#LIGHT it up and watch it gleam fa la la la la la la la la
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Make You Mine This Season
Summary: It’s your second Christmas with Bradley and the holidays are always better with him by your side. After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 8K
Warnings: so much fluff and some allusions to smut and a cast that looks like a candy cane.
(Author’s Note: set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe, can be read on its own)
You can’t fight the smile on your face as you watch Bradley studiously stare at the Christmas tree with a delicate glass icicle ornament dangling from his long finger.
“I think it need to go a little to the left, Roos,” you say, watching the way the little golden thread attached to it gleams from the many strands of white lights he had spun around it earlier in the afternoon.
The contrast between your handsome Naval aviator boyfriend and the very large, very fluffy pink Christmas tree he had bought for you would never not thoroughly charm you.
“Here?” he asks, moving the dainty icicle to the left per your suggestion.
“Maybe just a bit up?”
Bradley moves it and holds it up to a spot near the little glass Hawaiian shirt ornament you’d gotten for him. He was so amused by it that he’d given it what he called a place of honor on the tree.
“Hmm, no. I think back to the right and down a smidge.”
He turns and shoots you a smirk over his broad shoulder, “Ok, now you’re just messing with me.”
And then he hangs it on the tree with a flourish.
You laugh when he steps back and gives a dramatic sweep of the hand that would put Vanna White to shame.
Ever the showman.
He had been so excited when he’d found the ornaments in the storage locker he’d kept in Virginia earlier in the summer when the two of you had taken a quick trip to there to pack up the remaining things he’d left behind and bring them home.
The sleeves on the flannel plaid shirt he is wearing are rolled up highlighting his forearms and that snug fitting tank and the ridges of his abs on full display. You’d taken the liberties to sneak in a few glances as he’d bent over to grab ornaments out of the large plastic storage container you keep them in.
It’s an easy choice to abandon the silvery glittery Fa-la-la-la garland that you had been working on hanging on that tricky bit of wall space beneath the stairs to come stand next to him by the tree.
Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange.
He drapes his arm over your shoulders and drops a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his waist, the two of you taking a moment to admire the pretty twinkling tree in front of you with Bob Hope crooning softly on the background.
You love this tree.
And not because it is the most wonderfully ostentatious thing you’ve ever seen. Or because he’d surprised you with it when he asked you to move in with him the year before. But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you.
Bradley kept asking what you wanted for Christmas this year, but you’d been avoiding giving him an answer.
Because he was the only thing on your list this year.
You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever.
His allergy to pine trees had taken both of you by surprise last year. Before that chaotic afternoon last December, he had never had a real tree before, but it didn’t take long until his normally sunkissed skin has been covered in angry red hives.
And that gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir that you had selected from the Christmas tree lot had quickly become Jake’s gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir.
But you’ll never forget that magical moment when you had walked into his cozy living room to see that candy colored confection of a tree for the first time and how proud Bradley had been to be the one to make your dreams of a pink tree Christmas come true.
It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves.
Last year, the two of you had just picked up a couple boxes of basic multicolored bobbles to hang on the tree. But this year, your pretty pink tree has some new decorations that you’d collected along the way since then.
The sparkling frosty mug was something he’d found at the airport on the way back from when you’d taken him home to meet your parents for the first time. To no one’s surprise, they’d loved him. He’d had a lot of fun at the breweries you’d taken him to and you liked getting to see a tipsy and pink cheeked Bradley Bradshaw.
There was a blue miniature model toy Bronco with a bottle-brush Christmas tree hanging out the back was one you’d recently found at a Christmas market you went to with Nat and Bob the previous weekend. You’ve never handed over your credit card for something so quickly before in your life.
There was even a shiny shamrock that Jake had picked up to commemorate your first- and last- Leprechaun Run.
It was a promise you were coerced into making in exchange for Jake’s help and the use of his truck to move your things into Bradley’s place the weekend after you happily agreed to live in with him. You were planning on waiting until after the beginning of the New Year, but Rooster wouldn’t hear of it. You were able to hold off for a few days, but he’d made some rather compelling points with his mouth that had swayed your mind pretty quickly.
That New Year’s Eve, he’d kissed you properly and thoroughly surrounded by a dozen half-unpacked brown cardboard boxes.
You thought Hangman would have forgotten about it, but it turns out the only person that had forgot was a you, because you’d nearly spit out your beer mid-sip when he’d slapped down the race bib in front of you at the Hard Deck one evening in March.
It was just as terrible as you’d imagined it would be and worse. Not even the four-leaf clover bobble headband you’d worn had cheered you up even the slightest.
The term fun run was an oxymoron and you were willing to die on that a hill.
And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. The one he’d originally given you was a permanent fixture on your key ring.
“So what’s the verdict, sweetheart? How did I do? Is it fluffed enough?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you say grinning up at him.
You’ve loved his homey Craftsman since the first time you’d stepped inside it with all of its warm wooden paneling around the entryways and ceiling beams. The hand tiled fireplace was mostly for aesthetics rather than functionality. You’d filled it with a display of tall pillar candles, but there’d been a couple of occasions where the two of you had stacked it with wood picked up from the grocery store and had the sounds of its crackles and pops serving as the soundtrack to your cozy night in.
You loved it even more now that your books were mixed in with his on the bookshelf. On top of his upright piano there were framed pictures of you and him and of all your friends and family. On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his.
This was your home now too, pink Christmas tree and all.
“The best thing, huh?” he says, amused.
“Maybe second best,” you muse, sliding your hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans, “Those Danny Zuko shorts you wore last Halloween still live rent free in my head.”
“I’ve still got those short-shorts, you just say the word and I’ll go put them on for you anytime.”
You snort a laugh and pull him down for a kiss.
The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter.
Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Hello kisses. See you soon- never goodbye- kisses. Just because kisses. There you are kisses. Never stop kissing me kisses. All of them turn you upside down just like a snow globe.
He pulls away first, looking to the tree again contemplatively, “You know, the more I look at this the I feel like something is missing.”
You skim over the tree with its warm glow from the many strands of lights, the sparkling ornaments, the glinting icicles, and the delicate bejeweled snowflake tree topper. Short of tying on a few bows for the fun of it, there’s nothing more you think this tree needs.
“I might have tucked a little something in the piano bench,” Rooster says with a nod towards his well-loved upright, “Why don’t you take a look.”
You try and fail to ignore the swoop in your stomach as you walk up to the bench. You already know that you want to be his forever and the two of you are on the same page about it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. You’re trying to be practical, realistic.
But the heart wants what the heart wants, and your heart wants him.
The seat creaks open as you lift the lid open with a not-so-steady hand, and sitting inside a small box filled with iridescent filler are the prettiest pair of ceramic ice skates you’ve ever seen. You lift the dainty ornament from the box to see that they dangle from a couple ribbons that have been tied together in a lovely bow at the top. They even have a little white fluff lining the rims of boot.
It was one of the things you missed most about home, your town had a little outdoor rink that was set up every year. You weren’t the greatest skater and it had been a few years since you’d laced up a pair of boots, but it had always been one of your favorite traditions growing up.
“Oh Bradley, they’re so lovely,” you say with a dreamy sigh, “I love it, thank you!”
You admire them for another moment taking in all their little details before hanging them up on the pink tree near his little Hawaiian shirt ornament in a place of honor on the tree.
“I have another surprise for you,” he says with a grin, looking very proud of himself.
“Oh? When did you become such a man of mystery?” you tease.
“Gotta keep my girl on her toes,” Rooster winks, sliding a finger through your belt loop to pull you closer before wrapping his arms around you. “You know how Hotel del Coronado has that ice-skating rink set up now?”
Of course you did.
The tickets went on sale a little over seven weeks ago and time slots had sold out in five minutes. You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands.
“Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, looking up at him skeptically.
Bradley has been on a training detachment at the time, so there was no way Mr. One Percent could have gotten them when you couldn’t. There’s just no way.
You must say that part out loud or think it loud enough for him to hear you because that gorgeous smile of his gets devastatingly self-satisfied.
“I sure did, sweetheart-”
You jump up and cut him off with a kiss, he is quick to get his hands underneath you for support while your legs wrap around him.
“Oh my god, Bradley, how?” you ask excitedly between peppering kiss across his nose and cheeks.
“Ok, I can’t take full credit. I had some help,” he admits, clearly happy with your reaction, “Nat has, and I quote, ‘fast fingers’.”
You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you.
“What do you say, want to make a day of it? I might have a few things in mind for our San Diego Christmas. We’re a couple weeks early, but I’m feeling festive.”
You get too distracted by his smiling mouth to give him your answer then and there, but you remember to officially accept later that night in bed after your heart finally stops racing.
Convincing you to move in with him might be the best thing Bradley’s ever done.
Those cool Winter nights last year had tasted like bourbon and were spent wrapped up together on the couch and under the covers.
Your first big fight had been over whose Super Bowl team was going to win. There had been a lot of trash talk that night, but eventually a peace had been brokered. And really, no one was a loser when it came to orgasms.
In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. He’d learned that he had a bit of a green thumb when it came to zucchinis, a fact that irked you to no end because you could never get them to produce anything. He didn’t know sunshine had a scent until he could smell it on your skin with your hands covered in dirt and a smile on your facec.
And he was not surprised to learn that he was also very much a fan of your sundress collection.
The golden Summer days were spent at the beach and taking road trips to nowhere in the Bronco then the long way home. Rooster burned more often than he cared to admit, but you started keeping a container of aloe in the fridge for him. He’d never say no to have your soft hands on his body, your touch more soothing than the cooling gel could ever be.
That Fall he’d finally been able to go home with you for Thanksgiving. He’d met your family earlier in the year, but you’d been so proud to show him off at the official family gathering as you’d sipped on your cranberry mimosa. And after a year of planning, the two of you had finally been able to enact your Stealthy Soufflé Scheme.
He had been determined to get his girl that closely guarded recipe no matter what.
Your Aunt Christine had been putty in his hands with all of his yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams and charming smiles and All-American golden boy aviator thing. You’d primed him on what things she was interested in and he had fully leaned into it, sweet talk and all. It didn’t hurt that she had been a big fan of the expensive bottles Syrah the two of you had brought with you.
You and your mom had been thrilled when he’d presented you with the handwritten copy of the coveted recipe. He had been happy to do it, but he didn’t mind the way you showed him your thanks later that night in your childhood bedroom.
He was the first boyfriend you’d ever had in there, and if he has his way, he’d also be the last.
Victory- and that not-so-secret-anymore corn soufflé recipe- never tasted so good.
The two of you had had a great first Christmas together last year, excluding the slight hiccup with the whole hives thing. And he knows he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but he wants to make this one even better.
He had let you sleep in as long as he could, but he was excited for all the festive things he had arranged for today.
“C’mon, sleepy girl. We’ve got plans,” he says, skimming a few soft kisses along your shoulder.
“Do those plans involve coffee?” you mumble sleepily into your pillow.
He chuckles and brushes back a few of the hairs that are stuck against your forehead, “Of course, it’ll be the first stop after.”
You peek up at him from under your silk eye mask, he’s always liked a slightly fussy girl. You’d even got him one for his deployments to help him sleep better on the carrier.
“After what, Roos,” you ask skeptically.
“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.”
“Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning.
You look so alarmed, clutching the top sheet to your chest, that he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.
“No, I didn’t. I promise,” he says, trying to pull you into his chest.
You shove lightly at his shoulder, “That was so rude of you, Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”
“Not the government name,” he smirks, leaning down to trail a couple kisses along your neck. He likes the way you always shiver when his mustache grazes that ticklish spot under your ear.
“Oh my god, I swear I just had a war flashback to that second mile when Jake tried to make me keep up with him,” you huff, leaning your head to the side to let him continue apologizing with his mouth, “You’re so lucky I’m even talking to you right now.”
“I am very lucky to have such a pretty, smart, and forgiving girlfriend. One who appreciates over the top Christmas decorations and brunch with themed cocktails.”
That piques your interest and you seem much more awake now for someone who usually needs at least two cups of coffee before becoming a fully functional human being, “Themed cocktails, you say?”
“Mhmm, they even have a Ho-Ho-Hot and Spicy Bloody Merry, spelled m-e-r-r-y,” he says with a smile, running a finger down the bridge of your nose. “But to get one, we have to get out of this bed and into the shower.”
“Sounds like it would be more efficient if we took one together, huh?” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Plus I’m all about preserving the planet’s natural resources.”
The two of you were a little late getting out of the house, having worked up an appetite, but still manage to make it in time for the reservations he had made.
The restaurant had been swathed in miles of frosted evergreen garlands with so many oversized ornaments dangling and ribbons woven throughout that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come crashing down off the ceiling. Not an inch of it was left undecorated, it was all stands of lights and shiny wreaths and giant cellophane covered candies.
Brunch had been complete with a couple of those Bloody Merry’s he’d heard about from Coyote, as well as an order of Santa pancakes topped with a hat of strawberries tossed with orange zest infused syrup.
The Christmas radio station was playing all of your favorites and you were singing along as he zipped along the highway to the next stop.
The Ocean Beach Christmas tree was beloved for being San Diego’s unofficial response to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Bob had told him he’d stumbled upon it on accident one day last year when he had been exploring his new city and learned about the tree’s forty-year history and had enthusiastically recommended that Rooster added it to his festive agenda.
Bradley loved the way your face lit up at the sight of it. The top of the massive tree was leaning to the right and looked straight out of Whoville the way it decorated with all kinds of blow up pool toys. There were beach balls galore, traditional ones and ones that looked like disco balls, a few parrots, and even one shaped like an electric guitar.
“Oh my god, look!” He looks up from the text message he was replying to and follows the line of your arm to where your finger is directing his gaze, “Another bird defying the laws of physics.”
And there tucked away up in the tree next to a blow-up globe is an inflatable rooster.
On the way back into town, two of you stopped by Mission Bay to grab some more coffee and walk around the marina to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. He’d heard about it from Penny, who had even participated in the event herself a few years ago.
You’d both agreed the one that had turned the tall mast of the sailing boat into a glowing Christmas tree was the clear winner.
The next stop was something Bradley knew you’d be really excited about.
He’d found out about the Christmas centerpiece floral arrangement class from Nat who had a crush on the florist who ran the little shop.
The class was filled with mostly women, but there were a couple other men scattered around. They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea.
Rooster was slipping his phone back into his pocket when you returned back to your little round table with an arm full of various flowers and different greens, with not a pine frond in sight. He’d even called in advance to make sure that there wouldn’t be any involved, just in case.
You were divvying up the things that you’d gathered from the long farmhouse tables in the front between the two of you when his phone pings again.
“Rooster, is everything ok? I feel like your phone is going off a ton this afternoon,” you asked, putting down the white berry looking things to look at him, a little crease there between your eyebrows.
“Yeah, of course,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Fanboy decided to invite chaos into the group chat by asking if a hot dog was a sandwich or not. It’s getting pretty contentious.”
You give him a look but go back to dividing the pile in front of you, moving on from the berry things to some small roses.
“Also, for the record, a hot dog is definitely a category of its own. You don’t call a hamburger a sandwich,” you’d replied, not missing a beat.
“You won’t hear me arguing with that logic.”
“Good. Because facts are facts, Bradley.”
He pulled out his phone again to give it one last quick skim before turning the volume down, before noticing what flowers you’d just set in front of him, “Hey, are those dahlias?”
You hold up a stem with a large deep burgundy flower for him, giving it a spin between your fingers, “They are! It’s a little late in the season for them, so I’m surprised to see them here. Aren’t they pretty?”
“Those were my mom’s favorites,” he’d said fondly, remembering a backyard from decades ago that was lined with around the edges with the flowers.
“Were they? Well, I’m glad I grabbed them then,” you said with a soft smile, before handing him a few more to work with.
By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. He’d even gotten a few supportive thumbs ups from some of the other people in class.
“Seriously, Bradley. It’s so lovely! I mean, look at those pinecones you tucked in it. I can’t wait to put it on the dining table!”
You wanted to swing by Mav and Penny’s place to drop yours off for them, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to convince you that it could wait until tomorrow.
He couldn’t wait for the next part of your day together.
Bradley jogs around the front of the Bronco to open your door for you after he parks at the Hotel del Coronado. He gives you his hand to help you down from the car, instead you reach and pull his face to yours.
The kiss is like spun sugar, airy and sweet. He could taste the lingering peppermint from your latte earlier.
“What was that for,” he murmurs against you lips.
“I just really love you,” you sigh, nudging his nose with yours, “Today has been so perfect. I feel like I’m in one of my Christmas movies, except I know you’re not going to ask me to leave my job in the big city to help you run your grandmother’s failing bakery to only get paid in gingerbread and Christmas spirit.”
“Lucky for you, my grandma could barely make toast, so you’re spared from such a fate. You wouldn’t need that little Mini Cooper of yours in a town that only has one stoplight.”
You press a quick kiss to his cheek, “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”
“We’ve still got one more thing on the list. You ready for this?” Bradley asks, holding his hand out.
You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.”
You can’t say you’ve ever expected to see an ice rink set up with a display of white sand and sparkling blue ocean behind it. But it was easily one of the most magical things you’ve ever seen.
The sunset has painted the skies a beautiful display of cool blues, soft pinks, and dusky purples. The palm trees lining the rink have been done up in strands of white lights that crisscross over it above your heads. The mixture of happy laughter, Christmas songs piped over the sound system, and waves crashing served as the soundtrack to the moment.
And you’re trying desperately not to fall and make a fool of yourself.
It was more than a little humbling stepping onto the rink after having not had a pair of ice skates on for more than a decade. It had been awhile since your family had indulged in this particular tradition, but you figured it would be like riding a bike.
It’s almost laughable now how wrong you were.
“How are you so good at this?” you jokingly accuse as you wobble on your skates, yet again. Luckily, Bradley’s sturdy grasp on your hand keeps you from falling.
He laughs, “I thought you said you did this all the time growing up?”
“I did! I just never said I was good at it.” A kid whizzes past you- a little too close, a little too fast- and Bradley shoots a disgruntled look at his swiftly retreating figure. “You come from a snow state, it’s in your blood. You automatically have the advantage.”
“Are you thinking of the other V-state? Vermont?” he teases, easily gliding around you swapping spots so that you’re closer to the edge of the rink rather than the middle.
“It snows in Virginia, I googled it.”
“I mean, yeah, but not a ton,” he says, “But it wasn’t like I was hitting up the indoor rinks either.”
“So you’re telling me you’re just a natural?” You roll your eyes affectionately at him.
He winks at you, “You said it not me, sweetheart.”
You’d nearly melted on the sight when Rooster had knelt down in front of you and looked up at you with such a boyishly charming smile as he’d tied the laces of your rented ice skates.
It took a moment to get your hummingbird heart back under control after that.
After a few more laps around, you’re starting to feel like you’re falling into the rhythm of it. You’re still keeping an eye out for people and the older kid who had earned himself more than one glare from people trying to enjoy their time on the rink as he erratically bobbed and wove his way through them. But your strides are getting longer and the shifting motion from side to side is getting smoother. You could almost claim to be gliding.
You’d forgotten how much fun it was, but then again, Bradley always made everything better and brighter.
Your cheeks ache in the best way from how much smiling you’ve been doing today.
And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. He’s already seen you at your best and at your worst, so you didn’t think your lack of skill standing on a quarter of an inch of metal was going to scare him away.
Rooster is a few feet ahead of you showing off some of his fancy footwork and maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted by his smile you would have heard the aggressive woosh of the kid’s skates as he sped up behind you.
It had only been a matter of time.
He collides with you but keeps his balance and propels himself forward, not slowing his pace in the slightest before taking off again. Your feet slip out for beneath you and before you know it you’re extending your right arm down to try and break your fall.
You meet the ice hard.
You feel pop.
A rush of warmth.
And then throbbing.
The next five hours pass in a twinkling blur of heavy guilt and aching pain.
Bradley had gone through so much effort planning such a perfect day for you and you feel terrible about how it ended.
The wait at the hospital had been miserable. The lights were too glaring and the noises too loud. The garish green and red garland draped on the desk seemed to mock you as you’d gone through the motions of getting checked in.
Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He’d tried to hide it, but you’d seen that deep furrow between his brows. You’d almost cried when he started stroking the back your pain-free hand with this thumb. It wasn’t until they’d brought you back for X-rays and had given you a light dose of painkillers that the world had shifted back into the dreamy soft focus it had been like earlier in the day with Bradley when he’d taken you on all those perfect dates.
You didn’t know if he had planned anything else, all you knew is that everything had unraveled so quickly.
It’s an odd feeling like you could float away at any moment. The painkillers made you feel buoyant and light, yet you can feel the weight on your shoulders just the way you feel the weight of the cast on your wrist.
Even now as the candy-colored lights that he’d put up along the front of the house bounce off of his still perfect curls, he’s wearing the softest of smiles for you as he works to open the front door. His dreamy brown eyes are reflecting nothing back at you other than warmth and affection and care.
Your wonderful, loving, perfect boyfriend. Your perfect Bradley.
You know it’s not entirely the drugs fault the way you’re struck by just how pretty he is. You’ve always thought so, but here and now you’re simply mesmerized by him under the glow of the Christmas lights.
“I don’t think I’ve been called pretty before, sweetheart. But thank you,” Bradley says with a little amused chuckle.
“Well you are. And your hair. Bradley, it’s not fair.” The words are tumbling out of your loose lips.
“My hair isn’t fair?” he asks with a tilt of his head, holding open the front door for you.
“No, it’s not! You just wash it and it dries like that?” He takes your purse from you and sets it on the entry table before helping to ease off the heavier sweater jacket you were wearing from your shoulders. “I don’t think you get it. You’re pretty, but you’re so handsome too.”
He squats down in front of you and smiles up at you before helping to slip off your shoes, “I’ll take handsome too if it’s on the table, sounds like a nice combo.”
“Please, you sound like Jake now,” you giggle.
“Oh no, we can’t have that now can we,” he grins, “But at least I’m pretty and handsome, hopefully that’ll cushion the blow.”
And you just love him.
You love him for the way he loves you and takes care of you and tries to make you laugh when he knows you’re feeling down. You reach up to pull his face to yours when you are distracted by the thick cast on your arm.
“This wasn’t the accessory I was hoping for for Christmas,” you say with a sigh.
The panic that electrifies your body is immediate as your spine goes ramrod straight. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. You can almost see the words swirl and twirl around him, and you know there’s no way you can snatch them back from the way they hang in the air.
“Ohmygod. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that.” You’re so flustered now, so embarrassed. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”
But Bradley is looking at you with his eyes crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together like he is trying to hold back a laugh with the way his cheeks are pulling up.
“Oh, did you want a pair of earrings?” he teases, cupping your face in his hand.
“Bradley,” you whine.
“C’mere, baby,” he laughs and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him and wonder briefly if he can feel the hard plaster of your cast pressed against his back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “You know you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.”
“Don’t need anything,” you murmur into the warmth of him.
He’s already all you’ve ever wanted.
As you make your way up the stairs, glow from your pretty pink tree seems brighter than usual. Normally, you’d take one last peek back at it before going to bed, but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet. It’ll still be there waiting for you in the morning.
“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter from behind you.
“What’s wrong, Roos?”
“Ah- just stubbed my toe. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” The heavy tread of his footsteps is close behind you, you can almost feel the warmth of him at your back.
At you back. By your side. He’s the only person you’ll ever need.
They’d given you some of the strong stuff and he could tell that you were still floating in that sweet spot before all the gravity settles back into your bones.
The distal radius fracture in your right wrist meant that you’d be in the cast for the next six weeks. You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. While he wishes it wasn’t there in the first place, he thought the pattern you’d chosen was cute.
He’d quickly and quietly kicked off his shoes before he’d followed you into the bedroom. Hoping that you wouldn’t notice them, he’d take a disinfecting wipe to the floor and stairs tomorrow.
For as well as Rooster knew you, he felt a little out of his element because he knew you were hurting but he wasn’t sure what would make you feel better in that moment. When he offered to draw you a bath he’d instantly known it was the right choice by the look on your face.
So he’d made you one with all of your favorite products. The mound of bubbles he was able to achieve was truly impressive, if he did say so himself. He even dimmed the lights and lit a few candles for you.
Bradley had carefully wrapped up your cast in plastic wrap and secured the top with a rubber band. And the dejected pout on your face when you looked at it and called it an “unattractive arm condom” had nearly sent him over edge.
He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch.
“I really am jealous of your hair, you know. I’m sure there were a few of the girls at that floral class who were too.”
Your head is leaning back against the lip of the tub as you gaze at him, your hair wet from him washing it for you. He’d noticed the moment you realized how difficult it would be for you to do it yourself for the foreseeable future. But you brought out the optimistic side of him and he’d already come up with a solution, “I guess we’ll have to take more showers together then, so I can wash your hair for you. Plus, it’ll be good for the environment”. You’d laughed, and he was happy to see some of the light returning back into your eyes.
“I don’t know why when yours is so pretty,” he says, reaching out and lightly tugging on a lock of your hair.
“Did I tell you one of them asked me if you had a brother? She was honestly so put out when I said that you didn’t that I’m pretty sure she took the last of the dahlias out of spite when she saw me reaching for them. They didn’t even match her arrangement,” you say rolling your eyes, adjusting the way your plastic wrapped candy cane cast rested against the other side of the tub. “Like sorry not sorry, I’m not going to give you my boyfriend.”
“Was it the woman in the striped sweater?”
“Yes! It was her!”
Bradley had notice her checking him out a little too closely for a man who was clearly there another woman and happily taken.
“She had crazy eyes, I wouldn’t have wanted you to give me to her anyways.”
You snicker at that, “She did have crazy eyes.”
He makes a mental note to remember to grab the arrangements from out of the back of the Bronco before he goes to bed. He didn’t want anything to happen to them, but that could until after you were tucked in bed and asleep.
“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch. She didn’t put them on the table or anything for anyone else, just handed them over to me for us to use. It was a real girls supporting girls moment, we bonded.”
He’s struck by the fact that you’d already known about his mom’s favorite flower. That you had let him think it was happenstance when really you had grabbed them because you’d known it would mean something to him. That you wanted to make it special for him when he was trying to make it a special day for you.
He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but you were so good at making him fall in love with you over and over again.
“That was really nice of her, sweetheart,” he says, his throat a little thick.
“It really was. And better yet she’s single and likes women,” you say with a grin, “I got her number to get coffee, but I might see if I can play matchmaker between her and Nat. She looks like Nat’s type.”
“This was our instructor? You got all of that out of her in a few minutes of conversation?” he asks, impressed.
You give him a cheeky shrug of your shoulder, “Yeah, I’m efficient. She owns the shop too. I think I’m going to order something for Penny and Mav from her closer to Christmas.”
“You know what, I think you’re right, she does seem very much like Nat’s type,” Bradley smiles to himself, Phoenix is going to be very excited when he tells her about this.
“’m always right,” you hum.
“You sure are, sweetheart,” he says fondly.
He watches as your eyelids start to get heavy and helps you to get out of the tub, wrapping you up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and sits you on the bed as he goes into the closet to find something cozy for you to wear.
“What do you want me to grab you, baby?”
“Your shirt,” you call out sleepily.
He peeks his head around the opening, “Sweetheart, you’re not going to want hospital germs in bed.”
“No, not that one,” you say, scrunching your nose, “Your henley. The soft navy one with the little white flecks. ‘s my favorite.”
You look so tired, he doesn’t like the slump of your shoulders. He knows that feeling all too well and he hates that you feel so bad about something that you had no control over. It had been such a good day up until the end. But even so, you’re the only person he wants to go through the highs and lows with.
He strips down and puts both his clothes and yours into the hamper before grabbing the shirt for you. “Arms up,” he says gently, he pulls the sleeve wide to fit over your cast before threading it down your arms and over your head.
Rooster pulls back the covers for you to crawl into bed. He climbs in after you, cradling you against him as he reaches over for the remote to turn on your favorite Christmas movie channel for you to fall asleep too.
Your cast rests heavy on his chest.
The heroine just won the cookie cook-off and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you murmur quietly into the dark room, “This is the second year in a row, Bradley, I really think we should consider skipping Christmas next year. For both of our sake’s.”
“We’ve got too much Christmas spirit for a little pine tree allergy or fractured wrist to keep us down,” he tips your head up so that you’re looking at him, “Give it time, it’ll turn around. I promise, sweetheart.”
He seals that vow with a sweet kiss against your lips and a few minutes later he feels as your breaths even out and you fall asleep tucked against him.
You wake up the next morning feeling more than a little groggy and cotton-headed as everything from yesterday comes rushing back to you.
As does the aching in your right wrist.
You reach out for Rooster, but his side of the bed is already cold. He’s always been an early riser and once he’s awake he doesn’t know how to sit still. You wouldn’t have minded cuddling with him for a little bit, but knowing him he has probably already brewed a pot of coffee for you.
When you finally crack open your eyes, you see that he’s left out a bottle of the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had sent home with you on your nightstand and a note written in his slanted script reminding you to take one. Your sweetest boy.
You attempt to splash some cold water on your face with one hand, willing it to depuff your face a little bit and then try to fix up your hair so that you look and feel less bedraggled. It is one thing if Bradley is the one responsible for it, but that wasn’t the case this morning.
Before heading downstairs, you decide on a whim to change out of his shirt and into the cozy cream-colored fuzzy lounge set you’d bought on sale the other week. It takes three times longer to get dressed than it usually did, but getting yourself at least a little more put together made you feel a bit more in control. You knew the extra effort wasn’t necessary, but you felt cute and it was making you feel a little bit better about everything.
The pink and white cast was a bit of a choice looking at it in the morning light filtering through the airy curtains, but you thought you pulled it off well. It was cheerful and fun. And you weren’t going to let it affect you or your Christmas plans with your perfect boyfriend.
There is still some residual guilt you’re trying to shake off, you know it was a fluke of fate, but you’re already thinking about ways to make it up to him all the same.
You gingerly make your way down the stairs making a mental note to look up what other festive things were happening this weekend and call out to Rooster, “Please tell me there’s coffee.”
The raspy laugh that reaches your ears makes you smile for the first time that morning, “I’ve got one ready for you in the living room, sweetheart. It’s ready when you are.”
The painkillers, the coffee. The man is a saint and looks like a god. And he’s all yours.
You take those final few steps a bit faster, ready for the strong dark roast that only he seems to be able to make to just right and to thank him for taking such good care of you.
You lose all words when you walk into the living room.
It’s like you’ve walked into a dreamy pink forest straight out of a fairytale.
Your beloved very large, very fluffy, pink tree covered with all of your memories collected from the past year and Bradley’s mom’s sparkling vintage glass icicles is surrounded by two other very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas trees.
The newest additions to the living room glow with the hundreds of twinkling white lights. It’s ethereal and whimsical the way the light bounces and dapples on the walls and floors.
And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream.
You don’t think it’s the prescription strength pain medication kicking in that makes you feel like you’re floating as you walk towards him. You know it’s all him.
Bradley says your name with such adoration, such love that you swear you feel your heart reshape in your chest with his name on it.
“I envisioned this a bit differently in my mind, but the way I see it, we’re just starting the ‘in sickness and in health’ part a bit early,” he says, taking your right hand and dropping a kiss to your cast. Your eyes well up at the tender gesture.
And then you stop breathing when he sinks down onto one knee in front of you.
“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love your big heart and the way you’re so kind and generous to everyone you meet. I love the way you can light up a room with your smile. The best parts of my days are when I am with you. You’re the only person I want to wake up to, the only person I want to fall asleep with in my arms, and the only person who I want a forever with.” He reaches out and takes your shaky hand in his warm one, “Last year, you let me give you more than a drawer and it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. This year, will you let me give you my last name too and marry me?”
You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory.
You had imagined this moment so many times. It was the movie you’d put on in your mind on those nights when sleep felt just out for reach. And like a snowflake, no two dreams had been the same.
But nothing you’d imagined could have ever topped the reality of this moment here and now.
Because there was nothing was better than being surrounded by three pink fluffy trees and looking forward to getting to spend a lifetime with Bradley Bradshaw.
“Well it’s convenient I fractured the right one,” you say with a watery laugh as a few happy tears escape from your eyes.
“I guess that is a lucky break,” he grins.
“Literally.”
You didn’t think it was possible to smile this wide. That you could be this happy.
“You still haven’t given me an answer yet, sweetheart,” he says, slightly squeezing your good hand.
“Haven’t I though?” you tease. There’s no what he doesn’t know what your answer is, not with the way you’re beaming.
“C’mon, let me hear you say it.”
You don’t make him wait for long.
“Yes, Bradley, yes I will marry you. It’ll always be a yes with you.”
You barely get to finish your sentence before he is shooting to his feet, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.
Your Bradley. Your fiancé.
On Christmas morning, after all the presents are unwrapped, you find yourself sitting under your perfectly pink tree surrounded by scraps of ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper.
Even your striped pink and white cast looked particularly festive under the gleam of the trees.
Rooster is in the kitchen making another pot of coffee for the two of you to share. You can hear him singing along to one of the vintage crooner Christmas albums you had gotten him.
You’ll be hosting Mav, Penny, and Amelia for dinner tonight. You let yourself enjoy this quiet of the mid-morning before things get chaotic. The two of you had dressed the oval oak dining table yesterday afternoon. The centerpiece you’d ordered from Nat’s now New Year’s Eve date was stunning, there were even a few white dahlias tucked into the arrangement. Thankfully, with no pine needles in sight.
The tall pillar candles had been moved off to the side and a real fire was popping in the hearth of the tiled fireplace. And the sun streaming through the bay windows is bouncing off that sparkly silver garland that you’d gotten Bradley to hang up for you in a way that makes the shiny wooden floors look like they’ve been scattered with specks of confetti.
The swirling, sparkling, shimmering dots on the ceiling, however, were from your own ring as you move and tilt your hand admiring the way the sun illuminates it. You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as you Christmas gift are shining just as bright.
He still blushes whenever anyone teases him about forgetting to pull out the engagement ring he had got for you before he’d proposed. But you wouldn’t have changed anything about that moment for the world.
The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. It was easily the prettiest thing you’d ever seen and your heart still fluttered every time you saw it on your finger.
The two new trees are still only dressed with the many strands of lights that they’d arrived with. You learned that Bradley had enlisted Jake and Natasha to help him out with that particular surprise that day a couple weeks ago when he’d taken you on what you affectionately refer to as the 12 Dates of a Christmas Proposal.
Your favorite pink tree, the one he had gotten for you last year- the one you’re sitting under now- was also in possession of a new accessory. A shiny new pink ring pop ornament Bradley had gotten to commemorate the occasion of you saying yes and was hanging in a place of honor on the tree right between the little Hawaiian shirt ornament and the dainty, dangling ice skates.
Saying yes was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
Yes to forever. Yes to him.
This season and every season.
You couldn’t wait to see what new ornaments would fill those trees by next year.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
And the next one after that.
Happy Holiday's! It's been almost a year since I've posted my very first story on here. I'm so thankful that a zoom kaboom plane movie has introduced me to so many wonderful people! Thank you for reading my stories and for all the support I've received over this last year! It has meant the world to me!
This story is set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe. If you missed the fic that started it all, you can read it here!
Many thanks to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for so, so many reasons. I hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!
You can read my other stories here!
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I Was The Best Husband
An Elvis Presley One-Shot
A response to the writing prompt "‘are you always this shy?"
Many thanks to my lovely compatriots @whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis for talking me off the ledge every time and holding my hand and reminding me why I love Elvis and how fun this can be.
Summary: It is March 1972, a month after Priscilla officially told Elvis about her affair with Mike Stone and her decision to leave him and request a divorce. He is in LA, getting ready to go back on tour and his entourage have invited some women over to help cheer him up.
Warnings: Some mild soft core make-out stuff. I think my smut generator is broken. Please send help. Oh, I wrote this today and there are a lot of typos. And some of it or all of it may not make sense. I'd honestly skip it.
Word Count: 4.2K
I Was the Best Husband
Friday, March 31, 1972, 8:30 p.m.
La Fortuna Apartment Complex
Just off Pico Blvd in West Los Angeles, CA
Her first response had been a firm no when Caroline stuck her head around Maureen’s bedroom door and asked if she wanted to come to a party in the hills at Elvis Presley’s house.
“Please, please PLEASE, Mo, I need you there to make sure I don’t drink too much or do anything stupid. 'Sides, Joe told me to bring some friends.”
“Who’s Joe?”
Caroline walked into Maureen’s room and sat on her vanity stool, wiping the corners of her mouth.
“I met him at the Whiskey last summer, when I was in the cage. He’s works for Elvis, took me out to Palm Springs for Labor Day, ‘member?” Carolyn's long, golden hair glistened in the bedroom lamp light.
“Right, how many girls were there? Twenty? Didn’t you say the trip was a bust?”
“I go to sit on Elvis’ lap for a whole gospel song, and then he asked me and another girl to make out in front of him. That’s a story I’ll be telling my grandchildren one day. Don’t you want to be able to do that?”
Maureen shook her head. “Hmmm, I think I’d probably leave out the second part. I don’t know, Cari, I -”
“Ah ha! You’re thinking about it. Get dressed, we gotta pick up Teresa. You don’t want to miss your opportunity to meet Elvis!”
“Right, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to watch the two of you make out on his lap. I don’t know why you need me to come if Teresa is, she makes since, you' 're both waitresses at Bootlegger’s. I’m not sure this Joe was thinking of me when he told you to bring some friends.”
Maureen looked down, smoothing her tee over her small bust while Caroline jumped up and spritzed Maureen’s perfume over her wrists.
“You’re cute, you’re funny, and you have a car, so shake a tail feather and let’s go.”
**************************
Carolyn turned up the radio and “Maggie May” resounded through the car as Maureen guided her Volkswagen bug up the steep incline into the Hollywood Hills. The road twisted and got narrower as they went along and she had to lean forward to feel steady shifting the gears.
Maureen found herself staring at Teresa’s beautiful brown skin as it gleaming in the streetlights while they walked up to the front of the large, white Tudor-style house. Maureen felt like an ugly duckling about to wander into lake full of swans, and hastened her gait, jogging up to link her arm between the other two taller, dazzling women as she balanced herself on her wooden clogs.
Knocking a few times, the door was finally opened by a tall white guy whose name was either Dick, Rick or Nick, and the women made their way into the foyer and down the split level steps towards an large open living room where guests were milling around talking, dancing, drinking.
Carolyn leaned into whisper, “Joe says they’re trying to cheer Elvis up, his wife just asked for a divorce and moved out.”
Maureen only had a moment to reflect on this when Carolyn’s wrist was grabbed by a stout, short balding guy wearing black sunglasses inside at 10 p.m. at night. This, apparently, was Joe. He reminded Maureen of a a think, fat ground hog with no neck and a big, friendly expression that hid rows of sharp teeth. Joe smiled as he kissed Carolyn’s cheeks and checked out Teresa, then nodded politely at Maureen, as he took Carolyn in hand and led them to go meet “the boss.”
They could hear Elvis’ voice echoing through the air before they saw him as they walked out to the pool patio.
“Man, I don’t know how she could do this to me, I was the best husband a woman could ask for. Ain't no one in my family ever been divorced, 'cept my mean-ass, desertin' no good sonofabitch grandaddy. Unnatural for a woman to wanna break up a family like that. After everything I gave her, too. Provided everything a woman could ask for. And what thanks do I get? She steals my baby away and breaks up our fucking family .”
Elvis stood there at the side of the pool, his arms around two beautiful women as he spoke to a short young white guy, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with long greasy dark hair and bushy eyebrows. Elvis paused his diatribe to kiss one of the woman’s cheeks and ask what her name was again, before his eyes met Joe’s and he made a half grin.
“Hey, EP, you remember Cari from Palm Springs, huh?”
Elvis let go of the women he was with and drew Carolyn into his side, kissing her cheek and saying of course he remembered her. He hummed a few bars of a gospel song, which made Carolyn giggle, and then asked her to introduce him to her friends as he took Teresa and then Maureen’s hands, kissing them one at a time. Maureen shivered when Elvis took her hand, his eyes narrowed as his mouth turned upward into a crooked grin and he winked at her. She forgot how to talk as his nose grazed the top of her hand and he squeezed it to his mouth for light, warm kiss.
“This here is Arty Shiskee, he’s workin’ on this picture we’re makin’ with MGM, been filming our tour rehearsals all day.”
The short, dark haired man smiled anxiously, and uncrossed his arms to shake their hands. Carolyn leaned into Elvis, and Joe took Maureen by the waist to “show you around, maybe get you a drink, babe?”
Maureen felt as Joe was moving her out to pasture with the other guests not selected for Elvis’ harem, so she tilting her head toward the bar inside and said thanks.
Waiting for three white wine spritzers, Maureen turned to see Arty.
“Hey, Art, is it?”
“Actually, it’s Marty. I don’t have the guts to correct him, he’s Elvis, ya know? I guess I’m a coward. Also, how can I give the guy a hard time? He’s wife just left him.”
“Yeah, he seems real broken up about, huh? How will he ever find another companion?”
Marty chuckled, and pulled his hair behind his ear as Maureen carried on, she always talked more when she felt nervous.
“I guess it’s good he feels comfortable talking about it.”
“Um, yeah, ‘comfortable,’ that’s one way to put it.”
Before Maureen could ask him what he meant, her drinks were ready, and she enlisted Marty’s help carrying them back to the others. This was not easy, Elvis and the girls had disappeared from the patio, and Marty diligently followed Maureen through the mansion until they spotted the back of his shag hairdo on a couch in a large den. Maureen handed her friends their drinks and settled onto the floor, leaning back against the side of a brown velour couch and resting her shoes on the fur rug that extended out from the coffee table. Carolyn seemed at home sitting atop Elvis’ lap, buffeted by two other women sitting on either side all listening attentively as Elvis spoke.
“I am telling ya what, man, I gave her everything a wife could ask for, she wanted a horse, I got her a horse. She wanted ranch we drove by in Mississippi, by god, I got her the damn ranch. And I bought everyone a truck for the ranch. She wanted a bigger house in Los Angle -lesss, why, I bought this huge goddamn house. Gave her unlimited budget to decorate this place to her heart’s desire. New car every time she blinked. Jewelry boxes filled with diamonds. A closet full of new designer clothes.”
Elvis rubbed Carolyns waist and extended his other arm around the redhead next to him, looking at one, then the other, as he asked. “Now, wouldn’t you like that, honey? Would that have made you happy?”
“Uh huh, daddy. That wouldda made me the happiest.”
Elvis kissed Carolyn’s cheek as she said this. “Right? Thank ya, baby. That’s cuz you’re sweet, normal, nice girl, ain’t got anti-freeze running through your veins.”
He kissed the redhead’s cheek too, and then her lips as she turned toward him and put her hands around his neck.
“I would have been so happy, Elvis, I wouldda let you know, twenty five hours a day, eight days a week.”
The loud smacks of their sloppy kisses echoed through the room, and Maureen suddenly felt very self conscious, as if she was watching something she ought not to. She didn’t go to these Hollywood people parties very often, although perhaps it wasn’t soo weird, she reasoned, for a handsome, wealthy, star like Elvis to make out with good looking women in his own house.
Surrounded by other good looking people.
Who were mostly 20-something females.
Maureen looked around and clocked at least another ten girls just in their area alone, with only three other men hanging out among the guests. Two after Marty waved a small goodbye and slipped out through the side door onto the patio.
Maureen returned her gaze to Elvis, who had paused his kisses with the sympathetic redhead in order to continue talking. Every few moments, Maureen thought she caught Elvis glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but she told herself it was nothing.
“Ya see, honey, now, that’s what I told her, I said any other woman would fuckin’ kill to be where you are, to have what you have, to have a husband like me. Uh huh, but not my wife. Nah, that bitch has a heart of stone. What thanks do I get for everything I’ve done? Come home to find all that swag I bought, gone, man, gone.”
He snapped his fingers. “She packed it all up, gave up on a ten year relationship, over ten years, and and left me for another man.” Elvis shook his head, his squeezing Carolyn’s knee.
A smile came over Elvis’ face as he looked from Carolyn to the redhead, and Maureen thought maybe he was going to try and get the two to make out. Instead, he asked them, “Hey, want to see something out of sight?”
As they nodded, he jumped up, and looked around, his eyes settling on Maureen as reached out his hand to draw her up from the floor.
“Check this out honey, Imma show you how a real man protects his family. ’Git up here, woman, I need ya.” Maureen stumbled up as Elvis pulled her to the middle of the room and positioned her arms out. “Alright, baby, now stand still and Do. Not. Move. Do you trust me?”
Maureen nodded hesitantly, her eyes wide with what could probably be best described as the opposite of trust. Elvis face lit up, and then he took a deep breath, his hands together in prayer as he centered them in front of his face and down to his chest. Then he proceeded to thrust his leg up, extending the knee forward in a swift karate kick out at her side.
Maureen froze in terror as Elvis grunted loudly and proceeded to demonstrate a rash of karate chops on either side of her face, followed by a few more high thrusting kicks, his black hair flounced in the air from his movements and “hiyas!” echoing around the room. He chuckled as he caught his breath, rubbing her shoulder.
“Whoa, hey there, you can breath darlin, it’s ok. I’m a black belt.”
He turned to the little crowd that had formed around the room as they clapped and he took a bow.
“See y’all? That’s how karate can be, if ya know what ya doin’ like I do. I can control my movements precisely and protect my family. I could kill a man with my bare hands if I wanted to.”
Then his face erupted into a grin as Maureen chuckled nervously.
“Course, I wouldn’t. A true master only uses deadly force as a last resort. Against those who mean him or his family harm.” Elvis growled, and Maureen quickly ducked under his arm, about to sit, or flee, an option she was seriously considering until she felt his grip on her wrist.
“You did great, darlin, I could tell you liked it, saw it in your eyes. Watch out, once it gets you, there's no going back,’” he murmured, and kissed her on her lips, his hands on the sides if her face. Then he held out her hand for her to take a bow before he released her.
“Didn’t she seem fearless? Give it up for Colleen, everyone, bravest little gal in here. Probably the craziest too. Could see it in her eyes.”
He winked as Maureen joined people standing at the edge of the room, before sneaking off to use the bathroom and grateful she hadn’t peed her pants during Elvis’ karate demonstration. It had been terrifying, exhilarating, and mesmerizing. The violence and intensity of Elvis might even have turned her on a bit, but this sensation was almost certainly overwhelmed by the mortal fear that he was going to kill or seriously injure her.
***************************
It was past one when Maureen made a concerted effort to find her friends and persuade them to go home. She had been enjoying the free drinks and picking at some fried chicken as she made small talk with other guests, avoiding the areas where she heard the loud refrain of the best husband in all of Memphis, Hollywood and the goddamn world. But now she would have to face him, and found Elvis in the living room where she made her way to the corner and scanned the area for Carolyn and Teresa. She was distracted by Elvis' direct glances at her every few minutes. Realizing her friends weren’t with him or in the room, Maureen turned to leave but was stopped by Joe's hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, boss man wants you to come join us," his arm snaked around her as he led her over to the few people still hanging out.
“Hey there, it’s my karate partner. Where’s the fire, honey? Come on, take a load off.”
Maureen’s eyes widened but she found herself stuttering and unable to talk in the glow of Elvis full attention.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I have to find my friends, Carolyn and Teresa, I think they may have actually been on your lap, at one point.”
Elvis’ lips curled up, and he bit his bottom one as he muttered. “Oh yes, Careful Carolyn, mmhmmm, yeah, I think she and that purty Black girl went home with Jerry, huh Joe?"
The ground hog nodded.
Elvis winked, and then his eyebrows creased as he saw Maureen’s face fall. “Oh it’s ok, baby, did your friends leave you behind? It’s ok, I, uh, I think they was lookin’ for ya, actually, yeah, they said to tell you not ta worry.”
Elvis squeezed her hand and nodded to the others as he turned and guided Maureen away from the living through a hall.
“C’mon, I know something that will make ya feel better. It’s my cure all for when life gets me down.”
Elvis’ hand slipped around Maureen’s waist, and she let her head dip into his side, more from exhaustion than anything else. The feeling of Elvis tall, sturdy body as he held her to him and kissed the top of her head was comforting, she made the decision not to think about how he seemed to be instantly intimate with every woman he met. She definitely decided not to question whether this quality had been appreciated by his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Elvis pushed them into a large country style kitchen, with a wide, wooden island in the middle. Loosening his grip, Elvis went to the fridge while Maureen determined she would be more comfortable sitting down and settled on the nearest and therefore most logical option: the island’s yellow tiled counter. This is where she sat swinging her legs as Elvis returned with a gallon of vanilla ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.
“Well, now, ya hardly said a word all night, sweetheart, are you always this shy?”
“Um, only with people I don’t know.” Maureen murmured, looking down and pulling the strap of her black jersey dress back up from her shoulder.
“You sayin’ you don’t know me?”
Maureen looked up into Elvis’s eyes, and her heart fluttered as he stepped closer. Now his long arms pushed over her lap to settled alongside her body on the counter as he moved between her legs. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and felt the movements of his chest acutely against her nipples as he leaned closer and hovered in front of her. Exhaling through her nose, she tried not to gasp as she tapped out her fingers nervously and looked down. A lone, nervous giggle escaped her mouth.
“Um, not really. Not who you really are.” Maureen whispered to her lap, which now included Elvis’ hands, rubbing her waist.
He lifted her chin, speaking softly as he looked into her eyes. “S’ok baby, I don’t bite. Much.”
Then Elvis chomped his teeth together loudly into Maureen's face and she jerked back with a giggling gasp.
Elvis laughed, straightening his yellow tinted sunglasses. “Well, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley. Nice ta meet ya, Colleen.”
“Maureen. It’s Maureen, though my friends all call me Mo.”
Elvis’ finger’s trailed up the side of Maureen’s outer thigh, and she swallowed as he widened her legs around him.
“Alright then, see, I didn’t really know who you were.” He murmured into her cheek. “Nice ta meet ya, Mo.”
Elvis seemed to recognize the effect he had on her, as her breath hitched in her throat and she found her self incapable of talking. He stepped back with a chuckle, and dragged the ice cream over the counter next to Maureen’s hip, pulling off the container top and flipping the chocolate syrup lid with his teeth and a dramatic exaggerated “humpf."
Maureen and guffawed watching Elvis poured the chocolate sauce directly into the ice cream container.
"What are you doing? No one else'll be able to eat that."
“Honey, do you see anyone else here? S’my house, now, dammit, and I’ll do what I want. Ain’t got no wife to nag at me. If I wanna eating ice cream outta the box, then I'll get it out of the box." He said, slurping a messy spoonful into his open mouth.
Elvis brought a second helping to Maureen’s lips. “Now, open wide, like a good lil gal.” He chuckled as she let him push the spoon into her mouth slowly, moaning in delight as she swallowed the sweet, cold, sugary goodness.
“MMhmmm. See, now, do I know how to make women happy or what? You wouldn’t have left me, would ya, Mo Mo?”
“No, but I'm pretty easy to win over. I'd forgive almost anything if a man feeds me ice cream.”
Maureen winked at him and wiped her mouth just in time for another spoon of chocolate swirled ice cream, which Elvis followed with a soft, grateful kiss. He threw the spoon down and leaned into her, his hands moving up her body until they were cupping the back of her head and his lips settled again over hers.
Slow, soft, tender movements turned needier as they rocked back and forth. Maureen’s hands stroked the top of Elvis' shoulders, pulling him in by the lapel as she opened her mouth to meet his tongue. Her wooden platforms hit against each other as she notched her legs around Elvis, gripping him to her, as close as as she could bring him. Elvis stepped back, panting as he wiped his mouth, his lips contorted in a dopey grin.
She could hear the front door slam as people left the party, but they weren't going back to that way when he drew her off the counter and left the ice cream melting where it sat. She could see it in his eyes, a hungry wolfish glare, and his arm pulled her the other way, away from the people, the music, and the main part of the house.
“C’mon, baby, let me give you the VIP tour.” Elvis announced as they walked through the other side of the kitchen to a narrow stair case.
“These are some stupid, expensive-ass refurbished stairs.”
He bounced into the second floor, and turned to draw Maureen into him once more, his hand at the back of her neck and her body thrummed with need as his fingers played with the scruff of her hair. Then he was pressing her to the wall, pressing all her thoughts and misgivings away with his lips, while his hands blindly felt their way over her hips.
Minutes passed by measured by the metronome of air popping softly between their lips. Elvis fingers began to migrate lower, tugging at the hem of her dress. He smiled at the arousal in Maureen’s wide, brown eyes, leading her through a door at the end of the hall.
“Oh loook, huh, I think,” he paused as he walked to turn on one solitary lamp on top of a dresser on. “I think we found, the, uh, bedroom.” He looked down, almost shy, as he grinned.
Maureen swished from side to side playfully, anxiously, hesitantly in place where she stood across the room from him. Suddenly self-conscious, her desire faltered as she thought about where she was and who she was with, and became profoundly insecure about her sexual prowess.
“MMhmmmm. There is a bed.” She murmured, her arm up behind her neck, twisting her long, brown hair aside. “And, it is a room. So I guess it fits the definition.”
Elvis eyes narrowed in recognition as he strode back to her and took her hand, his lips kissing the top lightly and his nose nuzzling into Maureen’s knuckles. “Hey baby, we don’t gotta do nothin’, ok? You’re the boss.”
Maureen felt a blistering heat grow between her legs, and she let out a breathy exhale as Elvis moved his lips up her arm, kissing his way to the nape of her neck.
“We aint’t gotta do nothin’ you don't wanna do, nothin' at all, ok honey? Don’t shake, sshhhh, s’ok.”
Maureen put her hands around Elvis’ neck, willing away her trembling nerves as the knot in her belly propelled her to be as close to him as possible. She felt ashamed of how much she wanted to do the opposite of nothing, right now, all at once as soon as possible.
“I, um, I’m not one for, I mean, I don’t usually do one night stands.”
He took her hand, and led her over to the bed and pulling her onto his lap. “There, we don’t have ta stand at all.”
Maureen exhaled with a chuckle as Elvis rubbed his hand up and down her thigh slowly, suddenly sheepish and uncertain. He let out a hesitant exhale. For some inexplicable reason, Elvis’ sudden nervousness made Maureen relax a little, and she lifted her fingers to caress his cheek before stranding to take off her dress.
He stopped her, and lifted her right foot to his lap, and then her left, chuckling at her cries as he throw her shoes across the room. Then he pulled her up in front of him, instructing her to lift her dress slowly. Very slowly.
Maureen’s breath escaped her nose in long gasps as she lifted her black dress, drawing it over her head, inch by inch, encouraged by the short gasps Elvis' throat made as his eyes locked into hers. He groaned loudly and bit his lip when she revealed the light, yellow flowered panties with a little yellow bow at the middle. Lifting her dress like a curtain, revealing her belly inch-by-inch, then her breasts, then her nipples, the feel of the fabric brushing over her skin was titillating. Naked, except for her panties, she moved her arms over her tummy and did an awkward little wiggle as she hurriedly sought out the warm of Elvis’ embrace.
His movements were slow and purposeful, trailing his over her as he removed her arms from her tummy and just soaked in the sight of her body, biting his lip and breathing. He met her eyes, and gather her body on top of his, planting kisses along her clavicle, each breath made Maureen’s pulse quicken and she ran her hands through Elvis’ soft hair. He laid her back on to the bed, on his knees between her legs as he slid her underwear off, watching as he revealed her wooly, warm labia, sucking in air as he shook his head with reverence and whispered a low goddamn, goddamn.
Maureen let out a breathy chuckle. “What? What is it?”
“Just beautiful, honey, I just like looking at it.”
“I’m, uh. I think I’ve probably done this less than you.” She let out another nervous chuckle, every cell in her body was telling her to shut up but when Maureen got nervous, she started talking more. “I don’t know how I’ll compare to Vegas showgirls or or even —”
Elvis put his finger her to her lips, then he calmly stood up and kicked off his shoes, hanging up his sports coat and printed dress shirt over a chair.
“S’ok, honey, don’t get all up in your head like that. Shhh, just remember to breath and uh, follow my lead.”
Elvis returned to hoover above Maureen and kissed her gently. He winked, and Maureen felt him tremble as he moved to unzipped his pants.
“I really was the best husband, ya know? I never expected anything from my wife. Ever. Knew it was my job to provide. And, uh, when it cimes to making love." He blushed. " I, uh, know, well, that its the man’s job to make it good. You’ll see.”
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semi-tolerable chr*stmas songs: a list by me, a bah-humbugging atheist grinch
religious:
god rest ye merry gentlemen (catchy as fuck, we love it)
we three kings (ditto)
what child is this (sang this as a solo for school once)
away in a manger (ditto except it was for church)
silent night (pitch change on “sleep in heavenly pe-EACE” makes this one valid)
go tell it on the mountain (this one slaps)
that version of joy to the world but you replace the normal lyrics with ones about beheading barney the dinosaur and/or your least favorite teacher, so i guess it doesn’t really count as religious anymore does it
secular:
walking in the air (this isn’t just semi-tolerable, this FUCKS year-round, but ONLY the version by goth legends nightwish)
carol of the bells (catchy AND epic)
you’re a mean one, mr. grinch (does this need explaining? we stan a legend)
have yourself a merry little chr*stmas (ONLY if it’s slow & sad and yes this is because it played in the spn episode shut up)
the nutcracker (because it was in k*ngdom hearts, yes i am 600% dead serious)
12 days of christmas (i had a muppets picture book for this as a kid...also this one’s just fun to sing in a big group)
grandma got run over by a reindeer (this one is anti-santa propaganda, we approve)
all i want for chr*stmas is you (not sure about this one, i have a love/hate relationship with it because it slaps but then it gets stuck in my head and also i hate the background bells more than i hate everything else)
jingle bell rock (not because it’s good, but because it was in home alone and my late great aunt loved it)
that version of deck the halls where you replace the normal lyrics with ones about arson, particular arson involving burning down your school
bonus: the MOST cursed chr*stmas songs of all time:
jingle bells (UUUUUUUGH)
rudolph the red-nose reindeer (bully apologist propaganda, no thank you, rudolph should have ok-boomer’d santa and fucked right off, leaving those capitalist scumbags to their self-made fate)
o chr*stmas tree (this one is so boring i’d fall asleep if i wasn’t busy wanting to stab my eardrums out with a fork)
i saw mommy kissing santa claus (ew.)
baby it’s cold outside (beyond hating the song itself i also hate the discourse around the song EVEN MORE! also, ew.)
#personal#guess it doesn't take a lot of brainpower to guess where my least favorite place was growing up.....................#JOY to the world the teacher's dead#we baaarbequuuueeed his heeeead#what happened to the body? we flushed it down the potty!#and around and around it goes and around and around it goes and around AAAAND around and around it goes#DECK the halls with gasoline fa la la la la la la la la#LIGHT it up and watch it gleam fa la la la la la la la la#NOW the school burns DOWN in ashes fa la la la la la la la la#ARENT you glad you played with matches fa la la la la la la la la#got in trouble for singing those ones as a kid#and a teenager. actually. if we're being honest.#especially when i replaced teacher with a particular name#for example: JOY to the world mrs gouge is dead#WE BARBEQUUUEDDD HER HEEEEAD#look i know teachers are overworked and underpaid but i would spit on that bitch's grave she was the CRUELEST bully#anyway that's my list.#walking in the air is the only chr*stmas song actually everyone should listen to it#but ONLY the nightwish version.
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Deceitber day one #2
This prompt is by @dragonindigo245.
Deceit was humming idly along to whatever song was playing in his mind, he couldn't quite find the words to go with the melody and the title was evading him.
He kept humming, feeling so close to remembering the song. His hands had stopped of their own accord and now the knife ge had been using to chop the onion was being waved through the air to the tune.
"Deck the halls with gasoline," Remus screeched as he entered the room. "Fa la la la la la la la la," Remus continued to screech even as Dee stopped humming. Ah, that was why the song had been stuck in his head even though he didn't know the lyrics.
He was certain he had never heard the real version, only the parody that Remus and Virgil had sung religiously ever Christmas. "Deeeeeeeeeeee!" Remus whined. Dee raised an eyebrow at the pouting side, wondering why he was being whined at. Then Remus started singing again, a pout obvious even as he sang.
"Light a match & watch it gleam." Dee caught on quickly and began to loudly hum the tune once more. Remus clapped in excitement and his voice raised again to the awful screech that Deceit was used to. "Fa la la la la la la la la. Now your school is down in ashes. Fa la la, la la la la la la. Aren't you glad you played with matches? Fa la la la la la la la la!"
Remus giggled, in an extremely disturbing way, as he popped a piece of raw onion in his mouth. Dee winced at the sound of a crunch as his eyes watered from just the thought of eating a raw onion. "What's the next one?" Remus plopped down at the table, his chair squealing in protest.
Deceit thought about it for a minute and then began to hum. Remus brightened and it only took a second for him to catch on and start the lyrics. "You better watch out, you better run fast, you better duck down, I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is gunning you down!"
Dee shifted his gaze to Remus, who was dancing around the room like a child, and an amused smile turned up the corners of Dee's mouth. The duo were off to a good start to the holiday month.
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By Chance (Javier X Reader)
Note: First fanfic I’ve posted in a looong while. It’s a rare occurrence lmao I don’t have plans to come back to fanfic writing. This just came to me as a dream so here ya go. Enjoy!
Category: fluff?
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2411
The air in the train car is bitterly cold, biting at your skin and turning your fingers pale, despite it being well into the spring months by now. The open-ended cars and thinly sealed windows are to thank for that - West Elizabeth’s Central rail is known for many things, but luxury and decadence are not on the list.
You’re sat at the very pack of the fourth passenger car; right where you’re supposed to be. After all, behind you is nothing but luggage and payroll. No room to fit seating back there, so here you’ll stay until it’s your time to shine.
With your eyes out the window, surveying the mountains that drift by in all their white-dusted glory, you make a mental note of your surroundings. It pays to be careful around these parts. Beyond the couple bickering a few rows ahead, the child pestering her mother up front, and the two men chunnering about their work hours, there isn’t much threat lurking within the trains rickety wooden walls.
Save for the rather handsome man watching you, of course.
You dare to glance over at him, taking in every element of him in the fraction of a second that it takes for your eyes to flick over him and snap back to the window at your side again.
Bowler hat, blue waistcoat, gold-capped boots poking out from where he sits with his legs sprawled across both seats, back pressed against the window - not well dressed enough to be a bigwig, but definitely not strapped for cash with boots like that on his feet. Dark skin, darker hair, and a smirk on his lips as he watches you; visible even from your peripheral. He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the backrest, eyes locked on you.
He’s definitely flirting.
Your stop isn’t for another 43 minutes. You can afford a little fun before then. After all, being all business and no pleasure would be a painfull dull way to live, and if an unsuspecting deer is to walk into your trap, then who are you to deny a hearty stew?
A strategical lip nibble here, a well-thought-out hair tuck there. Eventually, he comes to the right conclusion: you’re flirting too.
The man swings his legs off his bench and rises to his feet, making his way to the back of the car with his hands steadying him against the push and pull of the train in motion. At least once, he ducks into a row to wait out the pull of the train curving around a mountain, hand gripping the backrest for support until the tracks straighten again and he’s on the move once more.
He stops beside your seat and you wait one, two, three seconds before slowly pulling your gaze from the window and looking up at him as if his presence wasn’t noticed.
“This seat taken?” he asks, nodding his head towards the empty seat beside you.
“Doesn’t appear to be, does it?”
His lips curve upwards until the smile reaches his eyes, making deep brown pools narrow. Without another word, he sinks into the seat next to you and spreads his legs out in front of him. His casual demeanour makes him a much harder mark, but a more exciting one for certain. Anyone can charm a stray dog, easy. But a peacock - they’re the tricky ones. Complimenting someone is the easiest way to win their affection and there aren’t many compliments you can use on a peacock that they don’t already think about themselves.
“Do I recognise you?” you ask, shifting in your seat to angle towards him.
He blinks at you for just a second too long, the cogs turning inside his head as he mentally churns through every possibility that could arise if he answered the question.
He’s a wanted man, then. That’ll explain the fancy clothing.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he says.
The corner of your mouth quirks upwards for a moment and you allow him to see it. You pull your voice low, keeping it light but quiet. Flirtatious. “That isn’t what I asked, is it?”
You watch him for a few beats and then he relents, turning away and surveying the car that’s folded around you both; the people occupying it, with their newspapers and hats and talk of the weather. The man beside you takes a breath and you wait for what he’ll say.
“I think I would've noticed if I’d met you before,” he says, eyes still scanning the car. “Someone as good-looking and out of place as you. You don’t strike me as the type of person I’d forget.”
A regular Romeo.
“Good-looking?” You don’t bother hiding the smile in your voice. It comes so naturally and it’s a tool worth using. “Well, aren’t you a flatterer?”
Romeo chuckles softly and you risk a sidelong glance, taking in his smile. It’s slightly crooked, one side rising higher than the other, and there’s something sweet about that; something real and grounded among the façade created by his shiny, polished boots and perfectly tailored waistcoat.
“Not flattery, just the truth.” He returns your sideways glance and catches your gaze, thoughtful eyes meeting yours. Your pulse quickens and starts off a drum beat thumping in your ears.
You turn your head towards the window, finding trees gliding by, rays of morning sun seeping between them. “There aren’t any guards in the luggage car,” you tell him. The hairs on the back of your neck tell you he’s turned to watch you.
“How do you know that?” he asks.
You turn back to look at Romeo once again. “If you feel like making your morning commute a little more interesting, then we could always relocate to the luggage care for the next, say, 20 minutes?”
A devilish smile blooms across his face, teeth gleaming. “Make it 30 minutes.”
You stifle the urge to giggle, keeping it locked deep in our chest and opting for a smile instead. “You think big of yourself, huh? In that case,” you rise to your feet, smoothing out your clothes, “it’ll probably be more like 10 minutes.”
“You’ve wounded me,” he says, allowing you to slip past him and into the aisle before pulling himself up off the bench and following you back to the luggage car.
_______
The two of you tumble into the wall of the luggage car, hitting the wood with an audible oof as the air is shoved from your lungs. But you’re too busy thinking about the hands on your waist, the lips at your shoulder, to even contemplate how badly that collision will bruise you tomorrow.
Romeo, it turns out, is a very good kisser.
His breath comes in shallow huffs and the air from lips brushes against your skin, warming you against the chill outside.
The train car rocks and rumbles, tossing you from side to side every now and then, but Romeo is on hand to steady you, keeping you o your feet. It’s not long before the train hits a bend and the two of you are unceremoniously thrown towards the other wall with the momentum. Romeo’s smile widens as he watches you clutch the window frame for support, the two of you momentarily separated. His smile is infectious, it seems, and soon enough you’re mirroring his gleam - your smile just as dreamy as his could ever be, according to the soldiers at Fort Wallace.
“Do you often find yourself frolicking with strangers in the luggage cars of trains?” you ask him.
“Depends on the stranger,” he shrugs.
“And I satisfy, yes?”
Romeo’s smile brightens a fraction. “Ay, I suppose.”
“Well, then I think maybe you should come over here and -” You cut yourself short as the scenery outside the window gives way to open land; trees dissipating, replaced by open grassy hills littered with low-lying shrub. You must have lost track of time. Your stop is close, now.
Into action you spring, pushing off on the balls of your feet and flying by Romeo, leaving him with a confused smile and a face full of your flowing scarf.
You’re all quiet muttering and business-like focus as you flip up the hollowed-out floorboards at the back of the car to retrieve the bag you’d stowed in it before boarding the train. Romeo joins you at the back of the car just as you come up to stand again, bringing the back with you and shoving one hand deep inside it to rummage through its contents.
“You might not want to be here much longer,” you say; eyes flicking up to Romeo briefly and finding him with a puzzled look.
“Why?” he asks, voice teeming with suspicion.
Your fingers brush against the thing you’re looking for and you pull out your trusty neckerchief from the bottom of the bag and begin tying it around your face, stowing the bag between your legs while you work.
“You’re here to rob the train?” Romeo blurts, amusement and surprise mingling on his features, accompanied by… is that lust? Jesus, is this guy getting a thrill out of this? He’s even more curious than you’d thought.
“We all get our jollies off one way or another,” you flirt. “You jaunt around with strangers; I rob people blind. If I must go to hell for it, then, well… C’est la vie.”
With that, you promptly turn your attention to ransacking the surround cupboards, which may hold the odd trinket, but don’t contain the main prize. You move back a car, past the catatonic guard you’d generously shared a drink with at the start of your journey. Of course, you hadn’t drank from the same flask, but he didn’t know that.
You don’t even have to search the car to know where you’re heading. Eyes locking onto the bulky safe at the end of the car, you press forward, paying no mind to Romeo trailing behind you.
After tipping a handful of gunpowder on the lock of the safe, you find view obstructed by Romeo’s arm, extending a lit match towards your pile of black powder. Looking up, you’re met with a very different man than the one you were sat next to in the passenger car not half an hour ago. With a black neckerchief covering his nose and mouth and a shiny six-shooter held lazily by his side in one hand, it’s his turn to baffle you. Oh, how the tables have turned.
“C’est la vie,” he shrugs.
Neither of you can see the other’s smile behind your masks, but you both know it’s there; lips curled up against the fabric.
You nod. Take a step back. Watch. In a heartbeat, he’s set your powder alight and the mound burns bright white like the centre of the sun for a few moments before fizzling out into a glowing molten mess. With a quick smack with the butt of his revolver, the lock gives, and the view before you is enough to send you skipping around the car singing praises for the Lord.
Gold bars sit on the top shelf of the safe, neatly arranged into rows like little gleaming soldiers. The bottom shelf holds bags; one of which has spilled from the safe and now leaks its contents over the floorboards - gold coins, freshly forged and on the way to the bank.
It’s a beautiful sight.
Shame the bank will never see it.
The two of you stand in a stupor for a few moments, captivated by the sight of riches and all of the lavish ways of spending it that your brains come up with, and then you shake yourselves out of it and get moving.
Stuffing handful after handful into the bag, the two of your work double time. A quick look at the passing scenery tells you that your stop is rapidly approaching. Romeo grabs a few of the bars, but you shake your head. “Too heavy. I can’t carry them.”
“Then I’ll take the bag,” he says.
“You will not.” You pull the bag close to your chest as if he might rip it from your hands at any moment. “This is my job.”
His shoulders deflate, frustration taking hold for a moment. “You can trust me.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Javier,” he says. “Javier Escuella.”
Jesus Christ, you’re really in trouble, now.
He’s got an even higher price on his head than you have. Hell, you could leave this loot behind and turn him in for 10 times the amount of anything in this train. A small voice points out that he trusted you with his real name, which means you can probably trust him in return. No crook would have dobbed himself in like that if he had intentions of stabbing you in the back right after.
“Okay,” you sigh, handing over the bag. “Grab as many as you can.”
Whistles cut the air as Javier fills the bag with bars. The further down the length of the train have caught wind of something being wrong. If they’re close enough for you to hear their whistles, they’ll be here in force soon enough.
“We need to go,” you tell Javier, tapping him on the shoulder and prompting him to hurry. As a smear of blue appears in your peripheral, you pull up and haul him away from the safe by the shoulder of his jacket. “Now!”
You head for the back end of the train and find tracks staring back at you.
“Jump,” you tell him.
Without another word, Javier leaps from the back of the train, landing in the centre of the tracks with his knees bent in a crouch and the bag in one hand. You turn the face the oncoming guard and offer him a quick salute before leaping from the train and leaving him in the doorframe.
Javier joins you in the spot where you landed and pulls you to your feet by the arm.
Before the guard has the chance to call out to his friends, the two of you duck into the passing forest that surrounds Heatherfield Station - your stop, chosen for the cover it offers via the trees.
And with that, you can add one more job to your resume and enjoy the fruit of your labour in whatever local pigsty you pass through next.
You’re not sure what you’re going to do with Romeo, though.
You suppose you can think of a few things.
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Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals
Or, Jason Todd doing what he does best: being a dork and putting down creeps.
“Deck the halls with gasoline, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…”
Splosh! Splosh!
Jason will never replace his helmet. Let the internet nitpick him about ‘it’s not a fuckin’ hood, you dumbass!’ HE KNOWS. IT’S MORE PRACTICAL THAN A REAL HOOD. And besides, he has a hoodie. Is that not enough? Fine! Let them all die when he leaves for a more grateful city! See who’s there to save you now, you jerks.
Anyways. His helmet is the only reason he’s not gagging on gasoline-smell. He hates that smell, reminds him of the time Joker doused his cape in it-while it was still on him, mind you-and lit a match.
Fun times.
No matter. He flings the mostly-empty can to the side and inspects the room. It’s small, dark, and dingy. Exactly the sort of stereotypical pedo basement you’d imagine. There’s literally nothing in here but a light bulb and a mattress with…stains…on it. Oh, and a bucket, but that’s technically been upended, contents and all, over the room’s owner, who’s been trussed up like a Christmas goose and lain ever-so-gently onto the mattress, bucket wedged on his head.
It’s a beautiful picture. Brings a tear to the eye.
The room’s residents (fourteen year-old mother and her seven month-old son) have been ushered outside and to the safety of a neighbor’s house. The neighbor is probably calling the police, but they’ll be a bit. Jason’s got time to finish his holiday display.
The pom-pom on his helmet feels like it’s getting loose. He’ll probably need to replace it after this. That’s fine. He’s got a bag of them in his jacket, just in case one gets too blood-spattered. Santa’s a blood-free individual, y’know. Don’t wanna frighten the children.
(Although the fact that he kicked the door in yelling, ‘ho-fucking-ho’ has probably accomplished that tonight already. Oops.)
“Light a match and watch it gleam, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…”
Matches, matches…ah! Matches. He pulls the bucket off Naughty List’s head, grimaces at the, uh, slop on his face, and opens the matchbox.
“NO!”
Strike!
“Watch the creep go up in ashes, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…”
Uh…there, he thinks. The corner. It’ll go up quick, but it’s far enough from Naughty List that he can panic for a little first.
“Damn, I’m glad I played with matches! Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
FWOOSH!
He’s not dumb enough to stay in here. He, uh, he might’ve, y’know. Left a bullet or two in strategic places.
Shame there’s no chimney, but oh, well. He skips up the stairs, pauses, and turns back around.
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
The fucker ruins it by screaming. Some people just don’t have any holiday spirit at all.
THE END
#Red Hood#Jason Todd#the three M's of Vigilantism: mockery maiming and murder#fire#what Batman doesn't know won't hurt him#so shhhh#Santa Hood
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Was having this weird thought, a lot of the background innocent busy time nonsense of my youth would prolly get a kid kicked out of school nowadays.
Deck the Halls with gasoline, falalalala lala la la
Light a match and watch it gleam, falalalala lala la la
Watch the classes burn to ashes, falala falala la la la
Aren't you glad you played with matches? FA LA LA LA LA, LA LA, LA, LAAAAA
-also-
Ta, rara boom de ay! We have no school today! Our teacher went away! We shot her yesterday! We threw her in the bay! She scared the sharks away! Ta rara boom de ay! We have no school today!
-and-
Joy to the world, our teachers dead! We barbequed her heaaaaaaaad! What happened to her body, we flushed it down the potty and round and round it went, and round and round it went, and rou-OW OW OUND AND ROUND IT WENT
If I remember anything else I'll throw it up here. This has been another exciting episode of "But I turned out alright, more or less"
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