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fayes-fics · 10 months

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It's That Time Of Year

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)

Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄

December 20th

“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”

You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.

“It was nothing,” you demure.

“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.

“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.

“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you.

He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.

Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.

“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.

“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.

“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.

“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”

“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.

“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.

“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.

You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.

“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.

“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.”

“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”

“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.

“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.

You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.

He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-”

“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.

His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.

“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.

Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!

___

December 23rd

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later.

“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.

Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.

“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.

“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.

Tsk. Typical.

“Not exactl…” you begin.

“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.

“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.

A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.

Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.

___

Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.

As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.

“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.

You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there.

“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.

You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.

“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.

Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.

How am I going to survive a week of this?

“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.

“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.

“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.

Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious.

Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.

Damn, he is good at this.

“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.

“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.

Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.

“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.

“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.”

“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”

“Same,” Benedict chimes.

“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.

“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.

“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand.

“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.

“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.

At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse.

“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.

“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him.

“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.

A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.

“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.

“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.

“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss.

His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree.

Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.

“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust.

This was a fantastically bad idea.

___

December 24th

You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.

You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”

“Same… coffee?”

“Please…”

As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.

“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.

“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially.

“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.

“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.

“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.

“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.

“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”

“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in.

“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.

“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.

You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?

“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.

“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.

“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.

Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.

“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.

“About what?”

“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.

“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.

“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.

“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.

“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.

Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.

“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.

You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.

“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.

Dear God, this man is going to kill me.

___

You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.

“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates.

Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.

So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.

“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.

Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.

“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.

He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.

You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.

“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.

Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.

“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.

Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.

“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.

Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.

“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.

“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.

“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.

“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”

“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.

Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.

“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.

“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.

“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.”

So far, so truthful.

“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.

“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.

As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.

“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.

“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.

“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him.

It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.

___

The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture.

While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.

“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.

“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.

“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”

“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”

“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.

You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.

“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.

“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”

“Cut it out!” you grouse.

He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.

“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.

“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.

“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.

Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.

“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.

“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.

His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.

“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.

Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.

“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.

This was such a mistake…

___

“When are you moving home, y/n?”

You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.

“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.

“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.

“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”

“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.

This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.

“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”

“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.

“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”

Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.

“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.

“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.

You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.

Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.

“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”

And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.

Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…

___

A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.

You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.

“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”

“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.

“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”

You look agog at him.

“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.

“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.

Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.

“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.

You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.

“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.

“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.

Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him.

“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”

Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.

Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned. When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.

“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.

You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”

“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.

My god, this man will be the death of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.

As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.

___

December 25th

At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.

The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”

You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.

“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.

“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day.

He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.

“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.

“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.

“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.

A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you.

“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.

“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.

“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.

You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.

“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.

It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.

“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.

He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.

“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.

“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.

“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.

His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.

“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”

It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.

This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.

“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed.

It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone.

“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.

“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”

“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.

“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.

“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.

“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.

“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.

It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.

“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.

“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully, “not with such a bounty beneath me.”

His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.

He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.

“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.

“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”

You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.

“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,

“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.

“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….”

“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.

He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly.

“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.

“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.

“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon.

You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.

“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas.

“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.

“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…”

As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.

“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.

“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.

He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.

“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.”

“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.

“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.

Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.

Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.

He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.

“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being.

“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.

“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.

When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.

“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”

You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.

“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.

“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.

“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”

“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.

“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”

He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”

“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.

“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”

“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.

He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.

“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.

He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.

“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.

“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?

“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband.

“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.

A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.

When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin.

Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.

“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.

“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.

Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.

“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.

You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.

He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.

His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.

You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.

“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.

He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.

“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.

“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.

“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.

He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure.

“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…”

The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.

He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.

He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry.

Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…

Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.

“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”

You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.

“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.

A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.

He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.

After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.

He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead.

“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.

And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.

___

A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.

Y/n

Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me.

I can't wait to see you downstairs.

Merry Christmas,

B xx

P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)

You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.

When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day.

She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.

“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.

“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.

♫ It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫

“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans.

“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”

Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes.

“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

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myreia · 10 days

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Sketches of Times Lost

Day 16: Third-rate

lyse has quiet, but difficult, evening. lyse & fordola. lyse POV & character study. early endwalker spoilers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: general 1864 words. ao3 link

Since the liberation it has become her custom to walk the walls—and tonight she needs it more than ever.

Lyse tugs at the sleeves of her fleece sweater, thankful for the extra warmth. It was a gift from Cirina sent among the most recent shipment from their allies in Othard, knitted from thick wool and embroidered and dyed with traditional Mol decorations and colours. She appreciates the thoughtfulness. Gyr Abania may have a different climate from the Steppe, but mountains are chilly at night regardless of where they are.

She slows to a halt and leans against the battlements, resting her folded arms against the roughhewn red stone. The city stretches out before her, calm and peaceful, its spires and towers a subdued reddish purple against a sea of stars. The windows glow warm with the light of candles and lanterns, the streets rumble with the sound of night duty officers preparing for the next day, and vendors have long since closed shop, leaving the market an empty shadow of itself. Some Alliance soldiers have, like her, taken to wandering the city, taking it in for once last time. The bulk of the Ilsabard Contingent takes flight tomorrow—of course many of them, regardless of which city-state they hail from—are sensing more than a little trepidation.

She wonders how many will get a good night’s sleep tonight.

Oh, Papalymo. If only you could see us now.

“Didn’t expect to see you up here,” a voice drawls behind her.

Lyse pauses, her jaw clenched, her heart clenching painfully in that all too familiar way. A sickened ache that cannot be relieved. “What are you doing up here, Fordola?” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I thought you would be…”

“Out of the way?” Fordola spits on the ground and comes to join her, leaning against the battlements with a catlike grace. She towers over her, tall like a true Highlander. “Wouldn’t you wish?” She snorts and stretches, raising her hands high above her, her neckline tugged with her movements, revealing the collar glinting at her throat. “I have to do something with my time outside of keeping Arenvald company.”

“Maybe you can go back to that,” Lyse says flatly. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“This? What’s this? Simple conversation?”

“Simple conversation with you.”

Fordola shrugs. “Get your own piece of wall, then, if my presence is so unbearable,” she retorts. “I was here first and there’s plenty of wall to go around.”

Anger twists deep in the pit of her stomach. Lyse opens her mouth, a retort on the tip of her tongue—and then movement catches her eye. Below, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn are gathering, preparing for the next stages. Perhaps it’s a briefing, or perhaps they are about to head to their airship. Either way, it’s important.

They are already dressed in the winter gear she knows was sourced and lovingly crafted for them by Tataru.

She presses a hand to her cheek. Her eyes are stinging and it’s not the wind’s fault.

It has been a year and a half since she resigned from the organization. Much has happened since then—war, politics, more war, a restoration effort she has yet to fully understand and constantly fears is about to slip out from under her. For her, time has gone slowly, every month, every week, every day passing by to the beat of a slow, constant drum. It has not been so for them. Timed raced forwards—literally so, and accounting for years in some cases, like Thancred’s. She knew what she was letting go of when she left, and she knew it was for the best.

And yet her decision still hurts. Still aches. She has what she wants now, so why can’t she be happy?

Her life has been spent waiting in the wings, looking into something that could never be hers. In Sharlayan, she looked up to her sister—smart, clever, beautiful, capable of going toe-to-toe with the nation’s best and brightest and earning her Archon’s marks fair and square. After, she still idolized Yda, to the point that she became her in order to make something of her life. She wasn’t an Archon, she wasn’t even clever enough to apply to the Studium. She was just a girl who was good at punching things, and Sharlayan doesn’t have much use for that.

She was given a place with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, but she never felt she earned it on her own merits. She could become her sister, or be compared to her sister. Lyse, on her own, was never good enough. Except with Papalymo.

And so she left. She chased her dream, as herself—an Ala Mhigo liberated, a Gyr Abania freed. And yet even now she feels uncertain of herself and the position she has claimed. Many doubt her, for her youth and her inexperience. Others compare to her to the likes of Aymeric and Hien, saying she lacks the political acumen to lead a restoration the way Ishgard and Doma have. Others still pass over her and look to Raubahn, the general, the warrior, the man who commands a presence she can only dream of. They listen to him. He may have escaped to Ul’dah, but he is Ala Mhigan in his heart and soul. He looks Ala Mhigan. His was a true homecoming.

Whereas she has her father’s name and not much else. Some say she has more Sharlayan in her than Ala Mhigo.

She is in too far now to return to the Scions, though she knows they would welcome her. She made her choice, she must commit to it. And yet she still feels the longing for company, that feeling of being among close friend that she so sorely misses. Who does she have? Raubahn? Arenvald? Fordola? Gods, no. At least Cirina writes her often, from half a world away. Alisaie, too, though her letters have become more and more infrequent of late.

Lyse exhales a long breath, staring dully down at the road below. Y’shtola, Urianger and G’raha conversing in a corner. Estinien shadowing Alphinaud and Alisaie as they walk the length of the street, arguing loudly, pausing only to speak with an Alliance officer here and there. Even Krile and Tataru are here, fussing over their friends. Thancred and Aureia are huddled down together a little ways away, his hand in hers, her head on his shoulder. They’re married now, it’s hard to believe, their lives taking a wild and unexpected turn while they were on the First.

Alisaie said the ceremony was beautiful. A small affair, organized quickly as they were concerned for Thancred’s failing health and soul. Perhaps they will have another one now they’ve returned to Eorzea, but there simply hasn’t been time.

So strange. Lyse can’t quite wrap her head around it. Only a few months ago she was still under the impression that Aureia and Thancred hated each other. Which, she supposes, highlights the point: it’s not that the Scions haven’t given her any

It’s not that the Scions haven’t given her any thought. Nor is it that they don’t care.

It’s simply that they have moved on to a place that no longer includes her.

She grips her sweater, twisting it into a fist over her heart. She knows it’s foolish, but it hurts seeing them gathered all together like this. Perhaps if it was just Aureia and Thancred, Urianger and Y’shtola, the twins… It’s ridiculous, but knowing how quickly G’raha was brought into their fold stings. It stings to know that his failed attempts to summon Aureia to the First were behind their vanishing souls some time ago. That his mistake pulled away those closest to Aureia by accident.

Lyse thought she was close to Aureia. Perhaps that was not so. She was furious with her at the time for reasons she cannot explain, but that does not mean she did not still think of her as a friend. It does not replace the years of friendship they had in the Waking Sands and the Rising Stones all those years ago, nor throughout their time in Othard.

Does it?

She wets her low lip. Even Estinien’s presence stings, though she has nothing against the dragoon. He has been swept into events whether he likes it or not; and she suspects that if he were to say no and leave, Krile and Tataru would simply track him down once more. Even so, he fits in a way she never did, his bond with Alphinaud plain to see.

She’s missed so much. Some of it because of her own decisions, yes, but it hurts to witness firsthand how easily she has been replaced. No matter how hard she works, no matter how much she cares, her fate is always to be second or third-rate.

“…should I leave you be?” Fordola says quietly.

Lyse blinks, tears blurring her vision. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, shivering as a wave of cold wind rushes over her. “I… don’t know,” she replies, trailing off awkwardly. She can’t allow herself to be emotional in front of Fordola of all people. To distract herself, she disentangles her hand from her sweater and smooths down the front. She shouldn’t pull the thread when she doesn’t know how to fix it. Cirina made it for her.

“Then please say something,” Fordola continues, blunter this time. “Shout at me. Curse at me. Punch a wall. You are far too quiet and it’s making my insides crawl.”

Lyse snorts quietly. Damn it. Fordola has no right to make her smile. “Good to know I have such a dreadful effect on you.”

“Lyse—”

She meets her gaze.

“You going with them?” Fordola’s eyes are dark and quiet.

“I will. At the head of the Contignent’s Ala Mhigan forces.”

“I meant with the Scions, not with bloody Ala Mhigo.”

She swallows the lump in her throat. “Then, no. I will be serving my country, not my friends.”

Silence. Wind howls in her ears, turning the tips raw and red. Perhaps she should write to Cirina and ask for a hat.

“A bit of advice—” Fordola begins.

“No, thank you.”

She sighs, irritation flickering across her face. “Look, you don’t have to like to me in order to listen to me,” she says firmly. “But I know something about looking for something in all the wrong places. Maybe you belonged to that group down there once, but you don’t anymore. Stop looking for what you want with people who barely acknowledge you, and look for it with those who do.”

Her stomach drops. She’s not sure what’s worse—that she knows it is true, or that Fordola was the one to say it. “I’m going to tell you this once,” Lyse hisses. “That’s the last time you’re going to give me advice, all right?”

Fordola shrugs in that irritating ambivalent way of hers. “If you say so.”

Lyse lets out an aggravated sigh. Pushing away from the wall, she grips Cirina’s sweater around herself and stalks down the stairs and out of sight.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #writing tag #myreiawrites2024 #lyse hext #fordola rem lupis #extreme unedited warning i'm so tired 😭#may have pulled headcanons out of nowhere #fordola x lyse shippers i see you i appreciate you #this is not a shippy piece at all but i SEE it #endwalker #endwalker spoilers

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thehistoriangirl · 9 months

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Until Our Secrets Drift Us Apart [8]

Y'all this is horny

I don't sorry but still, fair warning!

Viktor x Fem!Reader---Modern AU/Marriage of Convenience--- 4.9K ---NSFW

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Summary: Upon the surprising death of the CEO of Daxer Corp., the battle for the presidential chair began with unexpected violence. Threaten to lose everything you’ve been working on during your entire life; it’s time you must find a desperate solution to grasp the control over your part of the emporium, and even your own freedom. Which better idea than solidifying your subsidiary's future than ally with the rising tech company, HexTech? And oh, what a special type of alliance it would be…

Chapter Summary: With winter arrives new blooming feelings that complicate the situation.

What is real, and what is an act?

8: Lover or Stranger

Cold wind flew across the boulevard carrying the winter, which made the living room window mist when Viktor stayed too late at night scribbling away at the coffee table. This time of the year was always rather grim, with dirty snow and the lead sky with no signs of sunlight—it made his bones ache, all his energy drained.

A pain resonated deep within his chest at passing by the one-level houses back to the apartment, with their porches lit gold by the streetlamps like a lighthouse guiding the family home.

While they sat idly on their couches, eyes crinkling with smiles and sounds of laughter echoing by, so fleeting Viktor couldn't even dream about grasping them between his freezing fingers.

Loneliness was a norm by now, as kids didn’t like a child that couldn’t run just like teenagers were too poignant with their words for Viktor to try. He became a boy—a man—between machines.

No matter how hard they beeped and hissed, with their wires breathing life, there was still a void where the sound of an interrupted conversation ought to be.

Thick as the shell was, it started to crack by the time he met Jayce Talis, which made it easier to let the walls down once he got himself in the middle of your life without much of an afterthought.

He started to turn on the AC and closed the door of his bedroom to envelop himself in the warmth that would be stolen once he got inside his car toward work.

This year would’ve been the same, lethargic season it had always been; with the same faded shades of grey and blue he sometimes felt being knitted inside his chest like a blanket too heavy to hold, to even stand up too much.

And yet, he found flashes of colors peeking beneath the enormous layer of grey, black, white, and blue of his everyday heating shirts and robust jackets. Bold pinks and bright oranges beneath your coats, red scarfs that matched the color of your lipstick.

He even started to wear those matching, colorful gloves and hats Jayce not-so-jokingly had bought for last winter’s festival Viktor couldn’t assist due to the ache in his leg.

The living room was decorated in vibrant greens from all the plants you have moved inside since the first snowfall.

Viktor had been at a loss for words once he entered the house earlier than usual—a custom he was taking slowly, unconsciously gazing at the clock once the sun started to dip between the skyscrapers.

Rio was perched in one of the swings Viktor hung from the ceiling, swaying side to side while you were humming, hands busy with the honeysuckle you were trying to perch by the window.

"What are you doing?" he asked, worried that your precarious stance on the stool faded once your head turned toward his voice.

"I'm putting them inside," you huffed, jumping out of the seat. Your fingers were covered with black earth, and the living room was a concoction of at least six different essences of plants mixed with newly made dinner. “They will die in the cold, you know.” You went toward him with a small wisteria whose leaves were starting to get yellow after being in contact with the snow.

Viktor blinked. He barely had the energy to walk from work back to the house, and you were bothering to move all his plants inside the living room.

“I didn’t know you like plants.”

You shrugged, one of the sides of your sweater falling from your shoulder.

"I prefer trees, but these are cute too," you chuckled, putting the wisteria on a coffee table near the balcony. “Trees are more resilient than flowers, but they grow slower.”

“Hmm, yes, that’s true. I’d say that resilience comes from patience,” Viktor said, standing next to you while helping you thread a money plant in the wall over the TV. "Everything that makes you wait is worth for.”

He gazed at you, memories recounting the sensation of your lips against his, how his hands found purchase in the soft skin of your waist.

Yes. Albeit Viktor wasn’t sure if he had the privilege of patience in the actual circumstances.

The least he could do was seize the time presented in front of him before it would slip away alongside those rudimentary sketches of prototypes and hurriedly written to-do lists Viktor ended up locking in a bottom drawer, fearing that Jayce or you could discover it otherwise—could discover it before he’d solved his problem.

Thus take his chances he did, even when he didn't wish to assist this snobby soirée, knowing there would be barely any seats for him to rest, without considering prickling pride of you discovering his diminishing health.

He wished many things from you; pity wasn’t one of them.

It wasn’t like he didn’t catastrophize every once in a silent night, but rather that his mind had started to create a sanctuary, a small pocket of possibilities in which you wouldn’t mind—that you’d be one, maybe the one, not to commiserated him for who he was.

An outsider.

“Vikky!” you called him, fighting among the crowd to make your way next to him. “I found you!” You beamed, looking so breathtaking with your olive dress outlined in golden details, like a nature goddess he could worship any day.

Focus, Viktor.

“I, eh, apologize for vanishing," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks red once your fingers touched his while taking the delicate steam off the glass. "I didn't wish to interrupt your conversation.”

It wasn't that, but the sensation of staying at the edge of a precipice, where a false step and then someone else would push him into oblivion only because he couldn't stand on such treacherous ground—not like you. Or like Jayce.

He watched how you both climbed further and further away that at some point you wouldn’t hear his voice anymore.

“Could you talk with Jayce?”

Between his grim thoughts, Viktor smiled despite himself.

“I did,” he lied. The chargeable air conditioners they were developing to donate to orphanages, shelters, and other organizations could have been discussed with an email.

Part of him was ready to justify. That he was there because he’s your husband, and his job was to back you up. Thought Viktor couldn’t lie to himself so blatantly, he was too curious to see you out in an ambient familiar for you, as he couldn't think of many opportunities he had to get closer to you, fear still pouring out his heart, nerves on edge just waiting for your backtrack. For your regret.

It was a known feeling by now—so many nights looking at the ceiling inside his bedroom while a thousand possibilities passed by, almost any of them auspicious.

What did you think about him? Why did you kiss him that day, when nobody was watching?

“Are you alright?” you muttered, your voice driving him away from the endless spiral of allegations. "I'll give you a taste of my wine to ease you if you want."

“I don’t think getting intoxicated would be the best option if we wished to walk out of this with our reputation intact.”

Especially with all the dirty looks you both were receiving; if it was because of Viktor’s presence in the very selective party or because you've made more enemies in the last few weeks of your last public appearance, he wasn’t sure.

Especially with how he would react once his shame was washed away by the liquor. As now, Viktor found it incredibly difficult to tear his gaze away from how the soft fabric of your dress hugged and fell around all the right places from a tailored piece, something like relief flooding his chest once he saw the golden ring on your left hand glimmering against the light of the chandelier.

You were addictive, he dared to say, the same way he had grown needy of discovery and mastery of his craft. He wished to memorize the sensation of your pliant lips molded against his, how you tasted after snacking on fruit from the bowl while he was working in the living room, that the texture of your hair against his palm could get engraved in his memory just like the smell of your shampoo no matter how long you take to return home.

There was a longing under his touch so hard to contain, an ache that soared and reverberated ever since he looked at you waving him in a hurried goodbye as you were being taken away to chat with some guests, only the outline of your backless dress visible before being devoured by the crowd, terse skin glowing against the hue of the chandelier.

He was embarrassed by how much he wished to touch the delicate curve of your back, theorizing already if you'd shivered once his fingers traced along your spine to then dig in the supple skin of your hips.

Your finger was warm against his cold brow for staying too close to the window when you poked the crest between his eyebrows.

“Easy there,” you muttered, standing right in front of him. “You’ll get wrinkles here if you keep frowning.”

Viktor chuckled despite himself. “We’re all going to have wrinkles, my dear. I don’t mind.”

You faked a pout, he was already familiar with the shape of your mouth to notice it; how your bottom lip puffed out and quivered, your eyes widening like those of a puppy—all dramatic flair.

A dramatic scene he didn’t mind one bit. Rather…

“Hmmm,” he hummed, looking around the room for any curious guests stealing glances at you. There wasn’t any, and yet Viktor leaned closer to you to steal a kiss from those pouty lips.

Just like a doting husband shall do.

You smiled against him, the hand that wasn’t grabbing the glass of wine against his chest.

Could you feel how his heartbeat scrambled around because of you?

"You're cold," Viktor said once you had parted, the aftertaste of the pastries you'd been eating still clinging to his tongue like a temptation to challenge him to go for another kiss. And another one, and another. His hand ran up and down the curve of your bare shoulders. "Take this."

His coat was too long and too narrow on the chest for you, albeit in his mind the mere thought of the cloth smelling like you made him brace himself against the chilly current of air filtering through the ajar door of the balcony.

"Thank you," you beamed, rolling up the sleeves to fit the size of your arms. "But I think we can go home now. I've talked with Mel already, and that's the only reason why I came, so…"

“Is that so?” Viktor arched an eyebrow. For some reason, he had always imagined you enjoyed yourself in these kinds of events.

After all, he had seen you in a myriad of them during his years of university assisting galas and banquets as one of late Mrs. Daxer's protégé, in a way.

Even if he was just a piece to show off that wealth's compassion was a thing, Viktor got his eyes trained on your figure navigating through the tide of people surrounding you like an amorph halo as if they were sunflowers and you were the sun.

He never thought he could have a chance to stand so close to your rays, for the world had always taught him he was but an ugly, moribund flower that didn’t have a chance to be part of a bouquet.

So Viktor watched, taking as much as he could—from a distance.

Even now, he could compare the images of the young bachelor student you used to be back then and the businesswoman you had become.

Though your world tried to make you endure, the shine in your eyes persisted yet slightly muted, though now Viktor could observe glimpses of that unrestrained delight every once and then.

Just like when Rio dropped that seed on the bar for you.

Ever so insignificant for others, and yet you had the little seed in a pot inside your room, all protected from the harshness of the season.

How much time had he dedicated to thinking about you in the last few months?

Viktor was afraid of answering because, for the first time in so long, work wasn't the only priority posing on his mind.

“We can go now if you want,” you said, leaning closer to his chest so nobody in the vicinity could hear you. “Besides, it seems it’s about to snow at any moment. Driving could get dangerous.”

Viktor shivered when your hand slid down his arm until stopping in the crook of his elbow with a gentle pat. He wasn't sure if the culpable was the chilly wind blowing at his back from his place tucked between a pillar and the entrance of the lonely balcony.

Before you could pull away, his fingers brushed the reverse of your palm, with him enjoying how your eyes sought his.

“Perhaps you could concede me a dance first?” he heard himself saying, almost deluding himself he just did it in his mind. “Could warm me up before getting out into the cold.”

“I didn’t consider you like to dance. I would’ve asked you to dance first before I went away to talk with potential investors.”

With small steps, Viktor guided you to a corner of the ballroom, the handle of his cane locked in the crook of his elbow so both his hands were free to take you in between his arms.

“I’m not a good dancer,” he said, loathing how his cheeks felt hot after the confession. “But I have great company I wish to spend a moment with.”

“You don’t have to impress me, Viktor.” You put your hand over his left shoulder, feeling the soft patch of his back brace underneath. “I’m not one of those sponsors you need to convince.”

It wasn’t a need, but rather a childish desire.

He cleared his throat, not wishing any kind of improper thoughts to get ahold of his mind.

“Sometimes I forget it. Because you’re still part of this world.”

Your chuckle reverberates against his chest when you lay your cheek over his shoulder, steps matching in a slow and intimate melody.

“I’m not. Not really,” you mumbled, face looking away from his seeking eyes. “A fish being dragged inland is forced to grow legs to walk or else it’ll die. Would you say it belongs on the surface then?"

Viktor swallowed, words slipping out of his brain as he tried to roll them out his tongue. He had never been great at eloquence, which was why Jayce is the face of HexTech and not him.

This wasn’t a pitch sell, though, so he wanted to believe you didn’t expect a well-rehearsed line filled with bland and dishonest words.

“Where do you think you belong?” Where do you think I belong?

“I don’t have many options where to choose from, do I?” You raised your head to lock eyes with him. “The orphanage, without a family name, or with a stolen one? I don’t think either of those are especially welcomed.”

Viktor smiled. "And what about creating your own?" he muttered, his body adjusting to the new rhythm of the song starting to play.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you admitted, defeat and shame tinting your voice from being heard too loud. “It’s been so long since I’ve lived under someone else’s name that…” you sighed, trying to form a smile that wasn’t lacking in sourness. “I shouldn’t be saying this out in the open.”

Viktor nodded. “You’d never know if you don’t try, hmm?” he offered, extending his arm for you to twirl, your skirt hitting his legs.

“Do you speak for experience?”

He tended to forget about your background, that perhaps at the beginning you weren’t as different as sometimes his mind obliged him to consider albeit it could give him hope that maybe the differences weren’t too grand for you two to try.

He didn’t like to be considered a fool carried away by feelings. Viktor was an engineer for a reason—leaving high hopes out of the equation, where they couldn’t enter through the polarized glass doors of the lab.

“I do,” Viktor said, patting the small of your back before retreating his hands. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

The windows of the car were fogged once you slipped inside, freezing air cutting at your face in the open parking lot.

Viktor groaned when he sat against the driver’s seat, the joints of his legs creaking after being standing up for quite a while.

“Do you want me to drive?” you said, your gaze burnt into his side profile as he took the seat belt with frozen fingers.

“I’ll get warmer soon. Don’t worry.” While the engine purred alive, Viktor took the steering wheel and decided to give you some answers about his life, in the remote case you’d be willing to do the same.

“I decided to leave my hometown and chase my chances in the city of progress when I was around sixteen years old." He tried to gesture away, but his hands were too numb from walking out of the building down to the basement, so he only got them hit against the windshield with a mumbled curse and his cheeks embarrassingly red. “I had your mother to thank for giving me a chance to enroll in such a prestigious university. She gave me a chance when many others just gazed past me.”

You parted your lips with a muffled ‘pop’ in the charged silence, windows blocking the blows of wind from a desert highway.

“Did you accept my offer because you feel like you owed my mother?” you asked quietly.

Viktor observed the bleak landscape outside, the night black with snow starting to fall out of the sky like small ghosts haunting the darkness.

“I did not,” Viktor said simply, not daring to gaze upon you.

It was a half-truth, but he didn’t dare to say it whole.

Not yet.

"I did it for HexTech," he ended up saying, closing his eyes with regret for a moment once the car stopped at a red light. It was too late to backtrack now. “It’s part of our dream, as you may know. It’s an opportunity we couldn’t pass.”

You chuckled, facing toward the window. "Of course. I thank you for accepting, nevertheless. I think you’re the only one who would do something like that.”

“Thank you, I assume?” he replied, voice filled with faux offense, which made you giggle.

“It was a compliment.”

He shrugged. “Sure sounded like one.”

"I want to thank you for accompanying me tonight," your voice flew softly inside the vehicle, as if time had stopped and you were inside one snow globe. “I enjoyed it, unexpectedly. And… it was because of you.”

“Did youenjoy it because of me?”

You crossed your legs, trying to appear easy-going though Viktor could see your hands fidgeting with the edge of your dress. “I usually don’t enjoy going to parties like those—I always have to be mingling and smiling and making chit-chat you won’t remember tomorrow. But alas, it’s work, too.” You shrugged, your finger drawing faces on the window. “But today was different.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Different how?”

“I felt at ease,” you chuckled, looking at the looming apartment complex approaching. “I do when I’m with you. So… thank you.”

He couldn’t know if it was the alcohol you had drank, or if the special circumstances had driven you so to speak so comfortably in his presence; maybe it was the many weeks passing by in each other's company inside the apartment, how you were more than existing together in the same space.

“It is my pleasure,” Viktor said, extending his arm so you could give him his coat as your body leaned toward the back, grabbing all the jackets and sweaters before heading outside. "I enjoy your company, too." Much more than just enjoying it, but it was a step closer to admission.

“That’s good,” you chuckled. “Or else it’ll be a rather awkward marriage.”

“And you’re just saying it now?” Viktor teased, hands brushing each other’s when you passed him his long, heavy brown coat. You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth raised in a sheepish smile. “We should head inside before the car grows colder.”

You smiled at him from the copilot seat, so close he could take a whiff of the special perfume you wore for these types of occasions; with jasmines and sandalwood, a touch of lavender to calm down your nerves. “Wait a little. I want to stay here for a bit. It feels… good.”

Viktor had counted his drinks with diligence tonight. Two glasses of red wine and half a flute of champagne, which to him wasn’t much, accustomed to stronger drinks from back home, and yet… he couldn’t restrain himself this time.

The small locks of hair tickled your forehead when he leaned toward you, eyes locked into the other in a silent spell that seemed to envelop the quiet ambiance inside the car half-tucked between the shadows of the parking lot and the nearest streetlight, making your eyes shine like stars.

“Jsi krásná,” he muttered, your eyes widening slightly as his hand cupped your cheek.

By now, he was getting used to the way you felt against him every time you kissed, though it was always a marvel trying to guess where your hands would be this time, either in his hair or cupping his cheeks, maybe over his chest, seeking his accelerated heartbeat.

But it was never enough. And it was oh so terrifying.

You dipped your head so he could take the lead, slipping his tongue inside your mouth to taste the sweetness of the dark chocolate with strawberries that still clung to you, so deliciously mixed with the sour essence of the wine you had cheered with all night.

A little moan escaped your lips, his fingers sliding down the outline of your jaw, barely brushing the soft skin of your neck and the halter of your dress, a piece of silk and jewelry that felt so easy to unclip beneath his gifted, crafty hands.

It was a rather selfish desire, the one to take you in so much that he ended up engraved in your memory once this contract arrived at its end, wishing that perhaps that way he could make you stay.

You sighed his name between kisses, your nails gently scratching his skull, fingers tangled in his hair. He replied the only way he could, breathing your name like a prayer once he tugged you closer, defying the separation between the two seats.

It was the first time he felt your weight atop his; such a blissful sight of you gazing down toward him, hair framing them away from the outer world as your hands kneaded at his shoulders. Even in dreams, he could've never matched how it felt to truly have you between his arms.

You were bold tonight, too, stumbling across your seat to settle on his lap. Even if your pulse was too agitated to unbutton his vest and shirt as fast as he did to unclip the ends of your halter dress.

“Mmmm,” you hummed, Viktor’s eyes growing a burnt amber hue at taking in the sight of your skin covered in goosebumps against the cold air, nipples hard and small. “Viktor.”

He hovered his lips over the right one, his hot breath making it grow softer and bigger. It was your opportunity to turn away, to tug the ends of your dress from your waist upwards, and call it all a mistake.

And yet, you only arched your back at him, your nipple brushing against his ajar lips before he sucked it inside his mouth, drawing it around his teasing tongue as his hand sought the warmth of your skin, pinching the other small bud in rhythm with his licks.

“… Vikky…” Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling gently as your lips repeated his name in keen sights and lewd moans matching his.

The hand grabbing your hips caught the movement of your grinding against his lap now that he had woken up and gone hard at the taste of your body lotion, of your skin in his mouth, and the way you were leaning so needily against him.

“Call me Vitya, moje láska. Please.”

Your pants mixed with his made the windows of the car fog up so much Viktor was surprised there was still oxygen inside the closed space.

You looked down at him, hands gently cradling his cheeks. “Vitya?”

He flicked your nipple between his fingers. “Mmmhmm.” His voice was gentle, merely above a whisper while praising you in his natal Czech. He had no other choice—he mumbled all the loving words he didn’t dare to speak in English, too afraid still of your rejection as he passed from one pampered nipple to the other, enjoying how it had changed color thanks to all his attentions, the scientific, always-curious part of him thinking how much your skin would change in tone under his bites and kisses.

Between the hot coil starting to pour down between his legs and pressing uncomfortably against his pants, he saw the yellow headlights of an upcoming car.

Sure, the windows were all fogged up by now, but he couldn’t assure whoever was going to enter the parking lot couldn’t notice them in such a… compromising position. Married couple or not.

He called your name, though as soon as he did Viktor was sure you did not hear it, too lost in the repetitive motion of your hips buckling against the hardness in his pants.

Then, he bit your nipple, teeth pulling it harsher than he had done.

Hissing you tugged his head away, your eyes dark with lust and brows furrowed, both aroused and confused.

“Vik… Vitya?”

He felt his cheeks hot red, and Viktor knew the blush crept up his ears and down his chest. “E-eh… someone’s coming.”

You blinked through your passion. Once. Twice.

Before your brain could wire the information, the sound of the car’s engine echoed in the underground parking lot, and you jumped, scrambling toward your seat while covering your breasts with your hands.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry!” you exclaimed, jumping out from him into the copilot seat, hands hurriedly taking your dress upwards to cover your hard nipples. “I’m sorry. We… um, we should get inside now,” you muttered, your hand wiping down the fog layered in the window of the car. “Well, maybe once the other people get down their vehicle.”

“I… I suppose so,” he said, shaky fingers buttoning up his shirt.

Perhaps it was for the best, that the cold air would calm down the lustful thoughts running through his mind enough that you wouldn’t notice the bulge in his pants once you entered the well-lit apartment.

“Viktor?” you said once he opened the entrance door with shaky hands, and after had dropped the keys at least twice before the victory.

“I… eh, I’ll take a quick shower,” he excused, passing next to you as fast as his cramped leg would permit him. Because your close presence and the recurring thoughts of you weren’t helping him to calm down.

The freezing air only made him fantasize how warm the bedroom would turn out if he dared to invite you to his bed tonight.

But you both had taken alcohol and perhaps it was just a spur of the moment—a defeated sigh and annoyed grunt in the morning once the events of last night had sunk in completely.

He didn’t want to be a mistake for you, because you wouldn’t be one for him.

So Viktor preferred to wait. He’d been patient for almost eight months now, he could wait a little bit more, too.

In the meantime, he would try to win your heart.

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #arcane x female reader

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sapporo-division · 9 months

Note

As soon as the rumored ‘Ice King’ of Sapporo was returning from his trip to England, he was now greeting with the weirdly light atmosphere at his workplace instead of the tense one he used to receive back before he went to visit his family overseas.

What just happened to my company when I’m not around?

—That was the thought that the oldest heir of Kuraokami had in his head when he finally reached his usual spot in his room.

Not much later, he was then informed by his assistant that there was some mysterious package sent to the company with his name addressed on it. The assistant told him that at first it was normally destined to be rejected but because of a certain someone who vouched for the sender wasn’t really just someone to overlook

—That’s why the thing ended up in front of him right now.

Confirmed by his assistant that it was neither some prank nor kind of harm to him, the oldest heir of Kuraokami then cautiously opened it up as he didn’t know what’s inside of this colorful box submitted by the anonymous.

And what he just found inside the overly colorful box was…

A gorgeous wool scarf in the shape of a red dragon!

There was also a cute note in pink color put inside the box;

“To Yuki Kuraokami-san of Sapporo

Hello, greetings, and merry Christmas! The weather has turned kinda cold lately and some warm scarf would be the great choice to give during this winter, wouldn’t it?

Hehe~ I knitted this with the inspiration from the Red Dragon of Wales in mind, hoping that the great King Arthur would enjoy the company of this little guy during the harsh time of infinite coldness.

Have a wonderful holiday!

—Your Secret Santa from Nara Division

P.S. Gotta apologize for some kind of my arbitrary act under your name. The fact was I did intend to send you some Yule logs I made but the staff told me that you went to England around the time I arrived. So, I just tell your staffs that you had ordered the cakes for them as some thanks for their hard work all throughout this year instead. They looked kinda happy though.”

❖ Somehow at the Ajisai Residence in Nara ❖

“Are you sure that Hi-chan won’t be scared by Kuraokami-san’s aura? I think he isn’t that good with strangers?”

“Hah, don’t you dare underestimate your buddy you damn brat! Asahi-kun was surely something else.”

“…What makes you so sure about it? I recalled that many people said they wanted to stay away from Kuraokami-san just because of his piercing and icy-cold stare.”

“Hmm? You don’t seem to be scared of him though.”

“…Of course, but other people still do! And one of those reasons I am not afraid of Kuraokami-san is because I know another ‘winter’ who was way a lot meaner than him.”

“Hey, watch your mouth. Do you think you were insulting who? … And do you really think that just being ‘somebody’ can literally have a nerve to put this thing on me?”

Aside from the weird-looking but comfy cat scarf wrapping around the red-haired boy’s neck and the bright yellow scarf over the old attendant named Chishio’s shoulder, there was one more weird scarf snuggling around the ex-tycoon’s neck

—It was a rainbow unicorn scarf obviously knitted by hand. No wonder that the all high and mighty Saigo of the prestigious Fuyugami family was currently added to the victim(?) list of a certain wagashi artist’s weird scarf edition.

“To be honest, it is instead that kid who scares me the most…”

“Pfft… This serves you right, old man. That’s your penalty for not telling him what is your favorite color.”

Right now it seems like the said Secret Santa was still at his family store, busying himself with the unstoppable influx of customers in the festive mood of Christmas ;)

When he saw the scarf, as always he kept his stern face which he couldn’t express himself right infront of the assistant as if he doesn’t know what to feel but what he can say atleast is he’s delighted to receive such nice gifts and genuinely likes to wear dragon scarf right now to feel like King Arthur received a reward from slaying a dragon.

“So…What do you think?” He asked the assistant with curiosity

“it looks good on you, sir”

“This handmade scarf has a nice and soft scaly touch to my skin as if there’s a baby dragon wrapping around my neck. Say, assistant. Wouldn’t be great idea if dragons were existed and use it to be as our mascot?”

“S-sir forgive my rudeness but…if that happens, the dragon would’ve done more trouble like setting it on fire in our business”

“I guess you’re right…but I could able to tamed it though”

“Hahaha……oh by the way, Mr. Kuraokami. I wanted to to say thank you so much for the cakes. All of us were very happy with your kind gesture. Everyone here is going to do their best for the company!”

“Huh? o-oh yes. My pleasure, it’s indeed Christmas after all. You of all people deserve a reward after all the hard work you’ve done and I do must apologize for my uptight attitude towards you”

“N-no no! we’re just glad we worked here, you were just doing your job as our boss. At least some of us, including myself knows, sir. You are our great boss”

“I see……well carry on with your work then”

“Understood” they bow and left Yuki’s office

“and Merry Christmas…” he whispered softly

“Did you say something sir?”

“Nothing, off you go”

The assistant walk hurriedly away to do what their boss says while thinking back, they could’ve sworn they heard “merry christmas” right from Yuki’s mouth. Either it’s their imagination or he’s embarrassing to say it out loud. While on Yuki’s side, it reminds him that the next time he meets up with his secret Santa in person from Nara, he wanted to give thanks to the real sender for the cake and probably also tell them not to use his name next time. This is the rare time that he feels bad about himself LOL

— thanks for the gift and Merry Christmas! 🎄❤️

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #oc division #sapporo division #polar knights #yuki kuraokami #iwao masuda #yoichi shujo #merry christmas 2023 #secret santa event

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coldsandfluff · 2 years

Text

Evergreen Dream (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Here's another one of my original fic previously posted on the forum. It's a Christmas story, so it's kind of fitting for the season!

It's about a singer-songwriter from Seattle who works for a Christmas tree lot company every winter to make some extra cash. This year, she gets shipped off to Wisconsin to replace a manager who left. Since she's not quite used to the brutal weather, she ends up catching a customer's cold... and also getting to know said customer a little better.

Evergreen Dream

“Don’t we have more spruces in the storage lot?” asked Lily Morris, pen hovering over an inventory sheet. She looked around the darkened parking lot that she’d been calling “home” for the past three weeks, now a maze of pines and firs waiting to be picked up by a family looking for the perfect Christmas tree.

Aiden shook his head and peered at the sheet. “Looks like you’ve got the wrong list. This one is from November 19.” The college student pointed at the mangled date in the top corner, scribbled with difficulty by Lily’s gloved hand two weeks ago.

“Shit.” Lily slapped her hand on her mouth and looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. Thankfully, customers seemed too busy wrangling their excited children and examining trees to have heard her.

Aiden flashed a mischievous grin. “You really have to watch your mouth, Ms. Morris.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, kid.” She tucked the pen behind her ear and started walking back to the checkout stand. “And stop calling me Ms. Morris, for god’s sake! I’m only 30!”

“Only when you stop calling me ‘kid’!”

Lily chuckled. When Evergreen Dream Ltd. had contacted her to ask if she would take up the managing position at a lot in Wisconsin, she’d scoffed at the idea. She’d been working at a Seattle lot for five years now, in a location only a few blocks away from her apartment. The thought of spending winter in the cold Midwest, especially without friends or family, was unthinkable. But they’d sweetened the deal with quite a bit of cash, and Lily hadn’t been able to resist. The job was seasonal after all. What was two months out of the entire year?

The first few days had been brutal. The humid cold seeped into her North-Westerned-raised bones like the icy breath of death, and her colleagues had turned out to be a bunch of college kids already friends with each other. Lily had instantly missed her Seattle lot and its many familiar faces.

Thankfully, the crew quickly warmed up to Lily, and now treated her like an aunt. Not that she particularly enjoyed feeling like an aunt, but she’d already grown fond of what she called “the kids,” even though they were less than ten years younger than her. There was something uplifting and inspiring about working with a group of young adults looking forward to the endless sea of possibilities ahead of them.

But the cold. Ugh. Nothing could make her love the weather.

Lily reached the checkout stand, relieved to feel the heating lamp’s glow on her frozen nose. She bent down under the counter and ruffled through a pile of inventory forms looking for the latest one. Her mind raced as she wondered exactly how long she’d been using the wrong sheet, and how many trees they actually had left. She’d need to order a new shipment as soon as possible. The busiest time of the year was already upon them.

“You have a lovely voice,” said a man from the other side of the counter.

Lily stood up, confused. A customer in his late 30s smiled at her. He had the looks of a Hallmark movie star: a nice-looking “guy next door” with a warm smile and a rugged, nonchalant style. His nose looked quite red and chapped, and he wore a thick green knitted scarf around his neck.

He pointed at the old speaker attached to a lamp post behind Lily. The thing was blaring “The Christmas Song” with great difficulty. “I was referring to your singing. You know? ‘Chestnut roasting on an open fire...’” he tried to sing, but his hoarse voice couldn’t carry the tune.

Finally, a light bulb went off in Lily’s brain, easing her furrowed brow into a look of understanding. “I was singing out loud against my will again, wasn’t I?”

The man laughed. “I’m afraid so. But don’t worry, you sounded great. You should really be a singer.”

“I kind of already am, actually,” Lily said with a smile. “This is just my seasonal job. You know, the one that actually pays the bills?”

“Now it all makes sense. But what happened to Mrs… What’s-Her-Name?”

“Oh, apparently she retired. They shipped me here from the West Coast because she waited until the last minute to tell the company, and they couldn’t find anyone to replace her on such short notice.”

“’Company’? You mean to tell me this isn’t owned by a lovely local family and passed down from generation to generation?” the man said with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Oh no, Evergreen Dream Lot #124 is totally a family-owned business built with love and Christmas magic,” Lily shot back with a grin. “I’m Lily Morris, by the way.”

She extended her hand towards the customer, but he shook his head. “I’m just getting over a cold and I wouldn’t want to make your job even harder in this weather,” he apologized. “My name is Ezra Norton. I co-own Honey & Cream, a café downtown. I’m actually here to buy a tree to display in our store.”

Lily’s smile widened. “I’ve actually been to Honey & Cream once! Great cranberry muffins.” She turned to grab a paper cup and filled it with hot chocolate from the insulated dispenser. “I’m sorry you’re feeling under the weather, but hopefully this will keep you warm while you browse. I’ll get Aiden to help you pick a tree.” She handed the cup to Ezra and used her walkie-talkie to page Aiden.

Before entering the maze of evergreens, Ezra turned back to Lily and said, “By the way, I’m glad you’re replacing Mrs. Grinch. I’m pretty sure she took pleasure in sucking the Christmas spirit out of everyone.”

Lily laughed, pouring herself a cup of hot chocolate. “So I’ve heard,” she said, glancing towards Aiden emerging from the trees.

“That’s an unnecessarily nice way to put it, Mr. Norton,” said Aiden, gesturing for Ezra to follow him.

Lily heard Ezra’s faint voice as he disappeared behind a huge fir. “Oh come on Aiden, since when do you call me ‘Mr. Norton’?”

When Ezra came back to pay for his massive 10 feet scotch pine, one of the best in the lot, he and Lily chatted a bit more about the town and the weather. While Ezra looked through his wallet for his credit card, Lily took a sip of hot chocolate, eager to warm up.

As she put down the cup, Ezra gasped. His face paled as he looked at the cup with wide eyes.

“What? What’s wrong?” Lily said, panic rising in her chest.

“I’m afraid this was my cup,” he said, pointing at the hot chocolate.

Sure enough, Lily noticed her own cup waiting for her behind the counter.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I can give you another one!” she said, scrambling for a new cup.

“No, no, that’s not it! I’m just worried you’ll catch my cold.”

Lily stopped in her track and laughed. “That’s why you made that face? I thought you’d seen a ghost!”

Ezra chuckled. “Well, I’d feel terrible if I passed this on to you,” he said, pointing at his nose.

“I’m the one who hijacked your beverage, so it’s absolutely not your fault! But don’t worry, I’ve got an amazing immune system. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Ezra said, a look of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Guys, look!” interrupted Aiden a few feet from them. He was still wrapping Ezra’s tree in mesh netting, but had stopped midway and was now staring at the night sky. “The first snow! Finally!”

Lily looked up. Sure enough, a few puffy snowflakes floated lazily in the glow of the Christmas lights hanging between the lamp posts. A groaned escaped her lips. She wasn’t ready for snow. But then again, when would she ever be?

*****

The snow didn’t let up for a full 24 hours, forcing Lily and the crew to move all the trees on the show lot about four times during the day so that the snowplow could clear the ground. And of course, snow meant a dramatic uptick in customers, who finally felt in the mood to decorate for the holidays. Nothing quite as magical as picking a noble fir while big cottony snowflakes danced in the air around. But for Lily, it only meant a grueling day of shoveling the stuff whenever she had a free moment. Definitely no magic in that.

She’d also gotten up early that morning to schedule a delivery, and had had to call her bosses to explain her mistake so that they would approve a rush charge from the supplier. Needless to say, they were not happy with her. Lily worried that it would affect her position in Seattle next year. This temp job was the only thing keeping her afloat on her meager singing gigs salary. She occasionally took up other jobs as necessary, but the Christmas tree lot was by far the most lucrative, especially since she’d been promoted to a manager last year.

When it was finally time to close up shop at 10 pm, Lily grabbed her shovel, repressing a sigh. Aiden offered to help, but she refused. “Don’t you have finals soon?”

Aiden shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m majoring in History and I have an excellent memory. My finals are 95% memorization, 5% critical thinking, so…”

“Oh yeah?” Lily huffed as she pushed the shovel through a pile of snow. “Who was the president of the United States in 1943?”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Easy. Roosevelt.”

“OK. When did Canada declare independence?”

“1931.”

Lily stopped shoveling, concentrating on finding another question. “Hmmm…” Her head was pounding, making it even more difficult to think straight. It also didn’t help that she knew very few historical facts. “How long was Al Capone’s prison sentence?”

Aiden’s victorious smile turned into a frown. “Uhh…”

“Ha-AH! See? You obviously need to hit the books. Go!” She used the shovel to shoo him away towards the parking lot.

“Wait, so how long was his prison sentence?” asked Aiden, defeated.

Lily shrugged. “Do you really think I would know that?”

“Did you even know any of the other answers?”

“No.”

Aiden shook his head, laughing. “I’ve been tricked. Fine, I’ll go home and brush up on the Prohibition era. New York in the 1920s is one of the coolest eras anyway.”

Lily resumed shoveling. “I’ll take your word for it. Now go prosper and all that, and get out of my sight.” As she finished her sentence, a tickle bloomed deep within her sinuses, forcing her to drop her shovelful of snow and burry her nose in her scarf.

“Hhh—iih—sheeew!”

“Bless you Mrs. Morris!” said Aiden with a laugh, a reaction Lily was used to by now. No matter how hard she tried to control the sound of her sneezes, she had never been able to suppress what could only be described as a high-pitch voice crack before the release. People either found it adorable or hilarious.

“Good night, Aiden,” Lily said in a stern voice, shooing him away once again with the shovel.

After Aiden’s car turned the corner, silence fell upon the Christmas tree lot. Snow still tumbled out of the sky, but at a slower rate. Lily resumed shoveling, the flat blade occasionally grating against the asphalt underneath, filling the air with a loud rustling. Now that everybody was gone, Lily found the activity quite calming.

When she was finally done, her cheeks red and frozen, her fingers numb, she headed towards the RV rented for her by the company. It definitely lacked the comfort of an hotel room, but she didn’t mind it too much. It allowed her to be around whenever the kids needed her, even on her days off. But it wasn’t exactly the best place to sleep in the middle of winter. She longed for a deep, hot bath instead of the lukewarm dribble her shower provided.

As she unlocked the door, another tickle formed at the back of her nose, freezing her in place. It developed slowly this time, torturing her as she tried to inhale cold air to set it off. Finally, she turned to her side and sneezed openly towards the ground.

“Iih—sheeew!”

The sound echoed in the dead of night, as if mocking her.

*****

“Unfortunately, we don’t have any of those in stock at the moment, but let me show you a few better options.”

Lily bit her bottom lip as she heard Tommy try the new canned response that she’d taught the kids that morning. It was now late afternoon, and she’d heard the line a thousand times, cringing inwardly every time.

“Any news?” asked Aiden as he passed by the checkout counter carrying netting.

Lily shook her head. “Still nothing.”

Two days had passed since Lily had rush-ordered a new shipment of trees. It had been scheduled to be delivered the previous morning, but bad weather had pushed the delivery window to this morning. However, the truck had never shown up, and no one could get a hold of the driver.

In the meantime, business had flourished and the supply was dwindling fast. They barely had enough trees to satisfy the demand for the next four days. But worse than that, they had run out of the most popular types, and some customers were leaving empty-handed and unhappy.

Lily could barely function, checking her phone every two minutes and feeling too frazzled to focus on a task.

“Iih—tsheeeew!”

“Bless you,” shouted Aiden as he kept walking. “You should take something for that.”

“For what?” she shouted back distractedly as Aiden disappeared in the show lot, but he didn’t reply.

Lily tried calling the truck driver for the hundredth time, no longer caring whether or not all the missed calls would make her look like a psycho stalker. When he didn’t pick up, Lily felt the same mix of emotions as all the other times she’d called: worry that something had happened to the driver, and anger because he probably just had had too much to drink the night before and was sleeping off a hangover. There were no other options in Lily’s mind; it had to be one or the other.

“I’m back for more,” said a voice Lily didn’t recognize at first. She lifted her head to see Ezra standing once again in front of the counter, only this time, his nose no longer looked chapped and his voice sounded deep and strong.

Lily tried to rally herself and managed to pull off a natural smile. “Welcome back! Addicted to Christmas trees, I see?”

“Guilty. But this time, I’d like one for my house. So… a little smaller.”

“As long as you don’t want a douglas fir or a blue spruce or a scotch pine, I’m sure we can find something.” Lily regretted her sarcastic words as soon as she heard them coming out of her mouth. This wasn’t very professional, and not at all what she’d taught the boys to say. But she had this odd feeling of familiarity with Ezra, and it had fooled her into being too frank.

“I don’t know what any of this means, but as long as it has branches to hang ornaments on and smells like sap, I’ll take it,” said Ezra, laughing. “Has business been a little too good to you?”

“Well, yes and no. It’s mostly my mistake. I ordered a new shipment too late, so we’re running out of trees. But it’s all good, the truck should be here today. Hopefully. Except the driver disappeared.” She grabbed her walkie-talkie and shoved it in front of her mouth to stop the deluge of honesty from spewing out. “Aiden, could you help Ezra pick a tree please?”

Ezra gave her a sympathetic look. “That sounds awful, I’m sorry. Hopefully he’s just sleeping off a hangover and he’ll show up soon.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” said Lily with a little too much enthusiasm. “It must be that, right? The guy had to stop for the night, went to a local bar and got smashed. That’s all.” She really did not want to think of the alternative.

Ezra nodded. “Must be it!”

“I just can—can’t belie— hhh… Hold—“ Lily’s breath hitched as a tickle nestled itself deep within her nose. She turned to her side and muffled a sneeze in the crook of her puffy coat-covered elbow.

“Iih—sheeew!”

“Bless you!” said Ezra with an endeared smile.

But Lily wasn’t done. She immediately launched forward with another one of her signature sneezes and barely enough time to draw breath.

“Iih—tsheeew!”

“Oh, bless you again!” Ezra’s smile faltered and a frown appeared on his face. “I hope I didn’t get you sick after all?”

Lily sniffed. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s just…” she gestured around her. “I must be allergic to snow.”

“Hey there!” interrupted Aiden, shaking Ezra’s hand. “Did Melinda send you for another tree?”

Lily’s ears perked up at the mention of “Melinda.” Who was Melinda?

“Yeah, she’s been wanting one for a while but we’ve been busy at the café. She says the house is gloomy without it.”

Lily felt a wave of disappointment hit her, which left her puzzled. Of course, Ezra was cute, but she hadn’t been consciously aware that she found him attractive enough to be disappointed that he was taken. She raised an eyebrow. This was definitely a first.

A buzz on her phone reminded her that she had more important things to worry about. Sadly, the text was from a friend back in Seattle, not from the supplier.

Before following Aiden back on the show lot, Ezra turned to Lily once more. “Listen, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night?”

Lily looked at him with a blank face, confused.

“Oh I… I should explain,” said Ezra, his cheeks flaming red. “We’re having our traditional Christmas Evening at Honey & Cream, and we usually just play some Christmas radio station over the speakers, but I thought it would be nice to have live music.”

Now understanding where this was going, it was Lily’s turn to get red-cheeked.

“We’d love to hire you for the event if you’re available,” continued Ezra. “And if you sing Christmas songs at all.”

“Of course! I know all the classics, and I even have my guitar with me. I’d love to sing for you guys!”

Ezra beamed. “That’s great. Let me pick out a tree and we can discuss the details.”

As she watched Ezra walk towards the trees, Lily couldn’t help but smile. Landing gigs always made her happy, and she hadn’t expected to get any job offers in the middle of Wisconsin. For a blissful moment, she even forgot about her predicament.

Until she heard Tommy in the background: ��Unfortunately we don’t have any scotch pines in stock at the moment, but let me show you a few better options.”

Lily resisted the urge to smack her head on the counter, and decided to count that as a victory.

*****

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do, El,” whined Lily as she prepared the cash register for the day, her cellphone tucked between her ear and the faux fur of her hood.

It was the next morning, early enough that none of the college kids on schedule that day had made it to the lot yet. A cold wind rustled through the remaining trees, the sun shining brightly on the blanket of snow. Too brightly for Lily’s eyes, which were oddly sensitive, exacerbating the low-level headache she’d been putting up with for the past two days. Stress always affected her like that.

“So let me get this straight…” said Ella at the other end of the line. She was one of Lily’s dearest friends and a very opinionated woman, which made her the perfect person to call when things went wrong. Lily found it cathartic. “This idiot drove his truck into a ditch, damaged all your trees, didn’t get hurt but took an entire day to remember to call someone?”

“Yep. Apparently he thought he could ‘fix it.’ I guess he was scared to call his boss and admit that he messed up.”

“I bet that sucker was driving too fast. Or drunk.”

“God I hope not,” said Lily, closing the cash drawer with a satisfying clang. “I’m glad no one got hurt, but what am I supposed to do? The supplier is sending another shipment, but it’ll take too long to get here. I’m running out of trees! And that’s the only thing we sell here. I can’t exactly be like, ‘Oh sorry, we don’t have any trees in stock, but can I interest you in a nice roll of mesh netting? Or a flocking machine?’” She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what if I offered flocking services?”

Ella laughed. “You’re joking.”

“I mean… I’m really desperate here. I’ll flock anything for cash. I can flock a mailbox, I can flock a car, I’d even flock a damn turkey.”

“Lily, this is me virtually shaking you by the shoulders right now. Get a grip, and for the love of all that is holy, stop saying ‘flock.’ It’s way too early for that. You know it’s 7 am here, right?”

“I’m ju—just… Ho—hhh—hold on,” said Lily, fighting against her hitching breath. She barely had time to pull the phone away from her ear before she bent forward with two harsh sneezes. “Iih—tsheeew! Iih—TSHEEEW!”

“Bless. This is the second time you’ve sneezed since you’ve called.”

Lily sniffed wetly. “So?”

“Are you coming down with something?”

“No, Mama Bear, I’m fine. It’s just much colder here than back home. It’s constantly below freezing. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah, I can imagine that it would get you sick pretty easily. Listen, don’t get your tinsel in a bunch about this whole thing. You’ll run yourself ragged, I know you. It’s not your fault if the trees didn’t show up. Just call your bosses and tell them what happened. I’m sure they have a few tricks up their sleeves.”

“I don’t know,” said Lily, sniffing again and briefly pinching her nose. The sneezes hadn’t gotten rid of the tickle. She could still feel a light, feathery tingle in the back of her sinuses. “If I hadn’t made a mistake with the inventory, this would have never happened. I need to fix it on my own, otherwise I might not get my job back in Seattle next year.”

Ella groaned. “You realize you’re doing exactly what that stupid driver did, right?”

Lily shrugged, waving to Tommy has he drove by on his way to the parking area, the beat of rap music vibrating the ground under her feet. “I guess he had the right idea, he just didn’t execute it correctly. Listen, I gotta go, we’re opening soon.”

As Lily lowered her phone to end the call, she heard Ella’s faint voice muttering her disapproval. But that was the thing with strongly opinionated people: One could always ignore their advice and chalk it up to their passionate dispositions.

The tickle suddenly surged like a gust of wind, reducing Lily to a hitching, gasping mess as she fought the sneeze—and lost.

“Hhh—iih—tsheeew!”

*****

Lily spent most of the day on the phone, calling every tree farms in the area to secure a new shipment. But because she was so late in the season and couldn’t promise a long-term deal, no one was willing to quote her a reasonable price.

Time was running out, and so was Lily’s hope to resolve the matter by herself. She slumped on the stool near the cash register, sighing heavily.

“Still nothing?” asked Aiden, his eyes fixed on his phone.

“Nothing good at least. Bunch of Scrooges. No one is willing to give me a good price.”

Aiden scoffed. “Maybe from their perspective, you’re the Scrooge. Making them work so close to Christmas for mere pennies. I’m sure they have a family to feed and kids to take care of.”

“You’re the worst devil’s advocate ever,” said Lily, shaking her head. The motion woke up her nagging headache, making her wince.

“No one likes to hear the truth,” said Aiden, shrugging.

Lily rolled her eyes and went back to looking for more farms to call, widening her search area even more. The idea of explaining her situation to yet another farmer and begging for help made her feel completely exhausted. Plus, her throat had begun to hurt from talking all day; not a good thing considering she was scheduled to sing later that night.

Her mind drifted off to Seattle and her cozy apartment. She missed going out for a beer after work with Ella. By this time, their group of friends would no doubt be organizing Christmas gatherings and activities, and Lily was missing out on all of them. Is the extra money really worth all of this? she wondered.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a fierce tickle deep within her sinuses. She scrunched up her nose and sniffled wetly, which did nothing to abate the tickle. It kept on expanding, forcing her to shut her eyes and tilt her head back. She waved a gloved hand in front of her face, her breath hitching for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she launched forward with a harsh sneeze.

“Iih—TSHEEEEW!”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that today,” said Aiden absentmindedly, still occupied by god-knew-what on his phone.

“Doing what?” said Lily as a shiver wracked her body. Damn this cold weather, she thought, and glanced at the heating lamp, wondering if it had a higher setting.

“Sneezing.”

Lily laughed. “Have you been counting my sneezes?”

“Not really, but I should have.” He gestured towards the almost empty lot. “It’s not like I’ve been really busy today.”

“Yeah w—well… hhh… May—Maybe you… Iih—sheeeew!”

“That’s two. I’m starting right now,” said Aiden with a smirk.

“You know, Aiden, if we don’t have trees to sell, that means I have to cut your hours, which means no salary for you.” Lily sniffed, waiting for the full effect of what she’d said to erase the smirk on Aiden’s face. When it did, she smiled sweetly and said, “So how about you use all your free paid time to help me locate a tree farm instead?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it!”

“Iihh—TSHEEEEW!” Lily quickly lifted her head after the third sneeze, shooting a warning glance towards Aiden. “I swear to god, if you—“

“Shhh! I’m busy looking for trees online,” said Aiden, repressing a laugh.

*****

An hour before she was due to sing at the Honey & Cream, Lily stood in front of the cold medicine aisle of a grocery store.

It had taken her that long to realize that all of her symptoms were indicative of a burgeoning cold. The headache, the shivers, the sore throat… and the sneezes. But it was only when her nose had started to run that the veil of denial had fallen. And here she was now, holding a crumpled tissue to her nose while looking for the perfect syrup that would allow her to survive the night.

She didn’t want to cancel; the singing gig was the only good thing happening to her at the moment. Even though she felt under the weather, she knew singing would bring back some much-needed happiness into her heart. She could do it, too. She’d sung with worse than a cold before and knew all the tricks to avoid damaging her vocal cords. But medicine always helped.

She grabbed a bottle of generic cold medicine and headed for the tea aisle for some throat coat, when a familiar voice called her name behind her.

It was Ezra.

Lily instinctively hid the cold medicine behind her back when she turned around, not wanting him to know she was sick. Partly because he’d given her this cold and she didn’t want him to feel bad, but mostly because she was worried he’d cancel the show tonight.

She cleared her throat and hoped for the best. “Hey Ezra! Fancy seeing you here!”

Ezra chuckled, pushing a cart full of a variety of drinks towards her. “We severely underestimated the number of people coming this year, and we’re already running out of drinks.”

“Keep them happy; it makes my job easier!” said Lily, aware of how awkward and overly joyous she sounded. That was the only way she knew to compensate for her lack of energy.

They both stood in silence for a few seconds too long, not knowing what to say. An old Nat King Cole Christmas song played in the background above the hum of the refrigerated displays next to them. Lily wondered just how sickly and pale she looked in the sad, yellowish light of the grocery store, standing right next to a wall of raw meat. Lovely. She tried to think of a way to end the conversation and extricate herself from this situation, but her mind was blank.

And of course, that’s when her nose decided to start tickling.

“Everyone is very excited to hear you sing,” said Ezra, breaking the silence. Unlike Lily, he sounded completely comfortable and relaxed. “I’ve already gotten a few requests.”

Water rose in Lily’s eyes as the tickle grew more intense. “I can’t wait!” she squeaked, trying to control her breathing.

“Oh, do you need a lift to the coffee shop? I’m ready to checkout, so if you want to, you could come with me right now and have a drink before the show. We’ll have plenty of options,” he added, pointing at his cart.

Unable to think straight because of the itch, Lily nodded vigorously, which only made matters worse. “That’d b—be great… Hhh….” She gestured towards the exit in a ‘lead the way’ motion.

Ezra nodded and turned the cart around. As soon as he had his back to her, Lily ducked to the side and stifled a quick double in the crook of her elbow.

“Hhh—Iih—chxshh! Iih—chxxshh!”

Ezra turned around. “What was that?”

Lily stood up straight and stopped moving, as if caught red handed. “What was what?”

Ezra’s eyes scanned the area around Lily. “I heard a weird noise. I thought you’d drop something.” He smiled and turned back around, resuming his walk to the checkout line.

Lily exhaled and sniffed, quickly swiping her used tissue under her nose before hiding it back in her pocket. When she was sure Ezra wouldn’t turn around again, she shoved the box of cold medicine on a shelf, knowing there would be no way to purchase it without Ezra seeing it. She shot the box a longing look as she walked away, promising herself that she’d be back for it the next day.

As they were pulling out of the grocery store’s parking lot, Lily regained enough brain power to remember her guitar. “Crap, do you mind stopping by the RV? I’ll need my guitar.”

“No problem. It’s only a few blocks away anyway.” He put on the heat at full blast, glancing at a shivering Lily. “Who’s in charge of the lot while you’re out?”

“One of the kids,” said Lily, warming her hands over the vent. “They should be fine though… Not many trees to be in charge of at the moment anyway.”

“Are you still waiting for that lost shipment?”

Lily sighed. “That shipment is lost forever. I’m waiting for a replacement. I’d love to find a local supplier to get a small shipment until then but…” She shrugged and shook her head. “I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll figure something out.”

As soon as she moved her hands away from the vent, a blast of hot air blew in her face, which felt nice on her frozen nose, but also triggered another annoying tickle. Lily quickly adjusted the vent away from her face and pinched her nostrils to squash the impending sneeze.

“I’m sure you’ll—“ Ezra glanced at her and stopped mid-sentence, amused. “You OK there?”

Lily lowered her hand and nodded, then quickly shook her head no as her mouth slacked open and her eyelids fluttered. “Go—Gonna sn… sneeze—Iihh… Iih—tsheeew!”

“Bless you! If you need tissues, there’s a packet in the glove compartment.”

“Thanks,” said Lily, fetching the packet and plucking a tissue out. She dabbed at her nose gingerly, not wanting to blow and make a disgusting sound that would give her away.

Ezra glanced once again at her. “Are you feeling alright?”

She smiled. “Yep! It’s the snow…”

“Ah yes. Allergic to snow, right?” said Ezra with a chuckle. He turned into the Evergreen Dream’s lot and stopped in front of Lily’s RV. “Here you are!”

*****

As Ezra and Lily walked to the back door of Honey & Cream, their hands full with bags of clinking glass bottles, muffled sounds of laughter, conversation and Christmas music saturated the night air. Butterflies rose in Lily’s stomach, anticipating the moment she’d be on stage in front of this cheery crowd. She couldn’t help but smile.

“After you,” said Ezra, holding the door with his elbow and moving his bags out of the way.

Lily walked into a dark and narrow hallway, a wave of comforting heat enveloping her. At the other end of the corridor, she could see people chatting, and the orange glow of a fireplace. Images of Christmas when she was a child instantly filled her head. Her grandpa’s living room with the giant brick fireplace. The entire extended family gathered in one room, laughing and talking animatedly. Tables filled with food and desserts. Comfort, warmth and happiness.

“Sounds like quite the crowd in there,” said Lily as she neared the end of the hallway.

“Yep,” said Ezra proudly. “The party gets bigger every year.”

When Lily reached the main room, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She remembered the café being quite spacious and cozy when she’d visited a few weeks ago, but it had been completely transformed from a modern, minimalist space to a Christmas wonderland. A fire roared in the huge stone hearth on the right side of the room. Pine garlands scalloped the entire length of the walls, peppered with holly and ornaments. A huge chandelier made of thousands of dangling crystals in the shape of snowflakes glittered in the dimmed lights.

A few hundred people had gathered at the Honey & Cream in their best attire, with people sitting at the decorated tables or standing in small groups, crowded together for a lack of space. The chorus of voices sounded cheerful and relaxed, which immediately put Lily at ease. She noted a small area in the left corner of the room with a stool and a mic, and behind it, a huge Christmas tree beautifully decorated—the 10 feet scotch pine she’d sold Ezra a few days ago. This would be her spot for the night, and Lily couldn’t have been happier.

Ezra guided her towards a double swivel door behind the counter. “Can you drop off the bottles in the kitchen? I’ll go grab your guitar real quick.” He set down his own bags near the door and darted back towards the hallway.

When Lily pushed the double doors, the smell of glazed ham, pepper gravy and green bean casserole welcomed her despite her congestion. The small professional kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes and flour, forcing Lily to stack a few mixing bowls to make room for the alcohol she was carrying.

Behind her, the double door swung again, and Lily turned around to come face to face with a tall blonde carrying a tray of empty mugs.

“Oh!” the woman said, a warm smile illuminating her face. “You must be Lily! I’m Melinda. I’d shake your hand but…” she nodded towards her tray and swept passed Lily. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here. I hope my brother told you it’s not always like this. Please don’t call the health inspector on us!”

“Brother…? Oh, Ezra? You’re Ezra’s sister?”

Melinda stopped in front of the sink and started unloading the mugs. “Yep! Sister, roommate, co-owner… All of those things. And we’re not even twins.” Once done, she swiveled and started grabbing clean mugs from a shelf and placing them on her tray. “When he told me he’d found someone to sing at our Christmas party, I was ecstatic. Live music is really the only thing that was missing, but we hadn’t realized it. Do you know ‘Christmas Time’s a-Comin’ by Emmylou Harris? It’s not a well-known song but my mom loved it and played it on a loop every Christmas at home. I’ve always wanted to hear it live. If you don’t know it, it’s fine too!” She hurried around the counter and placed the tray on a stack of clean plates, then started filling the mugs with hot chocolate from a thermos dispenser. “Oh shoot, we’re running out.”

Lily watched her flutter around the kitchen, unable to place a word as Melinda chatted animatedly, seemingly more to herself than to Lily. Lily tried to keep up, but her mind still clung to the fact that Melinda was Ezra’s sister, not lover. It felt like such a silly trope that only happened in romcoms, and yet it had just happened to her.

“… and he said you had the voice of an angel. That’s a huge compliment coming from Ezra. He doesn’t like any of the singers on the radio these days. I keep telling him he’s just too old to get it.”

Lily turned her attention back to Melinda just in time to hear the compliment, and her heart swelled. She blushed and sniffled, feeling her nose running a little. Unfortunately, as it often happened to her when she had a cold, sniffling sparked a torturous tickle that nothing could stop. She scrunched up her nose and tried to pinch her nostrils shut anyway, but when her breath started hitching, she knew there was no way out.

“…seem to be having fun, but you never know for sure. What do you think?”

Suddenly, Melinda stopped filling the mugs on her tray and looked at Lily expectantly.

“I… Hhh… I uh… Ehh…” Not only did Lily not know what the question was, but she was also fighting off the sneeze with all her might, embarrassed at the fact that Melinda was just staring at her.

“Are you alright?” said Melinda with a frown.

Lily lifted her index finger and quickly swiveled towards the door, her head tilting back as she took in a big breath. She covered her nose and mouth in her scarf and launched forward with two itchy, irritated sneezes.

“Iihh—tsheeeew!... Hhh—Iiih—tsheeeew!”

“Bless you, my dear!” said Melinda with a chuckle before busying herself piling mini marshmallows and crushed candy canes in each mug. “Boy do I wish I had a cute sneeze like that. Mine sounds like a tornado warning, and then comes the tornado, if you know what I mean. Yours is like a kitten sneeze. It’s so cute.”

And just like that, Melinda was back to a whirlwind of chatter, hurrying around the kitchen to prepare the drinks. Behind Lily, the double doors swung, revealing Ezra, guitar case in hand.

“Ezra!” said Melinda, briefly looking towards her brother before focusing back on her task. “We were just talking about you!”

Ezra chuckled. “I bet you were doing most of the talking, as always.” He turned to Lily and handed her the guitar. “Can I get you something to drink before the show?”

Lily hesitated. Her throat felt a bit raw and she could really use a coat throat, but didn’t want to admit being sick. She wanted to ask for chamomile tea with a lot of honey, but that seemed like a dead giveaway.

“A glass of water would be great.” She clenched her teeth as soon as she heard her own voice. Heavy congestion had settled after the sneezes, and she really needed to blow her nose. “Also, is there anywhere I could go to warm up my voice?” And blow my nose in peace, she thought.

“Yeah sure! You can use my office.” Ezra headed back out of the kitchen. “Follow me.”

*****

Lily spent half an hour doing vocal warmups while walking around Ezra’s office. In-between “hums” and “aahs,” she admired the cleanliness of the room. She hadn’t pegged Ezra as being so orderly. Everything had its place, from the piles of papers neatly arranged in stacked trays to the three pens of different colors aligned next to a notebook.

Lily scrunched up her nose and sniffled, annoyed at the returning tickle. The inside of her nose permanently felt on fire. She grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and folded it over her nose. Her eyes closed as the tickle etched deeper and deeper into her sinuses, sending a little shiver down her back. Her head shook lightly as she drew a breath and sneezed into the tissue.

“Hhh—iihh—sheeeew! Ugh…”

She knew the squeak wasn’t good for her voice, but she couldn’t help it. At least she didn’t feel too sick. Sure, her head was heavy and achy, her throat was irritated and her sinuses were on fire, but she didn’t feel feverish or exhausted. Not only that, but after warming up her voice, Lily felt confident that she could pull off her set. She sang a little deeper than normal, but didn’t crack at all. If she played this right, nobody would notice anything.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in!”

Ezra’s head peeked in from a crack in the door. “Are you ready to go? I think the Christmas cheer has reached maximum capacity out there.”

Lily smiled. The butterflies hummed with excitement in her stomach. “Let’s give them something to cheer about.”

*****

“Alright everyone,” said Ezra in the mic, tapping it a few times to test it. “This year, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a wonderful singer with a beautiful voice who agreed to perform Christmas songs for us tonight. So please be nice to her, and maybe she’ll come back next year.”

Lily smiled when Ezra looked towards her with pleading eyes. She quieted the voice in her head whispering that she’d be back in Seattle next year, maybe without a job. Stay in the moment, she told herself. You’re about to go sing. Her heart pounded with nerves, but her smile grew bigger.

“Put your hands together for Lily Morris!”

Lily walked to the stool and sat down, adjusting her guitar strap. When the clapping died down, she leaned towards the mic. “Hey everyone, I’m the one who sold most of you a Christmas tree this year,” she said, then pointed over her shoulder. “Including this monster right there.” The crowd laughed, and Lily felt her nerves melt away, leaving only excitement. “How about we sing some Christmas songs?”

She started with “Chestnut Roasting on an Open Fire,” one of her favorites. As she strung the first notes on her guitar, she remembered that this was the song she accidentally sang when she met Ezra for the first time. She glanced at him and saw that he was grinning from ear to ear, as if he was remembering the same thing.

A split second before she was meant to start singing, worry bubbled in her chest. She couldn’t help but fear that her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Thankfully, the words came out effortlessly, smooth and clear. A smile grew on her lips as she relaxed into the song.

Lily lost herself in the music during the first half hour, going from jazzy classics to upbeat carols. The crowd was so into it, clapping and singing along, that Lily forgot all about her cold and overdid it a little bit. She belted out “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” doing her usual runs. When she finished the song, people cheered and applauded while she took a big gulp of water, feeling the wrath of her irritated throat flaring up.

“Alright folks, how about a slow one?” she said, her voice sounding a little rough. “Anyone here knows ‘Where Are You Christmas’?” People cheered and nodded.

Lily took another sip of water. “Not that we need to ask ourselves where Christmas is, because it’s obviously here. All of it,” she said, making people laugh again. Lily giggled, but it turned into a small cough. She leaned away from the mic and cleared her throat, catching Ezra’s worried gaze on her. She smiled reassuringly at him.

Lily starting singing, closing her eyes. She always loved doing “Where Are You Christmas.” It was such a beautiful song with a powerful build. Sure, it wasn’t the most cheerful, but it resonated with Lily. After moving to Seattle, away from her family, Christmas hadn’t been the same. Her family had stopped organizing huge gatherings because of a petty fight between her aunts and uncles, and Lily had eventually stopped going home for Christmas altogether because of her new job at Evergreen Dream. Her parents understood that she had to make ends meet, but it still felt bittersweet every year to be spending the holidays selling Christmas trees to happy families, while she had no family of her own to celebrate with on December 24th.

“Where are you Christmas, why can't I find you, why have you gone away,” Lily sang, looking at the crowd in front of her. Some people were putting their heads on their neighbor’s shoulders, or holding hands. They all looked like a big, giant family, and Lily still had trouble wrapping her head around the fact that this city had such a tight-knit community. It was incredibly touching.

Lily concentrated on the vibration of her guitar against her body, trying not to choke up. Emotion rose in her chest and fizzed in her nose as she tried not to cry. But something worse than tears happened: The tickle returned.

At first, she kept singing, hoping adrenaline would take care of it. But it didn’t. The tickle grew to a persistent prickling sensation buzzing slowly down her nostrils. In between verses, she tried to wiggle her nose, which didn’t do any good.

“Where are y—you Christ—hh…mas, do you… hhh...—member, the one you used— tohhh…”

Her lips parted, her eyes closed. She kept strumming, but could no longer sing. She fought her hitching breath once, twice, until it was too much. She turned her head in time, but the mic still picked up her sneezes perfectly, down to the little gasp.

“Iihh—tsheeew! Hhh—ihh—tsheeeew!”

A chorus of bless you and giggles burst from the audience. Lily couldn’t help but laugh, too. “I’m so sorry guys,” she said, her face hot with embarrassment. “I tried so hard, but I couldn’t fight these off.” She kept on strumming the same notes in a loop, trying to recover from the situation. “Although I must say, I’ve never been blessed by so many people at once. I feel really… well… blessed actually.” The crowd erupted in laughter again.

Lily managed to finish the song and play a few more, but she could feel her voice weakening. It even cracked during a folksy version of “Jingle Bells,” but thankfully no one heard it because the crowd was singing louder than her.

She ended with a very simple rendition of “Silent Night,” and was surprised to discover that it sounded better with her raspy, lower voice. As soon as she finished the last note, the crowd whistled and applauded for a full minute, leaving Lily speechless and incredibly touched. She had never sung for such an enthusiastic crowd before. Most of her gigs involved small gatherings, or bars where customers still chatted loudly with each other as if she didn’t exist.

A few people even came up to welcome her to the city and tell her how much they loved her voice. Ezra waited for everyone to disperse before he walked up to her.

“You were wonderful,” he said with such honesty and admiration that Lily felt her insides melt.

“I had a blast!” Her voice sounded deeper and rough around the edge. She cleared her throat. “You’ve got such an amazing group here. I can’t believe how many people turned up.”

“This town is crazy about Christmas,” Ezra said, turning around to gaze upon the mingling crowd like a proud father. “There are tons of other activities organized in town and in neighboring cities. Next week, the old drive-in is even going to reopen for a Christmas movie marathon. Everyone will build their own bonfire and cuddle up with blankets and hot cocoa. Should be fun.” He looked at her sideways. “You should join us.”

Lily smiled. Was that an invitation? “I’d love to.”

But her smiled faltered as a tickle came out of nowhere. She barely had time to muffle the sneezes in her elbow, her head bobbing down with each release.

“Hhh—iihh—sheeew! Iiih—sheeew!”

“Bless you,” said Ezra, his tone more serious. He paused for a moment, surveying her. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Lily sniffled and nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Just tired. I’m still trying to figure out my little ‘problem’ at work and—“

Ezra snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just thought of a cure for world hunger. “OH! That reminds me! I think I can help you with your Christmas tree problem.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I haven’t worked it out fully yet but—“

“Ezra?” called out Melinda from the counter, her panicked voice rising above the chatter. “Little help please?”

Poor Melinda was struggling to serve drinks and desserts to the crowd that had formed around the counter, ready for something sweet after the show. Lily could understand their excitement. If the dessert was as tasty as the cranberry muffin she’d had last time, she’d be dying to get a piece of it herself.

“Shoot,” said Ezra, already moving towards Melinda. “Listen, are you free tomorrow morning? I can come by and tell you all about it then.”

Lily nodded. “Sure, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Thanks again for the show,” Ezra said, his smile warming up the room. “Have a hot chocolate and enjoy yourself.”

Lily smiled back. A hot chocolate sounds heavenly right about now, she thought, shivering in spite of the ambient heat. And with any luck, this cold will be gone after a good night’s rest.

*****

The night brought anything but good rest to Lily. She spent it tossing and turning on her cheap mattress, shivering under the blankets and sneezing her poor little nose off. By the morning, her bed was littered with used tissues, and she’d only managed to doze off a few hours, at best.

She stood outside in the light of dawn, coffee mug in hand, surveying what was left of the Christmas tree lot. Steam from her coffee rose in the chilly air, mixing with the mist of her breath. She sniffled wetly, bringing a crumpled tissue to her nose. Her nostrils were chapped beyond repair, and she knew nothing could be done to make herself look presentable before Ezra’s arrival.

She walked between the few trees still available on the show lot, her boots crunching in the snow. Worry wrapped around her chest like a corset bound too tightly. If Ezra’s solution didn’t work out, she’d have to call the bosses and admit her fault. Not only had she messed up in the first place, but now she’d lost a good two days of sales trying to fix it by herself. She’d made it worse.

No wonder this lot is so important to them, Lily thought. It had been incredibly popular since the start of the season for such a small city. After talking with Ezra the night before, Lily understood why. Evergreen Dream had found the perfect gem: A series of small towns and cities with deep-rooted Christmas traditions, and no other Christmas tree lots to compete. The stakes were higher than she had thought.

Lily shivered in the relentless cold, and scrunched up her nose as a tickle formed. She fished for her tissue in her coat pocket, covering her nose just in time.

“Hhh—iihh—sheeeew! Ugh… Iihh—sheeew! Iiih—TSHEEEW!”

Behind her, she heard a car make its way into the lot, most likely Ezra’s. She turned around, still clutching the tissue to her nose with one hand, and holding her coffee in the other. A black truck with a trailer attached slowed down near the entrance. It wasn’t Ezra’s Toyota, but the windows were so frosted that Lily couldn’t tell who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

The door opened and Ezra came out. Lily’s heart flipped at the sight of him. She watched him walked to her RV, not knowing that she stood ten feet away on the show lot.

“I’m right here,” she called, except her voice didn’t cooperate. What came out was a pitiful squeak, only hitting a few syllables in full voice, the rest lost in a whisper. She put her hand to her throat, surprised. Had she lost her voice?

Thankfully, it had been enough to catch Ezra’s attention. “Hey,” he called out as he headed towards her. “I was afraid you’d still be sleeping.”

“Your text said 6 am,” she squeaked, her raspy voice still not able to form full words.

Ezra walked up to her with a pained expression. “Oof, you really don’t sound good.” His eyes scanned her face, stopping at her bright-red nose. “I got you sick, didn’t I?” he said softly, his tone full of guilt.

“I think this weather is what did me in,” Lily said, pointing at the gray skies above threatening to unleash a fresh coat of snow. “I’m alright though.”

Ezra looked at her, unconvinced. “You sure you’re up for this? I can come back tomorrow and let you rest.”

Lily shook her head. “If you’ve got a solution, we need to do it now.” She looked at the trees around her. “We’re losing money becau—because of… hhh…”

Lily felt the sneezes coming, hard and fast, the tingle catching fire in her irritated sinuses. But she couldn’t locate her tissue. She put her coffee mug on a crate nearby to free her hands, then checked her coat pockets, her jeans pockets… to no avail. Understanding what was happening, Ezra dug into his own pockets, and came up with a travel packet of tissues, managing to get one out and handing it to Lily just in time.

“Iiih—tsheeew! Hhh—iihh—tsheeeew!”

“Bless you,” Ezra said, his voice warm and soft. “At least let’s get you into the warmth of my truck. I had the heat on full blast. It should still be toasty in there.” He guided her to the passenger side and opened the door for her, closing it behind her.

Lily welcomed the heat with relief, blowing her nose while Ezra circled the truck to get to the driver seat.

“There, this should be better,” he said as he sat down and started the truck, reviving the heating vents. Forced air rushed out with a loud wooshing sound. Ezra turned the heat down to quiet them. “I had a hunch you were under the weather yesterday, but I didn’t dare to ask,” he said, sheepish. “It was a bit selfish of me. I really wanted to hear you sing.”

Lily smiled. “Don’t feel bad. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d cancel the gig.” She grimaced at the sound of her voice. “I sound worse than I feel. And it was totally worth it.”

Ezra nodded. “Alright then, let’s go get you some trees. That’s at least one problem I can fix.”

He put the truck into gear and started turning around in the parking lot, but Lily put her hand on his arm. “Wait, you haven’t told me how we’re going to get the trees yet!”

“Oh, you’re right!” Ezra laughed. “Sorry, my mind has been all over the place these past few days.” He stopped the car. “I’ve got a friend whose cousin owns a tree farm about two hours from here. I explained the situation and he got his cousin to give you a good deal on the trees. At least I hope it’s a good deal,” he said, suddenly unsure. “I’m not exactly in the tree-buying business, but my friend assured me it was a wholesale price.”

Lily beamed. “At this point, I’m willing to pay more if it means getting trees on the lot. How many can we fit in your truck?”

“I brought lots of rope so I’m hoping we can stack them fairly high. Maybe 40 of them with the trailer?”

Lily calculated in her head, her mouth forming the numbers silently. “I think that would be perfect. It should tide us over to the scheduled delivery, and maybe recoup some of the losses.”

Although her voice still sounded hoarse and raspy, it was gaining strength as she used it more, waking up her vocal cords from the difficult night she’d had.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Ezra,” Lily said, putting her hand on his arm once again. “Not only did you get me a singing gig, but now this? You must be a Christmas angel or something.”

Ezra laughed. “It’s the least I could do for passing on that awful cold to you.”

“Hey, I’m the one who stole your hot chocolate, remember?”

“Fair enough,” said Ezra, easing off the brake pedal and maneuvering the truck around. “But I’m still partly responsible and—“

“Hhh—iihh—sheeeew!”

“—bless you—and nobody should be without a tree on Christmas anyway.”

“Ihh—sheeeew!”

Ezra glanced at her sympathetically. “Bless you again.”

Lily dabbed at her nose. “You’re going to run out of ‘bless you’s at this rate.”

“I’m sure we can find a supplier for more of those, too.”

*****

They drove for about half an hour, making light conversation at first. As the warmth of the car settled, easing Lily’s shivering, the conversation took on a more warm, familiar tone.

“I really like this city,” Lily said with a longing sigh.

Ezra glanced at her. “Oh yeah? You don’t hear that often from West Coast people.” He chuckled. “But I can’t imagine a Christmas without snow.”

“I grew up in a small country town, although it rarely snowed there. I just miss the community. The fresh air. I miss knowing your neighbors and stopping by for a visit.” She looked outside at the snow-covered fields, her eyes following the few lonely trees in the distance as the car rushed passed. “And I guess snow does look really nice.”

“And now that we know you’re not allergic to it…”

Lily laughed and playfully pushed him on the shoulder. “I rarely get sick, so there’s still a case to be made about the snow and the weather doing… this to me.” She motioned towards her throat and sinuses, grimacing. “Seattle is fine. We do get a bit of snow every year but it doesn’t last and it’s just chaotic. Some streets in my neighborhood are steep, which is a total nightmare when it gets icy.”

“I’ve actually never been to Seattle before,” said Ezra. “Or much of anywhere to be honest.”

Lily looked at him in surprise. “Were you born here?”

“Yep! Born and raised… and anchored, apparently.” He fiddled with the heating knob, increasing it a little. “My parents bought the Honey & Cream when they were in their 20s. That wasn’t its original name though. They called it ‘Expresso.’ It drove Melinda crazy. She’s a coffee nerd.”

Lily could easily imagine Melinda ranting about the term “Expresso” to no one in particular, averaging 30 words per second without losing her breath. She made a mental note to ask Melinda about it next time she visited the coffee shop.

“So how did you both become the owners?”

“My parents retired early. My dad’s heart wasn’t doing so great. I don’t think he was cut out to be a business owner. Now they live in Florida, his heart is doing much better, and my sister and I are co-owners. The first thing we did is change the name, of course.”

“I really like ‘Honey & Cream,’” mused Lily, scrunching up her nose. “It’s modern, but also soft and soothing in a way.” She picked up a tissue from the travel packet Ezra had given her, feeling another sneeze coming on.

“It was Melinda’s idea. She’s the baker and coffee addict. I take care of the business side of it. That’s what I studied in college, knowing my parents were thinking of selling the coffee shop. I didn’t want it to leave the family, and I’m—“

Ezra stopped talking when he heard a little gasp coming from Lily, warning him of an impending sneeze. He glanced at her with a sad smile. “That tickle won’t leave you alone, huh?”

Lily shook her head, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, struggling with a torturous buildup. She wiggled her nose again, which seemed to do the trick. Her head titled back, and she bent forward under the force of the sneeze, burying her nose in the tissue.

“Hhhh—ihhh—TSHEEEEW!” She remained bent over her lap, the tissue still secured around her nose and mouth, knowing another sneeze was coming. “Hhhh—iiihh—tsheeeew!”

“Bless you!” said Ezra, surprised at the force of the sneezes. He slowed down the truck, turning into a gas station. “I think we need some supplies. Let me get you something warm for your throat. Any preference?”

Lily dabbed at her chapped nose and sniffled. “Coffee.”

Ezra raised his eyebrows. “Not to go all ‘doctor’ on you, but wouldn’t tea be better in your condition?”

“You’re right,” said Lily, relenting. “Throat coat would be great, but if they don’t have it, chamomile with honey should work.”

“Throat coat…,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “I’m on it!”

He opened the door and got out as quickly as possible to avoid letting too much cold air in, but a burst of icy wind still made its way to Lily. She shivered and readjusted her scarf around her neck, fluffing it up. Reaching for her purse, she checked her phone to see if Aiden was doing alright back at the lot. She’d left him in charge again while she was gone.

Lily: Everything OK over there?

Aiden: Yep. I’m telling people to come back this afternoon. They don’t seem too mad.

Lily: Good. Thank you!

Aiden: How’s it going with Ezra?

Lily: What do you mean?

Aiden: I mean you’re spending half a day on a road trip with the hottest bachelor in town, surely you won’t waste this opportunity?

Lily: Aiden!! Seriously?!

Aiden: Sorry Ms. Morris :P

Lily repressed a laugh. Maybe her growing attraction to Ezra had been apparent to everyone but herself. But this was a professional work trip, and she was in no condition to put on the charm anyway. She would be lucky if Ezra ever thought she looked attractive after seeing her like this.

She put down her phone, realizing that she was alone and could finally blow her nose properly. She had been dabbing at it, too embarrassed to blow in front of Ezra. The process took multiple tissues, but it relieved a lot of pressure in Lily’s sinuses, easing her headache. She managed to take a couple of breath through her nose before another tickle took hold.

She reached for the packet of tissues, but realized she’d used the last one. As Lily battled the oncoming sneeze, Ezra came back, sending another rush of cold air into the car and flaming the tickle in Lily’s nose.

“I got you a—oh!” Ezra noticed the empty packet and Lily pinching her nose, her breath hitching. He put down the two cups of hot liquid in the cup holders and rummaged in the plastic bag, but Lily could no longer hold the sneeze in. She covered her nose with her scarf.

“Ihh—tsheeeew!”

Ezra fished out a box of tissues from the bag and ripped it open, passing Lily a bunch of them. She took them gratefully, her eyes still shut as the tickle triggered another sneeze. She buried her nose in the thick, soft fabric.

“Hhh—ihh—tsheeew! Iihh—tsheeew!”

“Bless you!” Ezra said, moving the bag out of his seat so that he could sit down and close the door. “Poor thing, you sound so sick. Hopefully this will help.” He took out a box of cold medicine and a box of throat coat tea. “I got you a cup of hot water for the tea. The lady at the counter looked at me weird when I asked for ‘throat coat.’ I think she thought it was some kind of sex thing.”

Lily burst out laughing, her nose still buried in the tissues. Ezra joined in.

“I’m just glad I found it so I could show her what it is,” he said, picking up the box to read the text on it. “What even is this? What’s in it?”

“Slippery elm,” said Lily, sniffling wetly and removing the lid from the cup of hot water. “It coats your throat and makes it feel less raw and tickly. Too bad they don’t make it for your nose, too,” she mumbled.

Ezra fetched a tea bag from the box and sniffed it. Grimacing, he gave it to Lily. “What does it taste like?”

Lily dumped it in her cup. “Mostly like a sweeter, more subtle version of licorice. It’s not bad if you don’t hate licorice.”

“Oh, I hate licorice,” said Ezra. “Thankfully I’ve got the perfect chaser right here.” He produced two packets of tree-shaped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from the bag.

Lily beamed. “I loooove Reese’s! Especially the trees—“

“Because they have more peanut butter, right?” said Ezra, grinning.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“I always stock up after Christmas and Easter. They’re the best.” He opened one packet and took a bite of the chocolate tree. “I’m sure your tea won’t taste as bad if you eat one of these with it.”

Lily laughed. “It’s OK, I’m used to it. I always drink it when my throat is irritated before a show. It’s a singer’s best tool.”

Ezra was pensive for a moment. “You were really wonderful yesterday. I can’t believe you sang like that with a cold.”

“To be fair, I didn’t feel as bad as I do today. I could not sing with this voice,” she said, pointing at her throat.

“You definitely need some rest today.”

They sat in the car in silence for a few minutes, Ezra sipping coffee and eating Reese’s, Lily drinking her tea. Ezra stole a glance at her. “Did you always want to be a singer?”

Lily shook her head, blowing on her tea. “No, I actually wanted to be a hockey player.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I played from when I was five years old all through high school. I quit when I went to college to study music.”

“Do you still skate sometimes?” Ezra put down his coffee and started up the car, turning on the heat.

“I haven’t been in a few years, but I do miss it.”

“Me and my buddies play on a frozen pond in the park during winter. You should come sometimes.”

Lily smiled, feeling the butterflies waking up. “I’d love to.”

Ezra put the truck in reverse, turning his body around to see where he was going. “I’m a pretty good goalie though, so don’t get your hopes up. No puck gets through me.” He glanced at her with a mischievous grin.

“We’ll see,” she said, returning the grin.

*****

Lily soon fell asleep, unable to keep her eyes open in the warmth of the car and the lull of the tires on the snow-covered streets. Ezra woke her up gently once they reached their destination.

“Sorry,” he said after whispering her name and tapping her on the shoulder. “I would let you sleep but you have to sign and pay.”

Lily fought to stay awake, rubbing her eyes and stretching. “No, no, it’s perfect.” Her voice had gone back to a pitiful squeak, which earned a frown from Ezra. “I’m sorry, I’m the worst road trip buddy in the world.”

Ezra laughed. “It’s alright. You needed it.”

Lily met with the owner of the tree farm and agreed to the wholesale price. It was more than Evergreen Dream usually paid, but much lower than the quotes Lily had been getting on the phone. Once she saw the stack of trees ready to go near a warehouse in the back, she felt instant relief. This was really happening! Her problem had been solved, thanks to Ezra.

She looked on as Ezra and two employees discussed how they would load the trees on his truck and trailer. Now that she no longer had to worry about work, she couldn’t help but turn her full attention to Ezra. She gazed at his warm smile as he laughed with the employees, at his strong arms when he lifted up a tree. There was an undeniable attraction, but was it really a good idea to pursue it? She’d be back in Seattle at the end of the season, which was fast approaching.

Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She checked the caller ID and saw Ella’s photo, probably calling for a little ‘I told you so’ reminder. Lily looked back at Ezra and figured it would take a while to load all the trees, so she had time for a quick chat.

“Hey El,” she said, her voice beyond hoarse.

“Oh my god, Lily. You sound absolutely terrible.”

“I know, I know.” Lily walked a few steps away from the warehouse. “Turns out you were right about everything. The cold, the boss… everything.”

Ella sighed at the other end of the line. “You know I usually like to hear you say I’m right, but this time, I’m just worried.”

“Don’t, I’m currently fixing it. Well, actually, Ezra is fixing it for me as we speak.”

“Ezra? The cute guy who offered you a singing gig?”

“Yep, the same one!” Lily looked back at Ezra. He was still hauling trees into the bed of the truck.

Ella laughed. “Girl, I can hear the dreamy tone even with your voice all fucked up. Are you guys hitting it up?”

“El! Come on! We’ve just met, and I’m not like that. You know me.”

“Lily, I’ve been telling you this for years. Have some fun, for christ’s sake. At least take the guy on a date or two while you’re there. What’s the harm?”

Lily rubbed her nose with her gloved hand. “What if I want more?”

“Then you can call me and we’ll figure it out. You already took a chance with this job, why not embrace it fully and live a little?”

“I just—hhh… Da—damnit… I hhaave to… sn—“

She moved the phone away from her face, covering her nose with her scarf.

“Hhh—iihh—sheeeew! Iihh—tsheeew! Hhh… G—god… Hhh—iih—TSHEEEW!”

“Bless you,” said Ezra not too far behind her.

Lily jumped and turned around. Ezra was walking towards her with a deep frown on his face. She brought the phone back to her ear long enough to blurt out, “I gotta go.” She could hear Ella’s faint voice yelling at her to “get some rest, for Pete’s sake.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Ezra, examining her with soft eyes. “It’s just… It’s really cold out here and… I noticed that you were shivering.”

Lily hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. Her whole body was shaking, and she realized just how cold she was. The humid wind blew right through her, chilling her to the bone.

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” he added gently. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

Thirty minutes later, Ezra and Lily drove off with the forty Christmas trees secured in the truck bed and on the trailer. Lily felt giddy with relief. She couldn’t wait to see the happy faces of customers coming in to buy the tree they actually wanted, instead of seeing their disappointed look as they left empty-handed. She never knew a Christmas tree lot could become so depressing, and she never wanted to experience it again.

“I don’t even know how to repay you,” said Lily.

“It was nothing, really. I enjoyed this little road trip.” Ezra kept his eyes on the road, as if stricken by shyness.

Lily remembered Ella’s advice on the phone, and before her brain could even catch on, she heard herself say, “How about we test your goalie skills tomorrow night?”

Ezra turned his head to look at her, his smile so warm it threatened to catch fire. “That sounds great!” He thought for a moment and added, “But are you sure you’ll be better by then?”

Lily nodded, confident. “For sure. I’m never sick more than one or two days. I already feel better!” It was a little lie, but she knew that with her anxiety gone, she’d be able to sleep and would be as good as new in the morning.

“Tomorrow night it is, then!”

*****

“Just go back to bed,” said Aiden, leaning back on the counter, watching Lily down cold medicine tablets with a sip of coffee. “You’re obviously not better.”

It was the next day, well into the afternoon, and the lot was as busy as ever. But Lily hadn’t woken up as good as new, as she’d expected. In fact, she definitely felt worse.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked.

“That is definitely not the sound of a ‘fine’ person,” mocked Aiden.

Lily turned around quickly, grabbing tissues from a box nearby. “Iihh—tsheeeew!”

“Also not a ‘fine’ sound. Just FYI.”

Lily glared at him over her tissues. She did not have the energy to banter with Aiden. Her throat hurt, her head throbbed, her sinuses felt heavy and hot. She had on about four layers of clothes, but couldn’t seem to get warm. However, since they’d brought in more trees, they were dealing with an uptick in customers, and Lily couldn’t afford to stay back. Especially since Tommy had called in sick and nobody else that wasn’t already working today was available.

“Suit yourself,” said Aiden, raising his hands in capitulation.

Since her voice was too hoarse to try to sell trees, and she didn’t want to risk infecting customers by handling their money, Lily had decided to take on the job of wrapping the Christmas trees in mesh and resupplying the lot when trees sold. It was a grueling, physical job that drained her already limited energy, but it was the most logical decision. She managed to take a few breaks during the day, sleeping in the RV whenever she could, but she still worked on the lot from opening ‘til close.

When 10 pm rolled around and the lot had finally closed, she sat down on a stool, exhausted, while Aiden counted the money.

“Now you can finally go to sleep,” said Aiden, writing down the amount on an inventory sheet.

Lily shook her head. “Can’t.”

“What? Why not? Don’t tell me you’re going to clean up the lot, I swear to god…”

Lily laughed, which caused her to cough a little. “No, it’s not that. I’ve got a… thing.”

Aiden gave her a knowing smile. “A thing, huh? With who?” He shook his head. “Actually you know what? It doesn’t matter who. You should definitely cancel.”

Lily had debated canceling all day, but she really wanted to go. She had already taken another dose of cold medicine and knew it would kick in long enough for her to enjoy her date. Since Ezra was picking her up at 10:30, she figured they would play hockey for an hour or two and call it a night. After a day of dragging trees around, ice skating sounded like a lovely, relaxing time.

And she really wanted to see Ezra.

“I’m not going to cancel. He’s already seen me sick anyway.”

Aiden squinted his eyes. “Wait… Is it Ezra? It’s Ezra, isn’t it?” He started laughing. “You’ve got a date with Ezra. I knew it!”

“Oh shush,” said Lily, wiping her nose for the millionth time. “We’re just going to hang out for a couple of hours. It’s not really a date per se.”

“I think you guys look cute together,” mocked Aiden, batting his eyes. He zipped the cash pouch and handed it to Lily. “Have fun on your *cough* date *cough*.” He gasped, overplaying an expression of surprise. “Oh no, I think you got me sick!”

Lily smacked his arm with the envelope, and Aiden fake-coughed as he walked to his car. “I might have to call in sick tomorrow like Tommy *cough* *cough*.”

“Wait, is he not actually sick?”

Aiden turned around and shrugged, still walking backward towards the parking lot. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” he shouted as he reached his car. “Feel better!”

Lily shook her head, trying not to get mad at Tommy. She breathed out and headed to her trailer to freshen up. Of course, Ezra had seen her sick the day before, but this was an actual date—no matter how much she’d downplayed it to Aiden.

She splashed cold water on her face from the small kitchen sink, and managed to put on enough makeup to look presentable. She kept on her layers of clothing, dreading even the idea or removing them and feeling the cold on her skin. Thankfully, the pills had started to take effect and her headache eased. Her nose also wasn’t as runny. It’ll be fine, she thought. Just as she finished up, she heard Ezra’s car driving into the lot and went outside to meet him.

Ezra waved to Lily as he got out of the car. Lily waved back, but a prickle hit deep in her sinuses, forcing her to divert all of her attention to it. She murmured a quick “oh!” and brought her hand to her face, ready to catch the sneezes.

“Hhh—iihh—tsheeeew! Iih—tsheeeew! Iihh—TSHEEEEW!”

“Oh no,” said Ezra as he reached her. “I was going to ask if you’re feeling better, but I guess I have my answer.”

Lily sniffled, reaching for tissues stashed in her coat pocket. “I’m fine,” she said. “Still getting over this cold but I really want to play hockey.”

Ezra hesitated, surveying her face, as if for any signs that she wasn’t well enough. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Lily nodded with big, hopeful eyes as she dabbed at her nose.

“It’s hard to resist that look,” said Ezra, chuckling. “Let’s go.”

*****

Snow had started falling by the time they arrived at the location. It was a small natural preserve with hiking trails snaking through a dense wooded area. The place was quiet and the path well lit, creating a magical atmosphere with the puffy snowflakes dancing in the light. They walked beneath tall and narrow trees, the sound of their boots crunching in the snow filling the air.

“The pond is about two minutes that way,” said Ezra, pointing forward. He was carrying two pairs of ice skates slung on his shoulder, their blades occasionally clinking together.

“It’s so quiet,” murmured Lily. “Whenever it snows at night, it always feels like I’m in a monastery. Like I should keep my voice down and pay my respect to Mother Nature.”

“I know what you mean,” said Ezra. “All the sounds are muffled. It feels like we’re walking into a tunnel, and we’re about to step into outerspace at any moment.”

They kept walking in silence for a bit, until the wind picked up and sent a flurry of sharp ice flakes on Lily’s face. Somehow, a few of them hit her sensitive nostrils, and she gasped as a wave of prickles assaulted her nose. “Oh no,” she whispered, before bending away from Ezra to sneeze.

“Hhh—iihh—sheeew! Iihh—TSHEEEW!”

The last sneeze had been particularly loud, and it echoed in the forest around them. Ezra cracked up, managing a “bless you” in between laughs. “So much for the monastery peacefulness,” he said, and Lily burst out laughing as well.

When they finally reached the pond, Lily gasped in admiration. It was a small patch of ice in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by the same lanky trees from the trail. Warm Christmas lights had been strung on their naked branches, creating an intimate, breathtaking ambience.

Ezra guided Lily to a large horizontal trunk on the side of the pond that people had been using as a bench. As they both sat to tie their skates on, snow stopped falling and the clouds started clearing, letting in a bit of moonlight.

“Do you think skating is like riding a bike?” Ezra asked as he bent behind the trunk to retrieve two well-used hockey sticks and a puck.

“I hope so,” Lily said before standing up and awkwardly walking to the ice. She put her first skate on the ice, apprehensive, and then the other. The first few kicks were a bit wobbly, and Ezra stayed by her side just in case, but Lily soon got her bearings and glided around the ice like it was second nature. It felt great to be back.

They circled the pond a few times, Lily reacquainting herself with the techniques and trying a few things like skating backward and pivoting.

“How does it feel?” asked Ezra, watching her with a delighted smile.

“Amazing,” said Lily, feeling the rush of adrenaline as she picked up speed.

Ezra handed her a hockey stick when she skated by him. She grabbed it and started playing with the puck.

“Where’s the goal?” she said, sniffling.

“We usually use branches. Here,” Ezra said, skating to the edge and hopping in the snow to gather a few branches. He placed them on the ice in the shape of a two-dimensional goal.

Lily laughed. “Did you guys run out of money after buying all the lights?”

“Did I mention we were unofficially playing hockey?” said Ezra, chuckling. “But I meant what I said about being a good goalie. Show me what you’ve got.”

They played for a good twenty minutes, Lily scoring goal after goal as Ezra tried to keep his branches from sliding away. They both laughed so hard that soon, none of them could even hold up the hockey sticks.

“How about a break?” asked Ezra, out of breath.

Lily nodded. Fatigue hit her like a ton of bricks, her energy finally reaching the “Empty” gage and sputtering. She wondered if the medicine had stopped working early, too, because all of her symptoms were back. It didn’t matter, though. She felt happy.

She sniffed, trying to keep her nose from running, but instead caused cold air to hit too deep. She felt a burning sensation that turned into another irritating prickle. She let go of the hockey stick, which clattered on the ice at her feet, and dug for tissues from her coat pocket.

“Everything OK?” asked Ezra, sitting on the ice near his goal.

Lily nodded. “Just—hhh got… gotta—hhh… Iihh—TSHEEEEW!”

The sneeze overpowered her small frame, and she bent forward under the force of it, losing footing. Her reflex was to counterbalance and straighten her back, only causing her to slip further and fall flat on her butt.

Ezra shot up to his feet, rushing to her side. “Are you OK?!”

Lily laid all the way back on the ice, laughing. “This is ridiculous,” she said, giggling and coughing a little. “I’m such a mess, I can’t believe you even agreed to this.” She brought the tissues back up to her nose to wipe it.

Ezra laid next to her on the ice. “You’re not a mess,” he said with a smile. “You’re adorable.”

Lily stopped laughing and blushed, her eyes fixed on the sky. Clouds had completely cleared, uncovering a night full of stars, so many stars that Lily couldn’t take them all in.

“I forgot about the stars,” she said, breathless.

“It’s the best part.”

Lily turned her head towards Ezra. “I’m glad I came here.”

“Me too,” said Ezra, looking into Lily’s eyes.

They both inched closer to each other, their lips almost touching. “What about my cold?” whispered Lily.

“The one I gave you?” Ezra whispered back, a hint of a smile on his lips, and all Lily wanted was to taste it.

Their lips touched in a shy and delicate kiss, until Ezra removed his gloves to cradle Lily’s face in his hands. Their kissed instantly took a passionate turn... That is until Lily gasped and moved her head away. Her breath hitched as they were still inches apart. She quickly brought her scarf over her nose and ducked away from Ezra.

“Iihh—tsheeew! Hhh—Ihh—sheeeew!”

“Bless you—“

“Iihh—thseeew—Iihh—TSHEEEW! Hhh—ihh—TSHEEEW!”

“Oh, Lily… bless you,” said Ezra, frowning. “You’re so sick.”

They both sat up, and Lily brought out more tissues to wipe her irritated nose. “Sorry about this,” she said, embarrassed.

“Don’t be. I just…” he looked at her closely, and his concern only seemed to deepen. He put his hand on her forehead, gently. “I figured. You have a fever, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

*****

Ezra held the door to the RV open for Lily, and followed her in.

“Do you need anything?” he asked as she removed her beanie and her gloves.

“No, I should be alright. I still have some of the medicine you bought.”

Ezra looked around with a shocked expression that made Lily wonder if she’d left something scandalous out in the open. But then again, she didn’t exactly have anything scandalous to leave out.

“Is this really where you’ve been sleeping since you’ve arrived?” asked Ezra in disbelief.

“Yes…” said Lily, not following. It wasn’t exactly luxury, but it was tidy enough.

“It’s incredibly drafty,” he said, pushing on the door and putting his hand around the frame to feel for cold air. “No wonder you got sick.” He moved to the window in the kitchen area and checked there too. “And no wonder you never got better.”

Lily shrugged. “I spend most of my time out there near the heating lamp. In here, I just sleep under a bunch of blankets.”

“That’s not enough if you’re sick,” said Ezra, worried. “Why don’t you come sleep at my place?” And then, as if he realized that what he’d said sounded lewd, he added quickly. “I’ve got a guest room, of course.”

Lily laughed. “I think you’re overreacting a little bit.”

“I just hate the thought of leaving you here with a fever,” he said, looking so sad that it almost broke Lily’s heart. “I’ve got a fireplace. And hot food.”

Lily imagined sitting in front of a fireplace, and suddenly, the RV felt as freezing as a dead cold heart. And if she was honest with herself, she knew she didn’t have the energy to spend the entire night battling a fever in the RV. She would probably sleep in her winter coat to avoid the dreaded feeling of slipping into a cold bed.

She nodded. “A fireplace sounds very nice.”

*****

The thermometer beeped, and Ezra took it out of Lily’s mouth. He frowned and touched her forehead again, then her cheek. “You feel much warmer than it says,” he murmured. “Is this thing broken?”

They sat on Ezra’s couch in front of the beautiful stone fireplace of his small chalet-style home. A huge window covered the front wall of the house, reaching up to the second floor, and Lily couldn’t stop gazing out at the tall snowy pines swaying in the wind, enthralled by the gorgeous winter view.

“Your hands are still cold from being outside,” said Lily, smiling. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry.” She put her hand on Ezra’s arm, hoping to ease the worry lines etched on his forehead. “I promise.”

Ezra gave her a sad smile. “You’ve been saying that since the start, but you just get worse.”

Lily gestured around the cozy living room. “How can I not get better now that I’m here?” She resisted the urge to say ‘with you,’ wondering if it was a bit too cheesy, even though she meant it. “I still can’t believe you live here.” The other Christmas tree she’d sold to Ezra stood next to the roaring fire, elegant and sparsely decorated, which let the natural branches shine.

Ezra chuckled. “I’m used to it by now, I guess. It was our parents’ home after Melinda and I both moved out. I bought it from them when they retired, and Melinda has been staying here for now.” He put the thermometer back on the coffee table and readjusted the blanket on Lily’s shoulders. “Relationship troubles,” he whispered, even though Melinda was fast asleep in her bedroom upstairs.

“It’s like living in a vacation chalet all year-long,” she mused. Her breath caught in her throat as the persistent feathery tickle at the back of her nose flared again. She bent down to retrieve a few tissues from the coffee table and let her breath hitch, no longer having the energy to fight them.

“Hhh… Hhh—ihh—tsheeeew!” Lily covered her nose with the tissues, jerking forward with the force of the irritated, exhausted sneezes. “Ihh—tsheeeew!” She gasped, expecting a third sneeze that didn’t materialize. She felt Ezra's hand on her back rubbing in circles as she waited, her nose itching furiously, her head titled back and her mouth parted slightly. “G—god… Hhh… Ihh—TSHEEEEW! Ihh—TSHEEEEEW!”

“Bless you.” Ezra shook his head, still rubbing Lily’s back. He gazed into her watery, feverish eyes. “It’s killing me how sick you look. I just want to hug you and make it all go away.”

Lily wiped her nose and groaned, melting into Ezra’s hand on her back. He shifted closer to her and opened his arms. She gratefully put her head on his chest as he embraced her tenderly and kissed the top of her head. “I have to say, you are the most adorable sick person I have ever met in my life,” he said, chuckling. “Down to your cute squeaky sneeze.”

Lily laughed, which turned into a small cough.

“Sorry,” whispered Ezra, rubbing her back again. “I shouldn’t make you laugh.”

“Isn’t laughter the best medicine?” asked Lily, getting sleepier by the minute.

“Rest is the best medicine,” said Ezra. “You should get some sleep. You need to get better so that you can taste my delicious turkey on Christmas Eve.”

Lily smiled, imagining spending Christmas in the chalet with Ezra. She drifted off to sleep with a contented sigh, listening to the crackle of the fire.

She awoke early the next morning in the guest bedroom, still fully clothed but underneath the covers. She got up, shivering, her head still full of cold, her throat still hurting, but her spirits high. She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen/living room area. Nobody else was awake yet. She stood in front of the large window, in awe. Huge snowflakes fell from the sky like strands of silk, covering her entire field of vision. The only thing she could see through the white blanket was the pines, strong and proud, their green branches peeking through as if nothing could defeat them.

She wiggled her nose, feeling a sneeze brewing. She cupped her hand over her mouth and nose, hoping to stifle as to not wake anyone up. She hitched a few times until the sneezes tumbled out of her.

“Hhh—ihhh—NNGXXShh! Ihh—NNGXShheew! Iihh—NNGXXXShh!”

“Bless you,” said a voice at the top of the stairs.

Lily turned around to see Ezra in a t-shirt and flannel pants coming down the stairs, looking sleepy and gorgeous. Her heart flipped in her chest.

“You should still be in bed,” he said with a warm smile, as if he were glad that she wasn’t. “Are you feeling OK?” He didn’t wait for her answer, and put his lips near her temple. “You don’t feel too warm. That’s good,” he murmured.

Lily smiled and embraced him, nuzzling her head in his chest. Ezra put his arms around her, and she felt instantly safe. “I was just thinking,” she said, glancing back at the window. “I think I love snow after all.”

Ezra chuckled. “I’m glad you do.”

They stood there in the early morning light, watching the snow fall.

“I could get used to this,” said Lily.

There was a small moment of silence, as if Ezra was holding his breath.

“I hope you do,” he finally said, and Lily could hear the warmth of his smile filling his voice.

And she decided it was all the warmth she would ever need.

THE END

#sneezefic #sickfic #caretaking #illnessfic #snz fic #snzblr #snzfic

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