#POV CHRISTMAS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noxposting · 4 months

Text

Another year, another @phandomholidaytruce ✨

Merry crisler @datawyrms ! Hope you like it!! It's also on AO3 with an extra chapter

Something's Wrong with Danny Fenton

The realization that something was seriously wrong was like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once.

There had been no catalyst, no trigger to speak of.

Miss Jones had been sick and, this late into the school year, they hadn't bothered to provide a replacement. Most of the class hadn't even bothered showing up anyway; with finals so close, they were either asleep of studying.

Cal would have done the same, was it not for the absolute chaos at home. The twins were off school for the summer already, and they made sure to make their presence known to every single resident of the house. Usually starting at 6am. Cal didn't feel like he got to choose whether to stay home or not.

This is how he found himself here, sitting in a mostly empty classroom, gaze unfocused as he soaked in the rare moments of quiet. In front of him lay an opened biology book, as he lied to himself that he was going to use this time to revise ahead of exams. Instead, the sketch of a duck wearing sunglasses was guiltily staring at him from the page margins.

His gaze had wandered to the window, towards the school-yard of Casper High. Today was a rather rare sunny day; it was early summer, but even during the heart of the hottest season there was a never-ending, persistent chill that seemed to choke the entirety of Amity Park.

Cal, of course, knew exactly where it was coming from.

It was a little bit difficult to live around here and not know about the ghosts.

He pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. He didn't have any particular strong feelings about ghosts, really. He had gotten used to them, in a way. But, truth be told, he was not a fan of the spine-chilling coldness that seeped through everything in their presence and lingered after they were gone. The way the town seemed never to be able to escape this coldness anymore bothered him, but there was not much to do other than suck it up.

Which was why rare days like today were a pleasant, welcome surprise to the locals. He could see his classmates lounging around in the grass outside, soaking up the sunlight like starving sunflowers, and it brought a warm feeling in his chest. Cal was always more of a people watcher, standing in the side and absorbing situations rather than getting involved.

He tried to ignore the tense feeling in his spine that made the hair at the back of his neck stand.

Also, he was studying. He looked down at his book and a second duck that had joined the first and was silently judging him, this time wearing a dapper top hat and a little bow-tie.

There was no haunting chill in this classroom. Right. He didn't want to go out and miss the time to relax.

His let his gaze passively wander around the room. There were only four others in there with him, all in different states of mental non-existence. Eleanor and Sally-Anne were sat opposite each other, heads close over the desk as they gossiped, their whispers providing a subtle background noise through the quiet room. Jonathan (the one with the glasses, not the one in the football team) was focused on the book in front of him and Danny, at the back of the class, looked to have fully dissociated, eyes glazed over. Now wasn't that relatable.

Cal sighed. Suddenly the chair felt a bit stiff, his shoulders a bit tense, so he pulled his arms behind his back in a big stretch. He couldn't help the groan that left his lips as he felt his joints pop. Grabbing the back of his chair, he twisted around -first the right side, then the left- to relieve the tension.

The tension, as if to spite him, stayed.

He got up, cringing at the scraping sound his chair made as it slid back, and he could see on the edge of his vision that his movement had caught the attention of the two girls. When he didn't say anything, they returned to their conversation.

Cal went around his desk towards the window and looked outside, once again marveling at the sunshine and trying to ignore the goosebumps travelling down his arms. He did briefly debate the merits of joining the rest of the glass out in the grass once more, but the peace of the quiet classroom was too tempting for his foggy brain. Still, he didn't feel like sitting in a chair for the next forty minutes. Looking around, he spotted a few unattended markers on the teacher's desk, and paused, a thought forming in his mind.

His fingers were itching with misplaced adrenaline, and he figured what the hell.

Pointedly not allowing any awkward embarrassment to brew, he approached the desk, grabbed the black and green markers and approached the blank class whiteboard.

Cal had always liked to draw. His mom said it's because his hands can't sit still (but she liked it, really, especially when he made her custom-made mother's day cards every year). The twins had no opinion about it, until his sister got her first celebrity crush and begged him to draw the poor guy with cat ears.

No ducks with accessories this time.

She later posted it online with a humble brag about how she had 'finished it really quickly, what do you guys think' but, considering she had barely hit double digits in age, Cal had let it pass.

The validation of elementary kids was not in his radar, exactly.

He never followed any particular theme -his illustrations were usually random, without much thought. He liked letting his mind and hand take him wherever, and that often led to either randomness or, as was often the case for his bigger, more planned illustrations, a lot of inspiration from his environment.

Was it a surprise that he had produced so many drawings of ghosts?

As Cal was suddenly, once again, very aware of the subtle chill (not quite a presence, but it existed and it came from somewhere), he figured that one more addition to his ghost collection wouldn't make any difference.

Even if he wasn't used to drawing on a whiteboard, he still felt the long, controlled strokes of the marker come naturally. His preferred style was either completely colorless (which had absolutely nothing to do with his tendency to draw during class, thank you very much) or with minimal color; he knew how to manage negative space to his liking.

He had to admit, the subject he had chosen was pretty perfect for the whiteboard; all high contrast black and whites.

Getting lost in the process was easy for Cal; applying long strokes across the board and thick filling to the black outfit allowed time and tension to pass him by, almost. The hair would be tricky; making sure the black marker was used faintly enough to translate the light, luminous color was a mission, and Cal was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his work. All aspects to a drawing needed to come together for a good result, after all.

But for this, the most important part was the eyes.

Cal tightened his grip around the green marker. There could be only one color on this drawing, and it had to be the eyes. Sadly, a green whiteboard marker would never be quite the toxic green that he would have liked, but it was the principle that counted.

As he placed the last detail on the hair, fade enough to be as close to the bright white of the real thing, he uncapped the green marker. There was a sense of gravitas in the movement, the start of the final step to this work.

Or maybe Cal was just pretentious about it, who's to say.

"Wow, Cal, you're so good!"

The sudden voice made Cal jump and, even worse, almost draw a green line straight through the board and the almost finished drawing. He turned around to realize that everyone in the room was staring at him.

Maybe he should've thought this would happen, but he felt the heat on his cheeks rise nonetheless.

It was Sally-Anne who had spoken, turned around on her seat where she was facing Eleanor. Both were smiling. A few desks ahead, Jonathan had abandoned his reading and instead was looking at Cal with interest, head resting on his hand.

Cal avoided all their eyes, fidgeting with the green marker instead "Um, thanks. Just a hobby, no big deal."

Sally-Anne raised her eyebrows. "Are you joking? This is amazing! It's like, the best Phantom art I've ever seen!"

Cal blushed even harder. "You're exaggerating, but thanks."

Eleanor gasped "Oh my God, no one better erase this! Quick, I need a picture!" she swiftly pulled out her phone and paused. "Hey Cal, can you like, put a signature somewhere on that? I need to take a pic."

Cal breathed out, muttering 'no problem' and obliged.

A stutter sound came from Eleanor's phone "Awesome! I'll send it to you if you want!"

Cal refused and Eleanor shrugged, sending it to Sally-Anne instead.

Soon everyone went back to what they were previously doing and Cal was happy to be ignored. Walking over to the teacher's desk to put the markers back (and maybe look for an eraser, if Eleanor and Sally-Anne didn't kill him first), he was suddenly aware of that ever-present yet so distant chill and his head snapped up towards the room.

At that moment, he locked eyes with Danny Fenton, and Cal froze.

It was impossible to pinpoint what was wrong exactly, which made things worse. Danny Fenton looked as he usually did; tired, bruised, head resting against his hand and unruly hair falling in his face. Yet there was something just wrong. His pallor was pale, unnervingly so, the bluing bruise against his cheek and graze on his lip contrasting dramatically against his skin. But his gaze was so sharp that Cal was sure that Danny could see right though his skin and into his brain.

It happened slowly, and then all at once.

Worst of all, Cal now knew where that ever so familiar chill came from, and he was almost shocked he didn't recognize it before. The aura of the dead was practically oozing off Danny Fenton.

Time felt like it was slowing down as Cal was locked in by those eyes, a shade of blue so cold it was painful and, for the first time, Cal realized that he was seeing Danny Fenton.

Cal wasn't sure how long he was trapped under that gaze. It felt like eons, but it couldn't have been more than seconds. As he felt his brain melt under the realization that something was frighteningly wrong with one of the people he knew, something happened that shocked him out of his spiraling.

Danny smiled. The faintest, most tired lift of lips, yet it was enough to transform the aura of wrong and that trapping stare, like deciding to let free an animal that was going to become dinner.

Just like that, with a movement so simple, the chill was passive again. Cal smiled back.

Feeling like he was floating, Cal went back to his desk. He took a seat as the bell rang and his classmates soon started filtering in, all of them taking a moment to show various levels of awe towards his drawing.

Throughout it all, Cal kept his head tilted and one eye, watching Danny's reaction. To anyone else, he looked like he had just woken up from a nap, groggy and unfocused. But Cal now knew better. He had realized the wrongness, and knew there was more hidden behind these icy eyes.

He didn't know what, he didn't know how. He didn't know when it had started, or why, but there was one thing Cal was sure of.

There was something very wrong with Danny Fenton.

#I'm not a fic writer so I hope this was ok asdfghjkl #anyway #merry crisis #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp art #danny phantom art #phart #phanart #danny phantom fanfiction #cryptid danny #outsider pov #danny fenton is creepy #phandom christmas truce 2023 #Christmas #Fanfiction #Fic gift #Phandom #phantom

218 notes · View notes

lizablackthorn · 1 year

Text

pov:you’re friends with f1 drivers Christmas edition🎄

yourusername added to their story

alex_albon added to their story

landonorris added to their story

mickschumacher added to their story

georgerussell63 added to their story

charles_leclerc added to their story

carlossainz55 added to their story

yourusername just posted a photo

liked by pierregasly,maxverstappen1,lewishamilton and 30.257 others

best way to spend Christmas 🎄 sometimes you annoy me (@georgerussell63 you mostly) but i love you🫶🏻 (and of course i put a ferrari ornament on the tree)

lewishamilton : i’m gonna make sure he’s not gonna have a great season.. @georgerussell63

georgerussell63 : thanks mate

maxverstappen1 : i’m so disappointed in you..

yourusername : you literally didn’t wanna come..

pierregasly : Charles you look horrible

charles_leclerc : don’t be jealous that i’m so much hotter than you

lance_stroll : i look pretty hot.

yourusername : you do indeed🤌🏻

carlossainz55: i loved the ornament most

charles_leclerc : no I loved the ornament most

lilymhe : who is the pj one?

yourusername : my husband

danielriccardo she means me.

f1fan77 : where is Valtteri

yourusername : Valtteri is this you?

goldenboy47 : mick with that dog 😩

sharlllleglergg : how can you look gorgeous in every way. 😻

smoothoperatorrrrrr5516 : Is that Carlos in the second picture LMAOOOO

1K notes · View notes

rancidsugar · 4 months

Text

209 notes · View notes

downtowncannibal · 10 months

Text

agnes i er uh it's me billy

don't you er uh tell them what we did Agnes

#this one goes out to the one person that said POV barb #this is YOUR fault!!!!#billy lenz #black christmas 1974 #slashers

330 notes · View notes

frootsnak · 9 months

Text

Lord Kaaz enjoying a fine glass of vintage red blood

#ended up more like POV he is about to splash you with it and tell you to get out of his sight #POV your evil wine aunt at christmas dinner is asking why you're not married yet #kars

218 notes · View notes

kaspavanlortsyal · 4 months

Text

❄️✨Smutty Quaritch Oneshot - Christmas Eve✨❄️

CONTENT: Christmas!, I Wanted Quaritch to Wear a Santa Hat, Ribbons for Lingerie, You Are The Gift✨ AHA—, Light Bondage (with the ribbons), Gagged, Teasing, You Get Glazed like a Donut, Oral Sex (receiving), Vaginal Sex, Size Difference (per usual), Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Fingering, Tit Sucking, if I had to write “If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy” you have to read it, Sprinkle of Fluff.

Nobody wants to spend Christmas Eve alone. You were waiting a while. Almost too long—almost long enough that you considered sending him a picture of exactly what he was going to find on his bed—but finally, the door opens.

Quaritch’s glowing amber eyes narrow onto you. You’re laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, and wrapped in thick army-green ribbon. Candles flicker on the beside table and the top of the headboard is wrapped in twinkling lights that cast seductive shadows across your body.

The colonel reaches for you, but you stall him with a look and nod your head towards the Santa hat on the corner of the bed.

He huffs a laugh. “Really?”

You bite your lip and grin.

“Fine,” he muttered, snatching the hat and tugging it on, careful not to trap his sensitive Na’vi ears. It was a little small, but that added to the charm.

Quaritch grabs your ankles and slides you to the foot of the bed, tail swishing in anticipation. “What a pretty present,” he murmurs, fangs flashing with a wicked grin. “All wrapped up for me, huh?”

“Merry Christmas, colonel,” you say.

His long blue fingers brush the edge of the ribbon snug against the top of your breasts, tied with a large bow in the centre. Your nipples peak the shiny satin as a shiver shoots down your spine. There’s a matching bow between the dimples in the small of your back.

Quaritch pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside. On cue, you undo the large buckle of his belt. You take your time, fighting the desire to touch as much of him as fast as possible after dreaming about this moment all day. Judging by the stiff bulge in his cargo pants, you’re not the only one, but he stops you before you reach the zipper.

“My turn,” he says.

He tugs one side of the bow holding your breasts and watches hungrily as the ribbon falls away. Part of you is annoyed that the hour you spent tying yourself up /just right/ is unravelled so easily, but those thoughts fade as the colonel kneels before you and flicks your nipples with his rough tongue. You arch and gasp, locked in place with his hands on your hips.

Your fingers tangle in his cropped hair and the fuzz of the Santa hat as he sucks your tits into his hot mouth, his tongue continuing to work the rosy bud as his teeth scrape your tender skin. His breath tickles your collarbone as he pulls you in, tasting you like a man starved. His attention travels from your breasts to your neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla perfume as he nips and sucks.

“You’re like a god damn Christmas cookie,” he grunts.

He devoured the batch you’d made earlier this week. “Gonna eat me too?”

“Damn right.”

You squeak as he tosses you back on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he crawls on top of you, caging you within his powerful limbs. For a moment he simply studies you, your breasts gleaming with his saliva and half-unwrapped. Then, Quaritch smirks and picks up the discarded ribbon. He brushes the soft fabric over your skin and watches the goosebumps form across your flesh.

You close your eyes and arch, thighs squeezing together. He takes his sweet time teasing your flushed skin with the feather light touch of the ribbon, teasing over our belly and chest before up your arms. You don’t notice that he’s looped the ribbon around your wrists until he pulls it snug, shackling you to the headboard.

He chuckled as your eyes fly open. “Don’t give me that. I think this is exactly what you had in mind,” he tells you, leaning down and kissing his way down your arms.

You couldn’t deny that. A moan escapes you when his mouth finally meets yours, the kiss deep and full of promise.

Quaritch’s knee parts your thighs and you whimper at the delicious friction. He lets you grind against the thick muscle of his thigh as he slips his hands beneath you and unties the second emerald ribbon. He smirks upon finding the section that falls away from your needy cunt already wet with desire.

“Open up,” he instructs, and slips the damp ribbon between your teeth, gagging you with it before you can protest. The sight of you tasting yourself as he ties it snug darkens his eyes with a more carnal desire.

Deciding he’s going to taste you too, the colonel pins your knees to the mattress and parts your slick folds with his tongue. His groan of satisfaction reverberates through you. You strain against your bonds with building pleasure as his devilish mouth works on you, arching. Muffled by the gag, your moans fill the room, mingling with the sloppy attention of his mouth.

If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy.

He sucks your clit until you shudder before soothing you with greedy licks. Covering your entire cunt in his fanged mouth, he lets you grind against his tongue until your pleasure soaks the blanket. He kisses the puffy lips of your pussy as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm, almost reverent, and nuzzles the flat bridge of his nose against the apex of your thighs. You squirm and whimper, already aching for more.

Quaritch slicks two fingers on your pussy and pushes them deep into the burning heat of your core. He curses under his breath at the unbearable tightness and pumps his hand slowly to relax the quivering, silken walls.

You want to beg for more, to insist you’re ready to take him, but the ribbon pressing against your tongue betrays you. You can only moan and hook an ankle around his neck, pulling him closure, desperate.

The ribbon binding your wrists doesn’t budge. Of course he knows how to tie a damn good knot, being marine a and all. The burning strain in your shoulders reminds you just how much power he holds. You want him to unleash every inch of himself upon you. You were his Christmas present, after all.

Quaritch sits back on his knees and wipes his chin on the back of his hand. As he removes his pants, you strain your neck to glimpse the thing you’ve been craving all day. He adjusts the santa hat, securing it. You giggle breathlessly around the gag.

He rests down on you, smirking at how your body tenses when his member brushes your inner thigh. Your moan of impatience is almost animalistic as he rubs the head of his cock between the wet lips of your pussy, lubricating his ribbed shafted in preparation.

He kisses you, then pulls back just enough to watch your expression as he thrusts his hips.

You scream around the gag as his alien cock forces its way into you. It burns like sweet fire as the walls of your cunt stretch to fit him. Your back arches as he works his way deeper with each thrust, hissing at the sensation of your tight sex gripping him, sucking him in.

It’s far from the first time he’s fucked you this way, yet every time you’re not sure you can take it. He pants and grunts as he ruts into you, the head of his cock pounding your cervix. You can’t scream his name so you settle for wordless moans that grow to hoarse cries which each slam of the headboard.

The colonel grabs your hips and lifts your lower half from the mattress, growling as he brings you down onto his cock, again and again. He’s tense with concentration and a thin sheen of sweat gleams gloriously upon his striped skin.

His relentless pace doesn’t stop as your mind shatters and another orgasm bleeds through you, white hot fire spilling out from your core into every nerve and fiber of your being. You’re vaguely aware that he keeps going, growing closer to his own release in your spasming cunt, but for a moment all you know is weightless pleasure.

Quaritch drops you to the mattress, leaving your thighs to tremble on either side of your ruined pussy as he fists his cock. Hot, glowing cum coats your stomach and tits in thick ribbons as he roars his release, tail lashing through the air behind him. The bioluminescent dots of his skin flicker.

You tilt your chin up, whining softly.

Chuckling, Quaritch tugs the gag down and kisses you. The white pompom at the tip of the santa hat tickles your forehead. He drags the ribbed underside of his cock over your overstimulated clit and you shudder, twitching away.

After a long shared shower and another round beneath the steaming water, you find yourselves curled up in bed amid the twinkling lights.

Wearing the Santa hat once more, Quaritch produces a small gift from beneath the bed. He hands it to you wordlessly as his fingertips trace your bare shoulder.

You frown and tear open the plain wrapping paper and reveal the present. It’s a pair of fuzzy pink socks.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts,” you protest, caressing the buttery material.

“Yeah, well, your feet turn into damn icicles at night and I’m tired of you warmin’ them up on my back while I’m sleepin’,” he says.

You smile. You can’t help it, not as he fails to suppress the hint of softness in his tone. “Thank you.”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Your gift, though?” he smirked, and kisses you. “Outstanding.”

Happy Holidays, Simps!

92 notes · View notes

2braincellslz · 1 year

Text

Billy Loomis: tell him where he can stick her grapes.

Billy lenz: UP HER PU-

Billy loomis: BILLY!

#billy lenz and billy Loomis #billy loomis x male reader #billy loomis #billy lenz x y/n #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz meme #billy lenz incorrect quotes #incorrect slashers quotes #slasher incorrect quotes #slashers pov #slashers #slasher #billy loomis memes #billy loomis imagine #scream 6 #scream movie #gays on the fyp #black christmas

393 notes · View notes

slicznymartwy · 8 months

Note

I’m not sure if your comfortable with it, but if it’s alright, can I request Billy Lenz and the reader (established relationship) having some sort of conversation on his past and the reader comforting him?

this one is rlly sad im sorry :(( this is mostly hc since i've only ever watched the original 1974 film, so idk if this lines up with the canon from the other movies. from what i know about it, i think it's similar. no mention of agnes in this warning: sa of a minor mention, please do not read if that bothers you. also, reader insert was abused/beaten by their mom. very sad take care of yourselves please

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader

Night fills your bedroom and coats itself on the floors and walls, except for where the yellow streetlamp spills in past your curtains. Sparing a glance to the alarm clock on your bedside table, you see the time is so late it could already be considered early.

Still, you can’t think about sleep; not when Billy is laying beside you and the house is blissfully empty, two things so rare that it almost seems serendipitous. You’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you keep staring at the ceiling and let the warmth of his body radiate into yours.

“Billy,” you whisper into the quiet room. “Are you asleep?”

You can hear him grunt and squirm beside you, and you feel bad for waking him. It wasn’t often he got a full night’s rest on a bed, and you knew for a fact that there was no mattress in the attic. There were only so many chances to have Billy and the house all to yourself, though, and you don’t want to squander it.

“Billy,” you say again, nudging him with your foot.

He grunts again, but it sounds more cognisant than before. He reaches over himself to pat your arm, almost like he’s quieting down a noisy cat, and you can feel his hand trail down to your own. His palm covers the back of your hand, and he threads his fingers in between yours, curling them down together.

It’s a gesture so sweet that you’re tempted to let him fall back asleep. There’s no helping your addiction to him, though, and you tighten your fingers on top of his.

“I’m not tired,” you say with a pout. “I wanna talk.”

This time, Billy groans, low and long. You think it might be out of annoyance, but you can feel him stretching out beside you, straightening his long legs underneath the covers. He huffs when he’s done, eyes blinking open.

You love his pretty eyes, an orangey amber that you were always getting lost in, no matter how unsettling they could be. It always felt like he was staring into you, like he could see the marrow in your bones.

You loved his intensity. It made you feel alive when the rest of the world was tired and grey.

“Hi,” you say, reaching over with you unoccupied hand to touch his jaw. “I didn’t ask before. How was your day?”

He’s quiet for a long time, and you wonder if he can fall asleep with his eyes open, but then he says, “Bad.”

The word hangs in the air. Billy’s face gives up nothing, a blank page with no words of his own to say. You frown and pull your hand back from his face to rest on your own chest. The other stays in his hold, neither of you willing to let go.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, although it doesn’t surprise you when Billy shakes his head against your pillow.

“Okay.” You squeeze against his fingers again, pulling gently on his arm so that it rested more heavily on top of you. The bedroom air is quiet, but your mind continues to race. It’ll be good for him to get it off his chest, you tell yourself.

“Is it something old or something new?”

He thinks about your words for a while, but then you hear him mutter, “Old.”

“Bad memories?” you ask, looking back at him. He blinks at you, then nods.

“I get bad memories, too.” You lean against him slightly, and glance up at the ceiling. “From when you were a kid?”

This time, Billy shrugs. You know you shouldn’t push him, but your heart aches to see him hurt and to not have the rememdy.

You turn around and let go of him for only a moment. You search for his hand again, this time with the opposite one to press your hands together, palm to palm. Your fingers entwine so easily, so naturally, that it makes your heart ache.

Maybe he just needs to know he’s not alone in whatever bullshit he’s had to endure in his life. Maybe it will help to know that you have bad memories too.

“My mom used to hit me,” you admit quietly. You stare at the way your hands mesh together, with your nails polished and Billy’s own chewed up. “She used to take my stepdad’s belt and hit me with it. Used to just be the leather part, but then she would swing the buckle at me too. She broke a tooth, but it was just a baby one. My adult teeth grew in alright.”

You keep your voice casual as you speak, because facts are facts, and there’s no reason to get upset about something you can’t change anymore. Besides, you reminesce about your childhood so infrequently that it feels like it all happened to another person.

You remember the beatings like you’re watching it happen to someone else – something else, because you don’t feel bad for them when they can’t sit at school because of the welts on their ass. You don’t bat an eye when their mom has to take them to the doctor to reset their broken nose.

“Bitch,” Billy spits out from beside you, and you have to laugh at the venom dripping in his voice.

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” you tell him, smiling sadly. You glance at him, but it’s hard to look at the mean look on his face. It probably isn’t for you, but your mind is traitorous and too sensitive.

Even worse, Billy could be mad on your behalf. No, you can’t think about that either, not when you’ve spent so long pretending that it didn’t really happen.

“Anyways. All that to say, I know what it’s like, having bad memories. You don’t have to tell me, just… I’m here for you,” you say, running your thumb along his hand where they’re still locked together.

“Want to,” he mutters, voice croaking unnaturally as he speaks in his own voice.

Quietly, you release his hand and instead wrap yourself around him, laying partially on top. He lets out a heavy sigh as you settle, with your arm coming up to rest by his head and your same-side leg resting over his hips. He watches the ceiling, and you watch his face from where you lay your ear to his chest

“Bad billy. Disgusting,” he mutters, and you pet his cheek with the back of your hand.

“I don’t think so.” You keep your voice careful and quiet, but he sighs and its agitated. Pent up memories start to overfill, and you can see it on his face.

“Mommy,” he starts, but his voice breaks and he coughs to clear his throat. “Mom. Fucking hate her. I hate her. Stupid fucking slut. She’s disgusting. Not me. Not Billy.”

You take your hand away from his face, watching how his expression continues to contort, mixing between anger and disgust and fear. It wrenches your heart in your chest.

“You’ve been so good, Billy. You’re not disgusting.”

“I hate her. I hate her,” he chants again. “Oh, Billy! Shut up!”

When he says his own name, it sounds like a feminine moan. You almost don’t understand, but the implication dawns on you only a moment later. It’s not difficult to piece it all together: his rage, the names he calls himself, the moan. You feel sick.

“Hey, we can stop,” you try gently, but Billy either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t want to stop.

“No one needs to know, Billy. Be a good boy.” You can’t look at his face anymore, the ugly way it scrunches up hurts you down to you core. Guilt claws at you from inside, and you wish you knew the right thing to say but you don’t. The truth, you decide, is enough for now.

“I hate her, too,” you tell him, and it sounds a little wet. You don’t let yourself cry, but your heart breaks for a younger Billy, afraid and confused.

“That’s my mom,” he says. You don’t know what he’s trying to convey when he says that – if he wants you to pity her, or if he’s sharing his betrayal with you. He whines, a painfully soft noise that gets trapped in his throat.

Gently, carefully, you card your fingers through his hair where you can reach, and you kiss his shoulder.

“She’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore,” you tell him, although you don’t know if it’s true. You do know that, as long as you’re by his side, there’s no way you’ll let that woman touch him again.

“I wish I could kill her,” he says through clenched teeth. His voice is thick, like he might be crying. You can’t bare to look. Billy’s grief melts into you like it’s thermodynamics, heat into cold, and you can only hope that you can take some of his and ease his mind.

“How would you do it?” you whisper, pressing your hand over his hammering chest.

“Cut… cut her head off. Smash it like a pumpkin. Oh, Billy! Good boy, Billy. Shut up!” His voice breaks when he shouts. He coughs, then gasps for air, his breath shaking as he fights against the tightenness in his throat. “I’ll turn her teeth into pumpkin seeds,” he snarls.

Without warning, you move yourself to lay completely on top of him, pressing against his body with your body weight. He groans, and you’re sure you must be squishing him, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, his arms come up around you, hooked under your arms and pressing you against him with his hands at your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” you tell him, pressing your face against his neck. “You’re okay now. It’s just us in here. Just me and you.”

“I hate her,” he whimpers again. “I hate her. I hate her.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t think there are any words that could possible take away his hurt without also being a complete lie. Underneath your body, you can feel Billy start to relax, grounded back to reality from the rotten memories playing in his head.

“I’m sorry today was a bad day. We can have a good one tomorrow,” you say. It’s an impossible thing to promise, but you mean it like one. You’ll make sure Billy has a good day, whether fate wants it or not.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll kill your mom too.”

“Thank you,” you say. You kiss his temple, and he leans into your lips.

a/n: reblogs and replies are really appreciated

#billy lenz #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz x reader #slasher x reader #₊*. ⋆༘ — requests #i'm sorry if the pov changes anywhere accidentally #please ignore if i accidentally left in a 1st person pov mention i think i fixed most of it #if not .. forgive me pls #i shouldnt admit this but ive been messing around on c.ai #but its the worst thing ever idk why people rave about it #writing ur own fanfic >>>>>#its such a waste of time refreshing for a better response #when i know what i want them to say .. its just letting people be lazy #i want to shake everyone using it and tell them to just write their own stuff #its so much more rewarding #anyways i am ovulating and thinking about cod men .. its a terrible curse idk why i let this happen

157 notes · View notes

lovelyleclercs · 1 year

Text

Kissing Santa Claus- CL16

Charles Leclerc X Fem!Reader

->Charles dresses up as Santa at the end of the year gala, but your little Juliette catches you kissing Santa.

word count: 1835

warnings: not proof read, probably incredibly cheesy, mentions of deep kisses

A/N: this is from the same universe as 'missing home' so many of you love that story and ask for more, so here is another writing of that!

The end of the year prize giving gala was a newer tradition for your family. In years past, Charles had always finished fourth or lower in the championship standings, meaning he didn’t earn an invite to the gala. This year was different though.

With Charles winning the title this year, it meant that he was due to be the star of this year's gala. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, events like this were never something he typically enjoyed, but he was thankful that he would at least get to spend the long evening with both you and little Juliette.

You had dressed yourself in a long forest green gown, one that matched the color of Charles’ tie. The sleeves were puffed, giving the gown more of a disney princess look. You paired the dress with a small pair of nude heels, as well as a diamond necklace and earrings that Charles had gifted to you as a push present when you had Juliette.

Juliette was dressed in a pink dress- one that she had picked out herself just for this very event- as well as small black flats and some skin toned tights. She was so excited for this event, as she had been told that she would get to see her papa receive his big trophy.

When you arrived at the gala, the limo pulled up at the end of the red carpet, allowing you to go straight to the interviews and photographers on your way into the building, where no media personnel were allowed- thank god.

Charles climbed out of the limo first, acting as a wall to protect you and Juliette from any photographers just in case either of you had a wardrobe malfunction while climbing out.

You climbed out after Charles, fixing your dress quickly before picking Juliette up into your arms. You and Charles both knew that the red carpet was going to be the hardest part of the night for Juliette. She hated all the flashing lights and all of the people calling her name. No matter how often it happened around her, she still had yet to get used to it.

As the three of you approached the spot where photos were allowed you be taken, Juliette wrapped her little arms around your neck and buried her face into your shoulder, shielding herself from all of the commotion.

You let the photographers snap a few photos of the three of you, before you let go of Charles' hand and indicated that you were going to step inside to allow Juliette calm down before the event started.

When you made it into the building, you quickly found your assigned table- right up front, close to the stage as expected- and sat down, placing little Juliette in your lap. “Are you ok, Jules?”

Juliette looked up at you and nodded a little, rubbing her damp eyes a little. “Where is papa?” she asked, looking around for Charles in a bit of a panic.

“He went to get you some juice, baby” you said softly before placing a kiss on her forehead. “Did you know that Santa is going to be here tonight?”

Juliette's entire face lit up as she looked up at you. Due to the fact that the gala was so close to Christmas, one of the directors of the event had asked Charles if he would dress up as Santa towards the end of the show for all of the children in the audience to see. Charles agreed, figuring that would be the only entertaining part of the show anyways.

“Santa? When is Santa gonna be here, maman??”

“After papa gets his trophy later, so we have to be patient ok?”

Juliette nodded and cuddled into you a bit, waiting for Charles to get back with her juice.

After what felt like an eternity, Charles had finally made his way inside, not without drinks for you, him, and of course Juliette.

“Those interviewers have a lot of questions, let me tell ya” Charles mumbled as he sat down, putting the straw into the juice box for Jules. “Here honey” he said as he handed the juice box to Juliette, making sure she had a hold of it before letting go.

“Grazie, papa!” Juliette said before taking a sip.

You let out a chuckle, knowing that your daughter could speak Italian better than french, even though she lived in a french speaking country.

“Prego, dolcezza” Charles said before kissing her temple.

The gala was extremely boring, as predicted, but Juliette had remained well behaved the entire time. She would occasionally get impatient and ask when Santa would be coming on stage, but other than that, she was quiet and focused on the stage in front of her.

When it was time to get Charles changed into the Santa suit, you turned to Carlos and Isa. “would you mind watching Juliette while I go help Charles with getting changed?” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the person giving a speech onstage, nor did you want little Juliette to hear you either.

“Of course not, come see Zio Carlos, Juliette!”

Juliette giggled and held her arms out towards Carlos, cuddling into him once he had a hold of her.

You got out of your seat and followed Charles to the small room in the far back of the building where they had told Charles it would be safe to change in.

“I can’t believe how well behaved Juliette has been. I was expecting a tantrum or two by now” charles said with a laugh as he started putting the large Santa suit on.

“Well I may or may not have bribed her with the fact that Santa would be on stage at the end of the night…”

Charles laughed and shook his head. “I can’t believe she even got excited about santa. Last year, she was terrified of him when we tried to do our pictures with him at the mall”

You laughed a little as you buttoned up the suit for Charles. “I know, but this year she has had such an interest in christmas and in santa.. It’s like now that she is three years old, she finally understands it all, you know?”

Charles nodded and started putting the fake Santa beard on his face. “I can’t believe she’s getting to be so big…I feel like every time I turn around she is taller and smarter… it’s not fair” he said with a pout.

You laughed and put the santa hat on his head, completing the santa costume. “I know.. It makes me sad…”

Charles smirked and pulled you in closer “Guess that means we have to have another.. No?”

You smiled and kissed him deeply, indicating that you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of another little you or little him running around.

Halfway through the kiss, you heard the door to the room creek open, followed by a small little scream. You turned around to find little Juliette standing in the doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pointed at you and Charles.. Well.. santa.

You knelt down in front of your daughter and pulled her into a hug in an effort to calm her down a bit. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

“Y-you kissed… santa!! Papa is gonna be sad!!”

You looked at Charles over Juliette’s shoulder, doing your absolute best not to let out a laugh at your daughter’s reasoning behind being so upset. “Darling, I wasn’t kissing santa. I was telling him a secret!”

Juliette pulled from the hug and looked at you, her eyes curious as to what secret you were referring to. “A secret?” she asked before sniffling a bit. “What secret?”

“I was telling Santa how you’ve been such a good girl all night.. And how you deserve lots of presents”

Juliette giggled and looked over at Charles “I have, Santa!!”

Charles knelt down to Juliette and smiled, changing the tone of his voice before speaking to her. “I’m very glad, Juliette, you can expect lots of gifts under your tree on christmas morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a special appearance I have to make on stage. Merry Christmas, Juliette!”

“Merry Christmas, Santa!”

You picked Juliette up and carried her back to the table, with Isa walking beside you. “I’m sorry, she saw you in the doorway and took off running, I was just trying to take her to get a juice box”

You shook your head, indicating that you weren’t mad at all. “Oh don’t worry, she does that to me all the time. Don’t be sorry” you said before sitting back down in your seat, just in time for Charles to walk back onto the stage, this time dressed as santa.

Juliette hadn’t noticed that Charles wasn’t around, which you were incredibly thankful for because if she did notice, it meant one more lie you had to make up on the spot tonight, and you simply didn’t have the energy for that.

After giving a quick wave and a “ho, ho ho, merry christmas” to the audience, charles left the stage and went back to change out of the itchy red costume with the help of Carlos this time.

By the time Charles had gotten back to the limo, Juliette was sound asleep in her car seat, not moving an inch when Charles got in, despite how loudly he was talking.

“Sorry it took so long, the last button got stuck or something, I don’t know. I was worried I was going to be stuck in that thing forever” he said with a little laugh.

“It’s alright, I think the night wore Juliette out”

“I’d say so. Did she bring up the fact that you were kissing Santa again?”

You shook your head before leaning it against Charles’ shoulder. “Nope, thank goodness. She didn’t even notice that you weren’t at the table with us either, which I was also thankful for because I had already lied enough to her today.”

Charles smiled and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “You’re such a good mom, mon amour.”

You smiled and pulled him into another kiss, making this one last a bit longer than the first. “Am I?”

Charles smirked and nodded, his forehead resting against yours. “Mhm. Such a good mom that I’d love to have another little you or me around this time next year… what do you think?”

You laughed and squeezed his hand tightly. “I finally get to come back to the racetrack and now you want to put me on the sidelines again?”

Charles shook his head. “No, I think this time around we know what to expect so we can be more prepared and let the baby tag along to races.. Or leave the kids with grandma…”

You laughed and cuddled back into his side again. “Alrighty then, mr. claus. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if we can get a Christmas miracle.”

taglist- @hammick @Cl16msc47 @majkaftorek @04asheley16 @polyjuiceslytherin @Lizziebitch33 @viktorie16 @Johannalindau @Jamieeboulos @cedricdiggorysimpp @Southernprincess1997 @Myescapefromthislife @F1andbookslover @ferrarilover16 @my-fangirling-outlet

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 pov #lovelyleclercs christmas

763 notes · View notes

antimonyandthyme · 5 months

Text

martian; retirement (as told by oscar)

They do a massive barbecue at the end of Seb’s visit. Mark’s steaks have been soaking in some special homemade marinade for precisely six hours. He’s got enough potatoes to feed a farm.

He forgets the salad.

“You forgot the salad,” Seb says. He sounds absolutely delighted. He’s sounded this way ever since Mark picked him up at the airport. But even more so at the moment. “All that talk about this being the best meal I’ll get this side of town, and you forgot the salad.”

“He’ll never let me live this down,” Mark says.

“I won’t,” Seb confirms.

Oscar owes it to Mark to help, just a little bit. “Isn’t there a Woolworths just around the corner?”

Mark’s face does something very funny. It takes a moment for Oscar to realize Mark’s sulking, like he’s genuinely upset he has to get salad from a store. Like it’s not going to be good for Seb or something. As if Mark could put a burnt steak in front of Seb, and Seb wouldn’t eat as if his life depended on it. How do you go from crashing into each other to this?

Seb checks Mark in the hip, and pries the tongs out of Mark’s unwilling hand. Oscar watches as their fingers tangle, not so briefly, before they separate. “I won’t let the meat burn, I promise.”

Mark sighs, and goes to grab the car keys.

“Do me a favour,” Seb says, “accompany him for me, will you? Don’t let him get lost at the salad bar.”

“Do my best,” Oscar says. Something in Seb’s tone makes Oscar look. Really look. At Mark standing in front of the chilled chafing dishes containing coleslaw and mixed greens.

At Mark staring right past, lost in thought.

Oscar reaches for a takeout container, and ladles a heap of Caesar salad in. Decides to get a little fancy and scatter some goat cheese atop. He clears his throat, and Mark nearly jumps.

“I’ve had this before,” Oscar tries. He’s gunning for it blind here. “Totally decent salad. I’m sure Seb wouldn’t mind.”

Mark lets out a small chuff of laughter. “You could give him a slice of toast and he’d thank you for it.”

“Okay,” Oscar says. He clicks the tongs in his hand for something to do. Ting ting. Then he reaches for another takeout container, and spoons the Thai salad in. The more the merrier, Seb would agree. “So why—?”

“I keep trying to convince myself this wouldn’t be the last I see of him for awhile.”

“It won’t,” Oscar protests. “He’s retired now. He has more time.”

“For his bees, and the sailing, and the exploring, and the whatever that comes after retirement. So what should I say? Stay here instead?”

There isn’t an answer for that. Oscar can’t pretend he’s ever wanted that of someone. Maybe someday. Maybe never. Seb and Mark don’t seem to be enjoying it. The wanting that of someone.

The containers are getting ridiculously full. Mark doesn’t reach for them yet. So, delicately, Oscar sprinkles a layer of sesame seeds on top.

“We’ve been apart so often,” Mark says, unprompted. “We’ve had our own schedules most of our lives, and this isn’t any different. I know I’m being silly.”

“You’re not,” Oscar says. It doesn’t feel strange, saying that to someone he looks up to in every which way possible. Someone in charge of his future. He wants that devastation wiped off Mark’s face. “I’ve seen how you look at each other.”

It’s how Mark’s gaze is turned upwards whenever Seb’s telling a story, like a plant searching out the light. It’s how Seb’s eyes dance across everyone in the room before landing on Mark. Floating away, then settling back. Floating away, then settling back again. It’s never grandiose declarations like, Stay here with me forever. It’s the drifting, through landscape after landscape, and the returning each and every time.

“Maybe,” Oscar says, “if you asked.”

“If I asked, he would.”

Which is why Mark will never. Oscar knows that much about love, at least. Something about letting go. He snaps the lids of the containers shut. Mark trails after him, and only shakes out of his stupor when Oscar tries to pay for the salads.

Seb greets them at the door with an anxiousness Oscar’s familiar with. Tongs in his hand, Ting ting.

“Did you get lost?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Oscar says. Next to him, Mark stiffens. “Do you know how many varieties of salad Woolworths has?”

Mark presents the containers to Seb with a flourish. Their fingers overlay. Oscar imagines pressing his own hands on top, like Stay, stay.

Stay if you know what’s good for you.

“Oh my god,” Mark says.

The barbeque smells as if it’s caught fire.

“You like your meat well done, right?” Seb looks hopeful. He also looks like he’s on the verge of panic. Like the brief moment away from Mark had done him in. Made him forget his name, and all that comes with it, reputation and inheritance and legacy.

That gaze of Seb’s again, darting away, lingering on Mark, darting away, lingering on Mark once more.

“One forgets the salad, and one forgets the meat,” Oscar says. He kinda wants to yell at them for being idiots. He’s almost embarrassed for them both. Mostly, he’s just hungry. “The two of you deserve each other.”

But Mark’s laughing now, and Seb’s joined him, shoulders shaking. Oscar grumbles and goes to rummage around the kitchen for something edible. No one has ever said ex-Formula 1 drivers were smart. They’ve spent too long driving around in circles to understand that the quickest way from point A to B is a straight line.

Hah. That’s a good one.

There’s linguine in Mark’s cupboard, and two tins of unopened tomato sauce. Nothing goes better with potatoes than even more carbs.

“Expired in 2021,” Seb reads.

“I don’t care,” Oscar says fervently. “Can I leave the boiling of water to you, or will you burn that too?”

“I like him,” Seb says to Mark brightly. Mark gives Seb a look, watery and resigned and so fucking fond. “You’ll continue giving him a hard time for me, won’t you?”

“Do my best,” Oscar says.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #from a third person's pov #brought to you by that gifset #you know that one #that one where they look like kids at christmas waiting for each other #head in my hands #happy martian monday

110 notes · View notes

monikafilefan · 3 months

Text

Jingle Bells and Jealousy 2

Through the years, we all will be together

If the fates allow

Scully is trying incredibly hard to enjoy herself tonight, humming along to Sinatra, doing her best to refrain from scanning the masses in hopes of seeing Mulder’s distinguished profile amongst the crowd. He’d said he wasn’t coming and she unfortunately believes him. Forced merriment hides her disappointment well. Smiling politely behind her wine glass at coworkers she barely knows, going out of her way to wish A.D. Kersh and his wife a Merry Christmas. She prays her cheery disposition shines a positive light upon, not only herself, but her partner as well. Wherever the hell he is, she thinks, frustrated with herself as much as she is with him.

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

She tunes out the music to contemplate whether her unintentional evasiveness with Mulder regarding her “date” is the catalyst they need after his concussed “I love you” line in Bermuda she can’t stop thinking about, or just intentionally deceptive on her part. The flame of possessiveness that flared within his eyes when he’d assumed she was dating had sparked intrigue in her own. The fact that she was initially referring to him as her date to Skinner had flown right over her brilliant partner’s head. Throwing accusations her way should have just pissed her off, but it’s been his heated reaction in the aftermath that’s left her oddly reassured in his jealousy. She’d left the bullpen feeling wanted in ways she only fantasizes about alone in bed at night as her fingers slip between her thighs.

Her heart races at that thought.

Not since her rebellious run-in with Jerse has she seen her partner similarly flustered, and she’d be lying if she said it doesn’t thrill her. With Diana Fowley’s unwelcome presence continuously prodding at Scully’s penchant for jealousy, she’d selfishly allowed Mulder’s imaginative mind to run wild with the ridiculous idea that she has somehow found the will to date someone who isn’t him.

Scully bites her lip as guilt churns up waves of nausea in her gut.

“Merry Christmas, Agent Scully,” Agent Fields, whom she recognizes from the bullpen, interrupts her thoughts. The strong scent of bourbon on his breath makes her rock back on her heels. She supposes he’s been drinking from the punch bowl she’d spotted Tom Colton spiking earlier. “Where’s Spooky?”

“Merry Christmas,” she sighs wearily into her wine glass and walks away.

She’s leaving, she decides, as she squeezes her way through the throng of swaying bodies and twinkling decor. She doesn’t really want to be here without Mulder by her side anyway. She’s turned down three drunken dance offers already and Kersh could care less if she’s here to play nice in hopes of getting off desk duty. The more time she spends at this party, the more she wishes she was lounging on Mulder’s couch, sharing cartons of bad Chinese, and watching A Christmas Story.

“Oh!” she squeaks in surprise, bumping into the stalwart chest of the man moving toward her. Her wine spills over the rim of her glass as they nearly knock one another from their feet. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, no!” he laments, holding her close as she finds her footing. “Agent Scully, it’s me who’s sorry. I saw you coming, but I couldn’t move. It’s like a mosh pit in here,” he laughs.

She chuckles in return. “Well, it seems we both got caught in the crowd.”

Holiday music continues to play far too loudly for those who aren’t three sheets to the wind as the man she now realizes is Special Agent Derek Jenkins from the fingerprint lab leans close to hear. He’s a new hire in the lab. A sweet, handsome man who has flirted shamelessly with her three times in the last week… and still, she remains unequivocally uninterested.

“Agent Jenkins, hello.”

“Call me Derek, please.” He steers her towards an empty corner, cupping her dripping wine glass with his palm. “Let me help you.”

“Oh, that’s not necess-” Before Scully protests further, the agent spins around and snags a Santa-shaped napkin from one of the mini round tables sprinkled about the reception hall, thrusting it her way. “I appreciate it.”

He waves a finger by her head. “You have a splash of wine in your hair there. By your eye.” Flustered, Scully swipes the napkin through her hair. “Missed it. I’ll get it.”

He reaches up to pinch the stray strand soaked with wine between his fingertips and tucks it behind her ear.

“Thanks, Agent Jen- Derek.” Hiding her embarrassment, she takes a step back, her shoulder knocking a bundle of mistletoe to the floor that was taped on the wall. She sighs, “I’m not usually this uncoordinated.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Derek grins brightly and picks up the plastic flower, twirling it around his finger. If she’d met him sooner, say six years and one Fox Mulder ago, she could have easily been swept off her feet by his charm. “Where’s Agent Mulder? I mean, uh, not to be abrupt, but you’re not with someone, are you?”

The hopeful gleam in his brown eyes makes her blush. The earnest, puppy dog look of them mimics Mulder when he awaits her opinion on whether or not a case is an X-File.

“I…” Scully finds she has no idea how to answer that layered question without a hint of honesty, and Christmas seems like a terrible time to lie.

Is she with someone? Her mind rewinds to moments of commitment she’d made in the past: shaking her new partner’s hand, risking her life multiple times to keep him that way, then telling him she wouldn’t change a day.

“I suppose I am,” she finally says.

Scully expects her face to flush at the admission. Expects the entirety of the FBI to turn and point at Mrs. Spooky as they collect their bets. Instead, she’s oddly at peace with her confession to someone she hardly knows.

Derek nods in understanding, as if he’d already known the answer, giving her arms a gentle squeeze. “So for clarity’s sake, you’re not interested in pursuing a relationship with… let’s say, someone like me. Not when you’re already in one.”

Scully licks her lips, her breath catching.

She could deny the unyielding hold Mulder has held on her heart since March of ‘93. They’ve never even kissed, for God’s sake. But after years of living and breathing for only each other, she can’t. She won’t.

So she smiles instead, “I suppose not.”

“Your partner, then?” Derek mumbles to himself when instant awareness pulls his pout into a smirk.

Her silence is all the confirmation they need as she and Derek share a good-natured chuckle. This unexpected run-in has somehow left her more content in her feelings than she has in a while. Despite Scully’s unease of Diana’s position in Mulder’s past, personally and professionally, she can no longer repress the way her best friend completes her.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time

Another song reverberates through the loudspeaker nearby. The upbeat tempo matches the buoyant shift in Scully’s mood. She barely registers that Derek’s arms are still bracketing hers, or the swift way he leans down to speak closer.

“I suppose I already knew that, but thank you for being honest with me. And with yourself too, it seems,” Derek says knowingly in her ear before pressing the mistletoe into her hand. “Merry Christmas, Agent Scully.”

At that moment, someone in the crowd loses their balance and bumps into Scully from behind, jolting her forward. Derek’s lips accidently graze the corner of her mouth, and remarkably, they both ignore the mishap as if it never happened. Being bounced around like holiday pin balls seems like a regular occurrence tonight.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Scully replies and turns around just in time to see a flash of familiar green eyes narrowing in on hers.

What a bright time, it's the right time

To rock the night away

“Mulder?” Scully blinks and he’s gone, vanishing within the horde of ugly Christmas sweaters.

Scully’s heart hammers harder with every step she takes toward the opposite side of the room.

Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet

That's the jingle bell

“Mulder!” she hollers, stretching on tip-toe to see where he’s gone. But it’s worthless. The music is too damn loud and the people too damn tall to make a difference.

That's the jingle bell

As she weaves her way through the maze of tinsel and blow-up reindeer decor, she spots Skinner wiping frosting from his candy cane tie at the dessert table. No wonder she’d never seen Mulder all the way back here. She’s trembling, rubbing her arms with worry by the time she reaches the A.D.. Panic at the realization of what Mulder must have seen and misinterpreted practically radiates through the fuzz of her green sweater.

That's the jingle bell

“Agent Scully, glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Sir, have you seen Mulder?” she blurts.

Skinner frowns down at an ink-stained paper plate he’s holding with black horns drawn atop Santa’s head. “He left already?”

Her eyes slip shut.

That's the jingle bell rooock

***

Scully shivers as she walks down the snow-dusted sidewalk. Her heels clack purposefully along the pavement, her heart beating in time with her vapored puffs of breath. She’s winded by the time she spots Mulder’s car idling at the curbside. The buttery light from the streetlamp above slices through the thick snowflakes pouring from the sky and illuminating his downcasted profile.

Scully knocks on the window.

Mulder startles, turning his forlorn stare onto hers peering in from the passenger side. He mouths her name in confusion and leans across the car to push open the door for her.

“Hey,” he says, surprised, as she climbs in and shuts the door. “Scully, you’re freezing. Where’s your coat?”

She shrugs and flexes her cold fingers in front of the blast of heat coming through the vents. “Inside where I left it.”

He’s silent for a moment. They both are, as a somber tone falls around them like the snow outside. Mulder frowns and reaches over to gently cradle her icy hands between his. They’re big and warm, and God, she practically melts the moment his plush lips drag across her fingertips.

“You came,” she whispers.

Her voice catches the moment she notices through the dimness how impressively handsome he is tonight. His black tux is taut in all the right places, hugging his strong shoulders and toned thighs perfectly.

He rubs the hot huffs of his breath into her knuckles as his honey-green eyes silently study her. “Where you go, I go, right?”

Her stomach twists tourniquet tight.

This guilt and aggravation is making her nauseous. After Antarctica, Scully knows exactly how true his statement is. She also knows she has every right to date whoever she wants and kiss whomever she pleases. But that’s not what she’s been doing, and as much as she has considered that option previously out of self-preservation, she’s never actually done either of those things for a reason. Even during the darkest days of their partnership, she has never yearned for anyone but him.

Scully laces her fingers through his. “I know.”

“Scully…”

“Shh.” She cuts him off with a bold nuzzle of her chin against their tangled hands, her free one reaching up to straighten his crooked bowtie. “You’re so handsome.”

He chuckles darkly. “Seems as though the Christmas casual memo never made it to my inbox.”

“You wouldn’t have read it anyway,” she teases.

“Ah, you know me well.”

They both smirk, their faces only inches apart, their thumbs gliding easily across one another’s. It seems two glasses of wine have softened her edges and weakened her resolve to keep her hands to herself. Wind whistling as it blows over the hood of the car breaks their locked gaze. The snow is falling faster now, layering the Taurus’s windshield in a pillowy white blanket.

Mulder squeezes her hand.

“I’m sorry, Scully.” His voice breaks. She closes her eyes and squeezes right back. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But about what I said earlier, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to point fingers — pencils, actually,” he chuffs.

“Mulder.” Her tone conveys how much she finds his apology unnecessary in light of her own envious reactions in recent months. “I know that, too.”

“Being honest, all I want is for you to be happy. No matter who you’re with. But I thought after what happened my hallway it would’ve… Well, I was caught off guard by the thought of you dating,” he mutters with a shrug. “That’s my problem, though. Not yours, Scully.”

“I think I know what you saw in there that upset you, Mulder, but I can assure you it’s not what you’ve assumed.” Her tongue sweeps across her lip. “There was no date. There was no kiss.”

“You- there wasn’t?”

She looks him square in the eyes, because there is no one else.

“No, Mulder. I ran into Agent Jenkins — literally, and we talked. And I have to confess that I realized when you questioned me in the bullpen, I liked that you were territorial of me. It made me feel… vindicated.”

“Because of Diana.” It’s not a question but a statement born of recognition.

Scully nods, her face flushing. “But I only ever wanted to spend tonight with you.”

“Maybe Skinner was right. I do need to pull my head outta my ass,” he mumbles. Her brow arches at that. “I just thought I saw you and Jenkins…”

“But you didn’t.”

“Not really my business, though.” His curious eyes search hers. “Is it?”

She leans forward to rest her cheek against the edge of his headrest. He senses her tactile need and palms her jaw with the hand not clutched within her own. She turns into him as she contemplates her response, cascading her mouth across his thumb. It feels so good, but it’s not only his touch that has her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird, it’s all of him. It’s always been him.

“What if I want it to be?”

“That depends… is that you or the wine talking?”

She scoffs, “ Mulder -”

“How do you feel about me, Scully?” His pout twitches as he stares at her. Into her, with such unfiltered affection Scully’s heart can barely endure it all. “Because I know exactly how I feel about you. You’re my favorite person. My best friend, my one and five billion. And, I love you.”

Tears sting her eyes and her stomach swoops to her knees. She’s warm, flushed, as if her partner is the sun and he has finally shone his rays upon her upturned face.

“God, Mulder.”

“ Head injury aside, I meant what I said in Bermuda.” His forehead touches hers. “I fell in love with you, Scully.”

“W-when?” Her chest is suddenly so tight she can barely breathe. “When did you…”

“Uh, I don’t… I’m not really sure. I just know I did.”

She nods against him, because nodding is all she can do as her heart races and eyes blur. Because she’d wanted to believe his endearing words in Bermuda badly, but she was too afraid to risk it all on her misguided hope. Because as intense and frustrating as their inseparability is sometimes, their connection defies the laws of nature: the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and Scully endlessly loves Mulder.

“Scully?”

“I-” Her lashes flutter away tears. God, she’s dizzy, knowing what she’s about to do next. “I think I’ve always been in love with you, Mulder.”

He inhales sharply, maybe a little surprised by her candor. But then his hand is cradling the back of her arched neck and pulling her into a tight hug, his other arm wrapping around to caress the small of her back. “Scully.”

“You’re the only one, Mulder,” she whispers fiercely as she hugs him back, her cold nose pressed into the warmth of his neck. “You’re my one and five billion, too.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that outside of my dreams,” he whispers into her hair and rocks her back and forth along the seats, quivering in her grip as they cling to each other.

Scully presses a lingering kiss to the humming pulse point in his neck. She can feel his rushing adrenaline thundering under her lips. She smiles, her own heart racing, a little lightheaded after uttering secrets of her heart aloud. But relief of her confession rises like bubbles beneath her skin because she has said it to Mulder: the man she trusts and loves more than anyone.

Mulder pulls back and looks at her. She knows her eyes are wide and wet, her cheeks pink as she tips her chin upward, aching for him to kiss her. “I have mistletoe,” he says wryly.

Scully laughs and reaches into her pocket, pulling out the one she’d knocked from the Bureau’s wall. “Me too.”

He grins, nodding to his own red and green flower shoved in the car’s ashtray. “You think we need them?”

The husk in his voice vibrating against her jaw pulls a deep moan from her mouth. “Mulder, please. ”

He moans back while peppering soft, tender kisses across her jawline, up her cheek, and to the corner of her parted lips. She clutches his tux in her fists and gives it an impatient tug as his mouth finally melds with hers. Their kissing is gentle, insistent, and the way their tongues glide against one another sends tingles straight down her spine.

“Come with me tomorrow,” she mumbles in his mouth. Her eagerness may surprise him, but she wholeheartedly means it. She can’t and won’t hide the thinly veiled tone of desperation. She is desperate for him, after all. “Come to my mother’s.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas, Scully.”

“I know.” Her hand dips beneath the jacket of his tux to splay her hand over his racing heart. “Christmas won’t mean anything without you, Mulder.”

His chin trembles. “Where you go, I go.”

Scully nearly sobs in relief. She dips her chin to hide her swollen-lipped smirk within the lapel of his tux.

“What're you thinking?” She feels the heat of his breath tickling her skin, his rumbling voice seeping deep into her bones.

Scully thinks that their partnership is not a mundane pairing. That it’s an intricately weaved relationship, a mass of fine-tuned threads tying them together. But she knows she cannot imagine a life without him in it.

“I think…” she lingers with her words, staring at their discarded mistletoe meant for only each other. “I think you should kiss me again, Mulder.”

“Again and again,” he promises before his mouth passionately possesses hers, their bodies tangling like twine.

“More,” she husks, and Mulder’s long leg bumps the radio’s dial, blasting “Jingle Bell Rock” through the speakers.

“And to think I thought I hated this song,” he quips with a nip to her bottom lip, kissing her again and again, just like he’d promised, until the fog on the windows is as thick as the love between them.

That’s the jingle bell rooock

#msr fanfic #chapter 2/2 #scully’s pov #angst #romance #christmas

66 notes · View notes