#but then warming up to each other on the road because road trips have my soul when it comes to movies ok

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[oceanicwriting]

hey, bro!

summary: where mattheo riddle is obsessed with his best friend sister, and for the first time, he can fuck her without protection and now he doesn't give a fuck about who knows what. not even his best friend.

pairing(s): non-wizard mattheo riddle x non-wizard female!reader

a/n: i'm so sooooorry this took me a while to post... but here it is! i'm still doing my road trip and i have no idea when i'll be back, but i have some good ideas if you are patient with me hehe.

+18 smut, unprotected sex, missionary, praising

ㅤㅤㅤ —mattheo, —you moan as you feel his lips descend to the neckline of your shirt—. mattheo, wait.

ㅤㅤㅤ you thought he would ignore your voice because he easily lifts you up to sit on the counter, standing between your legs ready to receive him. although he continues to caress you with his large palms, he seems attentive to listen to what you have to say.

ㅤㅤㅤ —we can’t do this, —you whisper, looking him straight into his soft puppy brown eyes—. theodore could catch us, and we both know that would be fatal.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i can handle it, —he says, smiling and leaning in to kiss you again—. where does all this guilt come from, baby? i don't remember these words when we did it at my house, my car, the beach, the closet, the bathroom...

ㅤㅤㅤ you roll your eyes at his tone. funny but ironic.

ㅤㅤㅤ —get to the point.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo caresses your face with one of his hands, moving his thumb delicately over your cheekbone lit up red. his other hand travels to your back, where the neckline of the shirt allows him to feel your warm skin against the tip of his fingers. a shiver runs through your body, as weak as ever to his cold touch.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i don't think all the other times you cared so much. —you hated that his gaze enjoys so much seeing even the slightest reaction of your body to his presence—. theodore is drunk and, minutes ago, he went with my cousin to his room. why is that not illegal?

ㅤㅤㅤ you laugh, playing with the collar of his black t-shirt.

ㅤㅤㅤ —besides, it's my fault that his sister is so fucking hot? —he questions, letting out a soft laugh.

ㅤㅤㅤ you give him a punch on the shoulder as he tries to lean in to kiss you again. lately, he didn’t seem to care if theodore, your brother, found out about you two, and it was driving you a little crazy. mattheo growls at your action and raises his eyebrows in confusion.

ㅤㅤㅤ —not here. go to my room in five. —you jump off the furniture, pushing mattheo against the wall.

ㅤㅤㅤ —there’s my girl.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo riddle and theodore nott have been friends since they were five. when they met, after your family moved to his neighborhood, you had just turned three. over time, the brunette became a constant figure at home. now the two great friends shared an apartment near the university in the busy streets of london.

ㅤㅤㅤ your story with mattheo is somewhat different. sure, you knew each other since you were little, but theodore became an overprotective brother by the time. no one could ever get close to his little sister, much less his friends who he knew so well. everything turned upside down when you turned thirteen, and your parents sent you to a boarding school for girls in the outskirts of the country. you didn't see mattheo again until a year ago, where all kinds of things started to go wrong.

ㅤㅤㅤ the first time you two had a run-in was eight months ago. theodore, after having insisted for hours, took you to a party with the strict condition of not being near his friends. the big problem started when your brother drank so much that he was unable to drive the car, and mattheo was the only sane one to take you home. if your brother hadn't drank more than he should have, you wouldn't have had the slightest intention of getting close to them, and everything that's happening with mattheo would never have blossomed.

ㅤㅤㅤ from that time on, mattheo started looking for you, and even if you insisted that it was forbidden, nothing could stop the desire of your eager bodies.

ㅤㅤㅤ and that's how you've ended up, once again, whimpering under his sticky body. you're not fully aware of how many times you've cum under the brunette's caresses, but you're sure you've enjoyed each one of them. the labored breathing, aroma of the room, and condoms thrown on the floor were proof of that.

ㅤㅤㅤ —shit, —he whispers, coming out of you to throw away the condom that was squeezing his cock—. so perfect. and just for me.

ㅤㅤㅤ you barely smile because you're still a little lost from the explosion of sensations you'd experienced seconds ago. mattheo, until now, had tested your pussy until exhaustion. he had bitten, licked, and sucked every corner of your naked body with the need to mark you until the last day of your life. of course, as fascinating as everything he'd done before, burying himself in you over and over again wasn't going to be left out of the long night.

ㅤㅤㅤ —how i love to see your face after the orgasm —he whispers, caressing your legs, standing between them—. so beautiful and bright.

ㅤㅤㅤ seeing him naked and stained by soft pink marks can only awaken a new wave of need that intoxicates you. it is an unrecognizable force of desire that generates all kinds of thoughts loaded with lust. then, motivated by instinct, you hug his waist with your legs and pull his arm.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what is this? —he questions, resting one of his hands on the bed so as not to crush you—. seconds ago, you were screaming that you couldn't take it anymore.

ㅤㅤㅤ there is a hint of concern in his voice for taking you to an unknown limit, but also a certain mockery that does not go unnoticed, motivating you to rub your pussy against his slowly hardening crotch. it was as clear as the day that mattheo riddle could never resist you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —mattheo. —the guttural moan that escapes your lips is enough to make him lose his mind a little—. i need you to fuck me again. i need to feel every inch of you, please.

ㅤㅤㅤ —baby, i don't...

ㅤㅤㅤ knowing exactly what he was going to say and taking the initiative, you speak—. i don’t want you to use a condom. please, mattheo, i need to feel it all inside me.

ㅤㅤㅤ how could he think straight when you’re rubbing yourself shamelessly, his lip marks glistening on your chest, and you’re smiling like the devil himself has possessed you?

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo’s lips tangle with yours in a messy, exhausted, needy kiss. it was such a strange mix that your heart skips a beat against your chest. he settles against your pussy, finding your entrance and gently pushing himself inside you. he didn’t want to go fast because mattheo wanted to remember every corner of your insides with agony.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you feel so good.

ㅤㅤㅤ when his member is completely inside you, you feel his warm skin throbbing and stretching your muscles to the limit. the feeling of that connection drove you completely crazy because being with mattheo was already dangerous territory, and having him inside you without any barriers was even more exciting.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do it slowly —you ask, moving your hips to let him know that he could move.

ㅤㅤㅤ just as you had asked, mattheo does not rush. his entries and exits are smooth, enjoying the exquisiteness of your hot interior. he was fascinated by the way your muscles embraced him, sliding without problem against your walls that could have made him cum from the first moment.

ㅤㅤㅤ soft moans begin to escape from mattheo's lips, forcing you to pay attention to those sounds that you had rarely heard. they were loud, husky, and shameless, perfectly matching the clash of your bodies and your own moans.

ㅤㅤㅤ —shit, i could get addicted to this. feeling you like never before, —he whispers, kissing your chest and speeding up the movement of his hips—. but i can’t take it anymore.

ㅤㅤㅤ a soft cry escapes your mouth at the speed that tickles the inside of your body. mattheo separates his chest from yours, raising your hips held by his hands and burying himself deeper this time. you try to keep your composure, but it’s impossible not to whimper and shudder.

ㅤㅤㅤ —mattheo, i can’t... —a stream of tears escapes down your reddened face—. i need to cum.

ㅤㅤㅤ he doesn't respond, dropping your body back against the bed and stimulating your clit with one of his fingers. the simple contact makes you arch your back in unrecognizable pleasure, clouding your gaze.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so stupidly cute, —he whispers, admiring the way his cock comes in and out of you to discover every corner of your interior—. you're going to look so gorgeous after this. come on, baby, cum for me.

ㅤㅤㅤ you close your eyes tightly, moaning loudly at the amount of sensations that whip through your entire body. then, you feel it, a relieving heat that runs through your entire body accompanied by a soft pop. mattheo has just left your interior to cum in your abdomen, while a soft convulsion releases your own orgasm.

ㅤㅤㅤ you can’t open your eyes because you’re too tired, irritated, and relieved to do so. mattheo takes the liberty of cleaning you up, tidying the room soon after.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you can’t fall asleep, —you whisper, feeling the heaviness of his arm around you—. mattheo?

ㅤㅤㅤ —i know, baby. i know.

ㅤㅤㅤ and the truth is, you should have found the strength to get him out of the room, but you didn’t, waking up the next morning with his arm still squeezing you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —mattheo!? —it's a little scream that you have to stifle with your own hand, getting out of bed and watching him wake up lazily—. shit! mattheo, wake up. you have to go. now.

ㅤㅤㅤ —five minutes...

ㅤㅤㅤ —what? —you climb onto the bed, pushing him towards the edge as best you can—. shit. come on, please, mattheo...

ㅤㅤㅤ and the silly smile that appears on his face at your useless efforts doesn't help the panic growing in your chest. then he pulls your arm, making you fall on top of his bare chest.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you know that you're wearing my shirt? i can't leave without it.

ㅤㅤㅤ the truth is that you hadn't realized that until he mentions it. mattheo, in an attempt to kiss your lips, approaches your face with impulse.

ㅤㅤㅤ —if that's what you need to get out of the fucking bed.

ㅤㅤㅤ and mattheo shines at the idea of ​​seeing your tits. however, the second you try to take off the garment over your head, your door bursts open. theodore nott, your brother, is now part of the equation.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what the fuck am i looking at? —at each word he pauses a little, exchanging his gaze between you and his best friend.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo has jumped out of bed, and the obviousness, given his semi-nakedness, is comical.

ㅤㅤㅤ —god! —you approach your brother, determined to push him out of your room—. why the hell are you coming in without knocking?

ㅤㅤㅤ —hey, bro!

ㅤㅤㅤ if it weren't for the fact that you know that's the worst thing he could say, you would have considered that goofy smile one of the cutest you've ever seen on his face.

ㅤㅤㅤ —shut the fuck up! —theodore bellows, pulling his best friend closer—. i'll talk to you later. walk, motherfucker.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theodore, wait!

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo doesn't seem to have the best face in the world, but he doesn't seem sorry or afraid either. what the hell is wrong with him today?

ㅤㅤㅤ —see you soon, baby.

ㅤㅤㅤ and you can hear mattheo receive a blow, followed by your brother's voice saying—: you're not going to see her anytime soon, shit face. what the hell do you think you're doing...?

[grapejuicebrat]

just friends - d.s.

warnings: none just disgustingly cute imagine😛

my masterlist

———

You had always been close with Madelyn. Ever since you met on set of one of her projects, the two of you clicked instantly. Movie nights, spontaneous road trips, and long FaceTime calls became routine. Naturally, through her, you met Drew Starkey.

At first, he was just Madelyn’s friend. Then, he was your friend, too.

And maybe—just maybe—you wished he was something more.

It wasn’t your fault he made it so hard not to fall for him.

Like right now.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Drew announced, dramatically throwing down his controller. “I can’t beat you at this game. It’s physically impossible.”

You grinned, biting your lip to hide your victory laugh. “You say that every time, and yet you still challenge me.”

Drew groaned, flopping backward onto the couch beside you, one arm draped lazily across his face. “Because I have hope. Hope that one day, I’ll witness a miracle and actually win.”

Madelyn, sitting across the room, snorted. “I’ve been trying to tell you, Drew. She’s undefeated.”

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his blue eyes playful. “How does it feel being this good at everything?”

You shrugged, nudging his leg with your sock-clad foot. “It’s a burden, honestly.”

Drew laughed, the warm, boyish sound making your heart do a stupid little flip.

Madelyn, ever the observer, smirked knowingly but said nothing.

It wasn’t weird that Drew always ended up sitting next to you, right? That his arm would somehow end up draped across the couch behind you, or that his fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your hoodie? Totally normal friend behavior.

Right?

“Okay, I want ice cream,” Madelyn declared, standing up and stretching. “You guys coming?”

Drew barely reacted. Instead, he turned his head to look at you, eyebrows raised in silent question.

You exhaled dramatically. “Fine, but only if I get to pick the music in the car.”

Drew grinned. “Deal.”

———

The three of you ended up at your favorite little ice cream shop, the kind with fairy lights hanging outside and an old-school jukebox playing soft tunes in the corner.

As you stood in line, Drew nudged your shoulder with his. “What are you getting?”

You pursed your lips. “Undecided. Might need to try a few flavors first.”

Drew rolled his eyes with a smile. “Of course you do.”

When it was finally your turn, you asked for a sample of at least three flavors before deciding. Drew just stood there, watching with amusement, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

“C’mon, just get cookies and cream,” he teased.

You scrunched your nose. “That’s your favorite.”

He grinned. “Exactly. Because it’s the best.”

You ended up going with a different flavor just to spite him. When you sat down at a small outdoor table, Drew immediately leaned over and stole a spoonful from your cup.

You gasped. “Drew!”

He just smirked. “What? You stole mine first.”

Madelyn, sitting across from you, wiggled her eyebrows. “You guys are cute.”

You nearly choked. “We’re—”

“Not dating,” Drew finished smoothly, though something unreadable flickered in his expression.

Madelyn just hummed, clearly unconvinced.

———

As the night went on, the three of you sat outside, talking and laughing under the glow of string lights. Drew’s knee bumped against yours more than once, but he didn’t move it away. When you shivered slightly from the night breeze, he wordlessly pulled off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders, his fingertips grazing your collarbone for just a second too long.

Your stomach fluttered.

“Thanks,” you murmured, tugging it closer.

Drew just smiled, soft and warm. “Anytime.”

Madelyn, sipping her milkshake, smirked behind her straw. “You two are so oblivious.”

You turned to glare at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She just shrugged. “Nothing. Just… funny how you steal each other’s food, sit way too close, share clothes…”

Drew chuckled. “We’re friends, Maddie.”

Madelyn hummed again like she knew something you didn’t. “Sure. Friends.”

———

Later, when Drew drove you home, the car was quiet except for the soft hum of the playlist you picked.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You know, Mads isn’t wrong.”

You looked at him, startled. “About what?”

Drew glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “About us.”

Your heart skipped. “What do you mean?”

Drew exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. “I don’t know. It’s just… I like being around you. Always have.”

Something warm settled in your chest. “I like being around you too.”

He turned to you again at a red light, something unreadable in his blue eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded, barely breathing. “Yeah.”

Drew’s lips twitched like he wanted to say more, but the light turned green, and he faced forward again.

But the air between you felt different now.

Maybe you and Drew were just friends.

But the way he looked at you tonight?

Maybe you weren’t just anything.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Snowed-In Together | LN4

❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando’s road trip to a cabin turns into a bickering match, but after a heartfelt moment, they share a kiss. By the end of the storm, their rivalry has transformed into something more.

❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.3k

The drive up to the cabin was supposed to be relaxing. Christmas lights twinkled along the roadside, and the snow had been falling softly—at least until the storm rolled in. Y/N and Lando, stuck in the same car thanks to their mutual friends’ poor planning, were now bickering endlessly.

“This is your fault,” Y/N said, shooting him a glare as the wipers struggled against the heavy snow.

“My fault?” Lando retorted, his voice rising in indignation. “You’re the one who insisted on stopping for coffee. I said we should keep going before the weather got worse!”

“Right, because skipping caffeine is the key to safe driving,” she snapped.

Every shared moment seemed to turn into a battle of wills—one neither could ever admit enjoying, even though their friends joked about their "chemistry."

It wasn’t chemistry, Y/N thought as they pulled into the snowy driveway. It was just him being insufferable.

They’d barely made it to the cabin before the storm hit full force. Inside, their friends were already settled, fires lit, drinks poured, and the best rooms claimed. Y/N and Lando, arriving last, were left with the drafty, freezing room at the far end of the cabin.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Y/N muttered, eyeing the twin beds.

Lando, standing behind her with his bag slung over his shoulder, let out a sharp laugh. “This is going to be fun.”

“Define fun,” she shot back, dropping her bag onto one of the beds.

_________________________________________________

The storm was relentless, the wind howling against the windows as the snow piled higher outside. The cabin, warm and cozy in the main living area, felt like a refuge—unless you were Lando or Y/N.

They’d spent the evening snapping at each other over every little thing.

“Who chooses Die Hard over Love Actually during Christmas?” Y/N demanded, clutching the remote.

“People with taste,” Lando retorted, lounging on the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Their friends exchanged knowing glances, clearly amused by the bickering.

“You two should probably just kiss and get it over with,” one of them teased.

Y/N spluttered, her cheeks flushing. “Excuse me? As if that would ever happen.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his smirk infuriating. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The next day, the storm had worsened, leaving them completely snowed in. The cabin was cut off from the outside world, and the power flickered ominously throughout the morning.

Wrapped in a blanket, Y/N sat by the window, sipping tea and trying to ignore Lando’s presence as he sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

“You’re surprisingly quiet,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Maybe because I’ve run out of ways to insult you,” she shot back, though there was no real bite in her tone.

He smirked, setting his phone down. “Impressive. I didn’t think that was possible.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Later that afternoon, Y/N busied herself with unpacking some Christmas decorations their friends had brought. Lando, clearly bored, wandered over and started rummaging through the box.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Decorating,” she said shortly, not looking at him.

He wandered over, picking up a small, hand-painted ornament. “What’s this?”

“Don’t touch that!” she said, snatching it from his hands.

He blinked, surprised by her tone. “Relax, I wasn’t going to break it.”

“It’s fragile,” she said softly, her fingers brushing over the chipped paint.

“It’s just an ornament,” he teased, but his voice had lost some of its edge.

“It’s not just an ornament,” she replied, her tone sharp. “It’s... it belonged to my grandparents.”

Lando’s teasing smirk faded, replaced by something softer. “Oh.”

“They gave it to me when I was little,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “It’s the only thing I have left of them.”

The room fell quiet, and for a moment, Lando seemed at a loss for words. Then, in a voice softer than she’d ever heard from him, he said, “I didn’t mean to joke about it. I get it... holding on to things like that.”

Y/N looked up, startled by his sincerity. “You do?”

He nodded, his gaze distant. “Yeah. It’s not the same, but... Christmas isn’t really the same for me anymore. With racing, I’m always away from my family. It’s like I’ve lost that connection to it, you know?”

Her heart softened, the walls she’d built around him crumbling just a little. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “You never asked.”

Something shifted between them in that moment, the usual sharpness of their banter replaced by an unfamiliar warmth.

That night, the power went out completely, plunging the cabin into darkness. The fireplace provided some warmth, but the room they shared was freezing. Y/N huddled under her blankets, shivering, until Lando spoke up.

“You’re going to freeze over there,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

“I’m fine,” she replied through chattering teeth.

“Stop being stubborn,” he said, his voice laced with irritation and concern. She heard him get up, and before she could protest, he was climbing into her bed, pulling his blanket over hers. “There. Better?”

She glared at him, though the warmth was undeniably welcome. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Yeah, well, you never do,” he said, his voice soft but laced with amusement and settling beside her. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

The bed was small, and the proximity was unnerving. She could feel the heat of his body, his scent—woodsy and faintly sweet—lingering in the air.

“You’re annoying,” she muttered, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.

“And you’re stubborn,” he countered, his lips curving into a small smile.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. Something in his expression softened, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

“Why do we do this?” she asked quietly.

“Do what?”

“Argue. Fight. Act like we hate each other.”

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. His gaze was intense, but not in the mocking way she was used to. “Maybe because it’s easier than admitting the truth.”

Her breath hitched. “What truth?”

“That you drive me absolutely mad,” he said, as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his voice low and unsteady. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Lando...”

Her lips parted in surprise, but before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

She didn’t.

When his lips met hers, it was soft at first, almost hesitant. But as the kiss deepened, months of tension and unspoken feelings spilled out between them. Her hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded with a quiet, desperate intensity that made her head spin.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together.

“Well,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his, “that escalated quickly.”

He chuckled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Guess we were overdue.”

_________________________________________________

By the time the snowstorm passed, everything between them had changed. The biting remarks and sharp retorts were gone, replaced by teasing smiles and stolen touches. Their friends noticed, of course, but no one said anything—at least, not yet.

As they packed up to leave, Lando lingered by her car, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“So,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “what happens now?”

She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “What do you want to happen?”

His smile was slow, warm, and a little unsure. “I want... whatever this is. You and me.”

Her heart fluttered, but she managed to keep her voice steady. “Good. Because I want that too.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss her again, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

As she drove away, her cheeks flushed and her lips tingling, she couldn’t help but smile. The storm had left them with something unexpected, something real—and she couldn’t wait to see where it led.

[rwrbficrecs]

Our September & October recs ❤️

make lemonade by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@dot524: This author consistently posts stellar works but I often finish wanting more of that world. This one is nice and long — yay! I loved this meet-cute where Alex’s daughter Claudia has a lemonade stand and Henry is one of their favorite customers. This was a bit of an exploration of divorced dad (single dad) Alex. His mixed feelings about coparenting and starting a new relationship were nicely developed. Such a great warm fuzzy fic, with a nice bit of angst and character development mixed in to make things interesting. And I loved the kid character, Claudia!

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by @coffeecatsme (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This road trip AU is so fun, partly because of how soft our favorite boys are, but also just because of Alex's bright personality throughout the whole thing, and the faith and hope that's a critical part of the book!

we should get married by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: I had heard people talking about this green card marriage AU for months, and the hype was definitely warranted (as with all of this author's writing)! Little details from the book used in a new way, instant attraction, both of them being exactly what the other needs, exploration of other relationship dynamics within the book... this fic has so much depth in its 4 chapters, and it's fantastic!

Cleansing Downpour by @sprigsofviolets (book-verse)

@na-dineee: It often seems like things between June and Nora were always easy, like they were just meant to be. But what if it wasn't that simple? Feeling stuck in life, June is caught between writing a book she’s starting to hate, and navigating her growing feelings for her best friend. A beautifully written story of change, friendship and love, and figuring out who you really are.

runaway now and forever more by tonystarked (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Aged Alex and Henry, a US Senator and an English Prince, have been pining for each other for what feels like forever. Could tonight, at a glamorous charity event, finally be the night they open up to one another? This beautifully heart-wrenching and incredibly poetic fic has been stuck in my head ever since I read it!

The Candy Tax by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is absolutely adorable! It's the perfect nostalgia trip for anyone who went trick or treating, and it incorporates some of the pop culture references from the book in the best ways that just add to what make this fic so cute!

Heart enough by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: What if Henry's the one who has to travel for the apology tour and instead of celebrating New Year's, they have a Halloween party? This fic adds so many layers and soft moments to the original, but still includes the heart and references we all love!

Halloween at Kensington by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is the Arthur POV of Halloween when his kids are little I didn't know I needed until I read it- this is so adorable, and Henry and Phillip's characterization in it is perfect!

I was cold as a stone (but I found what I'm lookin' for) by @miharaikko (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Author Henry has retreated to a small, secluded cabin in the mountains, hoping it will spark some writing inspiration. That's where he meets Alex, the owner of the cabin... The mountain and campfire vibes are absolutely wonderful. It's such a fluffy and heartfelt one-shot – just as recommendable as the other fics in the Flufftober: A Red Umbrella Collection.

Red, White and Royal Switcheroo by @xthelastknownsurvivorx (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This body swap AU left me wondering how everything would have been different in the rest of the story- it's that good! It has the heart and content of the original, plus moments that are brand new- and watching the boys pretend to be each other is fantastic!

Oblivion by @milowren29 (book-verse)

@dot524: This story has been on my reading list for a while and wow, did it live up to expectations! Alex and Henry are kidnapped during their visit to the hospital, and they trauma-bond during their experience. But what will happen afterward? How will this change things between them? The action, angst, and longing in here is spot-on and the storytelling is so well-done.

Sounds of Someday by dazedandconfused (book/movie-verse)

@na-dineee: USA 1972, three weeks on a road trip on the 'road to nowhere' heading toward Texas: writer Henry and farm boy Alex. This fic is so layered and full of hurt and emotions. The ending completely knocked the wind out of me. An absolute masterpiece, please everyone, read it – it's phenomenally good in terms of language, storytelling, and capturing the spirit of the time !!

blizzards and broken boundaries by @gayhoediaz (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Age gap – I love this trope with Henry and Alex. Here, it’s a 20+ year difference: Alex is a student, Henry his professor. Alex makes the move, Henry is very amenable. The alternating POV is so cleverly done, the tags say PWP, but I definitely felt all the feelings. Absolutely delicious!

These violent delights by @lizzie-bennetdarcy (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Henry as a vampire hunter in this fic is such an intriguing concept and the backstory of it and the fic's conflict is so well done!

With magic soakin' my spine, can you read my mind? by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Pining and magic and revelations abound in this fic that's written so well, it gave me chills. This fic is definitely a must-read if you want a canon divergent fic that has just a hint of magic!

to belong to a family (even beyond this world) by @read-and-write- (book-verse)

@suseagull04: The Mexican part of Alex's heritage absolutely shines through in this- and this is definitely a fic you want to read if you want Día de los Muertos fic and all the Arthur feels! I also love all the neurodiversity in this fic!

A Beautiful Reality by @tinyarmedtrex (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Priest!Henry is back. The second part of The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To Is When I'm Alone With You is out!! And – surprise: He’s not a priest anymore. But it’s not that easy to shake off those deeply rooted beliefs and Catholic guilt. Luckily, Alex is so patient and totally in love.

The Brightest Star by @aforgottennymph (book-verse)

@dot524: Single dad Alex meets children’s book author Henry, and they connect immediately. The obstacle in this story is Alex’s sense of duty to his daughter, Bia. She’s quick and creative, and she’s brimming with opinions. I’m a bit picky about OC’s and kids in fics, but this one was so well done. It’s full of fun dialogue and well-realized feelings and angst. Definitely check it out!

A Love That Haunts the Land by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Once again, this author has blended Mexican culture and RWRB in a way that's so authentic- plus there's magic! This is one you won't want to miss!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[amaranthineghost]

| MATCHING PAJAMA PANTS AND LATE NIGHTS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: how lando spends the holiday season with his girlfriend.

ꕥ authors note: didn't know what type of christmas imagine to write tor lando so I just decided to do this <3 also I'm impatiently waiting for the mini vegas helmet of his I ordered (I'm just a teenage girl <3)

ꕥ warnings: suggestive words

THE HOLIDAYS WITH LANDO NORRIS consisted of a few must-do things. ever since he started dating her, there were things he had to do with every celebration, christmas being no exception.

MATCHING PAJAMAS AND LATE NIGHTS ON SNOWY ROADS

a good portion of the season was spent in the warmth of his mclaren, driving through snowstorms with the heat blasting and whatever music their hearts desired. they'd yell the lyrics at the top of their lungs, breaking into laughter with every voice crack and anytime they'd forget a word. lying on the hood of his car to stargaze on the outskirts of the city where light pollution hadn't yet touched the sky. all in their matching pajama pants.

if he didn't have as much money as he did, he'd surely have spent it all on matching sets for the two of them to wear all throughout the holiday season.

he adored the matching sets they wore together, smiles gracing his face as he stared at her lovingly as she wore the patterned pajamas he'd picked out. there was something so heart-warming to see her wearing the same thing he did.

he loved laying around the house in each other's presence, words unspoken would be exchanged through actions such as simply lifting the sherpa blanket one was under to invite the other into the comfort of their warmth, wrapping themselves in each other's arms or slipping into the same hoodie as she laid on his chest. they'd lay on their couch by the apartment window, watching the snow fall through the spot on the window they wiped with their hands.

decorating the christmas tree with ornaments passed down from generations, telling fond stories with each trinket and heirloom in their possession. it inevitably brought them closer to share such a peace of life and tradition with each other that they'd honor closely. he'd tell her stories of his childhood where he'd place various decorations on the tree, watching her inspect them in her hands. they'd been passed down from his parents to him to share with his love, though they'd visit his parents for a portion of the holidays.

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 32,283 others

ynusername I love the winter weather because I've got my love to keep me warm

view all 1,929 comments

oscarpiastri made me third wheel, but didn't even tag me.

ynusername we kind of forgot you were there

oscarpiastri yeah. I know.

user not them forgetting about poor oscar in the backseat 😭

landonorris he's fine

SKIING AND SNOWBALL FIGHTS

trips to various snowy countries and vast mountains were inevitable, despite lando traveling quite often for his career. he'd love ski trips before and even more so with her involved. he'd help her gear up, teaching her the way to do it without falling on her face so she'd be able to keep up with him. starting out, he'd rush to her every fall, cooing at even the slightest bruise forming, kissing it with his cold lips. but as she improved, she could find him bent over laughing, hand on his stomach before he'd trek his way to give her a helping hand.

late nights after skiing turned to snowball fights in the dark between the group that shared the cabin. lando often brushed off his girlfriend's attempts to give him a jacket, claiming he'd be fine. he'd end up getting sick and she'd be the one to take care of him.

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 502,827 others

landonorris ouch ☹️

view all 5,102 comments

ynusername I won the snowball fight

landonorris you only won because you nearly gave me a concussion

oscarpiastri she nearly did us a favour there

user why does lando never wear a coat 😭

ynusername I've been asking the same thing

user bro is just built different

lilymhe why is yn on the ground ?

landonorris I tackled her 😊

user BBYE NOR PQNDO ADMITTINT HE TAKXLED HIS GITRIENR 💀

ynusername the spelling goes crazy

BAKING AND BOARD GAMES

double dates were a frequent go-to thing between the couple and their friends, alex and lily. it was a good time for the couples to hang out and catch up from the chaos from the season. mostly organized by their girlfriends who simply wanted to spend more time together, and the boys being dragged along, mostly alex. lando was the one who had clung to his girlfriends arm, begging him to let her go, and it was only fair to make alex go with too.

they'd frequent christmas markets, with lando spending an unnecessary amount of money on anything his girlfriend pleased because he loved to spoil her, despite the comments of others saying she was using him for it. he'd gladly let her though.

they'd walk with mugs of hot chocolate steaming out of the cup with whipped cream and peppermint sticks. she'd laugh at her boyfriend for the whipped cream on his upper lip, lily joining in when alex had gotten the same style of white mustache. she'd withhold the napkins from his grasp, enjoying the sight before her as lando tried to reach around her back where she'd hide them in her palm. he'd gotten so close to her face, he'd smudge the cream across her lips too.

"that's what you get!" he'd exclaim to her before laughing it off and wiping away the remnants that smeared across her face with the swipe of his thumb. he'd suck off the sweet, watching how her eyes dilated and her throat move as she gulped.

he leaned in close to her ear, whispering to her so the other couple wouldn't hear, "I bet you'd taste sweeter." he'd pull away to watch her face malfunction, as she'd open her mouth but words failed to form as her face became red and flush. she'd end up just shoving him by the shoulder, pushing the napkins into his hands.

landonorris

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, and 628,910 others

landonorris she does NOT mess around when it comes to monopoly

tagged—ynusername, alexalbon, and lilymhe

view all 3,820 comments

user STOP THE DOUBLE DATE

user I know right 😭😭😭 I'm so painfully single

alexalbon yn is on board game ban

ynusername ☹️

alexalbon you bit me

ynusername I'm just a teenage girl

alexalbon you're 22

ynusername don't remind me

user not alex and yn bickering like siblings 😭😭😭

user right?! like the duo we never knew we needed

ynusername he's too ugly to be my brother

alexalbon you'd be adopted.

ynusername 😧

user no one asking what they even made like I wanna know

oscarpiastri something burnt probably

landonorris you weren't even there though

ynusername it was definitely burnt though and all lan's fault.

user yn calling him lan 🥺

ICE SKATING AND CANDLE-LIT READS

rinks set up around london would be occupied by the group of couples who'd find themselves falling over laughing as they tripped over the ice. they'd fail to keep their balance as they skated around the ice. he'd be bent over tying her skates as she watched from over his shoulder, carmen and george and alex and lily as the couples gripped each other for dear life. she'd break out into a toothy smile, exciting looking back at her boyfriend as he'd finish lacing her skates, watching her breath exhale from her nose, the pink across her face from the chilling cold.

she'd stumble on her feet at the unfamiliar feeling of walking across the ground to the gate that'd lead then onto the ice, taking the intial step with her boyfriend not far behind. his gloves hands firmly placed on her hips, making her stomach flutter even though she'd felt his hands on her numerous times before.

they'd fall countless times, racking up the number of bruises on their body that lando would later kiss it better as she laid in bed. candles lit as the only light in the room as she read. she knew it was bad for the eyes, but it was a one time thing—not.

he'd lift the cloth that covered her body, kissing every mark that ruined her even skin, which proved to be majorly distracting to her reading—his plan all along as she'd engross herself between the pages of whatever novel she'd held. moving his warm breath across her skin, from her arms to her waist and hips to the sides of her thighs where her breathing got particularly shallow. he'd groan when she tried to push him away, though he knew not in disinterest.

ynusername

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 71,927 others

ynusername

view all 2,928 comments

user THE SNOOPY SHEETS

user id like to think lando sleeps peacefully in her girly bed.

ynusername he does

landonorris I can't believe you just told them that

ynusername I'd post the proof

landonorris YOU HAVE PROOF?

lilymhe post it

ynusername for my queen, yes

landonorris NO

user YN BLACKMAILING LANDO IS CRAZY

user I aspire to be like them

they'd end up at his family's house for the rest of the christmas holidays, spending times in front of the fireplace with boards games at their feet—shed play over lando's shoulder despite being on ban.

eventually she'd shove him from his place and take over—he just couldn't do it like her.

"what the hell?"

"lan, you suck, just let me play!"

"you're banned from playing!"

"ok and?"

[calmcoldevening]

I’m begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when they’re older if you’re up for it ofc🙏

You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms

Part one ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Thomas Hewitt

You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.

The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.

Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.

The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.

By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?

"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.

"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."

"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."

"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."

The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.

"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"

"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."

Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?

What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.

"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.

And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.

"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.

It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.

"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"

It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.

You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.

His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.

The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.

The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.

What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.

He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.

Brahms Heelshire

"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.

He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.

"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.

You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.

The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.

Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.

You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.

"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."

"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."

"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."

Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.

After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.

And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.

It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.

"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.

"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."

"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.

"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.

"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.

"Who's here? Brahms?"

It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.

"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.

"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.

"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.

Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.

"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.

[gerec]

Gerec’s Favorite Fics - 2024

A couple days late but here’s a list of some of my favorite 2024 fics. A great big thanks to everyone still writing for this fandom (or newly writing for it!); I know I’m very grateful to have all these amazing stories to read and to share!

CHERIK FICS

Standing Invitation by smilebackwards

Erik has two standing invitations in his life. One is to the maximum security wing of Rikers Island prison. The other is to Sunday tea with Charles Xavier.

Strange Bodies, Strange Minds by populuxe

He wiggles a set of sturdy, blunt fingers that he unfortunately knows all too well, and then he raises his other hand and wiggles those sturdy, blunt fingers, too. They’re his hands—he’s making them move, and he can feel them moving—but they’re obviously not his hands.

“For God’s sake, Erik,” his doppelgänger snaps. He points to the mirror above the fireplace. “Stand up and properly look.”

A few weeks into their mutant-collecting road trip, Charles and Erik approach a boy with a very special mutation—who subsequently turns his abilities on them. Trapped in each others’ bodies (and saddled with each others’ powers), it seems like an inconvenience at first, but it will have consequences neither of them could have predicted.

Rapprochement by populuxe

“Hank peered at the newspaper over his shoulder and said haltingly, ‘Do you think…Erik might be trying to send a message…to you specifically?’”

When Charles stands Erik up for their annual winter holiday getaway, Erik spends the following twelve months expressing his displeasure in increasingly creative ways. With this year’s winter break approaching, Charles makes plans to head to the cabin alone—or without contacting Erik in advance, anyway...

Is It Casual Now? by niniblack

Charles hasn’t seen his ex-boyfriend Erik since the latter went to an Imperial prison six years ago, and he’s just fine with that, but a hookup job gone bad on a rain drenched planet has Raven calling in the only person they know who can talk down the criminal syndicate currently after them: that very same ex-boyfriend, Erik.

Erik’s not that happy to see him either.

It's Not Too Bed by Aurrus

The room is tiny – which is good, because at least it’s blessedly warm, which he didn’t dare hope for, considering their luck, but it’s also tiny enough that there’s only enough space for a rickety side table, a small desk, a chair and a coat rack.

And a bed, of course. Only—

“There’s only one bed,” Erik points out needlessly.

things have changed for me by joshriku

It's not easy for Erik to juggle a divorce and burnout from his current job. Luckily, he's made up his mind - he'll quit this job, move out on his own, and find his way from there. It's totally not a mid-life crisis.

Luckily, Charles is there to help.

Despair is for the Living by jeriais

This curse is devouring him from the inside and he's afraid of what he'll be left with when it finally consumes him.

 Or, an angsty vampire AU in which everything changes.

all the soarings of your mind by ikeracity

From the PDM III, the Psionic Diagnostician Manual: 297.3 PSYCHIC BLEED

Diagnostic Features The essential feature of Psychic Bleed is an abnormal, involuntary transfer of feelings, thoughts, experiences, and preferences in a close relationship involving at least one psychic partner (Criterion A) following prolonged mind-to-mind to contact. The psychic partner, sometimes termed the "instigator" or "source case," is unable to prevent this transfer from occurring through traditional psionic defenses such as shielding, empathetic defense, or astral distancing (Criterion B). The transfer is not better accounted for by another psychic disorder (e.g. Latent Psychic Manifestation Syndrome) or individual mutations of either the source case or the receptive case (Criterion C). See below for diagnostic criteria.

---

Erik likes his psychic therapist—maybe too much. Is sharing his therapist's cravings and impulses a... known side effect?

The Boy Raised in Fire (The Boy with the Sigil Tattoo Remix) by jeriais

Erik Lehnsherr is on a mission to kill his creator, the man who raised him to be the living weapon that he is. He has a plan and will suffer no distractions, that is, until a handsome stranger gets in his way.

On compromise and lasting peace by brawlingdiscontent

The morning of their wedding, the king of Genosha and his soon-to-be consort reflect, separately, on what’s to come.

magnetic attraction by brawlingdiscontent

Charles may be an online dating novice, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to fall for a catfish

The (e)X: Men and Other Issues by larkdily

Erik’s writing is just like Erik himself — strong, vibrant, and always captivating to Charles, despite his better judgment.

or: It's senior year of college. After a publishing mishap of epic proportions, Charles and Erik - bitter exes and uni literary rivals - are drawn reluctantly back into each other's orbits.

The Shears by Isolee (WIP) It's been fifteen years since he last looked at Erik, the house, and all his mistakes. Thirty-year-old academic, he thinks, orphan, now, and starving, too. His mother is dead, and nothing has changed, except he forgets what he likes for breakfast. And Erik looks at him like - like he doesn't understand the language Charles is speaking. Like he has to strain a bit to make sense of the man in front of him.

With the pruning, a branch is stronger; you will learn to love the shears.

out of my league by roachvibes (WIP)

Charles Xavier leads an extraordinary career in professional soccer until an injury leaves him with no choice but to retire into coaching. When he unexpectedly encounters his ex-husband at a national football conference, the two are forced to reconcile their differences on human-mutant coexistence—and parenting.

Best Laid Plans by InterstellarClark (WIP)

Alpha Erik is tired of waiting for the right person to settle down with, he’s ready to be a father and have a family again. Omega Charles has lost everything, his inheritance, his job at Columbia, and needs a next step. Both of them turn to Stark Surrogacy, hoping they can find a future.

Inevitably Yours by vvividlyy (WIP)

Times like this, Charles wishes Raven hadn’t told him to stay out of her head years ago. Well, he wishes that all the time, but it would be really especially handy for situations like trying to figure out exactly how upset she was about her breakup with no particular person for no particular reason.

Or:

Sometimes the man of your dreams meets your sister first.

XAVIERINE, CHERIGAN & OTHER PAIRINGS

burning gin by kremas

Logan clenches his jaw. He takes one last drag of his cigar, and Charles watches nervously, his heart beating rampantly in his chest, anticipating rejection.

Please don’t say no. Please don’t say no. Please don’t say no.

Logan slowly blows the smoke out of his mouth, the cloud trickling out and down, dissipating just before it can reach Charles’ face.

He shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes.

“God, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Magneto.”

Or, after Erik leaves him, again, Charles just needs to feel something. Logan can help.

The Deal We're Making by arcapelago (arcanewinter)

After Logan resumes control of his own body after his future self supposedly took it over for a few days, he eventually settles down on the grounds of the Xavier School for Whatever it was, mainly due to the attentions of its headmaster.

But a few years into this unusually stable living arrangement, a new student with a unique ability causes Logan to forfeit his body a second time--and find himself in a different one.

It gets worse from there.

Return (the orbital period remix) by arcapelago (arcanewinter) 

Midway through August, Logan comes home.

The whole ride, all four hundred miles of it, he refuses to call it that. But as he parks his motorcycle in the garage in the same place it was a month ago and extinguishes his cigar on his forearm, he's not sure what else to call it.

Surrender, maybe.

A Type by Groot_the_tree

“You certainly have a type, Charles,” Erik had said one day and, at the time, Charles wasn’t sure he understood what Erik was referring to. Now though, it was becoming more and more clear that Erik had, for once, been right. - Charles slowly realizes that Erik and Logan are more alike than he first thought. And it just took them dating to find out.

Metal Man and the Magnet by Groot_the_tree

“You know that thing you and the professor do?” Logan asked, sitting on the couch pushed against the wall.

“You’re going to need to be more specific than that,” Erik said, “Charles and I do a lot of stuff together.”

“In the bedroom,” Logan added which, okay, narrowed the list down to some extent but it was still rather large. “With control and his powers? Where he takes over things.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the concept. Why?” He asked.

There was a brief pause before Logan asked, “Do ya think me and you could do somethin’ like that? With the adamantium in me and your powers?”

Promises by Mataolma

Mafia AU. Erik is the right-hand man of mob boss Sebastian Shaw. Fed up with life at the man's side, Erik plots his escape, but not knowing that this decision will lead him to lose something very important.

[gilverrwrites]

What do you think about a pinning Roy finally getting the girl after some time being in rehab and all that? I'm sure he'll be so happy and feeling lucky!

I love this! It has so much potential for slow burn with a big, soft explosive ending, as well as the possibility of angst.

I immediately thought of his girl as a teenage/young love sweetheart. Somebody he has this idealist image of in his head. They gave each other their V cards, have all these memories of summer road trips and late nights together, but as they got older it was harder and harder for her to watch him destroy himself. They have this awful bitter break-up.

Roy, however, can’t stay mad at her for long. Queue: Him texting her constantly from all over the world, whenever he thinks about her. Usually, it's friendly, until he’s had too much. Then he gets needy, desperate, downright rude when she stops responding, until one day she sends him an essay telling him that it is unfair of him to keep contacting her like this, that it’s making it hard for her to move on, that she keeps warming back up to him and he keeps reminding her why they broke up by getting wasted and doing something stupid, and that she will be blocking him post voicemail/text whatever.

So, whenever he’s back in town he starts showing up at her place with worse and worse excuses. “Just passing by, thought I’d say hi.” “I lost my arm support, think I left a spare here, mind if I look?” “Lian kept asking about you, and it’s my weekend so I thought we’d surprise you.”

And they keep almost getting there. Ill-advised kisses. Seeking the other out when they need comfort from a long-time friend. Bumping into each other and winding up spending the day together just because it's so easy to fall into stride. Maybe she even starts dating other guys which causes even more problems, and makes him emotional and then he spirals proving even more why she was right to break up with him.

But they never take the plunge because either she just doesn’t buy that he’s ready for that yet, or because he proves he’s not ready yet by going out on a bender or drinking too much over dinner.

Obviously, she’s only one of many reasons he finally decides to get sober and when he starts going to rehab and attending AA, he doesn’t tell her until he gets his 30-day chip. Then he shows up at her door once again to show her, she is happy for him, ecstatic, but she needs more commitment than 30 days. He mails her all his proceeding chips, 60 days, 90 days, 4 months, 5, 6, 12. By the time he sees her again, she is ready.

She’s been waiting for this moment for months, she swings the doors open, and throws herself into his arms. They spend a whole weekend in bed joyously making up for lost time. Sorting their shit, making plans. They’re gonna move in together, somewhere with a second room for Lian, and space for a dining room, and a big TV. A garden large enough for Roy to have a shooting range and garage to tinker in.

They have years to catch up on. It’s perfect, nothing in this world could bring him down. They’re stronger than ever, Roy keeps attending his meetings, and then Heroes in Crisis happens.

[creedslove]

SLEEP BLISS 💤

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you and Joel used to share a sleeping bag when you were on the road. Once you got to Jackson, he made sure to put an end to this habit, but now his nightmares are back to haunt him again and he needs your help

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of masturbation, probably out of character Joel but I don't care I just want my big bear Joel to be happy and safe

1.5k words

As Joel stood at the door watching you get ready for bed, he scratched down his neck while he felt so stupid.

But it wasn't just a feeling, he was stupid. That was the problem.

You took a while to notice him there, he'd been extremely silent and several times he thought of giving up that idea. He had an internal battle going on, so ashamed of asking you that, but at the same time he really needed it.

You saw him standing there, dark circles around his eyes, he looked exhausted and even a shade paler if someone asked and you knew exactly why.

The nightmares were back.

It pained you to think of how much he suffered to get something simple such as a night's sleep, you also had nightmares of your own, everyone did in an apocalyptic world like the one you lived in, but you just knew Joel's were somehow worse. He was tortured by his own subconscious, everything all at once, all his memories, regrets, broken dreams, broken promises, broken heart.

He often mumbled Sarah's name during his sleep, and it was followed by whimpers, the ones Joel would never let out in front of anyone, not while awake.

And you knew that because you watched his suffering for the last couple of months.

While traveling together to Jackson, you two ended up sleeping together.

Sleeping and sleeping only.

Never had sex, Joel never touched you in that way, despite a few occasional boners you felt poking your back when you woke up, but you couldn't really blame him for a good old morning wood.

You wouldn't deny you wanted Joel to touch you in that way, but you knew he wouldn't. He was a distant guy, no matter if you two knew each other since the QZ and went through a lot together, he always kept to himself, and you knew better than to push his buttons.

You cared for him, and he cared for you, but he wasn't that kind of guy and he was old enough to know that if he crossed the line, things would be an even bigger mess than they were.

He decided to share the sleeping bag with you when you were both out in the open and he couldn't stand you chattering your teeth all the time, how you tried warming your hands and how you had to place sweater over sweater and still you couldn't warm up enough to sleep.

He'd never seen that before. Even during summer nights, when the breeze cooled down, you still had chills and needed a blanket.

He tried to tell himself that the situation pissed him off, but in fact, it made him sad. He didn't like seeing you suffering and decided to keep you warm.

What was supposed to be one night, became two, three, four… and it lasted through the whole trip.

Joel's plan was to never repeat that again, but when he fell asleep that night, he didn't have any nightmares.

And neither during the other nights you slept together.

As much as he enjoyed having a peaceful slumber, he also saw how flushed and giggly you were when you woke up.

How you rested your hands on his when he held you and how before bed you always rested your hands way too close to the waist of his jeans. You were a lot younger than him, but you were a woman nonetheless and a beautiful one at that matter, and it was easy to get tempted.

And that was why, the first thing he did when you both arrived in Jackson, was to put an end to this dangerous habit.

At first, he didn't even want to share a house with you, and he rudely suggested that you find a place on your own.

You'd looked at him with sad, disappointed eyes, but agreed.

However, Joel went soft and when he saw you were packing your bags, he apologized and said he'd prefer to have you there, for safety matters, he quickly added, but stood by the decision of you having your own room.

You respected his decision, you couldn't complain and you also enjoyed having your own bedroom, you could decorate it as you pleased, have your own privacy and God knew how much you needed it when the memories of the nights you spent curled up to him, hit you hard and you had no other solution than to bury your fingers deep inside of your aching cunt and pretend it were his instead.

You didn't question him, but each passing day you noticed how he got darker circles around his eyes and at night you always heard his heavy steps pacing around the house, unable to sleep.

You wouldn't deny him help, but you wouldn't offer it either, the fear of getting a hurtful reply was bigger, besides, it was his decision to take his distance and you couldn't lie at the fact that you did feel hurt.

You finally raised your eyes at him and saw the discomfort in his face, you could swear he had made up his mind to talk to you about just to give up and then decide to do it all over again. He was a proud man and that must've been a terrible situation for him.

"Do you wanna sleep here tonight?" You broke the silence, knowing it would only take him just a couple of seconds more to give up and go back to his room, but you didn't want that, you wanted Joel there, you wanted to feel his weight, his warmth and his rough, big hands.

"I-uh…" he started with awkwardness though he saw it was pointless to lie "yes…" he was ready to get in bed when you told him to stop.

"If you want to sleep here, it will be on my terms, Joel… Undress!"

"What the fuck, Y/N?" He immediately replied, looking at you rather shocked.

"Joel, come on… we're not on the road anymore, we're safe, we're sleeping in a warm bed, it's not like we need to be in our jeans in case we gotta get up in the middle of the night to run or fight" you explained him when quickly got rid of your shorts, standing only in a loose shirt and your panties.

Joel swallowed hard and didn't even try to hide when he checked your body out, you felt a soft flush spreading across your cheek but smiled "it's nothing we haven't seen when we were bathing in the lake" you reminded him.

If he wasn't so exhausted he could've just argued and told you to fuck off, but instead, Joel got rid of his shirt at first, revealing his broad chest, strong arms that unblocked his belt and dragged his jeans to the floor, until he was standing there in his boxers only.

If he hadn't been embarrassed to look at you, you certainly wouldn't be embarrassed to look at him, and you did it, for quite a while, eyes lingering especially on his crotch, where you could swear you could see the shape of his cock.

You didn't look him in the eyes though, instead, you got under the covers and waited for him to do the same.

Joel let out a groan once his body met the comfortable mattress and covered himself.

You scooter closer and snaked your arm around his waist

"Relax Joel, it's just me," you reminded him. You relaxed as you rested your head on his chest and kept rubbing his naked skin with circular movements, massaging his tense arms.

"The nightmares are back, you know…" he said embarrassedly "I didn't want to bother you, but I can only sleep decently when you're around" you were shocked at his confession, Joel wasn't one to talk about stuff like that, but you understand he probably didn't care at all at how exhausted he was.

"You smell good, darling… you always did, even when we were on the road…" he smiled gently at you, which made your heart beat faster, you cupped his face and traced his jawline with the tip of your fingers.

Suddenly, all the anger and hurt you felt when Joel told you to take another room faded and you smiled, nuzzling his neck gently and stroking his soft, curly hair.

"Sleep Joel" you whispered to him, pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Slowly you could feel the tension in his body dissolving and he drifted off to sleep.

In the early morning, you woke up to Joel clung tight to you. You had your back to his chest, his heavy arm on your hips, preventing you from getting up. You gasped the moment you realized what was poking your back was his erection.

Alright, his boner was definitely harder to ignore without the thickness of his jeans shielding it, but you didn't complain at all, it felt so good to feel him that way.

You could've got up to make you and Joel breakfast, but you gave up, closing your eyes and snuggling, going back to sleep in Joel's arms.

_____

A/N: idk i just love Joel

[spiderlilydreams]

I forgot I also had this in my notes. It was inspired by the Feitan fanart of him in an IHop uniform. Emo waiter Feitan. >///< I don't own the fanart, but I added some other pictures to it for a mood. I'm sorry if the grammar is bad. This is a real-life au fanfiction. I'm always so nervous posting because I don't proof read enough T.T

_________________________________________

Warning: +18 Smut! No minors interact!

_________________________________________

Emo IHop Feitan 🖤______________________

You were on a long road trip with your friends. Just you, Machi, Pakunada, and Shizuku screaming early 2000's jammers and gossiping about your ex's. Machi had just gotten out of a toxic relationship with her now ex Hisoka. Pakunada hearing the news decided you all needed a girls trip.

This was the last night on the road, and Pakunada of course was driving, like she usually does. She's known as the responsible mom friend, and honestly the four of you needed her, and she needed you all. You were thankful she planned the trip, since your life was draining you, every day looking the same.

The city lights dazzled your vision as Machi half asleep leaned her head on your shoulder, snoring softly. You stared out the window as blinding headlights flew by you, and buildings rose and fell with each passing frame. You didn't want the trip to end. You sort of wished it'd last forever, and that you could spend the rest of your life just giggling with your friends on a road trip, but you knew you couldn't.

"Anyone want Ihop?" Shizuku suddenly announced, breaking you away from your bittersweet thoughts. Machi suddenly jumped awake at this, a beaming smile on her face.

"IHop sounds so fucking good right now." Machi said, rubbing her eyes as she tried to wake up from her nap.

"I can't believe you want IHop, when Denny's is so much better." Pakunada interrupted, checking traffic as she merged into another lane. She always drove so smooth and elegant.

"Of course the old lady prefers Denny's~" Shizuku teased, causing Pakunada to playfully roll her eyes.

"Excuse me, more like I have taste." Pakunada responded, obviously not offended by the playful interaction. "Fine ladies, IHop it is." Pakunada finally sighed.

All of you tired and in cozy road trip clothes stumbled into the IHop, looking a mess, but not caring. Except Pakunada, who of course looked somehow elegant in her yoga pants, which she always complained were too informal. As you entered the building that smelt of sweet syrup and warm coffee, you noticed a certain attractive waiter coming over to seat all of you. He didn't say anything, just nodded at all of you, walking you to the closest booth avaliable. He had black hair with bangs, a black mask covering his lower face only revealing his bored looking eyes, and a name tag with 'Feitan' on it. You blushed as you made eye contact with him, him slightly... glaring at you? It was hard for you to tell. Even though he was short, like he couldn't be taller than 5'2 you guessed, you felt drawn in by him.

"Orders?" He asked in a raspy, unique voice making your heart speed up. You eyed your friends, trying to see their reactions, but it seemed only you were feeling so attracted to this emo waiter in IHop. As your friends ordered, you tried thinking of what to get, but it was hard to think.

You ended up just getting the same order as Machi, and as everyone waited you decided to head to the bathroom, in search of Feitan. You didn't really know how to go about your attraction. Nerves came over you as you thought about asking for his socials or number, you didn't want to embarrass yourself. As you went to open the women's bathroom door, Feitan left the men's, looking at you for a moment. You felt frozen as Feitan approached you.

"You from here?" He asked, his way of speaking unique as you looked at him shyly, blushing somewhat.

"N-No, we're on a girls road trip." You said, your eyes widening as Feitan got closer to you, inches away from your face.

"I'm off work. Hang out with me before I never see you again?" He asked, it almost sounding like a plea, your eyes getting lost in his now more playful looking eyes.

"I-I- have to go back to my friends soon." You said nervously, a bit upset that you didn't meet Feitan closer to your home, and instead on a road trip.

"We just hang for a little then?" He asked, his eyes darting to your lips as you bit your bottom lip, debating.

Somehow all previous events led you to being on Feitan's lap, his thick cock deep in your warm, silky cunt, as he fucked you roughly in the backseat of his car in the IHop parking lot. You bit on his shoulder as moans escaped your lips, your pussy squelching as Feitan thrust his twitching member deeper and deeper inside you. His uniform was still on, and your pajama shorts were flung somewhere, you both almost animalistic as you fucked, the car's windows fogging up, it shaking a bit. No one would be able to tell as it was a black car with tinted windows, but you still tried to conceal your moans as your pussy clenched around Feitan's cock. Feitan reached down with black painted fingernails, flicking and rubbing your clit, trying to help you come undone. That you did, so aggressively, that you ended up squirting on Feitan's backseat, your pussy clenching so tight it milked Feitan's length, making Feitan pull you up, his cock throbbing out ropes of thick warm semen all over your still pulsing cunt, both of you a mess. You both panted as you collapsed together, both of your hearts racing.

"Need your number." Feitan sighed in satisfaction, pulling you against him to hug you.

[cranberrymoons]

let it snow

prompt: only one bed 😱 (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 1,000 tags: snowed in, pining, first kiss

welcome to Day 12 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

They don’t plan to get snowed in. 

Well– no one ever really plans to get snowed in, technically, it’s sort of in the definition, but… 

Anyway. 

Point is, it’s an accident.

And because it’s an accident, and because it’s unexpected, and because they hadn’t actually planned to spend the night anywhere, they find themselves facing down the single full size bed which is all that’s available at the motel they end up at when they pull off the road after the flurries turn into gusts, which turn into a near-white out.

Steve considers suggesting he sleep on the floor or in the armchair or something? Because that feels like the sort of polite, chivalrous thing he would do if it were a girl, but it’s not a girl, it’s Eddie, and suggesting it feels a little like he’d be calling attention to something he’d really rather they didn’t look at too closely.

Namely, that Steve has a big stupid crush and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He doesn��t even know if Eddie is an option, really, and it would be stupid to risk what feels like a very fragile friendship as it is. After everything that happened in the spring and the hospital and the months of not being sure what to say around each other and now this, them, caught in a snowstorm halfway through a trip up to Chicago to see one of the bands that Eddie’s always wearing on his shirts.

The wind batters against the window, and the snow swirls outside, and Steve gives Eddie a sideways glance where he’s already sitting on the edge of the bed and bending to untie his boots and kick them into a corner. 

He must feel Steve’s eyes on him, because he looks up and catches him staring, a little smile spreading across his face when he does.

“Are you one of those people who has really specific opinions about which side of the bed you have to sleep on?” Eddie asks. He raises his eyebrows. “Because I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but you’re going to have to pry the left side of the bed from my cold dead hands.”

And that seems to decide it; they’re sharing the bed.

Steve drops his keys on the little table that sits right inside the door and shrugs out of his coat, dropping it over the back of a chair.

“That’s saying something,” he says. “Coming from you.”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh, bracing his hands on his knees as he gives Steve an appraising look. 

“Dead jokes,” he says, squinting up at Steve. “Nice.”

Steve’s smile spreads slow across his face. “Anyway, I like the other side of the bed,” he says. “The right side.”

“Because you’re always right.”

Steve laughs, takes a step closer then back, fiddles with the cuff of his sweater. A little awkward, a little nervous. Eddie’s watching him with that big, easy smile on his face, and Steve feels something fizzle and go quiet against his heart, warmth blooming out through his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”

---

They settle down after that, stripping to their boxers and sliding between the sheets to curl toward each other on the bed, icy limbs brushing together until they start to go warm.

He saw Eddie’s scars once before over the summer when he’d taken his shirt off to jump in the pool on a particularly hot day when everyone had been desperate to cool off and had all but pushed each other out of the way to get into the water. 

This feels different, though.

It’s closer, for one, and back in the summer, Steve hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that the way he feels when Eddie smiles at him is him wanting more, wanting to reach out and touch and taste and feel and–

“They got you pretty good, didn’t they?” Eddie asks, lifting his eyes from the patch of scar on Steve’s own stomach. His hand darts out toward Steve’s neck then stops, falls down to rest against the pillow near his own face. “I see this one all the time, but that one–” He takes a breath. “Damn.”

“Yours, too,” Steve says. He reaches out, and Eddie doesn’t give him any kind of a signal to back off, so he closes the distance between them to trace against the edge of one of the scars twisting over his abdomen. “I guess we match.”

His hand settles against the spot, palm covering it, and Eddie’s breath catches. Steve’s eyes lift to his face.

“Sorry,” Eddie says. He smiles, a little unsure. “Ticklish, I guess.”

And this is… ridiculous. 

It’s ridiculous. If Eddie were a girl, Steve would have kissed him weeks ago. Months. And he gets that it’s different, sort of. He at least knows why he’s more nervous than he would be otherwise, but he’s also so sick of waiting. He’s so sick of waiting for Eddie to make a move, because that’s just not what Steve does. 

It’s not who he is.

And so, heart kicking against his ribs, feeling a little shaky and a lot scared, he tilts himself closer, lifting his chin enough that their eyes line up, and–

“Steve?” 

He smiles, searching Eddie’s face. “Do you not want me to?”

Eddie lets out a sharp little breath. “I want you to.”

And that– the nerves disappear in an instant, just like that. He feels himself relax, and he lets his hand tighten on Eddie’s waist, sliding himself closer on the pillows. 

“Good,” he says, soft like a secret. “Then I will.”

Closing the distance between them is so, so easy after that– so easy that Steve can’t help wondering what the hell he’s been waiting for all this time. 

Eddie tastes like peppermint and wintertime and a little like cigarettes, and when he sighs against Steve’s mouth, lips falling open, Steve crowds closer for another taste, and another, and another.

[also on ao3]

[daniiiboo]

day 8 - Christmas Eve traditions - mv1

summary - You and Max have a unique tradition that only the two of you share every christmas eve.

trigger warnings - nothing unless your triggered by CUTENESS

dani's thoughts - HOLY COW AHRHRHRHRHRHRHRH I LOVE THIS

word count - 496

find the rest of my 12 days of chrismas here !

The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the world in a quiet stillness. The living room was warm and cozy, illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree. Strings of white lights wrapped around its branches, and ornaments collected over the years told a story of shared memories.

You were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked beneath you and a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Max sat beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his other hand absently twirling a candy cane between his fingers.

It was Christmas Eve, your favorite night of the year. Not because of the presents or the big family dinner waiting for tomorrow, but because of the tradition you and Max had started years ago.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. “You ready?”

You smiled, setting your mug down on the coffee table.

“I’ve been ready all day.”

Max leaned forward and grabbed the small, wrapped box sitting under the tree, handing it to you with a crooked grin.

“You first this year.”

This was the tradition. Every Christmas Eve, the two of you exchanged one special gift. It wasn’t about grand gestures or expensive surprises, it was about finding something meaningful, something that spoke to the connection you shared.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, your fingers trembling slightly from excitement. Inside was a small wooden box. You opened it to reveal a delicate charm bracelet, each charm representing a memory you and Max had made together, a tiny car for his first championship, a plane for your shared trips around the world, a snowflake for the winters you’d spent in each other’s arms.

“Max…” Your voice caught in your throat as you looked up at him. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I just wanted something that could remind you of us, of everything we’ve been through.”

You reached out and squeezed his hand, your heart full.

“Okay, your turn,” you said, grabbing the small package you’d hidden beneath a cushion earlier.

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as he tore through the wrapping paper. Inside was a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with his initials. When he opened it, he found the first few pages already filled with handwritten notes and photographs of moments the two of you had shared—your first date, road trips, quiet mornings, and candid snapshots of him laughing when he thought you weren’t looking.

“You always say you’re too busy to remember the little things,” you explained, “so I thought I’d help you keep track of them.”

Max stared at the pages for a moment before looking back at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I don’t know how you always manage to outdo me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You laughed, leaning into him.

“It’s not a competition, Max.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Well, if it was, you’d win.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you sat together, flipping through memories, creating new ones, and reveling in a tradition that was yours.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Lost at Star Sea

It was sheer luck I even glanced down. Stopped, longed enough to doubled check, triple check, my next jump. I didn't really need too. Trusted my ship's computers, (quite literally) with my life. Kinda had too, after so long, out in the sea of stars. So the fact that I paused? Checked? Noticed that stuttering little signal at all?

Really, it could only be luck.

Good, bad, a miracle or disaster in the making? Couldn't tell ya.

But I DID notice. And I DID, immediately, hit the override for my cued up jumps to Starline. Because as every pilot worth even a fraction of their soul will tell you? You see an SOS beacon? You fucking ANSWER it.

Yes, pirates pull the "help I'm stuck" trick. And yeah, there are other unscrupulous folks out there. But! That's part of why the bounty hunter's guild and pirate hunter's come down so HARD on those fuckers. If you discourage people from HELPING stranded pilots? People fucking DIE out there.

Cold Void Of Space, remember?

Far as I'm concerned? Old ship rules apply, there are enough horrors, lurking out there. We do NOT need to add to them. All differences are to be kept planet side. THEN you can kill each other.

Thank the stars, I had decided to go the back lanes. Yeah, it added a few extra weeks to my trip, that I couldn't spend on that swanky beach at Starline, but? The "road trip" through the outer edge of the galaxy had been worth it. Plenty of cool sights and fun new foods. And NOW, clearly, the much needed chance to be in the right place at the right time.

Getting my ship in close, I tried to hail the softly free floating wreck. It looked smashed. Like it hit or was struck by something at speed. They had clearly managed to slow themselves, but beyond that? I couldnt see much stabilization. The whole ship sat dark. Not good.

My dash said there was nothing to hail TOO. Fuck. I tried difference frequencies. Maybe they had a hand-held? Earpiece? Something? But I couldn't connect to anything. Find, anything. Shit! Okay. Okay! Plan B. Try to get a registration while I connect us up. Pray to which ever Gods gaurds this one's soul, that they breathe a similar gas mix.

Loading... loading...

Oh, thank FUCK!

Compatible air AND drones, someone up or out there, really DOES want these guys to live! I force myself to be calm. Rushing won't help anybody, but WILL make a mess, after all. Bring up that frustrating drone request program I downloaded on a whim. Watch as, dispite the odds, lights flicker on across the hull of the ship.

Emergency protocols engage. They, obviously, get no counter order. And? Like the beautiful, life saving, little dumbasses they are? Immediately begin to zip and trundle into position to drag the wreckage in towards my ship. Gods bless the collective single IQ point of drones. Good babies. Such good babies!

With a heavy shudder and thunk, we connect.

Already, I am hovering by the latch. Emergency kit in hand. Breather on. The second it's confirmed, I twist the latch and...Oh gods. The air that surges up to greet me is so cold, it BURNS. I hadn't even though I was sweating, hadn't noticed it, until it felt like stabbing flash frozen crystals on my face. Shit! Oh gods, oh SHIT!

I scramble down, ladder burning cold even through my gloves. Red emergency lights and terrible silence greet me. I move quick. Emergencies & Stranding classes echoing in my head. Check the warmest part of the ship first, then work your way out. If they CAN move, they'll know to retreat there.

Registration said the ship had fifteen people. No idea how many survived the impact and cold, but hopefully? All of them. I may not have the room or rations for a comfortable trip. But it'd be warm. And I could get them to a port.

They should be in the central compartment, which is usually critical storage and medbay. Getting there, the door has clearly been forced to slide open by someone with claws and blood on their hands. It couldn't close properly, they bent it getting it open.

Looking down, there... oh gods. There is A LOT of blood on the floor.

Something... someONE? Dragged to storage. Blood trails thick on the floor. There must be a preserver; trying, maybe, to keep their friends from rotting? Might be shock? And they just... couldn't figure out where to put the bodies. I shake my head, tearing my horrified eyes away. Concentrate! Save the living. The dead are already gone. Be sick about it later.

It takes the crowbar I brought, now cold enough to worry me, to force the door to slide again. The room in side is barely warmer then the air outside. But? There, against the far wall? Is just about every clothe and piece of fabric in the ship. Two emergency blankets glinting from withing the chaotic pile.

The only other people in the room are clearly dead. Injuries. He must have tried to treat them but been unable too. Regardless of what happened, I rush forward. Unearthing an unconscious Aqualin from his self made fabric tomb. The colouration might mean he's from the deep water region. But without his eyes or mouth open I can't TELL.

I hope so, his chance of survival would go up tremendously. Dragging the limp, dangerously hypothermic, man onto my shoulders in a fireman's carry, I get us the hell out. His front is stained in blood. His hands coated. Everything that could go wrong? Seems too. But if I have any say, he is NOT dying here.

Dragging us into my now cold ship, I clumsily kick at the latch until I manage to flip it closed. Just for now. I'll have to go back down for those blankets and such, to help get him warm. But first? I get my rescue set up, warming up.

A further few, brutally cold, few trips to loot the ship of what I safely can before I can close that latch for good. Lock away the horrors to be found there. Stacking everything up and off to the side for him. I'm pretty sure I even found his wallet. So at least? He won't be destitute. Then, while the droids transferred the last of the wreck's fuel? I start to bring up the heat back to normal. Slowly.

Once all is said and down, I silence the emergency beacon and send in the mandatory report. Might be a while before a cleaning crew can get out here... but, well... at least those poor bastard's family's would have some closure. Life insurance. That sort if thing.

.....fuck today has been shit.

"Ooooh go on a vacaaaaation~" Everybody said. "You're so overworked!" They had said. "So STRESSED! You definitely won't find a ship full of corpses!" Thanks for that, guys! Having SUCH a great time. No, REALLY.

Detaching from the wreckage is almost... no, IS horrific in how easy it is. It just... float away. Silent, dark, and gentle. A cold bit of nothingness, lost in the void. Sinking into the stars with it's cargo full of dead, like... like nothing happened at all. It looks so small. Just a twisted bit of metal. Drifting... drifting... away....

Even with the heaters bringing the heat back up, I feel cold.

That could have been me.

What the hell happened? I tear my eyes away from the view screen. Back down to the dash board. Standard operating procedure is to grab the black box of a wreck, even if you find no survivors. Helps universal safety innovation and regulatory blah blah blah. Had to drill it into my head to even GET my license. So... so now... there it is. Grabbed.

I... COULD look.

Fiddling with my rescues wallet, I stare at it. It's hella illegal. Breach of privacy. You can't just... just go into someone's ship and poke around. Look up where they've been and who they've been talking too about what. All their data would be on that thing. Soothing MY anxiety is not more important then THEIR boundaries, right? I should leave it.

I flip the wallet open. My rescue's smiling face grins back up at me, like some sort of dork at a photo shoot. He's leaning against an advertisement for, ironically, Starline. Probably the same beach that convinced me to go. All relaxed confidence and swagger, he looks nothing like the half frozen man I dragged from that ship.

My rescue has lost weight. A concerning amount of color. But? Looking at the rich black of the eyes and the point of his teeth? He seem to be either mostly or full blooded Deep Sea Aqualin. Thank FUCK.

There was a celebrity Tropical Region Aqualin a while back that my baby cousin was weirdly obsessed with. Not stalking obsessed, but? The "family is concerned" obsessed, you know? We all ended up learning WAY too much about their entire species. WAY, WAY too much.

Dea Sea Aqualin are apparently just? Built different. Like, "can withstand a degree of pressure and cold and would kill most others" different. The dehydration might still get him, but the cold? Might NOT.

Flipping the wallet closed, I ignore my gut. I don't need to see what's on that black box. Yeah, I'd find out what happened after they lost propulsion. But? Watching doomed men die? That's sick. There's nothing worth finding there. It's just anxiety.

I reset my next jump. The sooner we get to the next port, the sooner my Rescue (X'alus, apparently) can get help. Then? I head back to check on him. I think, he might be stirring. Approaching the mound of blankets, it turns out I'm right.

" 'rm?" He manages to slur, voices crackling like it's a fight to get anything out. "Wh're 'm? Who?"

There is no good way to tell someone a whole ship full of crewmates is... gone. But, fuck, if I don't try. Gently sitting him up, I help him drink from a hydration pouch. Little at a time, so as not to stress his likely starved stomach. He leans, boneless, towards me. Like he wishes he could drag himself into my lap. Staring like I hold the secrets to the universe.

"Pre'ty. Warm. You sav'd me?"

I nod, shooting him a smile as I tuck the blanket more firmly around him. Poor guy is still pretty weak. But he's healing fast. That's good. He smiles back, bright predators teeth glinting in the ship's light. (Bit unhinged looking, but hey, he seems loopy.)

"Y're my hero~ pre'ty, pre'ty hero~!"

"Arn't I lucky? You found me!"

[w1ngedsoul]

hi! can you do headcanons on being married to phil wenneck. please and thank you!!🩷

requests are open!

warnings: mentions of sex, sexual themes, swearing.

First of all, he would be the kind of husband to constantly compliment you and build up your confidence.

"Wow, I really can't speak, huh? Must be because of how gorgeous you look."

"There's not a single thing I don't love about you."

He's so sweet, it's honestly adorable 😭

When he introduces you to his friends, you all get along really well, especially you and Stu because of your careers in medicine.

He's the type of man to have your wedding date as his phone's password or tattooed onto his wrist.

He loves when he comes home after a long day of work and spots you humming to the radio while swaying yourself around the kitchen.

You'll feel warm arms wrap around your waist and his nose will bury itself into your neck.

He loves your scent, so much so, that whenever you go out with friends for a night away or a road trip, he'll walk over to your vanity and smell your perfume.

It's a mixture of vanilla and lavender, it makes Phil's mind go hazy when you walk past or when you're hugging him.

Phil loves pda. Even if it's something small like holding your hand or your lower back, he loves showing off your relationship. Showing that you're his.

Phil also loves cooking, you'll take it in turns each night to make tea and you'll each rate the other's meal out of five stars. Whoever has the most stars added up gets to choose a restaurant to eat out at.

Once for your birthday, he had told you to wear a pair of red panties to a fancy Korean restaurant, it was until Phil revealed a remote ten minutes that you had pieced together his plan.

The poor waiter, he took your order while you refrained from moaning aloud in front of everyone.

When you got pregnant with your first child, Phil was overjoyed. He bought diapers, dummies, toys, clothes, monitors, a small bathtub, a car seat, I could go on forever.

Let's just say by the end of your first trimester, you already have everything you'll need for your whole pregnancy.

He didn't need to watch tutorials on how to hold a baby, he used to volunteer to take care of his little brother when he was younger.

He got you to wear overalls because he thought you looked sexy in them, seeing you walk around adjusting the straps...

His mind wanders, I mean, there's not a rule to say sex is bad while pregnant...

Let's talk about Phil when he drives.

Lord have mercy 🙏

When his hands grip onto the steering wheel, while concentrating on the directions>>

I just know he gets road rage, no one can convince me otherwise.

"Move out the fucking way!"

"Watch it prick!"

🛐

Just watching him turn the steering wheel, or when he looks back while parking turns you on.

Most of the time, he'll notice the lust in your eyes and will park off to the side.

Sometimes you're stuck in traffic and he'll trail a hand up your thigh, a couple kisses are peppered upon your neck.

Once, you guys had been in traffic for around twenty minutes and Phil decided to take you in the back of the van he borrowed (what Stu doesn't know won't hurt him)

You had been in there for only five minutes when the road had started up again, all you could hear was loud beeping horns from angry drivers.

Phil would definitely try and get you to avoid Alan for one specific reason; he's a pervert.

Once, you, Phil and Alan got trapped in the basement of Stu's house without signal and Alan confirmed Phil's suspicion.

"Looks like we'll be trapped a while...y/n, is it?"

"Knock it off!"

Something that's always funny, is Phil coming home drunk.

"There was this girl, and she asked for my number and I was all like 'No! I have...a wife."

And then there's the part where he's really romantic.

"God, I love my wife. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know? She has these eyes that are so bright, I could stare into them forever. And when she looks at me, I can't help but be nothing but honest with her. Do you have someone like that?"

"Yes, I do."

@bradleybeachbabe hope you enjoyed! Love you 💕

[howling-medic]

Impertinence

Summary: Five times Pippin call Aragorn Strider in places he shouldn't, and the one time he didn't. With an epilogue and bonus snippet because I couldn't leave it where it ended. This is entirely unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

A/N: Holy shit. This was kind of a beast to write. I also wrote it mostly while on shift, so I'm really hoping I caught all my mistakes, and it's mostly decent. I am not sure how happy with this I am, but I think it is as good as I am going to get it. If I keep agonizing over it, I'll never sleep today. So, up it goes. Also, I am too lazy to make this into multiple chapters right now. Maybe one day I will, but it is not this day. For now, there are headers at the start of each section

This whole thing came about because I mentioned to someone that I want Fourth Age content because I wanted to see Pippin being a little shit in court, and I was told emphatically that Pippin would clearly grow up and behave himself. I think that's insane. Pippin is a socially skilled class clown with a high level of intelligence. He also has zero regard for authority figures. So I wrote a whole fic about how much of a dork Pippin is and how Aragorn adores that dork - even if he a giant pain in his ass.

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, sadness, heartbreak, mentions of alcohol

WC: 7562 words (This was never intended to be this long, y'all.)

Making An Entrance

“Strider!” The shout cut through the den of the courtyard of the Citadel. King Elessar sighed fondly and turned to find Pippin jogging towards him in his road dirtied court attire. In the past two years Aragorn had learned one thing: every time the young hobbit came back to court, he would call the King by his old moniker in public at least once. Usually more. As with each time, everyone in the vicinity turned to search for the source of the disrespect to their monarch.

“Thrain Took,” Aragorn called in greeting. At the use of his title, Pippin’s ears went pink, and Aragorn laughed at the sight of the very moment the young hobbit realized his mistake. To the utter shock of any in the area who did know of Pippin or the story of the name Strider, including the Harad emissaries who had come to discuss a new trade agreement, Aragorn knelt to welcome his friend with a warm embrace. “How are you my dear friend? How was your journey?”

“Ach, I am as well as ever! The road was long, but certainly shorter than my first journey here.” Pippin was about to launch into a long winded tale of the trip and all those he and Merry saw along the way, as well as all the doings of The Shire. Aragorn could see it in the hobbit’s eyes. Just before he could open his mouth, Aragorn interjected, “And I cannot wait to hear all you wish to share. I am certain we have much to discuss politically and personally, but I do not wish to keep you from getting a bite and a bath, so go freshen yourself. Then come to my quarters for dinner.”

Pippin glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder and saw the assembled group of men waiting on his liege to return, and then he looked back to Aragorn. His lips pressed into a thin line. The group of Harad dignitaries looked utterly aghast at his apparent impudence. Aragorn shrugged nearly imperceptibly and rolled his eyes, at which Pippin’s face lit up anew. “As you wish, Strider.” Aragorn barked out a startled laugh and shook his head. 

“Fool of a Took,” he murmured and rose to return to the Harad behind him. “Gentlemen, where were we?”

“You accept such disrespect from a creature so small? Was that a child?” One of the men asked while his eyes followed the retreating form of Pippin.

“That,” Aragorn said in a voice still light with laughter while watching Pippin disappear inside the Citadel, “Was a hobbit of more renown and valor than you could imagine. His name is Peregrin Took. He is the Thrain of the Shire, and a Knight of the Citadel. He was also one of the nine of the Fellowship of the Ring. He, the others of that party, and the Thrain’s kin are the only people from whom I accept that name. So no, my lord, I suffer no disrespect, nor was that a child.” The laughter in Aragorn’s voice died, and he turned back to the group before him. “I would advise you to not disrespect hobbits in this court - particularly those who were a part of the Fellowship. They are much beloved by myself, my household, and this land.” The three assembled emissaries took a collective half step back. Looking at each of the three in turn, Aragorn found his humor and patience was spent. Silent judgment and covert murmurs about his patience with Pippin he could handle, but the incredulity in this man’s voice with no knowledge of what he spoke, of who he spoke, was not something Aragorn could not abide. “I believe we are done with negotiations for today.” He broke off for the briefest of moments and pushed aside the temptation to put these three men, the truly impudent ones in this situation, in their place in favor of remaining diplomatic. “Let us resume tomorrow for I desire to inquire after Thrain Took’s companion, Meriadoc, and hear the news of a region of my land from which I receive very little.” 

“My lord,” they said in unison. 

Aragorn took his leave. As he turned, he caught their shared look of disbelief. “Strider?” he heard one ask. “Hobbits?” another asked. “Strange land and a strange people,” the final man declared. Aragorn chuckled. Once again, he was going to have to have a word with Pippin. No matter how much more he loathed the Harads’ words, Pippin had to watch around whom he spoke in such a manner. Even if Aragorn wished it was not so.

However, later that evening as Aragorn entered the sitting room of the Royal Apartments, the earnest look of joy Aragorn saw in Pippin’s eyes when he exclaimed the name - the one given to him by an innkeeper that Aragorn once loathed - stayed his tongue. With a sigh of relief, the High King of the Reunited Kingdom lifted the winged crown from his head and placed it upon the black velvet cushion on a side table that was as near to the door as possible without blocking it. Then he did away with the heavy blue velvet cloak adorned with the crest of the House of Telcontar selected by his attendants specifically for his meeting with the Harad dignitaries. “Strider indeed, my friend,” Aragorn said with a fond chuckle. “You truly will never let that name remain in the past, will you?”

“Why ever would I?” Pippin asked. His brows furrowed in earnest confusion. “It is the name I first knew you by, and someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear.” 

Aragorn laughed. It started as a choked back sound of surprise and devolved into a truly uproarious, booming laugh. So few dared to speak to him in such a manner that it was refreshing to hear such cheek. “Verily, and I suppose one so close to the ground would be just the person to do so?”

“Precisely! I am glad you understand!” Pippin beamed up Aragorn with mirth and mischief dancing in his eyes that spelled nothing but trouble. The Ranger of the North could not find it within himself to fret over it. 

Of Hobbits and Their Food

“Strider! Do not be absurd!” Pippin cried with his hands thrown up in exasperation. Aragorn resisted the urge to let his head fall to the wooden table before him. The assembled council looked in utter disbelief at the impudent hobbit in their midst. The annual meeting discussing each region’s harvest dragged on well past lunch and was showing no signs of stopping - despite the originally listed eleven o'clock end time for the meeting. Several regions’ summers had been unusually dry, and The Shire’s harvest outperformed all others. As a solution, one of Aragorn’s advisors proposed requisitioning a small portion of its grains and preservable legumes to help offset the dearth from the other areas of Gondor. Pippin was displeased with the notion, to say the least, and turned that displeasure to Aragorn. The King sat with his fingers steepled on the table. It was logical, but many hobbits viewed ‘Big Folks’ with intense weariness. Declaring a portion of their harvest the property of the crown would only validate that weariness and breed resentment in a fledgling political relationship. The crown was meant to protect that vulnerable region, not pilfer from them. Yet, his other territories were in a precarious position with meager stores to last the winter.

Of all the times and days to use the old nickname, this was the least ideal. Years with poor harvests led to contentious, and frequently panicked, fall assemblies of regional Lords. This assembly included many from outlying communities who did not frequently make it to court. Protesting a proposal was one thing. An outburst that - given their ignorance to the background of the familiar title - would appear to these Lords as impudence was another. Impudence they would perceive as tolerated by their King, which they would likely take to mean their King lacked control of his troops and court. Aragorn could feel every eye in the room trained on him, awaiting a response. Awaiting his rebuke to the comment. 

“Nothing has been decided Thrain Took,” Aragorn responded coldly. The emphasis he placed on Pippin’s title drew smirks from several Lords. Pippin did not flinch. 

The ever genial hobbits looked back at his friend with narrowed eyes. An unmeasured emotional outburst may have drawn the name from Pippin, but he showed no signs of being cowed that easily. “My apologies, Lord,” Pippin said bitterly. Aragorn suppressed a sigh of defeat and smile simultaneously.  

“State your case for reserving your resources. It is only right we hear your rebuttal after hearing the argument for requisitioning some of your bounty.” Aragorn’s tone took a more neutral tone. Arguments could remain behind closed doors - in places where the defiant nature of his friend would not raise eyebrows. Now was the time to draw an already overlong meeting to a close without further incident, so Aragorn could rein in his frustration for the time being. 

Pippin spoke eloquently of the need to keep The Shire’s resources within and not dispersing them, his tone turning to a dispassionate recitation of facts and history. He outlined the way they often support outlying communities like Bree and the general distrust nearly all the ‘shire folk felt’ of any situation where resources were taken in such a manner following Saruman’s abuse and subjugation. It was a persuasive case that Pippin would not have possessed the maturity to articulate five years ago when Aragorn met him in the Prancing Pony or four years ago when the hobbit first rode back to his home. The spirit and fierce protectiveness of his kin was the same, but the ability to debate over argue was a new development that Aragorn felt privileged to have witnessed. The inability to relinquish the old moniker of Strider in public seemed an enduring habit, however. 

Lunch was sent for as soon as the King left the meeting hall. Pippin sat before him with defiance radiating off him in waves. The look in his eyes was so similar to that which Aragorn saw in Rivendell when Elrond attempted to send Merry and Pippin back to the Shire instead of with the Fellowship that it nearly made him laugh at the old memory. Almost. “Peregrin Took,” Aragorn started, “We have had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and I have told you before that I am not likely to ever truly change. I may be older, and I may have fancy titles, but I am still no more than a hobbit from the Shire.”

“Is that so? Are you not a knight of the citadel and a member of this court? The designated ambassador from your land and representative of your people?” Aragorn asked, voice stern and lacking any of the humor with which he typically spoke to his friend. Even in their most heated political debates and spirited debate over old history, neither were prone to harsh tones. 

“Aye, I may be, but I am still simple folk. Unschooled in court and prone to gaffs.” Pippin’s protest held no water, and he knew it. Five years of serving in the court as Thrain of the Shire left him well schooled in court affairs - even if he traded on his humble, rural appearance and accent frequently in court dealings.  

“You know it causes a stir throughout the whole of the court each time you do that?” Aragorn asked sharply. “It reflects on how I manage my advisors and troops. I know things change slowly in The Shire, if they change at all, but are you so incapable of change yourself? Can you do as your King and liege lord commands in this, if you won’t do it for your friend?”

Pippin visibly deflated as Aragorn spoke. His shoulders drooped and his eyes fell to the cluttered desk before him. “Aye, Strider. That I can do. So long as I can still call you as I ever think of you out of earshot of those who fuss about such odd things.” Aragorn softened then. As I ever think of you. The simple statement drew a lopsided smile to his face that was reminiscent of the first night he met Pippin in Bree, the one that played across his face each time the four hobbits impressed him with their boldness in the face of fear and peril and each time they showed their heart and wisdom along their long journey. “Do you still see old Strider in me? You did once promise to ground me in that version of myself, did you not?”

“That I did, and that I do. You may wear fancy clothes and bathe regularly now, so your old rascally look is gone, but that does not mean you are not the rascal I first met. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I dare say it will be many times yet in the years we spend together. I find less and less of the Ranger in myself each day I spend in these stone halls.” “Do you not sneak out anymore? Slip past your guards and flee to the woods?” Pippin asked.

“Not in many months. I have been tied to this desk long into the night, and when I am not I am with the little ones. It also seems that many people who have no right to an opinion on the matter feel rather strongly that I ought not to ever be anywhere without a guard.”

“Would it please my lord to escape this evening then?”

“Did we not just say that we need not use titles away from listening ears?” Aragorn inquired through a laugh.

“That we did, but I am still an ass and a Fool of a Took after these many years. I shall do as I please behind closed doors and do as you please beyond them,” Pippin answered simply and grinned.

“I suppose I can abide that,” Aragorn replied and fell silent for a moment. “I do believe an escape into the woods sounds like a wonderful idea - plus none can protest that I will be unprotected with a Knight of Gondor at my side.” 

“Excellent! Then let's settle the matter of the Shire’s crops, so we have no work to haggle over while we are beneath the stars…Strider.”

Feasts are for celebrating

It was the Midsummer’s Feast, and all the remaining members of The Fellowship, their spouses, Éomer, Lothíriel, Éowyn, and Faramir sat at the head table. A few notable dignitaries from Aglarond and Legolas’s kin in Ithilien had also been designated seats of honor with the tightly knit group of nobility. Eight years into the Fourth Age left the lands prosperous and healing. Areas that had long since not seen inhabitants were being rebuilt. Maps were being redrawn with each passing year because they lacked new settlements. That was a struggle all were thrilled to have. 

Eight years of retelling stories, however, meant they only still possessed roots in the truth. With each new recitation details were exaggerated anew. Drama was added. Some events were simply fabricated from nowhere. Some were far guiltier of these transgressions than others. Pippin was fairly notorious throughout the Reunited Realm for embellishments - especially when the wine and ale flowed freely as it did at feasts. As it was at this Midsummer’s Feast. “Strider! Strider!” Pippin called from halfway down the table. The guests of honor from abroad, who were seated next to Pipped, gaped at the hobbit who had already shared many fascinating tales that evening. “I was rather indisposed with dancing and singing, and you were the only one with Frood at the time in the Prancing Pony. Could you tell us the story of what you saw - or didn’t see, for that matter - in the tavern when he disappeared? These lovely gentlemen from Aglarond have not heard that story yet, seeing as we had not yet met Gimli!” 

Each person well acquainted with Pippin, and his propensity to forget proper etiquette, looked around the table and then to Aragorn. Every feast it happened eventually, no matter how many times Pippin was lectured, and each time his friends reacted the same. Aragorn was beginning to wonder if Pippin acted as he did simply to get a rise out of those around him. Someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear echoed in Aragorn’s mind as he watched the familiar sight of the friends he called family react anew to Pippin’s antics. Faramir grumbled something incoherent into his glass of wine, for which Éowyn promptly kicked his shin. Éomer snorted out a rather undignified choked laugh. Lothíriel glared at him. Merry groaned into his hands to muffle the sound. Legolas pressed his lips into a thin line to hide a smile. Sam shook his head in dismay. Rosie giggled into her napkin. Gimli had no such compunctions and chuckled rather loudly. Diamond sighed and looked apologetically at Arwen. Arwen visibly fought back laughter. Aragorn, donning the Winged Crown and Star of Elendil, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and proceeded to give a full recount of the events in the Prancing Pony the first night he met the hobbits. That retelling quickly led to several more tales shared - and debated. Tales of travels and battles, and all the embarrassing mishaps and pranks along the way. The formality of the night quickly devolved, and strict court manners gradually faded from each of the friends. 

After a few more glasses of wine and ale, Pippin was far from the only one at the table who had their fun at the expense of the King sitting at the head of the table. Merry recounted the time Aragorn “mercilessly taunted me while I was ailing in the Houses of Healing! I had just stabbed the Witch King himself, if you’ll believe it, and here was my friend telling me I had lost my gear that was sitting by the bed the whole time!” Gimli and Legolas shared many tales of their time as ‘The Three Hunters’. The one that earned Gimli the most laughter was the abject horror of being awoken well before dawn only for Aragorn to lay himself flat on the ground for “nearly a whole age of men” to declare many horses were nearby…only for Legolas to be able to see them on the horizon and correctly count them. Éomer was all too happy to chime in that Legolas had been only three riders off on his count, before adding his own note on how he nearly killed all three of them on sight. He then apologized to Merry and Pippin, for easily the hundredth time, for almost inadvertently killing them while killing the band of orcs who had captured them. 

By the end of the night, King Elessar doffed his ceremonial headwear and pulled out his pipe. Once he lit it, he tossed a bag of pipeweed to Pippin with a grin and a nod. The court gaped at the King who had turned into a Ranger before their eyes, though many who had seen this mood take their Lord before just chuckled. Aragorn looked around and grinned. They could gape and murmur, for this night was a celebration of all that had been hard won, and the uncouth and unendingly frustrating hobbit gesturing wildly while telling all there was to know of the Battle of Isengard and the Final March of the Ents won much of their bounty back for them. Tonight needed no lecture. 

Joyous News

Nearly silent feet padded down the hallway outside Aragorn’s office. Had Aragorn not spent several decades around hobbits, and a decade listening for that sound in his own palace, he never would have heard it. Pippin had been in Minas Tirith for only two days, and mischief was already afoot apparently. “Stri-” Pippin started and skidded to a halt, and his jaw snapped shut. “My Lord,” he began again and then addressed the Captain- General standing before Aragorn’s desk. “My sincerest apologies to you both,” he mumbled. Glee still danced in the hobbit’s eyes despite the faint hue of pink on his cheeks. “I will come back later. I did not mean to interrupt.” 

“Peregrin,” the officer said and gestured him into the office, “join us. There is clearly news to be shared. Do not let me keep you from it.”

“Sire, please. I mean no offense, but this is news I need to tell Str- King Elessar alone.” Pippin caught himself midway through the old nickname. When he did, he looked up at Aragorn rather abashedly - the pink dusting to his cheeks darkening. Rarely did Pippin truly feel shame for breaking proper court etiquette, but breaking rank in front of his superior military officers was one of few things for which he felt ashamed, however. His place within the army was more ceremonial than anything else at this point, but he drilled each time he came to court and practiced with any those he could at home. It was a matter of pride that he maintained his skills. The practice of going through his drills kept the memory of Boromir alive, and Pippin meant to honor his promise to Denethor to serve Gondor until his dying breath in repayment of his debt for Boromir’s death.

Aragorn sighed and rose from his seat. He was not escaping the back and forth of deference that was brewing between these two. Pippin had already derailed the meeting and taken the focus off the report of Southrond raiding parties harrying several outlying communities. “Captain-General, if you would please excuse us for the briefest of moments. Clearly something urgent of a personal nature has come up, but I will return shortly.” Aragorn’s voice was tight, but he motioned towards the side door that led to a private side room off the office. Pippin shuffled in behind Aragorn. The embarrassment at his multiple slips of the tongue were gone from Pippin’s face when Aragorn turned to face him. All that remained was a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “What on all of Arda is going on? And did no page or guard inform you I was in a meeting?” Aragorn asked.

“Well, as for pages and guards…no, but I did not really give them a chance to stop me either, for all my excitement.” “Then out with it, man!” Aragorn laughed, shaking his head with disbelief and amusement alike. His aggravation was quickly waning in the face of Pippin’s delight.

“I’m going to be a father! Diamond is pregnant!” Pippin exclaimed. 

The Captain-General standing on the other side of the thin wall with his urgent report no longer held even a fraction of his importance as he had moments before. Aragorn dropped to his knees to embrace Pippin. Aragorn’s lingering annoyance at the interruption and Pippin’s continued struggle to keep the name Strider behind closed doors was forgotten. “Well, that is a worthy reason to interrupt a meeting - and a reason to celebrate!”

“I would say so! Though, had I known you were otherwise engaged, I would have at least waited in the hall. It’s not as though the bairn is not going anywhere just yet.”

“No, indeed, but I will gladly be interrupted for joyous news, my good hobbit.” Aragorn looked to the door and then back to Pippin. “I have to hear this last report, but go find Arwen and Diamond. I think we are all done working for the day. It is time to celebrate a new generation of Tooks.” As Pippin turned to leave, Aragorn added, “But Pippin, you have to let the staff stop you next time even if I welcome interruptions for good news - and please, after ten years, stop calling me Strider while we are working.”

“As you wish, Strider!” Pippin called halfway out the door. Aragorn groaned and shook his head, gesturing for the Captain-General to take the seat across from the desk.

“Do not ask, for I have neither the time nor the energy to explain,” Aragorn said in answer to the inquisitive look the man gave him.

Infrastructure of the Fourth Age

“It will never work, Strider,” Pippin interrupted in the middle of Aragorn’s explanation of his plan to dig new wells in the lower levels and outlying communities surrounding Minas Tirith as the city’s population outgrew the confines of its walls - and the limits of their water supply. Most of the assembled advisors, craftsmen, and lords present were well used to the behavior of the Thrain of the Shire. However, Several were not, and they looked wide eyed between the King and his Knight. Aragorn looked at the ceiling as though he expected to find an answer to the riddle of Pippin’s behavior there. There was none. Strictly speaking, he was not even needed or invited to this meeting, but he had a habit of poking his head into court sessions that were not pertinent to his duties or position. 

“Thrain Took. Please. I welcome your thoughts and opinions, but I cannot abide your interruptions or use of familiar names during council meetings. We have discussed this at length,” Aragorn said sternly once he looked back at the hobbit and after a long sigh.

“My apologies, your majesty, but I do not beg your pardon. You cannot hold this old hobbit at fault. I simply forget myself in my advanced age,” Pippin said. The room stilled. Aragorn laughed despite himself. At one point, he hoped and expected Pippin to mellow as he aged, but the opposite proved to be the case. Each year the hobbit became bolder, but he was savvier about it. There were few times, however, where he sounded much like his younger self. 

“I have heard that excuse before from an old hobbit in Rivendell who blamed senility for gaffs. I did not believe him then, just as I do not believe you now,” Aragorn said and smirked.

“You may choose to believe me or not as you wish,” Pippin said with a shrug, “but that does not change the fact that I think this plan is entirely foolish and ill conceived - and I agreed to march on the Black Gates with you. And that was a plan with near certainty of death and small chance of success. This, I would wager, has no chance of success.” A few of the younger people in attendance gasped. Most of the older council members laughed under their breath. Pippin matched Aragorn’s smirk and did not flinch. This was the level of pointed discussion they reserved for Aragorn’s study and had over a bottle of wine. However, Aragorn had not shared this plan with Pippin - as it truly was not a plan that impacted the hobbit in any fashion, nor did it seem a plan that would interest him. Apparently, he should have.

“And do you have another suggestion then, Thrain Took?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Pippin declared in a smug tone with a grin to match. “We just had to manage the exact same issue in Hobbiton - granted we lack the many levels and such owing to most hobbits not even handling homes with second stories well, let alone a city of multiple levels with buildings of even more levels - but good ol’ Merry and some of Legolas’ elves came up with a brilliant way to reroute some of the water from the Brandywine to make new distributaries! I think we may need to do the same here.”

“And why would wells not work as they always have?” Aragorn challenged, but his words held no heat, nor did he ask unkindly. There was an elegance to the idea Pippin was proposing, and Aragorn was keen to hear it. Now came to the political jockeying needed to sell opposition to one of Pippin’s less tactical rebukes of a plan proposed by Aragorn. “How in the world do you think you are going to find new well sites that nobody in the history of this city has found? Are you going to go digging up roads all over the first and second level? No. You most certainly aren’t. Instead you can reroute some small distributaries off the Anduin to create a water source in the outlying communities and then work with Gimli and the other dwarves of Aglarond on a system for running that source up to the first and second levels. They have to have a system for it in their caves.”

“Master Thrain,” Aragorn said flatly.

“Yes, my lord?” Pippin asked.

“I am commissioning you back into my service for this project. You are now the lead on it. But, Peregrin, do not interrupt me like that or address me so in any of the meetings on it again.”

“I shall do as my lord bids me,” Pippin said. The smug grin on his face had never faded for a moment. The old members of the council rolled their eyes, and the young ones still gaped at him. Aragorn sighed and shook his head once again. 

Sounds You Miss

Years dragged on and Aragorn found the gift of his long life became a curse once again. His friends were aging before his eyes while he stayed ever young. Sam sailed after Rosie passed away. Éomer died in the autumn two years before. The men of Aragorn’s guard when he first took the throne were dead or fading before his eyes. Their sons served him now. This was not the first generation of men that had passed before his eyes, but this was the first he had spent the majority of in one place, the first he tied himself to closely. 

Aragorn sat upon his throne and attempted to focus on the day’s open court. Truly, he put a valiant effort towards it, but his mind refused to bend to his will. The citizens of Gondor brought their woes, struggles, and strife to him once a week - more often if he could manage it- and he always listened intently. He did his best to resolve each issue that came before him, and he was known for his attentiveness and benevolence amongst his subjects. Today he simply could not manage to keep his focus trained upon the proceedings. It was instead in the building nearly directly below him where Merry and Pippin had resided for some time now. Neither were well. The ravages of age spared none of the mortal beings of Middle Earth, no matter how desperately those who would outlive them wished it to be otherwise. Their aged bodies looked like shadows of the young hobbits Aragorn had once known. Merry struggled to use his right arm no matter how Aragorn strove to heal it. Pippin fared far worse. His lungs failed him frequently, and his knees plagued him with pain. Despite it all, they still insisted on coming up to the citadel for nearly every meal, and their spirits were high as ever. Age and weariness could not diminish those, nor could it quiet their laughter. Withered as he was, Pippin continued to be as unruly as in his youth. Except for the past few days. Of late, He seemed distant - like he had one foot beyond this land. 

Heavy boots thundered down the hallway towards the throne room. Aragorn tensed. All eyes turned to face the source of the sound. Eldarion came to a skidding halt before his father. He faced King Elessar red in the face and panting. “Pippin?” Aragorn asked. His voice was already thick and choked with tears. His son need not answer. Lest peril had befallen his siblings or mother, there was nothing that would have made him run so. All the same, Eldarion nodded. Aragorn rose slowly from his seat and composed himself enough that he hoped his voice would not shake. “Court is adjourned for the day.” His voice held an air of finality which none dared defy. “Please see the Master of Ceremony on your way out, and he will take note of that which you came to address. When I am able, I will review all issues submitted. Now I must attend to a matter that I fear cannot wait.” With instructions given, Aragorn stepped down from the throne and moved as hastily as he could without looking entirely undignified through the crowd of subjects, but as soon as he was out of sight of the main hallways and corridors, he was running.

The air in Bair Nestad felt stifling. There was a tension that could have been sliced through by a sword. Every healer stepped aside wordlessly and bowed their heads as Aragorn made his way to Pippin’s room. Typically, he was greeted with warm smiles entering this space, and not infrequently he offered aid or advice. Not this day, however. The scene that greeted Aragorn on the other side of the door brought him up short. Merry - old and stiff as he was - was seated cross legged on the too big bed. Tears ran silently down his cheeks while he dabbed at Pippin’s forehead with a wet towel. The younger hobbit’s face was pale. Far paler than he had been even the night before. A cough had plagued him for weeks, but he had continued to claim all was well. Now his lips had gone blue. Even the sound of heavy footsteps did not rouse Pippin. “The fever took him in the night. Didn’t tell a soul,” Merry said without prompting, “he can’t catch his breath anymore.”

At the sound of Merry’s voice, Pippin’s eyes opened slowly. His gaze was unfocused and distant until he saw Aragorn. At the sight, his face broke into a weak smile, but before he could say a word a coughing fit that wracked his entire frail body overtook him. “Let me go fetch some herbs. We can treat the fever and soothe the cough,” Aragorn began, but Pippin shook his head with what little strength he could muster.

“There is nothing left to try,” he croaked. His voice was so faint that it could barely be heard even in the silent room. “Just come sit with me, my old friend.” Aragorn sighed. Every part of him yearned to fight the invisible foe that plagued Pippin. This was no battle that could be won with Andúril, nor yet by all the trainings of Elrond in the days of his youth. This battle was the same one that destroyed the Númenoreans and nearly decimated Gondor itself. It was one with no victory. The battle against time and age. 

“As you wish,” Aragorn answered reluctantly after several seconds.

Aragorn sat beside Pippin for hours. There was idle chatter here and there. Sometimes with Merry while Pippin slept. Every once and a while, he would wake, and the three friends would recount the old days, rather Merry and Aragorn retold Pippin’s favorite stories to him with Pippin correcting them when they forgot the fabrications he added over the years. Eldarion and all those who had come to love the Thrain over the years came by to say their goodbyes. The King never left his Knight’s side. Eventually Pippin let him send for Athelas to ease the pain that came with each coughing fit. It comforted all who sat vigil, and the tension lessened in Pippin’s face while it brewed beside him. The room smelled of the woods of The Shire, and when Pippin first smelled it, he smiled and sighed. “Home…would that I could see it once more.”

“Maybe you can, Pip! We might be able to take one last grand adventure yet!” Merry tried to make the words sound hopeful, but they came out hollow.

“I think the only adventure that awaits me, old Merry, is whatever comes next. If you do make it back to The Shire, tell Faramir I love him for me. I’ll tell Sam and Frodo ‘hello’ for you, when I get wherever I am going - if they ever went there, that is.” Pippin’s words were weak. 

With each time he woke, his gaze became more distant. Both Merry and Aragorn clung tightly to his hands as though they could keep their friend with them for even a few extra moments if they just held on tight enough.

“Merry lad,” Pippin murmured at length. 

“Yeah, Pip?”

“I don’t know if I ever thanked Treebeard for making me the tallest hobbit on record. Could you do that for me, please?” Both Merry and Aragorn laughed through the tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I think I can manage that, but I think he knows you are grateful to him for it. Don’t worry about that just now.”

“I wish I could see him again. Him and Quickbeam. They are such odd fellows. And Bombadill. We never would have made it home without them.”

“We will make sure they all know they were on your mind,” Aragorn said gently and had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat.

“We never could have made it home without you either, and to think we almost didn’t trust you to go with us at all.”

“Well, don’t go counting me in that tally, Pip. I wasn’t there to not trust him, remember?” Pippin laughed. The sound came out more as a wheeze that caused him to start coughing once more. His lips were even more blue than when Aragorn first reached the Houses of Healing, and Pippin’s fingers were cold in his hand. “But I won’t fight your revisions - just this one time,” Merry added as an afterthought.

“Our King and protector from the day we met you,” Pippin said. A smile graced his features, and for just one last moment Aragorn could see the young hobbit that asked him about second breakfast, and then Pippin’s eyes fell closed for the final time. The name Strider seemed to hang in the air, but Aragorn never heard it again. 

Epilogue:

Pippin laid in state for a week. Tradition stated he be laid to rest in his uniform, but Merry insisted he wear his favorite coat and scarf, and so it was. At Aragorn’s insistence, Pippin’s livery lay folded at his feet to carry his honor with him wherever this last journey took him. Aragorn would not dream of laying Pippin to rest in his uniform either. He was a hobbit of The Shire foremost and a soldier second, but he fought valiantly. He needed that honor to stay with him. His sword, in true warrior’s fashion, was placed upon his breast. It was an odd picture: the bright colors of a hobbit’s traditional dress paired with the barrow blade. It felt fitting for the hobbit who caused trouble everywhere he went. Aragorn could think of nothing that would bring Pippin more joy than to know he caused a ruckus in court even in his death.

Mourners lined up all the way down to the fifth level to bid farewell to Ernîl Pheriannath. Each day the queue would begin at sunrise, and each day they came to lay flowers at the base of the bed upon which he rested and say their final goodbyes. A mere few hours before Pippin’s funeral, Aragorn stood before him. Aragorn wore no royal finery - hadn’t since he returned to his chambers from Bair Nestad - instead he wore the same clothes he wore the very first night he met the hobbits in Bree. The coat had more patches and the shirt was more threadbare than that night, but it mattered not. They were more treasured to Aragorn than any ceremonial tunic and cloak. No other hand mended them, not even Arwen. Now more than ever before they felt sacred. A last anchor to the Ranger of the North to which Pippin swore to serve as anchor. 

Each time Aragorn thought he could cry no more tears, more welled in his eyes. Now he wept openly. The sobs rang off the stone walls. It was not the first time in the past week he found himself in this position. The first night Merry found him there, and they cried together. When there were no tears left in either of them, they took a bottle of elven wine to the outer wall and drank and shared stories until the sun rose.

This night nobody came, and Aragorn was glad for it. Anger held his heart as much as grief. Blessed with long life, they said. It was no blessing to watch nearly all he held dear fade before his eyes. It was a curse greater than any he could fathom. There were only so many friends one man could lay to rest and watch sail away from him. Each time Aragorn stood before a crowd and spoke of the courageous deeds of those he fought beside and journeyed with it felt like his world shrunk that much more. Pippin left the world far smaller than his small stature accounted for and quieter than Aragorn could have ever predicted. At each turn he expected to hear “Strider!” called from down the hall followed by the sound of small bare feet slapping the stone. 

With a shaky step, Aragorn stepped up to Pippin. For just a moment, Aragorn saw the hobbit as he was during the War of the Ring: a young hobbit asleep in a bed roll who needed to be roused for another day on the march. A simpler time - albeit infinitely more perilous. A time before Aragorn wore the weight of the winged crown. “Strider I shall ever remain, my dear hobbit, ere I draw my last breath. I shall not let the wings of my crown fly me away from my roots.”

Bonus:

Aragorn never experienced the Sea Longing of the elves, but he knew when it was time to lay himself down for his final rest. His body did not move as it once did, and he was weary. This world no longer held him like it once did. When the time came, he said his goodbyes and felt no regrets. Arwen asked one last time for him to say, but Middle Earth was no longer his home. Aragorn had given every piece of himself to it. To saving it. Rebuilding it. Nurturing it. Growing it. His time had come to an end. When Aragorn shut his eyes for the last time, rest took him quickly, and at last he was at peace. 

He tried to roll over and shield himself from the light to sleep a few more minutes, but then his mind caught up to what he had just done. Aragorn’s eyes snapped open, and he was forced to blink against the brightness until his eyes adjusted to light around him. It seemed to have no clear source. He was laying in an unfamiliar bed. The room was nondescript and unadorned with no windows. Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed, assessing the situation. An open door faced him with an even brighter hallway beyond it. With no other clear option, he slid on the boots beside him. The feel of the old leather brought a smile to his face. Then he grabbed the familiar green leather jacket laying on the end of the bed, and walked out into the hallway. 

One end of the hall was a dead end and the other was the source of all the light. It was a blindingly bright glow that obscured any terminus. Aragorn faced it and concluded that was the only way he was supposed to go. With a sigh, he set out to whatever lay beyond. As he neared the light, it resolved into a large, open corridor with many hallways branching off of it. Aragorn looked from one direction to the other and froze. His eyes flitted from side to side. Anxiety seized him. Just as he was about to choose a direction at random, the sound of small, bare, running feet came echoing down the hall on his left. Aragorn froze. He refused to feel hopeful. Refused to look. “Strider!” a familiar voice cried from his left. Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat. Fifty three years he had waited to hear that voice say the name that had hung in the air since after he died. “Strider!” he called again, and Aragorn turned to see Pippin barreling towards him at a pace the hobbit had not been able to run for many years. He looked just as he had that first night in Bree down to his jacket and scarf. 

“Pippin,” Aragorn sobbed and fell to his knees just in time to catch Pippin in his arms. “My dear, dear hobbit. How I have missed hearing you call that name.”

“Did you manage to stay firmly on the ground, or did those wings you wore fly you away? I hoped I reminded you who you are enough times before I left you, but I have fretted a few times that I didn’t quite do enough.”

Aragorn shuffled back from Pippin enough to take a good look at him and shook his head in disbelief. “You did plenty enough to remind me who I am, but I hope I never have to go without hearing you call my name - whichever you want at any time and in any place - ever again.”

“Well, you are in luck, Strider. As it turns out, we hobbits go the same place men do, and everyone is waiting for you.”

A/N: So I made myself cry like 17 times writing the last parts of this thing. I apologize for the pain, but I hope you enjoyed!

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