parents.
“Having fun?” you asked innocently.
She eyed you suspiciously and you continued to smile as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.
“I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that I just saw Bradley pass the window with what looked like my Aunt Angela over his shoulder.”
Your smile didn’t falter.
“I would appreciate that. I can’t answer questions about that without a lawyer present,” you told her primly.
She rolled her eyes with a grin.
“In that case, can I ask about what you currently have on your shoulders and how it looks very much like it was Navy-issued?” she asked, the smug look on her face telling you that she knew exactly who the jacket belonged to.
“…I want my lawyer.”
Most people had gone home or gone off to their rooms for the night, but you were still sat at one of the tables at the edge of the room, sipping from a glass of cool water. Your heels were abandoned on the empty chair beside you, and you watched fondly as Natasha and Katie swayed together on the otherwise empty dance floor, incandescently happy in their own little bubble.
“We have another emergency.”
You looked up in surprise to see Bradley standing behind you- you hadn’t seen him in hours. His jacket was now draped over the back of your chair.
“What’s wrong? Shit, is Angela back-”
“No, no, she’s not coming back. She’s too scared you’re gonna deck her- which, by the way, I was rooting for you.”
You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t quite hide the amused twitch of your lips.
“Wait, so what’s the emergency?”
He slid into the seat not occupied by your shoes and looked at you seriously, facing you with his arm resting on the back of your chair.
“This really beautiful bridesmaid promised to, quote, kiss the life out of me earlier, and here I am, alive and un-kissed.”
You laughed in disbelief, your pulse not settling even as you realised there was no real emergency.
“That’s devastating.”
“Tragic, really,” he agreed, grinning at you.
“It’s verging on Shakespearean.”
He whistled lowly.
“I love it when you talk brainy to me.”
The surprised giggle you let out should have been embarrassing but the way he was grinning at you had you not caring at all.
“At ease, sailor.”
“It’s Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he corrected smoothly.
“That…should not be as attractive as I’m finding it right now.”
He grinned, shifting closer to you.
“It’s only fair. You’ve been walking around, all gorgeous and smart and funny, all day. I never stood a chance.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” you quipped, the breathiness of your own voice surprising you. You blamed the proximity, and his words, and his face.
He groaned at that and it took all of your willpower not to squeeze your thighs together.
“Again with the smartness? You’re killing me here, honey.”
Emboldened, you reached out to trace your finger along his jawline, feeling a little thrill at the way it slackened at such a light touch from you. His eyes kept flitting to your lips.
“You gonna kiss me about it, Lieutenant Commander?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He kissed like he danced, confidently, holding you close, as though you were something precious. One of his hands cupped your cheek, respectful of your hairstyle, and the other found your waist to bring you closer. His moustache was surprisingly soft against your upper lip, his lips plush and soft and so very giving against yours.
When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t resist chasing his lips for just one more taste; you could feel him smiling into that kiss.
“I knew it,” he whispered.
“What?” you asked in confusion, your mind made foggy by his kisses.
“Kissing you was worth the wait,” he said simply, as though it was obvious.
Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself
Length: 4700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger
Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.
His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.
There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time.
Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh.
Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.
Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret.
It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him.
Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.
Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.
He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated.
There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.
Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.
This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.
"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.
My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?
This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up.
He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.
I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.
"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message.
Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.
Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.
Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way.
Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface.
Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?
Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.
Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number.
Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.
I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.
On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip.
Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.
Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice.
And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.
Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.
That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?
He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later.
Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush.
"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be.
He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten.
What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.
It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.
Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?
"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.
No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.
He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin.
When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning.
Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone.
"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.
How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?
Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?
"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.
Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.
Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.
Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?
Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.
My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her.
He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.
Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.
Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.
He texted you back.
Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.
CALL FROM Pretty Girl
Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."
A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"
He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"
When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."
Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him.
"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."
Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."
Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"
Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"
"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."
"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."
Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."
If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"
"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"
Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."
Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."
He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."
You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."
"Just okay?"
"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."
Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."
"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"
He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open.
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself.
"Totally naked."
"Fuck."
"Send me another one?"
"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on.
Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.
"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."
He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"
The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."
A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."
You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."
Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."
You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."
"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."
"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."
"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.
"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"
"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."
Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"
"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."
--------------------------
It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."
Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"
You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face.
"Yeah. It's Rooster."
Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."
"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.
You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache.
And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar.
You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit.
You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.
As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.
Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.
"Pretty Girl."
Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.
And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest.
When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."
Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck.
"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."
"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.
"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."
You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."
He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."
-------------------------
I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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