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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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Oh Christmas Tree

Summary: Bradley’s never been one to look forward to the holidays, that is until he met you. He’s excited to do everything, including getting his very first real Christmas tree.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, allusions to smut. Minors DNI.

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(What was supposed to be a quick fluffy Christmas fic, somehow turned into this, enjoy!)

The atmosphere at the Hard Deck was livelier than usual, the music seemed more upbeat and the voices a little louder. It was the first time in a while that the entire Dagger Squad was together in one place. News of the success of the Uranium Mission traveled fast and had been keeping them busy in the months that had followed.

Things seemed to settle down a bit as the holidays rolled around, some has dispersed home for Thanksgiving while a few others had been given last minute orders to ship out for a short mission. You’d been dying to take Bradley Bradshaw home to meet your parents in person, but he had been one of the few sent away only set to return the day after Thanksgiving.

You’re sitting across from Natasha at a high top near the pool tables in the back of the bar listening to Jake talk about his visit home, while your boyfriend next to you talks animatedly about something related to his latest mission with Bob.

“I shaved off an extra 5 minutes from the last Trot. Turns out I’m in even better shape than I was the last time I was home for Thanksgiving,” Jake brags smugly taking a swig of his beer from his nearly empty bottle.

“Wait, you come from a Turkey Trot family? That explains so much. Please tell me, you guys wear matching Seresin family shirts for it too,” you tease without remorse. “Oh! Or maybe those turkey leg bobble headbands?”

You hear Bradley snort into his beer as he drops a well-defined arm across your shoulders. He’s wearing one of your favorite Hawaiian shirts from his collection, and you’ve been having a hard time keeping your eyes and hands to yourself.

“Bradshaw! Are you going to let your girl trash talk me like that?” You turn to Bradley to see him smirk with a shrug at Jake’s indignation.

“I mean, if the headband fits,” he replies lifting his bottle up in cheers.

“Darlin’, you wound me. And for the record they don’t match, since we all get to decorate our own with those paints in the little squeeze bottles,” he says pointing his empty bottle at you before turning to Bradley, “And see if I ever save your smug ass again.” He walks away making his way to the bar for another beer.

“Formal petition to change his callsign to Turkey now. Him and Rooster could be the Bird Bros,” Natasha jokes after he’s out of earshot. “What about you, how was your trip home?”

“It was pretty good,” you feel Bradley start playing with the ends of your hair, while he picks his conversation with Bob back up. “Since my sister had the baby, my parents have been leaning into the new grandparent thing pretty hard. So I set to establishing myself as the fun wine aunt, and basically drank cranberry mimosas all day.” You pause to take a sip of your drink, “Which I regretted immediately the next day when my parents decided it was imperative that we all go to their favorite Christmas tree farm as soon as it opened to cut one down together. Baby’s first Christmas all.” You unlock your phone to pull up the folder you made of pictures from the visit, handing over your phone to let her scroll.

“Since they’re flying out to spend Christmas with my sister and her in-laws in Philly, I tried to talk them into an artificial tree. Which is blasphemy where I’m from, I’m pretty sure the state tree is the Douglas Fir. My family takes the tree hunt very seriously, there’s a science to it and everything,” you lean over to swipe past some of the selfies you took to show her the completed tree in your parents sitting room.

“However, as you can see, my attempt to talk them into the lower maintenance, yet slightly ostentatious, fluffy pink tree of my dreams was met with a hard pass,” you say laughing to yourself.

She swipes backwards a couple times on the pictures. “This one is cute, why didn’t you post this photo?” she asks holding your phone up showing a selfie of you at the tree farm.

“Which one? Let me see,” Bradley requests, his conversation with Bob now abandoned. He’s already leaning into you and reaching across the high top with his large hands to take the phone from Nat.

It was a photo of you that Bradley hadn’t seen before. You were pink nosed wrapped up in cozy looking scarf, surrounded by pine trees and grinning into the camera. And his heart swells at the sight of the image before him. It’s just so you.

“You really look pretty,” he states sincerely. He glances at you briefly to see a hint of a blush spread across your cheeks before turning his gaze back to the picture of you.

He’d known you had been just as eager as he was for to him come home with you to meet your parents in person. You had even concocted a plan that involved him to try and help you get your hands on your Aunt Christine’s corn soufflé recipe.

“My mom has tried to get it for years, and she refuses to share it with anyone!” you’d lamented to him one evening after a couple large glasses of wine. “She always says she’ll email it, but she never does!” You gesture wildly. He loved getting to know all sides of you, but two-drink you was a particular favorite of his.

“Mmm. Girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep,” he nodded along in solidarity.

“Exactly, Bradley! You get it!” You take another long, deep sip of your Merlot, your feet tucked under you on his couch. “Me with my wiles and you with your Rooster charisma, I think this might be the year! I’ll set the groundwork and you can lay the ruggedly-handsome-impossibly-sexy-American-hero-thing on thick,” he loved how animated you were getting and he was having a hard time keeping the indulgent smile off of his face. “And she’ll fall right into our trap and release the goods all while thinking she’s staring in her own Hallmark movie.” He knew he would do anything for you, what his girl wants she gets. If that involves some light to heavy flirting with your aunt, so be it. He was getting soufflé recipe for you one way or another.

However, those plans were quickly dashed when he got the mission orders at the last minute. His stomach was in knots when it came time to tell you, but you were quick to put him at ease by reminding him there was always next year. “Plus” you’d said, “it gives us a whole year to craft our Stealthy Soufflé Scheme. Although, maybe we can pop up in May or June? I want to show you all the sights, we can even go hiking! And I’m definitely planning on taking you on a beer tour.”

“That sounds like the perfect trip, Sweetheart. I’d love that. I’ll see about getting a request submitted first thing in the morning,” he was already setting a reminder in his phone so he wouldn’t get too distracted at work and forget. He wasn’t going to let you down again.

“Oh. That’s probably one I snapped really quick and forgot to send to Bradley. I was probably already spamming him too much as it was,” you answer in response to Natasha’s question. Even though you knew exactly why that one never made it his inbox.

Since you’d be spending the holiday apart, Bradley had requested that you send him pictures throughout your visit so that he didn’t feel like he was missing anything. You had sent him ones of you at the grocery store with your mom, of you holding your niece, a few silly ones fueled by too many champagne heavy mimosas, and some less family friendly shots of you in bed wearing the deep wine-colored lacy lingerie set you had planned to surprise him with. And then a few without the lingerie set too.

You had known he wouldn’t have the best reception, so you sent them as things happened knowing that he’d respond whenever he could. You just wanted them there waiting for him. However, a few days in was getting hard to know what was too much when all you could see were all your outgoing messages to him.

You had felt yourself getting a little self-conscious and started second guessing the things you sent, like the picture from the tree farm. You didn’t want to go overboard and scare him off or make it seem like you were rubbing his face in all the things he was missing while he was on assignment. You had just wanted him to know that you were thinking about him- which was pretty much all the time.

Turning your head to take him in next to you. He’s sitting there with a soft smile on his face while he is tapping away on your phone. When his phone lights up mere moments later, you realize he’d just sent the image to himself and was now paging through the folder looking for others.

“For being a Communications Specialist, you’re really bad about updating your own social media. That one was definitely worthy of making it to the grid,” Nat announces as she slides off the barstool taking Bob with her to go dominate on one of the pool tables.

Bradley hands you your phone back. “You know, I’ve never been to a Christmas tree farm. Or even had a real tree for that matter,” he murmurs a bit ruefully when it’s just the two of you, picking at the label of the bottle Natasha had left behind.

“When I was younger we only ever had a fake tree. And then after my mom passed, everything with Mav, and moving around so much I just kind of didn’t ever want to think about it. I never thought to get anything for myself.” He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “I’m really happy you’re sticking around to show me the ropes this year,” he says earnestly, sounding much lighter than before.

The thought of him fending for himself for so long makes your heart hurt. You lean into him pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy you want to spend the day with me,” you tell him brushing your nose against his as you pull away.

“I did my good daughter duties, but flying home during the one of busiest days of the year was enough for me. And I wouldn’t want to subject you to the Richardson’s by going to Philly, my parents call them the Dickardson’s for a reason,” making a face that causes him to laugh.

“We’re going to have the best Christmas together, I wouldn’t want to spend the day with anyone else.” This time when you pull him in for another kiss your lips are eager to meet his. The slide of his mouth against yours never fails to make your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You could spend days kissing Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and never want to break for air. It’s only at the sound of someone’s loud wolf whistle that you break apart as you’re brought back the moment.

“You know, I’m still not over the fact that my girlfriend withheld such ‘compelling content’ from me,” he teases, using air quotes the buzzwords he’s heard you say from listening to one too many of your late night zoom meetings.

“It was the last day! You were getting in before me, and I thought you’d want the real deal instead. And to tell the truth, I didn’t know if I was overdoing it. I didn’t want to make you feel left out,” you explain honestly. You’ve always been the type to keep those insecurities to yourself, but you’ve been trying to do better. He makes you feel safe enough to open up without holding back.

“Sweetheart.” He picks up your hand his mustache brushing the back of it as he places a kiss there. “You could never overdo it. Spam away, send me everything. I love getting those pictures, it makes me feel closer to you. But, I do know how you could make it up to me.” As he sends a mischievous wink your way.

You’re hit with a brief vision of you on your knees before him in that wine-colored set he still has yet to see in person.

“Oh, do you?” You ease off your stool to stand in front of him, his legs automatically widening for you to step in between them.

“Wanna come help me pick out a tree this weekend?” he asks, slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans to tug you in even closer. “I hear you know a thing or two about picking out the best one,” his eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles broadly at you.

You don’t bother fighting back the grin that takes over your face. “Stick with me, kid,” you say taking his sunglasses from where they rest against his chest and sliding them on, “I won’t lead you astray.”

Bradley had the best afternoon learning the ins and outs of selecting the perfect tree at the tree lot with you.

He had found a tree place with a festive name that was about 30 minutes away, it was probably a bit different than what you were used to, but he hoped you’d be happy with the options there. He had even called in advance to make sure they had the specific variety your parents usually got after texting with your dad to find out what he should be looking for.

He had wanted to pick you up from your apartment, but you had insisted on meeting him at his place since you had an early work meeting scheduled in the morning. And had greeted you with a coffee in hand from your favorite shop when you arrived.

He’d even worn the plaid flannel shirt you had bought for him when you were visiting home for the occasion. When he parked the Bronco in the lot, you had giddily exclaimed, “Bradley, look at all the trees! There’s way more than I thought there’d be. It smells like home!”

Once you were both out of the car you had grabbed his hand threading your fingers between his, and set off like a woman on a mission. He’d felt rather pleased with himself.

The outdoor speakers were playing the local Christmas radio station and there were rows and rows of trees under a few large white topped tents. He loved how seriously you were taking this, and if he wasn’t already totally enamored with you this would have sealed the deal.

You’d taught him how to determine its freshness, “You have to pull a needle off and see if it bends or snaps. If it snaps then it’s already way too dried out and you’re just purchasing a giant match stick.”

From there the came the scent test, “Now sniff the tree, you have to get your face in there. The stronger the tree scent the longer it will last.”

And finally, the aesthetics.

“I like mine a little girthy and on the fuller side, but that’s all a matter of personal preference. You want some gaps, so that the heavier ornaments can hang better, but not too many. And the top has to be straight, no one wants a lopsided tree topper.”

“That’s not the only thing you like full and girthy,” he couldn’t help but let slip out.

“Bradley, there are children here!” you admonished while looking around wide eyed, but that didn’t stop you from grazing the front of his jeans every chance you got.

So, when he managed to find what you excitedly deemed to be the “absolute most perfect tree!”, he couldn’t help but preen his face feeling a bit warm from the attention and praise you showered him with.

He’d hauled the tree up to the check out where it was bundled while he paid, and then carried it over his shoulder out to the Bronco. You’d trailed behind him carrying the wreath you’d picked out humming along with the music.

“Is there such a thing as a competence kink? Because this,” you had mused gesturing to him tying the tree down in the back, his hands tingling, “is definitely doing it for me.” He had just grinned and shaken his head at you, his face heating up a bit. However, he couldn’t help but flex a bit more for your benefit as he finished up.

And when you made him pull off the road less than 10 minutes later, to indulge in that new self-discovery with your mouth around his cock, well that was very much for his benefit.

Now you’re with him at his place. You guys had wrangled the perfect tree into the house and had gotten it set up in front of his windows in the living room near the upright piano he had tucked in the corner. He loved the smell that was filling the room and the way you’d lit up once it was in place. If he had his way, you’d be around all the time.

Bradley could hear you singing along to the Christmas album he had picked up that was playing on his Dad’s old record player as you worked on putting together some hot toddies in the kitchen. You had put him on light duty, and he was determined to make it the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen.

He worked going round and round the Christmas tree, the lights all shining merrily. He took his time making sure to wrap and tuck the lights around the branches, the cozy glow filling his chest with warmth.

But the longer he worked the more he was starting to get worried that he was coming down with a bug or something, his face starting to feel slightly feverish. His throat getting thick and uncomfortable.

He’d noticed it earlier at the tree lot, but didn’t want to give it too much thought. The Navy had ruined his Thanksgiving plans with you and he didn’t want to let you down again. He worked to string lights on a few more branches adamant to push through for you.

“Sweetheart,” he reluctantly called out to you, “I think I might be coming down with something. I’m not feeling too hot, and my throat is kinda scratchy.” The guilt was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach, maybe if he rested now he could keep it from getting too bad.

He turns to see you coming out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs in your hand, your eyes going wide.

He turns back to the tree looking to see if he accidentally fucked something up. It was his first time with a real tree, maybe the lights needed to be strung differently.

“Bradley. Oh my god.”

You had just put the finishing touches on the hot toddies and were already walking out of the kitchen when Bradley had called out to you. Those beverages were quickly abandoned on his coffee table as you propelled yourself towards him.

His face was brightly flushed and his eyes were shade of red that made your own itch in sympathy. You reach up to tug at the collar of the flannel he was wearing to get a better look at the skin of his neck and chest. The scars on his neck were standing out in contrast to his reddened skin.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Even his voice was sounding a bit scratchy. You ignore him in favor for undoing the buttons at the cuff and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, trying to not let yourself get too anxious. “You tryin’ to get me to put these lights up topless like some kind of sexy Santa?”

You shush him as you finally get the sleeve rolled up when your suspicions are confirmed, his thick forearm is absolutely covered in angry looking raised red welts.

“Oh no. Roos, baby. You’re breaking out.” Already pulling him away from the 7-foot issue occupying the living room and heading towards the kitchen, “I think you have pine tree allergy.”

He finally looks away from your face and down to his arm, a deep furrow settling over his features, “Oh fuck.” You get him seated at his oval oak dining table grabbing your phone to figure out what to do next.

“Yeah, ‘Oh fuck’,” you repeat back to him eyes skimming the information on the page you clicked into. You’ve always been the type to take charge in a crisis, this would be no different. You’d make sure he’s taken care of the way he needs to be. The way he deserves to be.

“How’s your breathing feel? Is your throat feeling tight or like it’s closing up?” you ask looking up at him.

His red-rimmed honey eyes seem to shift focus like he’s lost in thought for a brief moment.

“Rooster.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, baby,” he says a bit bashfully. “I’m used to being the one levelheaded in stressful situations, but you should see the intensity on your face. I think you coulda been a pilot.”

“Bradley, I’m flattered. Truly,” you’ve learned that he isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean and you respect the hell out of what he does. “Although I’m sure there are a few more qualifications I’d have to pass than that,” you reply lightly, petting the back of his hand resting on the table. “But I need you stick with me here. I just need to figure out if we need to get you to the ER or not.”

He nods. “It’s a little thick, but not like it’s going to close up. And really scratchy, ‘s all.”

“Ok, that’s good. That’s good,” you repeat again more to yourself than him.

You love this man so much, and he deserves the world. This is the last thing you would have wanted for him and his very first, and last, real tree.

You can still hear the record playing in the background as you try not to gnaw on the inside of your cheek working to put your game plan together.

After firing off a quick text to Jake, you quickly pop upstairs to Bradley’s medicine cupboard, hoping that he has some antihistamines tucked away in there. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the pink box, grabbing it you tear off a couple squares from the silver lined sheet to bring back to him.

He’s still sitting where you left him at the dining table. He’s slumped down in the chair his mouth pulled down at the corners, and you think it’s probably because he’s not feeling the greatest right now. You hand him the meds and a fetch him a glass of water, watching as the tendons of his throat flex as they work to swallow the pills down. The red welts have finally made an appearance there too, and are an angry contrast to his usually golden skin.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, hmm?” You bend down to catch his eyes with your and holding out our hands to him. He nods once taking your smaller hands in his as he lets you pull him up.

You help him to unbutton and remove the flannel shirt trying to avoid further contact with the hives on his body, not wanting to cause him anymore discomfort. Once his wide chest and arms are uncovered, you work his jeans down his thick thighs leaving him in his tight black boxer briefs. There’s nothing more than you love than being up close with Rooster’s body, but right now you’re on a mission and can’t be distracted by all the skin before you.

While you’re still feeling concerned for him, you can feel your anxiety starting to settle a bit from where it was at earlier. You’ve got a plan, you’ve already checked off a few things, and you’ll be able to take a breath once Bradley is taken care of.

He’s ruining everything with you. First Thanksgiving and now Christmas.

How the fuck did he not know he was allergic to pine trees? He’s 35, he should known those kinds of things by now. Shouldn’t he?

He is frustrated as fuck laying on top of the king-sized bed in his darkened bedroom, the stinging of the hives on his arms and upper body were driving him crazy. God, his eyes itched and burned. Although, he couldn’t tell if it as from the reaction to the tree or from fighting the sudden urge to cry for the first time in a very long time.

The afternoon was not going as he had envisioned it. He wanted to sing some carols loudly while getting tipsy off hot toddies with you. Dance with you in between hanging ornaments on the tree. Maybe fuck you under the tree if he played his cards right, he wanted to be the one to get your tinsel in a tangle.

All he had wanted was to make you happy. You weren’t spending Christmas with your family, and he didn’t want you to miss out on anything being in California with him instead. He was really excited about the holiday for the first time in what felt like forever, and it had everything to do with you.

“Do you have any oatmeal here?” You had asked him not too long ago, and it was all he could do to point you in the right direction as the guilt was eating away at him. Once you had found it, you had sent him away to go upstairs to get him further away from the tree. His strong, capable, and pretty girlfriend was left to deal with the mess downstairs without him.

He could hear the whir of the blender and wondered what you were up to. Sulking at the fact that all he could do is wait for the antihistamines to kick in, and hope that he’d be feeling better soon so that he could help you take care of things.

“Bradley? Baby, are you awake?” You entered the dimly lit room cautiously, approaching him gingerly on the bed and holding a large bowl with something fluffy and powdery looking in it. He hadn’t heard you come up the stairs.

He loved the sound of your voice. He loved it in the morning when it was thick with sleep, how excited you got when you were talking about something you were passionate about, and he especially loved the breathy whispers and words of encouragement from you in his ear late at night when he was moving so deep within you. What he didn’t love was being the reason you were so anxious, that he was at fault for why your tone was so laced with concerned.

“Yeah,” although he was starting to feel sluggish, “’m still awake.” He felt your cool hands on his face and leaned into your soothing touch, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“I’m going to make you an oatmeal bath,” you informed him gesturing to the bowl in your hand. “From what I’ve been reading online that should help calm down the hives, hopefully stop them from spreading anymore.’

“Okay, Sweetheart,” he sighed. He can hear how pitiful he sounds, but right now his girl is the only thing that is making him feel good, and he will do anything you ask of him.

You set about turning the taps on for the large tub in the bathroom, twisting the handles to get the water to come out at the right temperature. Once you were satisfied, you swirled in the oat powder you had made watching as the water turned cloudy, then headed back into the bedroom to get Bradley.

“Let’s get you in the tub so you can soak for a bit, yeah?” He looks so miserable alone stretched out on the bed. “It’s not too hot, and it should help you feel better,” you help him to sit up placing a kiss to the lines of the scars on his cheek trying to comfort him.

Ever the soldier, he dutifully follows you into the bathroom. Once he is stripped of his briefs and comfortably situated in the milky mixture, his eyes flutter closed as he reclines back, leaning his head against the ledge of the tub. You move kneel on the floor next to him running your fingers through his sun-streaked waves.

Your little pocket of peace is disturbed a few minutes later by the ding of your phone.

“Jake just got here,” you announce filling him in on the next part of your plan, “He’s going to help me with the tree.”

“’posed to be my job,” Bradley sulks making a petulant sound in his throat. You can’t help but let out a gentle tsk while fighting back a small smile at his response.

“I just want you to relax here and let the oatmeal do its thing. I’m going to get things wrapped up downstairs it shouldn’t take too long, and then I’ll come back to check on you.”

“Mmhm, fine,” he sighs as you press a kiss to his forehead.

You let Jake in and he is quick to jump in taking over by unwinding the lights off from the partially lit tree. He’s even quicker to haul the massive thing out of the house and into the back of his truck, as the new owner of the 7-foot Noble Fir. After the tree is deposited, he heads back in and helps you coil the lights back up so they’re not in a tangled mess on the floor making some light small talk because he can tell your mind is elsewhere.

On his way out the door he shoots you a cocky salute, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face. “You can thank my new Trot PR for how quickly I was able to run back to my place after I got your SOS text to get here as quickly as I did, Darlin’,” he drawls.

You flip him off, but tell him to text you what meals he’d like you to make and bring over later in the week as thanks for his help. And with a quick kiss to his cheek, you shoo him out the door wanting to get back to your boyfriend.

After he leaves, you break out the vacuum and work on getting the needles off the ground before moving on to the laundry. You grab the pile of Bradley’s clothes from the floor in the kitchen where you had left them before stripping down to your underwear, throwing everything in the washer and turning it on to get rid of any potential lingering irritants.

You make you way back upstairs, stopping to slip on one of Bradley’s old UVA t-shirts and grabbing him a loose pair of navy sweatpants, before going in to check on him. He is still there soaking his head tilted back and eyes closed, just as you had left him. Thankfully the hives have seemed to stop their spread leaving his face untouched. His neck, chest, and arms still bearing the brunt of his allergic reaction.

You gently knock on the door to announce your presence, not wanting to startle him. “You ready to come out now, baby?” Before him you had never been a pet name person, but now all you wanted to be a source of comfort in his life. A soft place for him to land.

“Yeah,” he turns his head towards the sound of your voice, “I think I might be getting a bit prune-y, but that felt really good. Thank you, Sweetheart.” He has finally opened his eyes and looking right at you, with a smile small and soft, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You’re trying not to read into it too much, not wanting to let your anxiety get the best of you. You help him up from bath and use the handheld to first shower him off, grabbing a fluffy towel to help gingerly pat him dry. As he bends to pull on the sweatpants you had brought in you turn to rinse out the remaining oatmeal residue from the tub. He presses a kiss to the back of your head as he passes by you to make his way back to the bedroom.

By the time you’re done he has already climbed into bed, the comforter on your side already pulled back as he reaches out for you to get in with him. The white percale sheets you had helped him pick out were cool and luxuriously soft to the touch, and you feel yourself release the breath it felt like you’d been holding since you entered the living room holding those long forgotten hot toddies.

Bradley is quick to lace your fingers together and tuck his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, his mustache ticking the soft skin of your throat there. For all of his golden retriever energy, he is soaking up your affection and attention like a lap cat as you slowly rub your free hand up and down his broad back.

However, he’s still entirely too quiet. Your lips press tightly together on their own accord as you begin to think that there’s something more on his mind that he’s not sharing with you than just the effects of the hives and double dose of Benadryl.

You’re about to speak up when he beats you to it, “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I just wanted you to feel at home and now I’ve ruined Christmas.” You’ve never heard his voice sound so small.

Oh. Oh no.

“Bradley, please look at me.”

You lean back a bit as he removes his face from the spot it was tucked into and study his beautiful yet troubled looking eyes. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet? Please tell me you haven’t been spiraling thinking you’ve ruined anything.” He looks away, and you feel your brows scrunch together.

You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb down the cleft of his chin, “I love you so much and we’re going to have such a wonderful Christmas together, a tree is a nonissue here, baby. You matter more to me. I hope you know that.” His gaze finally meets yours and you continue on, “I need you to hear me. You’ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing is ruined and nothing that happened today is your fault. Ok?” Nodding your head, needing for him to understand and let go of his misplaced guilt.

You see the exact moment he absorbs and believes everything you’re saying to him, his shoulders releasing the tension that had gathered there. “Ok, I hear you.” You lean into him to place a tender kiss on his lips. “I love you so much,” he breaths against your mouth.

“I love you too,” you say pressing one more lingering kiss to his lips before encouraging him to settle his head back down again. He reaches for your hand, guiding it to his hair, prompting you to comb your fingers through his curls.

“Now that we’ve settled that, how are you feeling? What else can I do to help?”

“You’ve done so much for me,” he murmurs kissing your neck gently. “’M just tired now and want to hold you for a bit. The Benadryl is starting to kick my ass.” He pauses for a moment, “But maybe we can order some pizza, Sweetheart? And put on one of those Christmas movies you like? Y’know the ones where the people live in a town is named something like Tinselville and their dogs fall in love?” He asks his voice sounding a bit boyish and hopeful.

You can’t help but let out a giggle because, really, his description is not too far off. You can feel his smile against the side of your neck as you turn the tv on.

“You can have whatever you like, handsome boy. Pizza and Oscar quality Christmas content, it is.” You grab your phone unlocking it and opening up to the delivery app, when Bradley plucks it from your hand tossing it to the side and placing his in yours instead.

“Order from mine instead, it’s my turn to take care of you,” he states slinging his arm low over your hip.

You click the button on the side to wake his phone up only to see your face smiling back at you on his lockscreen. Nose bright from the cold, surrounded by trees, and wrapped up in a scarf your mom had loaned to you since you hadn’t brought any practical winter-wear home with you.

It’s the picture that Bradley has sent himself the other night at the bar, and you’re flooded with a rush of affection for the man nestled against you. You notice his wallpaper is still the picture of you and him from this Halloween when you’d surprised everyone by dressing up as him, he’s kissing you squarely on the mouth while grabbing a handful of your ass. It was one of your favorites too.

You’d just finished submitting the order, when a text from Jake comes through, and you roll your eyes.

Those 5th Gens didn’t get you, but you’re taken out by a fucking a Christmas Tree. Would hate to see what one of those tree shaped car fresheners would do to you.

You’re not going to let him come for your boyfriend, even in playful roasting, when you just managed to picked his spirits up. Not tonight, Hangman. And you set to typing your response with your one free hand, the other still carding through Bradley’s curls.

Listen up, Lieutenant Turkey Trot. I was planning on surprising you with a bottle of that Texas bourbon you like when I swing by with the food later this week, but now that’s up to you. Do with that what you will... xx

Not bothering to wait for a response you hand Bradley back his phone only to see it light up again. “Lieutenant Turkey Trot,” he snorts, “Damn. Hangman apologized. And he says he wants a lasagna and your chicken and dumpling casserole.”

Southern men are too easy. Nothing is as important to them as food and their mamas. You smile smugly to yourself, making a mental note to go to remember to stop by that speciality liquor store by your place.

The food is delivered not too much later, you and Bradley eat in bed the box sitting between you while making fun of the plot of the movie you had turned on. You can tell the Benadryl is staring to win when Bradley’s running commentary tapers and his breathing begins to even out.

“It’s ok to go to sleep, baby.”

“Just resting my eyes, wanna see if they figure out why the poinsettias aren’t blooming.”

“You should get your rest,” you gently press, “I’ll set record it and you can find out tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna stay the night, right?” He asks sleepily as he concedes and begins to burrow down into his bed.

“Of course. If you want me here, I’ll stay.” Truth be told, you liked his bed better than yours. You’d even went back to the shop where you’d helped Bradley pick out his sheets from and bought the same percale set for your place in an attempt to help you sleep better.

You set an alarm for earlier than you’d like, remembering you have a meeting first thing in the morning. “I might have to leave a bit earlier than usual though,” you mention softly, “Since I’ll need to go to my place before I have to head in to the office.” You hadn’t originally planned on staying over due to your early morning and now you were kicking yourself for not grabbing a few things to keep in your car just in case.

“Yes. Stay,” he murmurs and reaches out to you, wrapping his arm around your midsection and pulling you to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly down his forearm, feeling the hills and valleys caused by the welts that litter his arm. He lets out a hum of contentment in response, you’re pressed so close to him you can feel the vibrations of the sound from his chest against your back.

You think you’ve finally lost him to sleep when he mumbles already half gone, “Why don’t you keep more things here?” You can feel his warm breath against the back of your neck.

“How much were you thinking? You saying you want to share a drawer with me?” you lightly tease.

“Bring it all,” he sighs, “Want you here.”

The sound of his soft snores filling your ear only a couple minutes later.

You don’t bring up Bradley’s half-asleep musings, you won’t hold him to anything said under the influence of the antihistamines. While the thoughts of moving in and living with Bradley made your heart beat a bit faster, you kept those hopes tucked away just for yourself.

It was now a week after the pine tree debacle, Bradley’s hives were quick to clear up after a couple days and a few oatmeal baths later. Your skin was still reaping the benefits of the oatmeal too after he managed to coax you in with him one evening.

He had texted you earlier in the day asking for you to swing by his place after work. You knew the door would be unlocked for you, and you let yourself in.

“That you, Sweetheart?” He called out from nearby, you can hear the sounds of some crooner singing in the background.

“Yeah, it’s me." You set your purse and work tote down before bending to undo your heels at the door. “Hey, I was thinking on my way over here, I bet lots of places still have artificial trees left in stock that we could get. I feel like we need a Christmas redo.” You get one off and begin working on the other, “I was planning on getting one to liven up my place too, maybe I can find one of those ostentatious pink ones I tried to talk my parents into getting and fulfill a lifelong dream.” You say that last part with a little laugh.

You finally win the battle against the top buckle of your cute shoe finally kicking it off and wiggling your toes out, “Ooh! Maybe we can go to that cute cocktail bar off 17th afterwards? One of my coworkers was talking about their new seasonal drinks today and it seems festive.”

You fish your phone out of your purse and make your way to the living room, “That is if you didn’t have anything planned.”

Your voice trails off at the end because when you round the corner you find Bradley in his living room looking very proud with a self-satisfied smile on his face already standing next to a Christmas tree.

A very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas tree.

You stand there entirely stunned. The juxtaposition of your tall, handsome naval aviator next to this truly over the top frosted tree has your brain working overtime. The entire room is cast in a dreamy glow from many strands of white lights he had already spun around it.

“I still feel bad that about what happened the other weekend, and I wanted to make it up to you. At the bar, I heard you telling Phoenix that you always wanted a pink tree, so I hope this is similar to what you hand in mind.” He seems to be getting a bit nervous now, since all it seems you can do is just blink at him. He reaches around into his back pocket pulling out a small tube, “I even got some of those scent stick things to tuck in if you-”

He doesn’t get to finish since you’ve launch yourself at him.

“Bradley!” He catches you easily with one arm as you begin peppering his face with kisses.

His laugher fills the room and his grin lights up his face at your reaction, “Are you happy, Sweetheart?”

“I’m the happiest! Oh my god! Are you for real?” you exclaim in between kisses. You stop the assault on his face to take it in your hands, “Seriously though, there is nothing to feel bad about. You’re what matters most to me. I mean, yes, I absolutely love this. But you should have what you like too.”

He takes a step back, with you still in his arms and propped up on his hip. He thoughtfully studies the tree in front of you both. “Yep. This is definitely the perfect tree,” he declares proudly, “It’s full and girthy. Has some good gaps, and look at that top. Straight as an arrow. Although we might need to get some more decorations for it, but I got it started.”

You look from him back to the tree puzzled, since you don’t see anything on it aside from the lights. He walks you both closer, and pulls off what looks to be a strand of curling ribbon with a shiny silver object dangling from it from a branch on the tree.

A key.

He sets you down back on your own two feet, holding you close against his body bringing his forehead to yours. “I meant it, Sweetheart. Bring it all. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be here. All the time. With me. You’re the only thing on my list this year, you’re all I want. Will you let me give you more than a drawer?” His honey brown eyes gazing at you hopefully.

You already knew what your response would be even before he pulled that key from off the tree, and the answer must be all over your face because Bradley’s face breaks into a beam as he picks you up and spins you around.

The choice has always been easy with him, it’ll always be a yes.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Causally hyper-fixating over all things TGM at bradshawburner

You can find the prequel to this story here!

Find out what happens during their second Christmas together here!

You can read more of my stories here!

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