muxshwriting

[muxshwriting]

I'm taking a little break from writing. I just got into my University so I'm planning all the logistics and things to do with that xx

Hopefully writing will return when I'm not so stressed out lol

[muxshwriting]

callsign cocktails

dagger squad x reader

summary: as a bartender at the hard deck, you enjoy the downtimes to create some signature cocktails... perhaps inspired by some regulars || warnings: alcohol, alcohol consumption || word count: 1217 || masterlist

As a bartender at the hard deck, there are times in the day when the bar is calmer and you have a moment to yourself. In such times, there is nothing more you enjoy than playing with your practised skills behind the bar and creating some signature cocktails inspired by your favourite regulars from top gun.

There's a blackboard hanging behind the bar, a different speciality cocktail every week, each with a familiarly styled name and a well known base. There's a small drawing for each drink, crudely sketched with chalk and smudged from being redone one too many times. Each week, the aviators saunter in, waiting to see which gets their turn at the top of the board as your ultimate inspiration.

week one: maverick's afterburn based on an old fashioned; smoked bourbon, demerara syrup, angostura bitters, orange bitters, and a dash of absinthe. served in a rocks glass with a flamed orange peel.

Pete trails behind his squadron as they trickle in, taking their usual spots around the pool table. He diverts, heading over to the bar for a drinks, or to catch a glimpse of Penny.

"She's not here tonight." You tell him gently, replacing glasses back onto shelves as you speak. "She's left me in charge for the night."

He took a moment to steady himself, glancing around and shrugging his worn leather jacket closer to his frame. "Just a beer then please."

"Coming right up." You hesitate slightly, milling over your next words as you hide a smile. "You ever thought about a signature cocktail?"

He frowns, head tilting as you tilt your own head towards your blackboard with his name emblazed.

"An old fashioned? You calling me old?"

"Let's say experienced." You tease, "Can I tempt you?"

"Fuck it, yeah."

You pull all the bottles you need, letting the rhythm dictate your movements. Bartending and especially cocktail making is incredibly therapeutic for you, an occupation where you want for nothing else. As you carefully peel an orange for the garnish, Mav perks up.

"What'd you change about it?"

"Not a cocktail connoisseur?"

"Exactly the opposite."

It takes a moment to compose yourself as you place the glass on the bar top. "Soaked bourbon has a deeper flavour, a bit more gritty. The demerara syrup kinda feels more mature than simple syrup. And, uh- This?" You hold up the orange peel and a lighter as you quickly light the oils and drop the peel into the drink, pushing it the final inches towards him. "I thought it was appropriate."

It doesn't take long for your fire show to attract attention and the the conversation to die down and the aviators to filter towards you for their usual's with some extra questions. You take the opportunity to show off something more than popping caps off bottles of beer as you turn to the final pilot in line.

"What's this about Mav getting his own cocktail? What about the Rooster?" He reached for his beer but had to tear his eyes away from the blackboard.

You laugh as you wipe the condensation from your hands. "Wait your turn Bradley. Good things come for those who wait."

week two: phoenix rising based on a french 75; gin, lemon juice, hibiscus syrup, topped up with champagne. served in a champagne flute with a lemon twirl and hibiscus flower.

The next week you wait until the whole group is there before revealing your board, edges drawn with curling flames and soaring birds.

"Any thought on the special, Nat?"

She took a moment to study the board before breaking out into a grin, "Sounds right up my alley."

It's a composed a focused drink, with the champagne toasting her every and many achievements. The syrup gives hint of her femininity and as you top it with the flower, it sinks to the bottom before rising once more, a true phoenix.

You didn't see Natasha as a hardened aviator, but a woman who had clawed her way to a space she deserved and earned. There was so much strength behind the gentle smile and the flowing hair.

Bradley takes one look at the board and shakes his head, reaching over the bar to grab his own beer with a amused smile. "Next week?"

"We'll see!"

week three: breeze over bay AKA the bob based on a white cosmo with a peach twist; vodka, cranberry juice, peach liquer, lime juice, cointreau. served in a chilled martini glass with thinly sliced peach to garnish.

Bob blushes as you present his drink on the bar for him. It's sweet and sharp, a comfortable drink made to be enjoyed. It doesn't have to be flashy and put on a show, it can speak for itself through taste, and it's honest about what it is.

"Thank you." His voice is quiet as he lifts his drink to take a sip, savouring the subtle flavourings. "It's really good."

"Glad you'll enjoy."

week four: hang in there based on a tommy's margarita; choice tequila, lime juice, agave syrup, jalepeno slices (muddled). served in a margarita glass with a tajin rim and lime wheel.

It's a drink with a temper, a flare for the dramatics just like Jake. He drinks it with a grin the size of Texas, even coming up to the bar for another soon after finishing his first. When Bradley saunters up the bar, you meet his gaze, pointing up to the name of Hangman's drink. Hang in there. It's just one more week.

week five: dry roost based on a negroni; dry gin, contratto bitter, amaro nonino, maple syrup. served in an old fashioned glass with a dehydrated orange wheel and maple soaked cherry on a brass pin.

"Bradley Bradshaw!" You call his name the moment that hawaiian shirt drifts into the hard deck. "Your time has come!"

There's a shout from his direction as he weaves past his friends to beat them to the bar. You're already mixing his drink, a mix of old fashioned classics with a modern twist that still give homage and respect to the past.

As he takes his first sip, he leans over the bar to plant a kiss to your cheek, almost laughing with glee. "It's perfect!"

"I should hope so, I made it." You joke but secretly watch his continued reaction. "Worth the wait?"

"Definitely worth the wait. Can you make this a regular item for me?"

You grin, shoving him away from your bar. "Whatever, maybe just for you. I'll charge you double for the inconvenience."

"You created the drink!"

"I can crack you a beer in a second."

week five: bar beachy keen a non-alcoholic house specialty lemonade, perfect for drinking on shift; fresh lemon juice, honey simple syrup, club soda. served in a mason jar with a twisting straw, a mint sprig and a lemon wedge.

You watch the dagger squad chat as Bradley finally sips his own cocktail, satisfied at last. And you finally take a seat at you calm bar, mason jar of your homemade lemonade in hand, curly straw tucked between your lips and an mini umbrella threatening to fly out of your glass.

But as you watch the waves lick the sand and the sun slowly dip below the horizon, there's no better place you can think of.

[muxshwriting]

in our room

duncan idaho x reader

summary: duncan idaho was the love of your life for every moment that the universe would give you. that was never in question and it never would be, no matter how long you lived but he didn't || warnings: character death, grief, war?, HEAVY angst || word count: 846 || masterlist

The attack of Arrakeen's palace was swift and brutal. It was a complete miracle that you had survived and it was highly probable that you wouldn't have if it hadn't been for your husband, Duncan. You had met during his first year as swordmaster back on Caladan, working for House Atreides as a tutor for their son Paul. With you as his everyday tutor and Duncan teaching the boy swordmastery and fighting, it was often and likely that your paths would cross.

The sneaky smiles and quick conversations evolved into lengthly discussions during meals and spending the night in each other's quarters until the sun rose just basking in the company of someone who seemed to get your soul completely.

Paul had been the first to see it, urging both of you to do something official about it, make it even more true than what anyone could already see. When Duncan took the plunge, you practically jumped into his arms at the question. From that day on, if you weren't officially working, you became your husband's shadow, motivating him to become even better and stronger than anyone else and teaching you everything you might need to know if you ever got into a fight.

Time passed, Paul grew up beyond your teachings, but your love with Duncan only ever grew stronger.

Then the worst day of your life arrived, the day the Harkonnen's arrived, the day your husband died.

Duncan shakes you awake in his arms, already reaching for his knives beside the bed. His breath is quick on your shoulder as you terror startles you awake. You grab your armour, a dagger of your own and tear out of the room behind Duncan. The room is left as it is, clothes still strewn across the floor and bedding unmade.

"I have to find the Duke."

"I can go to Paul?"

He nodded once, leaning into your touch as you leaned into his. Foreheads pressed together in a moment of silence before he presses a sweet kiss against your lips and pulls away.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Then he’s gone. And the palace begins to shudder. Sirens. Screaming. The crack of lasegun against shield. Sand-coats pour into the halls, and in the chaos, you see him. Duncan. Back turned, fighting. A blur of steel and fury.

"No!"

Your scream echoes in your ears as you watch Duncan fall, his body overtaken by Harkonnen warriors. You lunge toward him, but arms grab you, Gurney, dragging you away, the battle swallowing your voice whole. The palace burns. The dust begins to settle.

The wind outside carries smoke and silence. What was once the pride of House Atreides is now stone scorched and broken, haunted by footsteps you recognize but do not trust. The banners have fallen. The halls echo too loudly. But it has been reclaimed.

You walk beside your Duke, his cloak torn at the hem, his face far older than it was the day you lost it all. No loner the boy you helped raise, but a man. Around you, soldiers secure corridors, call out clear in clipped Fremen cant, clearing the last of the Harkonnen poisons. Gurney says your name softly, waiting for orders. But you don't speak. You only walk.

Past the great hall. Past the arch where Duncan kissed your hand before a Council meeting. Past the corridor where you once caught him stealing time to breathe.

You stop at a door. No one follows. Not even Paul, he understands that much. You press your hand to the panel. It resists, as if the room remembers what happened last time it opened. Then it yields, and you step inside.

The room exhales when you open the door. Arakeen light filters through shattered shutters, catching the dust in the air like stars trapped in a slow, dying orbit. Everything is still frozen in the moment before the world fell apart. The scent is faint, faded spice and old sandalwood, but it’s his.

Beneath the dust, the bed where you once lay. The corner where his boots always landed. The mirror that caught his eyes smiling back at you. And there, in the dim half-light, he stands.

Not fully, not really. But your memory has weight, and it drapes itself over the shadows like cloth. Duncan Idaho, your blade and your storm. His silhouette flickers where the window once framed him. You step forward and time buckles. Your hands rise instinctively, cupping a face no longer there. Breath mingles, yours with silence, and you feel the ghost of his heartbeat through your chest.

A single tear disturbs the dust on the floor.

"Milady," Gurney calls, his voice clipped and careful.

You don’t answer at first. You press your forehead to empty space, as if that might anchor him. But the vision dissolves as quickly as it came. The shadows thin. The dust, disturbed, slips quietly to the floor, losing its shape, no longer the body of your love.

You turn. The palace is yours again. But the room will always belong to him.

[muxshwriting]

literal fruits of labour

nikolai lantsov x wife!reader

summary: nikolai will always be by your side, especially as your giving birth to your first child together || warnings: childbirth || word count: 686 || masterlist

The contractions had started in the early hours of the morning, pulling you from sleep and making it impossible for you to return. You don’t wish to wake Nikolai, knowing he would spend the early hours stressing when nothing was wrong. You let yourself rest in your comfortable bed, turning your head to watch Nikolai sleep as the sun slowly rose over the horizon and through the curtains.

Your Nikolai had changed so much for you, gone against so much royal protocol because he wouldn’t put you through that. As soon as your pregnancy was announced, he dictated that there would be no public brith and immediate court appearance. Those were a symbol of old Ravka, a tradition he didn’t wish to bring into his dynasty.

Besides, he would be there by your side, there was no doubt about it. You would have your midwife and the healers and your husband beside you, there was no need for anyone else.

Your husband finally stirred beside you, woken by the sunrise. He reaches out for you and you slip your hand into his. In his surprise at your consciousness, his eyes meet yours and he squeezes your hand tightly.

“Are you alright?”

You smile, dragging his hand down to your stomach. It was a morning tradition that Nikolai would spend the first light of the day greeting your child. “I think today might be the day.” You say it gently, trying to ease him into the news but as soon as the words fall from your lips, Nikolai is upright.

“Are you sure?”

“My pains started sometime in the night. They’ve been very steady, consistent. But my waters haven’t broken yet.”

Nikolai’s eyes resembled a puppy’s. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because nothing is truly happening yet.” You softly reply. “When something develops, I will alert my midwife.”

“Your midwife does not know?” He’s on his feet, out of bed completely and almost at the door.

“What will she do? This is the waiting game Nikolai, we knew this.”

He’s practically pouting as he drags himself back to you. “Alright. But as soon as anything changes, I’m fetching everyone.”

You’re laughing as you reply, “Alright.”

Dawn has truly broken by the time the pain in your midriff is more than just uncomfortable. You stand from your bed with some difficulty, accepting Nikolai’s aid as he refused to leave your side.

“Should I summon the midwife?”

You blow the air in your lungs slowly through your lips, waiting for the pain to subside. Slowly, you nod and Nikolai stands to attention immediately, transferring the hand in his to the bedpost and rushing to the door. There’s the sound of hushed voices and hurried footsteps away as your dutiful husband returns to you and loops a hand around your waist.

“Today is definitely the day.”

“Are you in much pain?” Nikolai asks, worried for you.

“It’s not terrible. But the pains are only meant to worsen as labour progresses.”

Nikolai’s face set with purpose. “Alright, you’ll let me know if it becomes unbearable?”

“Darling,” you couldn’t help but admire your husband’s effort. “I’m not sure what you plan to do when the pain becomes unbearable, but I appreciate the effort.”

Nikolai remains right where he is, hand planted in yours, never complaining as you crush his fingers and scream out in pain. You were doing something Nikolai would never truly understand and will always admire. If he can help support you just a little, he’s done his best.

When your own cries fall away into a baby’s first breath, Nikolai’s heart stutters and his world is entirely changed. He presses a kiss to your forehead, shaking with adrenaline as you rest against him, all energy spent.

“You did it my love.”

You slowly nod, glancing down to where the midwife was holding your new child. “I love you.” Your voice is like a breath and as the babe is handed to Nikolai, it is completely lost to you.

“It’s a girl moi tsar, moi tsarina.”

“A girl.” Nikolai couldn’t take his eyes off her. “She’s so perfect.”

“She’s ours.”

[muxshwriting]

Can you write something with Zoya where they have cute moments hidden around the palace? Please

just a little 5+1 trope for you 😘

late night hallways

the five times you and zoya kept trying to keep your relationship a secret and the one time you didn't bother

[muxshwriting]

late night hallways

zoya nazyalensky x reader

summary: the five times you and zoya kept trying to keep your relationship a secret and the one time you didn't bother || word count: 2133 || masterlist

REQUESTED BY @laanswife : Can you write something with Zoya where they have cute moments hidden around the palace? Please

It started small, as most things do. Eye contact in the halls, exchanging small smiles and hurried conversations before rushing off to other places. Then there was the one night that Zoya had caught you burning midnight oil pouring over paperwork of some kind and invited herself into your room. When you awoke the next morning, still tangled in her arms with rumpled sheets and aching limbs, everything had changed. Because now your heart beat for her and hers for you.

There was an immediate agreement that the other grisha around the little palace shouldn't know about you and her. It would only stand to complicate things and possibly keep you two further away from each other than you already are. So you confined your relationship to whispered conversations, lonely nights but never alone when with each other, and hiding in plain sight.

1, hidden within obscurity

The dining hall in the palace is always buzzing, orders sitting at their tables and glancing across the rooms to friends. Conversation always seems to flow easy, easy enough when everyone has very similar experiences from day to day.

You and Zoya sit beside one another, chairs pushed as close as they can be. If the other summoners around you notice anything, they stay silent. Beneath the table cloth, your hands are entwined tightly, Zoya's thumb rubbing gently across yours. It's a quiet reminder that's she's always beside you, always there for you whenever or wherever you need her.

Someone at the table tells a joke and you let yourself laugh, the tenion of the day slipping from your shoulders. You can hear Zoya's quieter chuckle as she squeezes your hand slightly. You tilt your head towards her, squeezing back with fervour as you meet her eyes.

She leans closer her nose almost brushing yours as both your faces break out in softened smiles. It's almost like you can't help yourself as you inch closer to her, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Only this time, your being drawn to her breeze.

"Zoya!" Another squaller sitting across suddenly calls her name and you pull yourself back as she turns her head to the squaller. "Did you hear about..."

You aren't even listening to whatever the question was, hiding a blush as you realize how close to kissing Zoya you had truly gotten. If no one had said anything your lips would've been on hers in a second.

2, glances in passing

Your duties often dictated that you and Zoya would spend a day without seeing each other until mealtime or sometimes even later. You had separate responsibilities in the Little Palace but would take full advantage of any opportunity to see your girl.

There's a rare occasion when you and Zoya cross paths in the hallway and you practically fall into her arms, letting your exhaustion seep away just for a moment. She murmurs you name, her voice ever so soft and loving as she holds you with care.

You glance around, a slight bolt of terror coursing through you as you check that no one else is around. In your haste to see Zoya, you hadn't even thought about others, completely enamoured by her. With no one else in sight, you lean closer, pressing your lips against her skin.

"I need to go." You make no show of moving away, no twitch of muscles to keep walking. Instead, if anything, you inch closer to her, your body against hers as she lets her hands run wild.

"Then go." She whispers it back against your lips as you feel them moving against yours. You both know it's useless but you're too occupied to care.

Your breath is hers as you surrender and she gently pushes you backwards against the wall. Your hand weaves into her hair until she pushes away, gasping for breath.

"But we really should go..."

She grins, kissing you sweetly once more. "I love you."

"Love you too."

You walk opposite ways down the hallway, lips still tingling and cheeks littered with a bright flush as you duck back into your work.

3, whispers between walls

After a long day, there's not much else you like to do besides crashing into your bed and heading off to sleep. But as the little palace sleeps beneath the blanket of moonlight, your world is alight with warmth.

Zoya sneaks through the corridors towards your bedroom, pushing the heavy door open and watching you for a moment as you settle into bed.

The door slicks shut and you glance up to meet her gaze. She stalks towards you, her nightgown swaying with the movement of her walk. You welcome her to bed, already itching for her company.

Zoya lay beside you, her hand sprawled across your stomach, fingertips tracing idle patterns along your skin. Her long, dark hair spilled over your chest like ink across parchment, and in the blue-grey light of the hour, she looked impossibly beautiful, sharp and soft all at once.

The silence stretched between you, not awkward but familiar, weighted with the kind of comfort you could only find in the dark, in whispered promises and tangled limbs. You knew how dangerous it was, slipping into each other’s rooms like this, always one breath away from being caught, but it had become a risk worth taking.

At some point, sleep had tugged you both under, but dawn wasn’t far now. The sky had just begun to lighten to that faint shade of indigo that warned of the changing shift, and the quiet hum of servants waking was still a distant echo.

You blinked awake again, your face nestled into Zoya’s shoulder, her arm wrapped securely around you. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of pretending the world outside didn’t exist. That it was just you and her, unbothered, free.

But the palace would wake soon.

Zoya stirs, her hand reaching out instinctively, fingers curling around your wrist. She blinked her eyes open, cursing the rising daylight as she tried one last time to hide the light and tuck the covers around her tighter.

"Ughhh."

"Good morning my love."

With plenty of quiet groans, she gathered herself and padding back barefoot down the corridor with a goodbye kiss from you.

4, held by the clock

Meetings at the Little Palace were long, often painfully so. Rows of keftas lined the war rooms, filled with high-ranking Grisha, advisors, and commanders, all speaking over one another in clipped voices and sharp glances. And every now and again (more often than not), your eyes flickered to one specific spot in the room.

To her.

Zoya sat like the eye of the storm, elegant and controlled with the overhanging threat of a hurricane looming. She kept catching your glance, a small smile, a raised eyebrow, a softened blink, a gentle nod.

Eventually, the crowd began to disperse. Chairs scraped against the floor, footsteps echoed down stone hallways, and commanders murmured their final words before taking their leave.

But neither of you moved. She didn’t look at you until the door finally shut behind the last advisor.

"You looked like you wanted to kill Nikolai halfway through," she said casually, arms crossed as she leaned against the edge of the table.

You huffed a laugh. "He was insufferable. Trying to micromanage the whole Western front as if he’s the one flying there."

She tilted her head. "You’re tense."

You opened your mouth to argue, then shrugged. "Maybe."

Zoya stepped closer, her boots soft against the worn carpet. "You barely looked at me."

"I was trying to be professional," you muttered, half-sarcastic.

Her lips curved, slow and knowing. "Were you?"

"I was trying."

She was close now, close enough to brush her fingers over your sleeve, catching your wrist and holding it between you both. "Then I appreciate your effort," she murmured, voice lower now, softer. "But I miss you."

You exhaled, the tension draining from your shoulders in one long breath. "Missed you too." These quiet moments were where the two of you thrived. No eyes. No duty. Just space carved out for each other, however brief. You let go of her hand first, stepping away just in time for the door to creak open with another wave of footsteps and idle chatter. But your heart stayed behind with her, just like always.

5. distraction in discipline

The training field was alive with motion, sweat, sparks, steel, and wind. Squads moved through drills with precision, instructors barking corrections across the yard. You were supposed to be focusing, supposed to be working through your routine.

But Zoya was beside you.

And that was always a problem

You couldn’t help it. Something in the glint of her eyes when she turned to smirk at you, or the quiet comment she’d mutter under her breath after a poor demonstration, had you biting back laughter instead of drawing your focus. She’d lean in close just enough to tease, voice low so no one else could hear, but just dangerous enough to make your pulse skip.

You were halfway through a sparring exercise, throwing barely controlled gusts of wind to counter her strikes, when she stepped forward too fast and nearly knocked you off your feet.

"Try keeping your eyes on the target," she taunted under her breath, lips curled.

"My target keeps talking," you shot back with a grin.

Unfortunately, your moment of shared amusement didn’t go unnoticed.

"Enough!" came a sharp voice from the side of the yard. 

You both froze as the instructor stormed toward you, stern, unimpressed, and clearly done with the little game you thought you were being subtle about.

"Am I interrupting something?" they asked, looking between you and Zoya with a raised brow. "Because it certainly seems like you two are more interested in flirting than training."

Your face went hot. Zoya straightened slightly, her face already shifting into something cool and composed, but not quite apologetic.

"No, sir," you said quickly, trying not to wince.

"Then perhaps you’d like to show me how well you can focus without treating drills like a date."

Zoya’s jaw twitched. You elbowed her before she could say anything sharp, but you could feel the heat rolling off her as she shook off the call out and got back to focusing on training once more.

It only takes less than a minute for Zoya to catch your eye and stifle a laugh, hiding it behind her kefta as she fake-coughed. You find yourself hiding your own behind a hand and avoiding the instructor at all costs.

+1, the reveal

After months of sneaking around and hiding from everyone else, you and Zoya finally decided to stop the charade and reveal your secret. You rehearse it a few times the night before, brainstorming the best way to come out with it.

"Just say it straight."

"Straight?"

So, when the moment came, with Genya sipping tea, Nikolai lounging dramatically in a sunbeam like the cat he clearly was in a past life, and Alina flipping through notes on crop yield, it was supposed to be calm and confident.

"By the way, Zoya and I are together." You announce, not making it a big deal.

"Romantically." Zoya adds, always wishing for the last word.

Then came silence. And then, laughter. Way too much laughter. Nikolai wheeze-snorted. Genya nearly spit her tea. Alina was laughing so hard she dropped her notes.

You blinked, hard. "What's so funny?"

"Oh sweethearts," Genya said between fits of giggles. "You though we didn't know?"

"We’ve known for months," Alina added, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "We've probably known longer than you."

Nikolai gave an exaggerated gasp. "You mean to tell me those dreamy-eyed stares across the war table weren’t platonic?"

"You tripped over a desk because Zoya smirked at you," Genya added, voice gleeful.

"That was one time-" You stood there, mouth half-open, entirely betrayed by your own smug belief that you’d kept it subtle. "We were so careful…"

"You made heart eyes at each other across the strategy maps," Genya said flatly.

"You held hands under the table," Alina said, shaking her head fondly.

"You once sat in Zoya’s lap during a meeting."

"That was a bet!" you protested.

"Oh, sure," Nikolai said. "A bet. For science."

Zoya groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I hate everyone here."

Genya leaned forward, beaming. "We love you too."

Alina giggled again. "Honestly? We’re just glad you finally said it. You’re good together. It’s kind of adorable. In a terrifying, lightning-and-dagger sort of way."

Zoya gave you a long-suffering look, then reached out and grabbed your hand anyway, fingers threading through yours like second nature.

You squeezed back. "Well," you muttered, cheeks warm, "At least now we don’t have to be careful."

"Oh, thank the Saints," Nikolai said. "Now you can make out like normal people, instead of whispering sweet nothings about lightning storms behind the stables."

Zoya aimed a throw pillow at his head.

It missed.

But only because she let it.

[muxshwriting]

Hey! I really enjoy your writing and I was wondering if you could write a fic on Bradley Bradshaw (Rooster). Where the reader and him are engaged or dating. He comes back from deployment and you tap him out and it’s just very fluffy! Thank you!

show me the way home honey !

I sort of split and recombined your request slightly with tapping out and returning from deployment. hope you enjoy!!

[muxshwriting]

show me the way home honey

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader

summary: you reunite with bradley after deployment and it only reminds you of the first time you met him on base || warnings: lots of fluff || word count: 986 || masterlist

REQUESTED: Hey! I really enjoy your writing and I was wondering if you could write a fic on Bradley Bradshaw (Rooster). Where the reader and him are engaged or dating. He comes back from deployment and you tap him out and it’s just very fluffy! Thank you!

The sun was barely up, casting a golden glow across the tarmac. The crowd and buzz rang through the air as the Navy graduation ceremony began. You sat in you seat, listening to the announcements and the ceremony of it all, but never once taking your eyes off the small figure halfway across the formation that you would recognise in a heartbeat.

Bradley stood under the blaring sun, his uniform polished and perfected to a standard higher than any other. He had to look perfect for his girl; the girl who had met him in college and chose to stuck with him through his naval academy. All the late nights of studying and training and falling asleep on one another led them both to this moment.

And as soon as the commander let families approach their recruits, you were up and out of your seat, rushing through the throng of people towards your love.

He's standing proudly, eyes set forward but he knows you're coming, just like you always have. You weave through cadets and civilians alike, your hair floating in the slight breeze as you finally see your Bradley. You hold yourself back, knowing what this moment will mean to you both in the years to come, the moment when there was only you and nothing more, because nothing more was needed.

Your hands wring in your lap, maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of anticipation. But you stand in front of him once more, your space becoming his, the miles, now meters, now mere inches. "Carol would be so proud of you." You say quietly, letting the words sit in the inches between you two. Your breath hits Bradley and you can feel his as he holds his shoulder's steady. but you don't reach out to brush his arm or kiss his lips, not just yet. "I am so proud of you."

With the simple decleration, and the unspoken one of love, you raise yourself onto your toes and press a gentle kiss upon his lips. And upon feeling your body against his, Bradley practically melts. His hands move to wrap tightly around your waist, holding you to him as he kisses you back with fervour.

"Thank you."

It’s whispered into your hair as he finally feels home again, with you.

You’ve lost count of the years. There’s no point in keeping track when you know this will be your forever, your Bradley. In a brief moment when he’s not away on deployment or needed elsewhere, he takes you to the beach, your favourite place in Miramar. You’re more than content to spend the day with him doing nothing but when you arrive, there’s already blankets and a small picnic waiting for you.

"Bradley? What is this?" You turn to face him, but the breath is sucked out of your lungs.

He’s on one knee, a small velvet jewellery box open in his hands, with the most beautiful engagement ring you’ve ever seen sitting on the cushion. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to overflow in an instant. Bradley’s eyes mirror yours and you can see his throat bobbing as he swallows his words.

"Y/N." He reaches for your hand and you’re glad for the stability when it feels like you might float away. "I’ve loved you for what seems like forever… but will you do me the honours and make it actually forever? Will you marry me?"

There’s no doubt in your mind as you answer him, letting him slip the perfect ring onto your finger and lift you to your feet, spinning you around until you’re dizzy.

Your mind flips to the next fortnight, where Bradley’s being sent for a four month long deployment once again. But with this ring to hold you steady, you know you’ll hold fast and steady for him, waiting patiently for his return until you can plan your forever with him.

The engagement ring feels heavy on your hand as you watch the ships approach the harbour. There’s a trepidation in your heart, a promise made to you and a promise kept. The salty breeze off the water tangled in your hair as you stood at the edge of the dock. The massive carrier was pulling in slow and steady, a steel beast coming back to rest, and your heart pounded harder with every foot it drew closer.

You scan the lines of uniforms along the deck, eyes darting over tan and green and white, until- There. Bradley. Sunglasses perched in his hair, sun-kissed and broad-shouldered and laughing about something with the guy next to him, until his gaze dropped to the crowd and landed on you. His whole face changed, softened and brightened, like every part of him lights up all at once.

There's a swagger in his step as he all but jogged down the gangway, his duffel bag bouncing on his shoulder as he rushed towards you. You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran.

He caught you mid-jump, , tossing his duffel somewhere behind him like it no longer mattered, arms locking around your waist as your legs wrapped around him, and he spun you into a dizzy circle. You buried your face in his neck, letting the scent of sea air and jet fuel and Rooster fill every part of you that had been aching.

"I’ve got you, sweetheart," he breathed, voice rough and reverent. "I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you."

You pulled back just enough to kiss him, quick and soft and then not so soft, your hands tangled in his hair and his lips on yours like he’d been starved. When you finally parted, breathless and laughing, he leaned his forehead against yours.

"You're here," he said.

"I always will be," you whispered.

He smiled, eyes warm, sun catching in the golden flecks there. "Then show me the way home honey."

[muxshwriting]

no fic this week? you just usually post on a friday... not to pressure you or anything but noticed a glaring absence of you on my dash 🥰🥰

awwwww

I've been celebrating a friend's 18th with a concert and full on party so haven't written anything for a couple days. There's a couple of requests I'm working on rn that might be posted out of schedule pretty soon to make up for missing friday xx

thanks for the ask lovely x

[muxshwriting]

bite the hand

charles leclerc x teammate!reader

summary: ferrari is draining you of everything you once loved about racing and you're tired of fighting a losing battle for respect, for your place, for peace || warnings: shitty team, ferrari hating || word count: 1239 || masterlist

You sat still in the car, helmet still on, refusing to move. Not yet. Not like this. A shadow dropped into your line of sight.

“Well done, kid. You did good.” Lewis. Kneeling beside your car, helmet under one arm, voice gentler than you expected.

“Doesn’t really feel like it,” you muttered.

“I know.”

That was enough. He helped you out, walked you back to the Ferrari garage in silence. You hated that silence. It was loud, full of everything you hadn’t said. The garage was half-empty, no one looking for you, all celebrating Charles’s podium.

You were happy for him, you really were. But you couldn't face the crowd, not when it felt like the walls were caving in. All you wanted was to disappear, curl up at home, trash TV on in the background, junk food in your lap, dog curled beside you. A version of peace. Everything was too much.

“I don’t know what I did to make everyone hate me so much,” you whispered once, voice cracking. “I’m trying. Every day. So I don’t hate myself too. And the worst part is... I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wouldn’t let anyone see you cry. If they saw the tears, they’d see the weakness. And if they saw the weakness, they’d exploit it. That was the rule. That had always been the rule. There was no changing reality.

Maybe you weren’t built for this. Maybe you weren’t the future of Formula 1. Maybe they were right.

You weren’t a star. You weren’t special. You were a cautionary tale, a headline, a one-season experiment already wearing thin. Your dreams were dying. And it hurt to admit that maybe some of them couldn’t be revived. You sat alone at the back of the paddock, knees to your chest, and tried to convince yourself you weren’t falling apart. The wind cut through your race suit, sharp against your skin. This didn’t feel like home anymore.

Racing used to be the dream. Now it was just survival. Race wins weren't in the cards for you, a world championship was out of the question. Crashes, bruises, disappointment and dread was all you could look forward to now. That was it.

This was it.

You felt like the loneliest person in the world at this moment. Everyone else was separated from you, looking down on you from their towers of safety and comfort. The track was the quietest place on earth. Sound refused to penetrate the bubble you had built for herself. The wind was cold against your skin, raising goose bumps to the surface. It was uncomfortable, it was harsh. You came to the hard realisation: racing was no longer home. It wasn't the welcome escape from real life. It was a chore, your job, your only merit.

Charles always did his best to support you in every way that he could but not even he could solve this problem. He could see the blatent favouritism that his team showed him whilst ignoring your struggles and your accomplishments.

"I think maybe it's my time to go."

Your lying in his arms, blinking away the tiredness of the day with bleary eyes.

"Go?" Charles asked slowly. "It's only half way through the season."

"And I'll stick it out until the end but I have to go somewhere else. I need to leave Charles. I can't stay here."

Charles sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know." You shrug. "I don't think I'm going to get a seat anywhere else. The only reason I got this one was because of PR, and everyone knew it was temporary.”

“There are still teams without confirmed line-ups - ”

“They won’t pick me,” you said. “I’m not worth the risk. Remember what they called me when I started? The FIA’s experiment. I’m not a safe investment. I come with politics, headlines, ‘controversy.’ I’m not just a driver to them.”

“That’s bullshit,” Charles snapped. “You’re one of the best drivers I’ve ever raced with.”

You smiled softly at that, but it didn’t stick. “Doesn’t matter if I am. Not in this world.”

Silence again. You turned your attention to the rings on your fingers, twisting them round and round.

"So that's it?"

Charles perked up suddenly. “What about Red Bull? If Checo’s out, that’s a seat.”

You laughed. “Be serious.”

You shrug again. "Maybe. Maybe that's all my career was supposed to be. A couple years at the top, magazine covers, interviews, showing the world it could be done and then being cast aside by the sport and relegated to another name on the page of a history book."

"But you could do so much more than that!"

"I know!" You sigh. "And that's the worst part."

At the next race, you have to keep your head up, keep your eyes forward and ignore all the stares and the judgement and the rumours. But then qualifying flips the world upside down and you find the hugs and support from the team after a good result. It's like trying to argue with a coin that won't stop spinning, two completely different versions.

During the race, everything that could go wrong, does. First lap, first corner, someone clips a back tyre and spins you out, landing you at the very back of the pack. Then, just as you've crawled and carved yourself back into the points, the car gives up, it breaks completely and gives you no other option but to retire from the race.

And when it all came crashing down again, you found him by your side. Like always. “I couldn’t leave you alone like this,” Charles murmured, slipping into the seat beside you in the motorhome.

You didn’t move away.

“Even if you despise me, I’d still be here.”

“I don't hate you,” you whispered. “I hate the team. Big difference.”

A wet, humorless laugh escaped your lips. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

He nodded, reaching for your hand. “I know. But it is. And we keep going.”

And somehow, the warmth of his palm in yours made it feel like you could keep going, for now. They were content to sit there and watch the time go by until someone really needed them and were more than happy to spend their time next to one another. A loud noise startled you and made you hold his hand tighter.

“You ready?” He whispered quietly.

“Almost.”

Charles didn’t reply. Instead he turned your palm up to face his and carefully traced his fingers over every line. “You can do it.”

Charles held you closer after that. His arm always around your waist, his hand always finding yours when you needed grounding. He started noticing the digs, the dismissals, the cold shoulders from the garage. His smile at the factory grew tighter.

You didn’t have to say it. He saw it. And he hated it too. You were his teammate. His partner. His person. And he was starting to understand why you wanted to run. Because when you love someone, and the world breaks them, you start to want to bite back. Even if it means biting the hand that once fed you.

The decision was final, and at the end of the year, you were getting as far away from this sport and this godforsaken team as you possibly could. It didn't deserve your time when it only rewarded you with pain.

But there was still one unknown, and Charles was steadily starting to feel the same way as you once did.

[muxshwriting]

omg!! any chance for a max v fic. with like really overprotective max or something? maybe teammate or girlfriend. I love me some angsty overprotectiveness

of course my lovely!

max is PEAK overprotective boyfriend/teammate/yearner. i hope you enjoy this, really leaning into the angsty non-confession relationship. because, not everything has to be labelled, if it’s comfortable and yours, why fix what isn’t even broke. I am rambling but here you go!

bruises and a backache

[muxshwriting]

bruises and a backache

max verstappen x teammate!reader

summary: hiding an injury from your teammate and then proving yourself beyond his overprotective-ness || warnings: bruises, past injury || word count: 1790 || masterlist

Max was pounding at the bathroom door, his blood rushing hot and fast through his body like he’d just stepped out of the cockpit mid-race. His palm slammed flat against the wood again. “Y/N,” he said, voice tight, bordering on frantic. “Open the door.”

The sound of the shower was still running, steam curling out from the cracks in the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise he’d heard, the unmistakable sound of you stifling a scream. “I’m fine!” you called out, your voice thin and shaking as you tried to steady it. “It's just… a spider.” You try to make it sound casual but it comes out confused and as an almost question.

“A spider?” he repeated, disbelieving. “You’re not scared of spiders.”

You paused, eyes trained on your reflection in the fogged-up mirror. “It just surprised me,” you added quickly, the lie tasting stale on your tongue.

But Max wasn’t letting it go. You could hear him draw in a slow breath through his nose, trying to rein in the panic in his chest. “Please just… unlock the door,” he said, softer now. “Let me see you. Are you hurt?” Your words did nothing to calm Max's racing heart, only serving to make him more concerned. His body slumps forward, trying to be closer to you as his forehead rests on the door. "Can you unlock the door? Let me check you're alright?"

You stared at the lock, heart thudding. You didn’t want to lie to him. Not really. But you also didn’t want the storm you knew was waiting on the other side of that door. “You can't come in,” you tried again, voice light, teasing, desperate. “I'm changing.”

“It's nothing I haven't seen before. I’ve seen you change,” he shot back. “You've got to lie better. What's happening?”

There was a moment of silence before you gave in with a small sigh, walking over and unlocking the door with a soft click. Max watches the shadow retract and as soon as the lock is turned, he was already pushing it open.

You stood there, in your underwear, staring into the mirror, eyes flicking to his reflection as he entered. His gaze dropped to your skin instantly, like it always did, but instead of wandering hands and a smile, all that crossed his face was alarm. Your back still had the scars of childhood races etched onto it but it was now a mess of blooming bruises, angry purples and fading yellows. But Max could instantly tell which ones were new.

You hadn’t even made it into your shower and you were frozen in place like a deer caught in the beam of his attention. Max didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Then, quietly; “Where did you get those, schat?”

You closed your eyes for a second and reached for your shirt, fumbling with it as you gave up on pretending you were fine. The ache in your muscles was too much tonight, and your stupid scream had ruined the last of your cover. “They’re from the crash last week,” you said softly. “It’s nothing serious. We checked everything- the medical team checked, everything’s okay. I just knocked them weirdly when I was changing.”

Max’s brows furrowed hard. “We checked?” he echoed. “Who’s we? Does Christian know?”

You hesitated. That was enough of an answer.

“Are you kidding me?” he barked. “Everyone knew except me?”

“I didn’t want to hide it from you-”

“Then why did you?”

“Because you would do exactly this,” you said, voice sharp but tired. “You’d panic. You’d hover. You’d worry and forget how to focus. And I couldn’t do that to you.”

Max exhaled harshly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You should’ve told me.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t want you to stop seeing me as your teammate first. I didn’t want to become a problem to manage.”

His expression twisted at that, something between frustration and heartbreak. He stepped forward, his hand brushing your arm carefully.

“You’re never a problem,” he said. “But you are my-" His mind jumped for something that didn't compeltely give the game away to his feelings. There were the countless nights of binging tv shows with you, culred up on on sofas and slipping away into each other's motorhomes. "You're my person. Do you get that? If you’re hurt, I need to know.”

Your shoulders dropped, the weight of the truth finally settling between you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Max pulled you close, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other ghosting over your bruised skin like he wished he could draw the pain out of it. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured. “Just don’t make me find out like this again. I want to worry with you. Not because you shut me out.”

You nodded against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily under your ear.

“Okay,” you said. “I promise.”

The paddock buzzed with its usual pre-race energy, mechanics moving like clockwork, journalists circling like flies, engines humming in the distance. You walked toward the Red Bull garage in your race suit, helmet in hand, eyes focused ahead.

Max, of course, was already there. He spotted you immediately and beelined across the garage like a heat-seeking missile. “Morning,” he said casually, walking beside you. “Sleep okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Max. Still fine.”

He nodded once, like he didn’t quite believe you. “Did you take the painkillers Christian gave you?”

You gave him a look. “Max.”

“Just checking.”

He hovered as you moved to your station, watching as you adjusted the strap on your suit and flexed your shoulders, testing the pain quietly, discreetly. It twinged, sure, but nothing that would stop you from racing.

Max narrowed his eyes. “Was that a wince?”

“No,” you lied with the confidence of someone who’d already practiced it twice in the mirror. “Just adjusting.”

He didn’t look convinced. “We can still switch you out for Liam, you know. It’s not too late.”

You scoffed and turned to him fully, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Don’t start with that again. I passed medical. I’m cleared. I'm racing.”

Max lifted his hands in surrender but stepped a little closer. “I know. I know. It’s just… I watched the replay again last night.”

You paused. “Why would you do that to yourself? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a racing incident.”

He looked at you like you’d said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Racing incident or not, I nearly lost you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the sound of pit tools and shouting engineers. You softened, resting your hand on his forearm. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”

He looked down at your hand, then at you again. “Yeah, but I also wasn’t there. I didn’t know. You were hurting and I didn’t see it.”

“And now you do,” you said. “So let me drive, Max. Please. Don’t let this be the thing that makes you forget who I am.”

He stared at you for a moment, searching your face like he could read every inch of emotion you weren’t saying aloud. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you so much as blink weirdly on the radio, I’m calling it in.”

You rolled your eyes, lips quirking. “Deal.” You're both hiding small laughs as you part.

As you turned to leave, Max called after you, “And don’t worry about carrying your helmet and your pre-race things again. I told the interns to do it.”

You turned over your shoulder, walking backwards with a smirk. “Max, are you trying to seduce me with team orders?”

He smirked right back, eyes gleaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

When you cross the line in first place, the throbbing of your back seems to fade away with the joy of the occassion. Max rounds off the podium but when your parked up in parc ferme, his first thought is to crouch by your car, take your helmet in his own hands and his eyes scanning you like he was reading telemetry. He didn't say anything at first, waiting, not with champagne or celebration in mind.

Just walked up, hands hovering until he gently pulled you into his chest. Not a crushing hug, he knew better, but a steady one. Solid. Careful. Like he was trying to hold you together without hurting you.

“You’re walking a little stiff,” he murmured near your ear, voice just for you.

You let out a soft breath, arms around his waist. “It’s fine. I’m just sore.”

Max pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowed, like he could spot every lie beneath your skin. “Sore how?” he asked, tone more measured now. “Like regular ‘I just drove 300 kilometers’ sore, or ‘I haven’t told my teammate my back’s killing me’ sore?”

You sighed, cheeks flushing. “Don’t do that thing where you read my mind.” He didn’t smile. Not this time. He reached out and gently, so gently, brushed his fingers against your side. When you flinched just slightly, his jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have pushed it that hard,” he said softly, not angry, just concerned.

“I needed to prove-”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he interrupted. “I don’t care if you finished first or dead last, I just need to know you’re not hurting worse because of it.”

You looked down at your hands, pulling your gloves off gently. “I never need to prove it to you. But it wasn’t that bad, I paced myself, I didn’t take risks. I just… I needed to feel normal.”

Max exhaled slowly, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “You are normal. Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean weak.” His voice dropped even lower, quieter now with the noise of the crowd fading in the background. “If you’d told me it was too much, I would’ve been proud of you for stepping out. I need you to remember that, okay?”

You nodded slowly, eyes flicking up to his. “I was careful, Max. I promise. I know I’m not back to 100% yet.”

He searched your face for a long second, then finally gave a small nod of his own. “Alright,” he said. “But you’re icing your back the minute we get to the motorhome. And I’m carrying your suitcase. And I’m not negotiating on either.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, Captain Verstappen.”

He smiled this time, just a little. “You can win the race, but I’m still calling the recovery strategy.”

You lean in and almost want to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

“Always.” He tilted his head to your waiting team. “Go get 'em.”

[muxshwriting]

don't mind me:D (btw luv luv your writing) may I request a pete mitchell x fem!reader- it can be yk 86 or 2022 whatever your choice- where the reader is just as a sharpshooter as caitlyn from arcane (I cannot move from this show it's been half a year)

love this request!! i haven’t watched arcane but know what kind of thing you mean. it’s a bit of a long one but i just couldn’t stop writing at one point (hehe)

thanks so much for the compliment, honestly made me blush a little ☺️😚

eyes with wings

I’m always accepting requests and have a whole summer free for writing (bar a bit of part time work) so send ‘em in!

[muxshwriting]

eyes with wings

pete 'maverick' mitchell x reader

summary: as a navy seal, your job often lands you in dangerous positions. but you've always got wings in the air to aid your eyes on the ground, right? || warnings: area of conflict, mentions of war, blood, death, injury, technically murder || word count: 2169 || masterlist

REQUESTED BY @mverickss : may I request a pete mitchell x fem!reader- it can be yk 86 or 2022 whatever your choice- where the reader is just as a sharpshooter as caitlyn from arcane

The first shot rang across the desert plane with a whistle all too familiar for those close. It was clean, especially with undesirable wind conditions and visibility. The stationary target crackled as your bullet striked the metal,

"Ghost," your SEAL commander stood just behind you, watching the shot. "The meeting is in five. Let's move."

You shift you weight to sit upwards once more and dismantling your rifle with precisioned and practised care. It was second nature to you after the years that you had dedicated to your craft. He leaves you there, striding back towards the main base building, not waiting for you to finish but knowing you'll follow as soon as you're done. The corridors wind past you, weaving through as you brush the final specks of sand from your uniform. As the meeting room draws closer, you hear the familiar voices of your commander and an old friend you once worked with.

"You want me to base my entire air strategy off a guy with a rifle and a god complex?"

"She’s a sniper, sir," said the SEAL commander, deadpan. "Not a god. Just very, very good at her job."

Maverick folded his arms, smirk sharp enough to cut a checklist. "Same difference."

You rap your hand againt the doorframe you'd been waiting by, taking pleasure in the jerk of Pete's head towards you. "Let's hope you fly as good as you talk Captain."

His face almost lit up at the sight of you, the only Navy SEAL he had worked with before and actually enjoyed. Most other soldiers looked down on the aviators and commanded him without asking for his opinion, despite his experience. But you? The first time you were paired together, you took the time out of the day to meet with him more casually and ask for his opinion and his views on possible plans.

"Ghost!"

"Mav."

He almost reaches towards you, his arms itching to pull you in for an embrace but holds his ground at the last second. You stalk forward from the door until you're standing directly in front of him, a small smile creeping onto your face. He surges forward, hugging you tightly. Maverick's arms wrapped tightly around you, his embrace bordering on possessive. It was the kind of hug you could feel he had been holding back, needing this, needing you. He took a moment to savor the proximity, breathing in your familiar scent, as if it helped to ground him.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, "It's been too damn long."

"Are you ready for this op? Our target's quite a tricky one." You tease him, knowing this mission falls well within his capabilites.

Mav's smirk returned, a twinkle in his eye. "Oh, I'm always ready for a bit of a challenge." His gaze roved up and down your form, lingering for just a split second longer than necessary. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll be there to keep me in line." His tone was flirtatious, bordering on teasing.

"You forget you're in the sky and I'm on the ground. If anything, you're keeping me in line."

Your conversation is cut short by your commander loudly clearing his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable and as if he isn't quite sure how to react when other people socialise in front of him. "Right, I have your mission details here, anything else you need to discuss... I'll be in my office."

As soon as the door swings shut, you and Pete almost collapse onto each other with stifled laughter. You both compose yourselves quickly, the moment of levity giving way to the sharp edge of what lay ahead. The mission wasn’t just another routine drop or long-range engagement, it was very different. High risk, high reward, like all the best ones are. And deeply personal for reasons you weren’t sure the others fully understood yet…

You stepped closer to the large screen that flickered to life as your SEAL commander keyed in his access code. A topographical map of mountainous terrain in the distant war zone not far from the army base filled the display. Several red markers blinked steadily in a tight grid across a deep valley canyon, enemy encampments, anti-air batteries, and confirmed patrol routes.

At the center, a single blinking yellow icon pulsed faintly.

“Our target,” the commander said, tapping the icon.

You frowned, “It’s not a single target,” you said quietly, already parsing through possibilities. “It’s a network.”

“Correct,” the commander affirmed. “But at the heart of this particular network is a rogue ex-intel officer. He’s been moving classified material to enemy lines and we need to prevent any more sensitive material from being shared. We’ve tracked him through three countries, and this is the first window we’ve had in months. Forty-eight hours from now, he vanishes again, and we may not get another shot.”

Maverick’s easygoing smirk faded, the weight of the situation settling over him like a familiar jacket. “What’s the extraction look like?”

Your commander clicked through a few files, pulling up satellite photos of a makeshift airstrip carved into the canyon. “You’ll be flying through a narrow ravine with limited visual clearance and unpredictable crosswinds. Precision flying is non-negotiable. You’re our eyes in the sky. Ghost will be coordinating from a concealed sniper nest along the north ridge. You’re both the tip of the spear.”

You crossed your arms, scanning the layout with a seasoned eye. “What about air defenses?”

“Two known SAM sites. Intel believes they’re operational. You’ll be flying in low to avoid detection, and Ghost will be in place to neutralize ground threats prior to your ingress. Timing is key.”

Pete nodded, jaw tightening. “Sounds like you’re setting me up to thread a needle at Mach speed while dodging enemy fire and avoiding washing out or hitting the ground.”

You gave him a sly glance. “Good thing you like a challenge.”

“And I trust you’ll be there to clear the way,” he replied, softer this time. His gaze flicked briefly to the map, then to you.

“Always.”

There was a beat of silence between you before the commander stepped in again, voice gruff but resolute. “Get your gear prepped, rest if you can. We launch at dawn.” He didn’t wait for a response, exiting the room in the efficient, silent manner he always preferred.

Once alone again, you and Pete remained by the map, both staring at the blinking yellow icon. The room was quieter now, more intimate, despite the tension. The stakes had never been higher. You weren’t just risking lives. You were gambling trust, history, and the fragile bond between ground and sky.

“This mission,” Pete said after a moment, “could go south real fast.”

You nodded. “That’s why we don’t let it.”

He reached out, just briefly, brushing your shoulder. It was a gesture of trust, of familiarity. “Watch my six,” he murmured.

You met his gaze with steel in your eyes. “Always.”

The desert wind howled through the narrow canyon as you adjusted your scope. From your perch on the north ridge, the world below looked like a chessboard of tension. The convoy was already in motion, dust pluming behind the three armored SUVs. Your job was simple: wait for visual confirmation, then eliminate the ground defenses to clear Maverick’s path so he could eliminate the final target.

The comms crackled in your earpiece.

“Ghost, visual acquired. Target en route. T-minus three minutes to flyby.” Mav’s voice was steady. Confident. Familiar.

You steadied your breathing, letting your body fall into the calm that preceded every shot. The first SAM crew appeared, three men scrambling to mount the launcher but they didn’t move fast enough. You made note of their posture, adjusted for wind, then exhaled.

Your shots cracked through the air, sending jolts of surprise down your spine.

One.

Two.

Three.

The launcher crew slumped over, the threat neutralized. You were moving to the second site when a flicker of motion caught your eye: too fast, and in the wrong direction.

“Command, we’ve got an unmarked drone entering from the east,” you called, already adjusting your scope. The rising run almost hid the drone from view, the glimmers could always be written off as mirages and reflections of light. But you knew better.

“Negative,” came the reply. “No friendly UAVs in the sector.”

You were staring at the goddamn drone, not listening to your command’s word and resisting the urge to rip out your earpiece from frustration. Your instincts screamed a half-second before the drone fired. A streak of light lanced toward the southern ridge, Maverick’s route.

“Mav! Evade! Evade! Missile inbound straight ahead!”

The sky turned to fire as the cliffside behind you erupted. You were thrown off your perch, tumbling across rock and dirt, gun clattering out of your hands, gear skidding out of reach. Alarms blared over comms, voices yelling, but none louder than your own breath coming ragged and shallow.

“Ghost, come in. Say again, do you copy?”

You scrambled for your comm, fingers bleeding and scraped. “I’m hit. The drone hit the ridge. They knew we were coming.”

"Copy. My approach’s compromised. I’ve got heat signatures locking on me from two sides." You could hear the strain in Maverick’s voice, the G-forces pressing on him as he banked and climbed in a desperate evasive pattern.

You reached for you rifle, thanking any greater power watching over that it wasn’t damaged by the attack, dragging it to you with trembling arms. Through the scope, you spotted a scurry of movement, half hidden by a camouflaged tarp that was hiding a second launcher.

The flurry stopped and the vehicle careened out from it’s cover, heading in your direction. “Southwest ravine. Mobile SAM. I’m taking the shot.”

“Negative, Ghost. You’re too exposed-”

You were wide out in the open but you were already zeroing in. The pain in your shoulder from the fall made it hard to steady, but you didn't hesitate. This was what you were made for.

A direct hit. The operator dropped, but not before the missile launched.

“Fox two inbound, I can’t shake it!” Mav’s voice shook and you watched his jet appear in the skies above you, moving with a frantic need for survival.

Your stomach dropped. The sky above you screamed with motion as Maverick’s jet banked sharply, afterburners firing. He dumped countermeasures, one flare, two, three- But it was too late. The missile clipped his tail. Not a kill shot but enough to send him spiraling.

“I’ve lost hydraulic control! I’m going down—trying for emergency landing in the basin, east quadrant!”

You were already on your feet, sprinting. The map in your mind recalculating as you ran, east quadrant was a two-klick descent, rough terrain, enemy territory. Each step was near agony, a shooting pain racing through your body with protest. You pushed the pain aside.

“Stay with me, Mav. Keep talking.”

His voice crackled, weak but fighting. “Don’t suppose… you brought me a landing strip… and a cold beer.”

You bit back emotion. “You land, I’ll bring the beer. Just don’t die before I get there.”

Then silence. Your feet pounded the earth as smoke rose on the horizon, a black column marking the spot where your friend, your partner, had gone down.

You reached the crash zone just as the smoke began to thin, revealing the mangled skeleton of Maverick’s aircraft half-buried in sand and rock. The heat from the engine still shimmered off the wreckage. You dropped into a crouch, weapon raised, scanning the perimeter. Movement, at the far side, almost imperceptible.

“Pete,” you hissed into comms. “Talk to me.”

A low groan crackled through. “Still here. Crashed like a rockstar. Broke something, I’m not sure if it’s the plane or my ribs.”

You sprinted the last ten meters, sliding to your knees beside him. Maverick sat half-upright, blood streaked down his temple and his left arm hanging limp. But he was breathing. Alive.

“Ghost,” he muttered, relief flooding his eyes. “God, I knew you’d come.”

“Save it for later,” you said, pulling him upright with more strength than grace. “You’re not dying out here. We’ve got company.”

Sure enough, the sound of engines echoed faintly—two transport trucks and a technical with a mounted gun cresting the nearby ridge.

“Three vehicles incoming. Ten, maybe twelve hostiles,” you muttered, slinging his arm over your shoulders. “Can you walk?”

“I can limp with flair,” he said, gritting his teeth.

You hauled him into the remains of the fuselage, dragging him behind the engine block for cover. Through the gaps in twisted metal, you watched boots hit sand, fanned out in a combat spread. You slid your last frag grenade from your belt and handed it to Pete.

He blinked at you. “Are we blowing ourselves up now?”

“No,” you said, cocking your rifle. “Just stalling until I’ve thinned the herd. Then you chuck this at the heavy gun and pray it doesn’t bounce back.”

“I love our dates,” he muttered, his grin weak but still there.

this took a lot of focus but i think it was worth it

[muxshwriting]

more seth clearwater stories plzz!!

hello! this has only taken me *checks notes* too fricking long to do. but the good news is, i have my final a-level exam on monday and will then finally be free for the whole summer!

it’s quite a long one to make up for the long wait :)

a different version

[muxshwriting]

a different version

seth clearwater x reader

summary: a quiet beach boy, a few unshared details, an ancient rivalry and the reveal of all things || warnings: slight miscommunication, not beta read || word count: 2085 || masterlist

tags: @s-kwya

It’s easier to ignore the pelting rain hitting your skin every second when the waves are crashing over and over in front of you. It’s the repetitiveness, the calm serenity and chaos of the ocean that can’t be beaten when you just need to get away from life for a while. It doesn’t matter that your coat stopped protecting you a while ago and your clothes are slowly getting soaked to your skin.

Your family is rather unorthodox, a coven of vampires taking in a teenage human because of a promise. You don’t know what your father did for Carlisle that warranted him taking such good care of your after your parent’s deaths but you were grateful for the chance. It was an easier life than what could have been.

It was easy to ignore the stares at school, keep your head down, have your own group of friends, your own eccentric hobbies. Sometimes it was easy to ignore that your family were literal vampires. Other times, it was painfully obvious. There never seemed to be a moment of quiet in the house, always awake, always doing something. So in moments of overwhelming activity, you would escape and go wherever nature carried you.

The beach was one of the first places you’d found on your travels, a quiet part of Washington where no one else seemed to come or care about. For the moment when your mind and soul were far to busy, it was just yours to have and hold for as long as you needed.

The crunch of pebbles shakes you back to the present moment, the sound of footsteps coming closer. You glance up, wiping rain from your eyes, or maybe they were tears. Everything blended into one.

There’s a boy standing there, seemingly immune to the rain staring at you with concern. “Are you alright?” He asks. He looks around your age, late teens at most but you don’t recognise him from school, most likely going to the local rez school.

“I’m fine. Sorry, is this a private beach?” You ask him, worried you’ve been intruding on a space that you shouldn’t.

The boy shrugs, digging his shoes into the pebbles beside you and sitting down. “It’s part of the reservation but you’re not hunting anything.” His words trailed off.

“But I shouldn’t really be here.” You finish for him, already pulling your soaked coat tighter around yourself and clamouring to your feet. “I won’t come back.”

“Wait-“ The boy hurriedly joins you on his feet. “What’s your name?”

You tell him, omitting your surname because it’s a complicated subject. Was it Cullen now?

“I’m Seth. You’re more than welcome to come back to the beach, honestly. You seem to enjoy it.”

You hide a small smile. “Nature welcomes me home.” You reply cryptically. “The house gets busy and it’s nice to get away.”

Seth’s eyes widen as he seems to completely understand what you’re saying. “Maybe we can run into each other on the beach again?”

“That’s be nice.” You say the words before every thinking them. “I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

“I’ll wait.” He smirks, going to sit back down on the rocks.

You reach out to keep him upright, only succeeding in pulling him closer to you. He’s warm, seemingly radiating heat in the cold but you’re not sure that it’s not your face turning a flaming red. “Do you have a phone number?”

“Yeah.” His face must be a reflection of yours, blushing a pink that suits him more than anything.

You scramble in your pockets for a pen, writing the number on your arm so you don’t forget. “I could ring you next time I’m heading out here?”

“I’d like that.”

You can’t stop the giddy grin that covers you face and sticks around for hours into that evening and night. Your family notice something, of course they do, but they say nothing.

You and Seth started slow, days blending together through secret phone calls and beach meet ups. Then the casual meetings turned into planned walks, a flask of cocoa passed between them as they stared across the sea from cliffs.

Seth never pressed, didn’t push to ask you about your past of your newer family. He knew you were staying with your father’s friends but not much more. But something soft began to settle between you, a connection you’ve never had before. Not with your school friends, not even with your family.

With the Cullens, everything came with layers of meaning and subtext and caution. But Seth was a warmth that drew you in to rest, the break you didn’t know you needed until he was there, sitting beside you with sand between his toes and sunlight in his smile.

One late afternoon, the clouds are dark and threatening to thunder. You were curled at your usual stretch of beach, the beach that had become you and Seth’s, head on his shoulder with his arms wrapped around you. His fingers draw idle circles on your wrist, an innocent touch that made your heart flutter.

“I feel like I’ve known you longer than I have.” You murmur to him without thinking.

Seth didn’t answer at first, his head turning to stare at you. “Yeah. Me too.” There’s a breath that shuffles you on his shoulder. “It feels like I was waiting.”

“For what?” You turn your own head to meet his gaze.

“For you.”

You stay wrapped in his arms until the first drops of rain fall. He holds you in his arms for just a moment more, pressing a kiss against your forehead before pulling away. It was almost perfect, the way he shrugged a jacket off of his waist and wrapped it around your shoulders with a whisper of keeping you warm when he couldn’t.

You keep the jacket close the whole way home, finally taking it off and folding it ever so gently so you can return it when you see him next.

“She smells like them.” Alice says suddenly that evening when the whole family is in the living room, her eyes sharp.

“I didn’t think you were visiting La Push,” Emmett added, barely looking up from his video games. His tone was accusing you of anything, just curious. But the atmosphere shifted, a small thread of tension blooming.

Carlisle, as always, stayed quiet but kind, being the devoted diplomat. “If there’s something you want to tell us, you can. You’re safe here.”

Your first thought was that the Cullens had some kind of prejudice against the tribe. You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t gone to La Push, that was a different beach that the other boys preferred. “It’s just a beach.”

The very next day, you’d met Seth at the edge of a river, his jacket tossed over your arm to return. During the walk, you’d recounted what your family had said to you about his community and watched the colour drain from his face.

“You’re with the leeches?!” Seth’s voice was thunderous, full of rage and betrayal.

“What?”

“The Cullens!”

You’re head is reeling with the fact that Seth knows the Cullens are vampires. “Yeah. Carlisle took me in after my parents died.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t know it was such a big thing! How do you know?”

“I’m part of the pack.” Seth said it like it was most simple explanation ever.

“The what?”

“You don’t know about the pack?” His voice had calmed as you stared at him, shaking your head softly. “They didn’t tell you anything.”

“They told me what they were when I realised something was off. I don’t get told anything else.”

Seth was completely confused. First, he met a pretty girl at the beach, set eyes on her, realised she was his mate and couldn’t stay away. Second, she was a Cullen, part of the coven of vampires that the pack was sworn to attack. Except she wasn’t a vampire an knew next to nothing about them. Even weirder, when they met, she had no lingering stench of death that people who spent time around vampires were surrounded by. Third, she didn’t know about them pack, and as her mate, Seth was obligated to tell her everything. And for good measure, fourth, Seth was definitely in love with her despite all of it.

“Did you tell the Cullen’s about us?”

“No.”

“Go home. Tell Carlisle about me, tell him that we’ll meet on the border and I will explain everything to you, I promise.”

You nod slowly, coming to terms with everything that’s been mentioned and alluded to. Then, you take a step closer to Seth, the position reminiscent of the first time you met on the beach, barely inches away, breathing each other’s breath. “Are you mad?”

“At you? Never.” He quickly replies. “We’ll figure it out.”

He leans forward, your face almost touching his until he ducks his head and presses a sweet kiss against your lips as if to promise.

“You’re not like them.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means I don’t think you’ve figured out who you are yet.” He said slowly, before turning on his heel and taking off through the woods, leaving you standing there, his jacket still in your hands. You glance at the jacket, still clinging o the warmth of him. Your fingers tighten around the sleeves as the cold creeps back in.

Then at home, the house feels even colder than usual. Everyone is paired off, Emmet and Rosalie in the garage, Jasper and Alice are whispering in their bedroom and Edward is watching you too closely again. He knows something, everything. Of course he does. You don’t make it five steps inside the house until Carlisle is clearing his throat and appearing from around the corner.

“There’s a boy.” He says if softly, not a a question.

You just nod. “Seth. He said you need to explain everything to me, then we’ll all meet at the border.”

His expression is unreadable for a moment, like he’s calculating the truth.

“What’s going on?” You whisper the question, hesitant.

His eyes soften as he pulls you to sit with him. “I made a vow to your father to protect you, even from the truth if I had to. It was wrong, I shouldn’t have knowing how likely it would be that you’d get caught up in everything.”

He sighs, rolls his shoulders back and tells you everything, from the very beginning, to anything that might be tangentially related.

The meeting at the border starts just as the sun starts to set. When you arrive to the clearing, it’s just Seth there, and you with Carlisle. It’s neutral ground, just trees and silence like so much else of the forest, the gentle sound of birds in the distance. You’re not really sure what to expect, but when two other boys, older men, emerge from the tree line to flank Seth, your heart can’t help but lurch. You turn back to Carlisle, unsure what true etiquette was. He nods once to you and steps back. the other boys stay away, seeming to respect him, even if they don’t trust him.

You and Seth meet in the middle, alone.

“You came.” He says, quieter than ever.

“You asked me to.” You reply, voice almost too soft to hear.

There’s a moment of silence before Seth reaches for your hand and presses it against his heart. “They told you everything?” You nod once. “Then I want to show you something.”

Before you can respond, your hand is no longer pressed against skin, but fur. The wolf before you is staring up with bright eyes and soft fur that ruffles in the gentle breeze. There’s almost an instinct telling you to run, but you don’t, slowly, you run your hands across his brow. He gently steps away, returning back as the Seth you know.

“You don’t smell like them.” One of the other men speak up from behind him. “You don’t reek of death like someone whose lives with bloodsuckers. Why?”

“She’s not meant to be one of us.” Carlisle steps slightly forward. “Anyone with eyes can see that.” There’s a silent blessing he gives as the line of truth is fully crossed.

Seth gives you a blinding smile, the one that says he doesn’t care about anything beyond this, because it doesn’t matter. Surrounded by the ancient rivalries and questions bigger than anyone, it feels like the most honest truth you’ve ever heard.

[muxshwriting]

'tis finished. one of the longer fics i've written!

on your side

teaser for a new fic…

Maverick didn’t fly unless his wife was manning the communications tower, everyone at any base he was stationed at knew that. It was a partnership stronger than most camaraderie and friendship within squadrons, the connection of making sure the other got home that night to their shared bed.

Many admirals had tried to forbid the partnership, citing the deeper connection the pair shared but when they got to see the quiet professionalism that the two worked with, they couldn’t deny their requests.

Within Top Gun, there were whispers of how they originally met, an irate air controller waiting on the tarmac for Maverick to get out of his plane, arms crossed and a furious glare aimed towards him. The whispers say that Maverick was besotted when the first insult and beration fell from her lips.

He stared at her for the longest time, letting her tell her frustration to it’s finish without interruption or response. There was a creeping smile on his face, eyes crinkling and bright beneath his aviators. For Mav, it was love at first sight. For you, it would take an unfathomable amount of convincing.

But slowly, Mav was winning you over with witty radio comments and flirtations through corridor passings. Nothing came of it, you were very uptight about keeping your work as professional as you could and Pete Mitchell was the opposite of professional.

Then there was the accident.

And you had to hear Pete’s heartbreaking radio messages about his failing plane and the incident that occurred. You were sat frozen to your seat, headset glued on as you listened again and again to the chatter of rescue helicopters and medics as they brought the pilots back, with only one alive.

It was the moment that Pete touched down on the tarmac and practically fell into your waiting arms that everything seemed to change. Since that day, the pair were never seen apart beyond one being in the sky. You remained by his side, ever devoted, as Pete was cleared of wrongdoing from Goose’s death and found his love of flying again.

You didn’t know Goose very well, only remembering him as the very kind and apologetic RIO of the pilot who drove you up the walls more often than not. His death truly was a loss for the navy and for anyone who had the pleasure of knowing him.

There was a whispered promise one night when you were wrapped in each other’s arms, tightly clinging, afraid of letting go. A question of what the future would hold for both of you. You whisper a promise back, though thick and thin, every choice, every hardship and every smile, you would be there.