#muxsh

[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]

family after all

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x wife!reader

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!reader

summary: Pete sees his daughter for the first time in close to a decade at Top Gun only she’s not here for him || warnings: reunions, parental neglect, cutting parents off, slight angst, || word count: 1242 || masterlist

You were anxiously waiting at the gates to see Bradley the moment the carrier docks. As soon as you had the call that he was alive and alright, the stress coursing through your body finally had the chance to fade as your breathing eased. Your husband was alive and alright. He had survived the suicide mission the Navy had sent him into.

Bradley wouldn’t tell you more than that and you’d been so caught up in work that you hadn’t had the chance to fly over to San Diego to join him until two days before his mission flew. You had met none of his teammates and you highly doubted any of them knew about you, considering how Bradley liked to keep you private.

But as the carrier drew closer and you saw the landed planes on the deck, the San Diego sun sent a warmth through you instead of a jab through your skull. The other families waiting all cheered as they spotted servicemen waving from the side of the ship and you let yourself wave back, unable to spot Bradley but knowing he was there. Knowing was enough.

You watched as the naval officers all walked past you and families were reunited with their loved ones. Then the aviators came out, dressed in their uniforms and obviously cleaned up from the mission. Bradley was at the start, sunglasses glistening in the sun and his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for you.

As soon as he spotted you, he broke from his group and started running, a huge smile breaking onto his face. You step out of the crowd as he reaches you, sweeping you into his arms and holding you to his chest, breathing in your scent.

“Roo!”

“Baby!” He shouted back at you and refused to let you go, squeezing you again.

You finally pull away, fussing as you run your hands through his hair, visually checking him for any injuries he didn’t tell you about. “You’re okay?”

“We’re all okay. Everyone got out.” He hesitated, like he was something he was afraid to say. “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“What? What is it?”

“I- I may have had a little detour running after Mav but-“

“A detour going after Mav? Maverick? Bradley.” You hardly used his full name but the situation demanded it. “That Maverick? Maverick Maverick?”

Bradley was suddenly very interested in his shoes as he nervously glanced around, trying to spot the man you were asking about. “Yeah…” He finally spotted Mav staring back at him, mouth wide open as he recognised the woman he was stood with.

In Mav’s mind, thoughts were travelling a mile a minute as he watched Bradley run towards his daughter and greet you with a kiss. It was only then that he spotted the ring on your finger and remembered the chain Bradley wore always tucked beneath his shirt.

You see where Bradley’s looking and see your father’s eyes staring into yours, the same eyes you haven’t seen in person since you graduated college. “Dad…”

He made his way over, eyes wide as he was still processing your presence. “Y/N? You’re with Rooster?”

“Are you okay? Roo said he had to run after you-“ You stop yourself, realising you don’t actually know what happened. “What actually happened?”

“Uh…” Mav rubbed a hand on his neck nervously. “My plane went down and Rooster came after me. He really saved my ass.”

“Right after he saved mine. It’s what my dad would’ve done.”

Silence hangs between you all as you try to process what’s actually happening. You’re married to Rooster. Rooster has been flying with your father. Your father is standing in front of you for the first time since college. Your father is finding out you and Rooster are married.

“You-“ Mav sounds choked up as he speaks. “You’re married.” He’s speaking to you, begging to reach out but afraid you’ll push him away.

He wouldn’t blame you for pushing him away, he deserved it. Throughout you’re whole childhood, you had reluctantly been pushed second to flying and Mav could never forgive himself for that. There was no way to replace the time of had missed and it took you until college to realise what love and affection you’d been missing out on.

You and Bradley had grown up side by side, your Dad having to leave you with Carol more than he’d like. From a young age, you barely spent a day without seeing that boy and he was the only face you wanted to see in the morning.

Through your teenage years, you’d grown past the awkwardness and finally confessed the lifelong love you felt for him and your relationship was bliss. Then, your father ruined the one good thing you had. He pulled Bradley’s papers for the Naval Academy and overnight, everything crumbled. In an instant, your only constant in life was missing and your father could offer no reason behind his actions.

There was a rage bubbling in your chest every time you looked at the man that was supposed to raise you. Instead, he had been too busy with his work, chasing a ghost of a man who’s family still cared about him. He parcelled you off to the Bradshaw’s and then ripped that family from you when you were in the final formative years of your life. You loved your father, yes, he was a good man. But he was the worst father you had ever met because he wasn’t really one in the first place.

After cutting you off, unintentionally, from Bradley, you moved away from college and slowly cut contact with your father and made your own way in the world. But your mind would constantly remind you of the world you used to have.

Then you run into Bradley in a packed bar and started talking. You had begged for his forgiveness, cried about your father in a drunken state and confessed that you never wanted to lose him again. Brad had held you close to him, whispering into your hair the whole night as you realised what you now had in the world.

There was no need for you to cling on to the spectre of your father that you had because you had Bradley and the chance to make more friends and make your own family for the future. You cut your father off, showing him the same care and attention he had showed you and although the guilt wrecked you, you had to pick yourself up and move on, for your own sake. If you had stayed clinging on to childish hopes, you would never be able to grow up.

“Yeah… I got married. It was nice, small. We had a courthouse wedding a week after Roo graduated Top Gun.” You tell him, hoping he won’t take it too personally.

Bradley loops his arm around you, not taking his eyes from you. “I should’ve told you Mav. But then Y/N couldn’t make it out until right before we left and I thought we should’ve told you together. But then I didn’t;t end up telling either of you.”

“It’s alright. I get it, completely.” Mav quickly replied. “I’m glad you’re happy kid.”

Neither of you could figure out who the last sentence was aimed at. But that’s because it was meant for both of you. Only now Bradley was as much his son as you were his daughter.

[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]

alone together

Seth Clearwater x reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't realise his own strength. it doesn't usually bother you until you realise that he's leaving something more permanent with his hugs || warnings: bruises, being loved to death, mentions of insecurity (like one sentence), characters aged up to like 18ish || word count: 921 || masterlist

The moment Seth imprinted on you, he knew the rest of his life would be perfect. He'd heard from the others how amazing it felt to find your imprint but no one truly prepared him for when he first saw you. You'd been friends before he shifted but when he saw you again months after that, when he truly saw you, it was like nothing else in the world.

You spent almost every evening at the Clearwater's, your own parents understanding how much Seth meant to you. He quickly became your everything, your day was never good unless you saw him. And your day was never perfect until you were wrapped up in one of his hugs.

"Better?" His arms wrapped around you until they were pressing into your skin. Sometimes you needed to feel like your body wasn't yours, that you and him were one and the same so that his perfectness might rub off on you.

You hum in response, burrowing further into his neck and relishing in his warmth. The pair of you are sitting on the sofa at his house, simply taking time to be with each together without needing to do anything else. "Just a rough day."

His touch sooths you as his comforting weight around your midsection deepens and calms the feeling crawling through your chest. "You wanna talk about it?" His voice is muffled against you but the concern in it has your heart melting.

"No. It's getting better."

"Happy to help."

Almost a week later you're helping Leah bake some cookies for the pack at her house. Seth's out on patrol with a few of the other boys. You lean against the counter before going back to upright with a hiss of pain.

"You okay?"

Your eyes widen as you turn to Leah. "Yeah. It's fine."

"It doesn't sound fine."

"It's just a bruise."

Leah seems to relax that it's not serious. "Oh. How did you bruise your side? Fell off the bike or what?"

You laugh at her suggestion but don't answer the question.

"How'd you do it?"

"Um... It's from Seth."

"From my brother Seth? Your imprint? My little brother Seth?" Leah's face turned cold as her mind ran to the worst possibility.

"Not on purpose!" You're trying to reassure her but it only makes her more suspicious. "I had a rough day at work and stuff ad I just needed him to hold me. But with his wolf strength I guess he hugs a little too tight. I didn't even notice until a couple days ago."

Leah ran her hands through her hair, pulling at it slightly as she processed what she heard. "Does he know?"

"I don't want him to worry. Or not hug me because of it."

"Show me."

Slowly, you pull up the hem of your shirt, revealing the bruised and inflamed skin of your side and bottom of your ribs.

Leah has a sharp intake of breath as she sees the extent on your injury. "We might need to tell my mom about this."

You pull your shirt back down, gently wrapping your arms around you as if to shield yourself. "It's fine." You dismiss.

"It's really not." Leah argues. "Just let her check."

She's not giving in anytime soo so you concede. "Okay. But I don't think she can do anything about it. She's just gonna tell me to put a heat pack on it, which is why I have Seth."

Seth, at that very moment, comes back from patrol and waltzes in. "What do you have me for?" He presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist. It takes everything in you to not hiss as he rests his hand on the bruise as Leah raises an eyebrow at you.

"Don't worry about it." You kiss him back, letting you senses be surrounded by him for a moment before Leah clears her throat.

"It's not nothing. Tell him."

Seth, ever oblivious, asks "Tell me what?"

You sigh, reaching for the hem of your shirt but not lifting it yet. "You know how I had a rough day last week?"

"Yeah..."

"And you hugged me really tight cos I asked you to?"

"Yeah."

"It kinda left a bruise. But it's fine! Leah's making it out to be a much bigger deal than it is and all I need is my personal hot water bottle and it'll be healed in no time." You lift the hem of your shirt to show him and Seth immediately starts fussing.

"Babe, this is a big bruise."

"It doesn't hurt that bad." Just at that moment Seth rests his hand on top and you can't stop the groan you let out. "...Only when I touch it."

"I want my mom to look at it."

"That's what I said!" Leah cried.

The two siblings started talking over one another about the best thing to do, whether they should go right now, whether you should even move or if it's best for you to go to bed. Their voices grew louder than just talking and you felt yourself shrinking back from them.

"I'm sorry."

Seth's mood immediately charges as he cups your face. "You don't need to be sorry for anything, okay? I'm sorry I did this to you."

"I don't want you to be sorry."

"Why don't we just go upstairs and cuddle, yeah? More gently this time."

You nod in response.

"Mom can have a look later. Let's just do nothing."

"Do nothing together?"

"Of course."

[muxshwriting]

little duck

Bradley Bradshaw x daughter!reader

summary: certified girl dad (TM) bradley bradshaw loves his daughter more than anything || warnings: absolutely nothing, this is tooth rotting fluff || word count: 446 || masterlist

REQUESTED BY @youmakemefeelbetter : Everything about Bradley Bradshaw says girl dad with a wife he’s enamored with, would you write some pieces on it?

Bradley Bradshaw had the reputation of the tough guy: a naval aviator, always hiding his judgments behind his shades and solve any problem with a swish of his hawaiian shirt.

But the second your daughter was born, Bradley was completely enamoured, unable to take his eyes away from the small baby in his arms. He was wrapped around her finger from her first breath.

“She’s perfect.” He breaths, almost afraid to speak too loud.

The gentle whimpers and whines calmed as he spoke, as if it were his voice that calmed her. Perhaps there was a slight memory of Bradley’s full-length discussions with your belly throughout your pregnancy.

She grew as his shadow, following him so patiently that you often joked Bradley was like a mother duck. Your little duckling would waddle after Bradley before she could properly walk, clinging to sideboards and chairs to get to him.

At five years old, she was begging him to take her to fix planes with him and Uncle Mav. And Bradley the mother duck could not resist.

You wake up one morning, seeing the sun far higher in the sky than it normally is. Bradley’s got the day off, but there’s only crumpled sheets on his side of the bed and a cold spot left.

There’s a quiet mumbling and hushed giggling coming from your daughter’s playroom at the end of the corridor as you creep towards it. The door is slightly ajar and the sight that greets you makes your heart soften with love.

Bradley is sitting very patiently on the floor, eyes closed as your daughter climbs all over him while brandishing an old makeup brush of yours. He’s already got bows and glittery clips pushing his hair off his face but he still lets her use him like a jungle gym.

You spot the hand he’s sneakily hovering behind her in case she loses her balance and falls back.

“Daddy!” Your daughter gently scolds Bradley. “Don’t move.”

“Sorry Duck.” He apologised. “I’ll let you do your thing.”

She mumbled something back under her breath but was far more focused on foxing his hair.

She continued to grow, but to Bradley? She would always be his little duckling.

Your daughter had all of his determination and his confidence. To him, time moved far too fast. One day, he’s teaching her to tie her shoes and ride a bike and the next she’d telling him about her boyfriend (which he’s not too happy about), and one day he’ll be walking her down the aisle.

There is nothing that terrifies him more than time, not even flying impossible missions.

But no matter what, he’ll always be her dad.

[muxshwriting]

good luck, babe

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: your husband can't seem to move on from his previous fling, Siena || warnings: cheating, swearing, period typical sexism, pregnancy, arguing || word count: 1898 || masterlist

It was a marriage of convenience, you had accepted that. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton was in want of a wife and you were available, from a noble family, mild mannered, loved by his family and tolerable to Anthony himself. You hadn't tricked yourself into thinking there could be love in this marriage. You were there to be a dutiful Viscountess and give the Viscount as many children as he desired. That was your job, that was what you were made for.

There was one thing you had asked of your new husband on your wedding day: you preferred if he didn't go and see other women, but if he did, you didn't want to hear about it.

Anthony had nodded solemnly, agreeing that he wouldn't do that to you. He was a gentlemen, he cared for his wife and his future family. And he had kept your word. After returning for your honeymoon, there had been nights where your husband hadn't returned to your bed. Whether they were late nights in his study or late nights with another woman, you didn't know and you didn't want to know. He spoke nothing of these nights, greeting you with a warm smile as he sat down at the breakfast table, as if nothing was amiss.

Because nothing was. Nothing was, right?

Everything seemed to change when you were with child. Anthony had been ecstatic to learn he'd be a father and offered to do anything and everything for you. You had taken a deep breath and asked him a question. "Will you stop seeing her?"

You didn't need to say anything else for Anthony to know who you were talking about. "Y/N-"

"We're having a child Anthony. I'd like you home to actually be a family, not spending most nights of the week either in your study or at her house. I don't know who she is or if it's more than one girl but can you bring it to a stop, please?"

Anthony's eyes had softened at your explanation as he fervently promised to do better and to be yours. And he was... for a while. He cut back on late nights in his study, spending the darkness in bed with you. But slowly like the tide, he began to pull away, the late nights in his study grew more frequent. You spotted the candlelight under the door the majority of nights as you returned to your cold bedchamber.

He was simply busy, balancing books and handling affairs. In reality, he was handling a different kind of affair. It only took one offhanded comment by his brother Benedict for you to realise what had been happening.

"Do sing us an opera brother. I'm sure your songbird is teaching you a few tricks."

Present tense. she was teaching him, not taught. Your husband was fucking the opera singer. The candles had been a lie to keep you obedient and calm. You were not four months pregnant and Anthony couldn't stop himself from going back to her. It had taken all of your willpower not to slap him across the face after everything he promised you.

You held in your anger for four days, until the other Bridgerton siblings were out of the house. Then, it all snapped. You marched (as well as you could whilst pregnant) to his study, walked in without knocking and slammed the door shut behind you.

"Are you serious?"

Anthony laughed like nothing was wrong. "What do you mean?"

"You're not spending that many nights in your study." You accuse. "You're seeing her, aren't you? The opera singer?"

"Wha- What does it matter to you what I do with my time?" He said it so nonchalantly, as if it wasn't even a problem, like you were overreacting.

"You promised me!"

He rolled his eyes. "Siena's different. She-"

"She's not your wife!" You're practically screaming at him at this point, anger coursing through your veins. "I am!"

"Y/N, calm-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. You promised me you were done. I'm carrying your child! It was the one thing I asked of you and you don't even have the decency to do that for me."

Anthony finally stood up. "I am a man. I do not have to obey your every request. I should not be confined."

"Confined?" You found his use of words ironic. "I have married into a family I do not know, to a man who dies not respect me. Not to mention, I am with child. If anyone is confined, it is me. And as you astutely pointed out, you are a man."

He stayed silent for a second as you continued.

"Do whatever you like Anthony. I could not possibly wish to confine you. Go and fuck Siena. In fact, fuck as many girls as you please but don't expect to come home to our bed at night. I'll have the housekeeper arrange separate bedchambers for us and when my child is born, I don't want you anywhere near me."

You turned on your heel and swiftly exited the study, refusing to give your husband another glance. Had you looked back, Anthony's face would have been a myriad of emotions. Some shock, some hurt, anger, but mainly pain.

He knew he'd been callous, taking all your affectionate for himself and giving none back. He left you in bed alone almost every night and betrayed your trust like it meant nothing to him when in truth, it meant a great deal. It was as you said, you were his wife. He was supposed to love you unconditionally, do anything for you. But it was also as you said, you were just his wife. He wasn't the husband he should have been, he wasn't treating you like his wife. He had made a terrible mistake.

Anthony thought he could end whatever was between him and Siena when you asked him too. For almost two months he cast her from his mind, avoiding the places they once frequented, the opera house, the back streets, even the club at times she would be there. But then he had unavoidable business at White's, exactly when Siena was there to entertain the Lords.

She had caught his eye from across the room and he was sucked into her orbit once more. But Anthony had also majorly fucked up. He had broken the one promise his wife had asked him to make. The one thing she had asked of him, he did not do. So he hid all the signs, stayed late in his office, complaining of account books and paperwork constantly. He would kiss you sweetly goodnight and sneak out of his own house to see his mistress.

Siena basked in his attention, his inability to stay away. She knew how to keep Anthony just where she wanted him. The two months without him were torture. No other Lord would treat her as well as Anthony, leaving her more and more money on her nightstand and holding her tightly into the night. So what about his wife, she was just his wife.

You ignored Anthony for days, eating your meals separately to him, at different times, in different places. Every time he would pass you in a hallway he would be met with a blank stare, an expressionless face and utter silence. He begged you to talk to him, to listen to him, to tell him how he could make it up to you but you said nothing. In your opinion, Anthony deserved none of your words. After all, so many of his had been lies.

"Anthony-" His mother was the one lecturing him, asking him why he wasn't with his wife. "You need to do better. This shouldn't have happened and now you need to fix it."

"But how?"

Violet stared at him. "You've broken her trust Anthony. I don't know what you can do to earn that back."

Anthony wasn't sure either but he would try anything until something stuck.

It began with flowers, elaborate bouquets at the dining table and in your room every single day. They were beautiful, filling the house with some much needed colour. Without thought, you found yourself adoring them, before remembering why they were there in the first place. After flowers came the small trinkets, your favourite desserts at dinner, some of Anthony's shirts appearing in your wardrobe because he knew they ere most comfortable for you and your bump.

All the while, Anthony is desperately trying to catch your eye, following you around the house like a moping puppy, begging you to talk to him. All the while, you refuse.

What hurt him most, however, was that you would talk to his siblings without issue, even while he was in the room. But the moment he contributed to the conversation, you returned to silence. It was agonizing, waiting for you to speak to him, knowing he had brought this upon himself, praying you would love him again.

He broke down into tears in his study one night, pushing his work onto the floor and planting his head in his hands as the tears flowed freely. You couldn't sleep, nothing was comfortable, it was too hot or too cold. A loud crash startles you. You push yourself out of bed, wrapping a robe around you tightly and making the slow and tedious journey down the stairs to investigate the noise.

As you reached the foyer, the sound of crying hit your ears. Anthony's crying, from his office. Your heart, which you had been trying so hard to rebuild and protect, broke all over again. Perhaps you had been too harsh on him? Perhaps he deserved you again? Perhaps...

You cracked the door open, Anthony didn't even notice the sound. You sipped inside the study, taking considerate steps towards him until you're stood behind him. His head turned suddenly as he realised someone was stood by him. He hurriedly wiped his eyes, holding back his sobs as he met your gaze.

"Anthony..." His name came out a whisper, the first word you'd spoken to him in days.

Your arms wrap around him, pulling him close to you, holding him tightly and never wanting to let him go. And in the safety of your arms, he completely breaks. His tears begin anew as he whispers apologies back to you. His sentences are nonsensical strings of words that don't really make sense but convey his profound apologies.

"Anthony-"

"My love, please. I'm begging for your forgiveness. I'll do anything, anything for you. Whatever you please, whatever you command. I'm yours." He pulled back from you, holding your hands within his and praying to you. You were his god now.

"Uh-"

He wouldn't let you speak until your forgave him, "I'll never go near the opera again, I swear. She's nothing compared to you. I want to be here for you, for our child. I want them to grow up surrounded by love, like I was. Please-"

You cut him off, diving forward to capture his lips in a kiss. It's salty but Anthony sinks into the kiss, finally holding you in his arms and pulling you even closer towards him. You pull back to breathe, ignoring Anthony's hurt eyes as you do. "I forgive you." You whisper. "But no late nights, alright? Just be with me."

"I'll be with you forever."

if you can't tell, I'm on a bridgerton high rn

[muxshwriting]

a world of dreams

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!reader

summary: Feyd’s wife was always branded as a dreamer, content to spend a day in her books. but her husband would always entertain her dreams, especially when they save her life /or/ basically the request || warnings: violence, haters gonna hate, death, blood || word count: 1658 || masterlist

REQUEST: I’ve always wondered how Feyd Rautha would handle having a wife like Helaena who speaks in riddles and flinches at loud noises and violence. Maybe an Atreides daughter they’re supposed to create the Kwisatz Haderach with? In a Universe where Jessica stayed loyal to the bene Gesserit. I’d love to know how someone like Feyd would react to her telling him he’s scared the way Helaena does to Aegon in hotd. Maybe he’d have very little patience for her but I could also see him bonding with someone like that. Also I think that someone with Helaena’s ability to retreat inside her own mind would be able to survive on Giedi Prime.

Your fate had been set in stone since your very conception, meant to mend the relationship between two houses that had been at war for centuries and bring forward the greatest mind the universe had ever seen. Jessica had trained you in the Bene Gesserit way since you were young, always believing that your bloodline would be famed for generations after.

But you didn’t want to be famed or revered or feared. You wanted nothing more than to be loved, completely loved. When you learned of your betrothed, there was a sadness that overtook you, an accepting that your husband may never truly love you. He was famed for his cruelty, his majesty in the arena and his fighting prowess. He was not known for his ventless and his love, no Harkonnen ever had been.

The first time you met eyes with your future husband, there was a silent understanding that passed between you two. He was a young boy, barely older than you and yet he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Perhaps there could be a connection between you two, despite your afflictions.

Your father called it dreaming, ignoring whatever technical explanation your mother held. There were things you saw that no sane man could explain and yet they were always true. They came to you in the silent moments of the day, when you read or sketched. You had loved it growing up, seeing glimpses of things yet to come but as you grew, they only ever turned darker.

The diplomatic visit to Geidi Prime was short and yet long enough for you to spend a few hours alone with Feyd. There was an itching under your skin from being on the planet, a discomfort that lingered as you pushed down any dreams that threatened to reveal themselves.

You sat across from Feyd, your hands twisting in your lap.

“What do you like to do?” His voice was soft, always soft when he was with you but the sterness returned the moment someone else entered the room.

You wondered if someone had shared your condition with him. “I read. I draw.” Around him, you didn't feel the necessity to boast of your suitable talents your parents had raised you on. The itching had ceased, even if it was just for a moment. “You?”

“I fight- I'm good at fighting.” He corrected himself. For a moment it seemed like he was done talking, but then he met your gaze and continued. “I don't have much to time to do things I like.”

“Perhaps when we are wed, you will have time to explore things you enjoy.” You meant nothing by it, only that you hoped your husband could find a hobby not controlled or pushed onto him by his Uncle.

Feyd smiled in response and you got the distinct feeling that everything would be alright if you married him. But you could not marry him without guilt unless you told him yourself what you were.

“I dream.” You say, unsure of how to tell him.

Feyd was slightly amused, “You dream? I’m sure many do.”

“No.” You quickly reply. “I see things, visions almost. They are never truly clear, only glimpses of the future.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t want you to marry me if you didn’t know. I only hope you understand and do not judge me for something beyond my control.”

Feyd’s expression softened as he took stock of the panicked breaking out of your being. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

The hopefulness in your eyes glistened as you stood, offering Feyd a small bow before leaving the room and returning to your mother and father.

When your day of union arrived, it was a rather happy occasion. Your family smiled as you stayed by Feyd’s side, your hand twisted with his. There was a soft and genuine look of almost-love everytime he looked at you. All that look needed was time to evolve into true love that would pull him under without hesitation. Feyd would let himself be taken by everything you are and he would even beg for it. Your mother and father could see the affection you already shared and knew nothing would come between you.

The Baron, on the other hand, had indifference covering his face all day. This was not a joyous occasion, but a simple ceremony that had to be done in order to end the conflict he wanted to continue. However, this union would bring him more power than war would, and he would just have to accept that.

Feyd reached for two glasses and passed one to you, raising his in a toast. “To the rest of our lives?”

“To the rest of our lives.” You agreed, clinking your glass with his and taking a drink.

Once you had placed your glass back down, Feyd leant forward to capture your lips, letting his heart float like only you could make him. Your marriage was nothing more than picturesque. There was finally peace felt throughout the universe and yet there were some who were still not happy.

The Emperor, despite suggesting the match to weaken the houses and cause friction, watched as they came together in love and only grew stronger. The Atreides were a threat to his reign long before, but with the Harkonnens now as allies, there was nothing that could stop them if they desired his throne.

The final straw came when news of an heir flowed throughout the Imperium. The Atreides and Harkonnens would soon have an heir that would bind them with blood, for eternity.

Your husband had been even more protective of you since the beginning of your pregnancy, barely wanting to leave you alone. The dreams had shown you your daughter, a beautiful girl that was the mix of both you and Feyd. But there was one persistent dream that shook you to your core.

“Feyd?”

“Yes my love?” The nickname had never stopped, ever since the wedding.

“I'm afriad.”

Feyd's face flashed with confusion for a moment as his eyes darted around the room. “What are you afraid of my love? Our families are united, no one would dare stand against Harkonnens and Atreides united. The babe is well, she is growing stronger by the day.”

“There are snakes crawling through the city.” Your voice is a whisper, trembling with every word. You weren’t really aware of what your words meant, only repeating what your mind brought forward.

Feyd smiled at his wife’s words. “There are no snakes on Geidi Prime, my love. They cannot survive here.” He takes a seat next to you, pulling you closer to him as if to protect you.

“They will worm their way to our palace.”

“Then I will double our guard and order lockdown at the slightest threat.” He said it with such conviction that you were almost convinced.

“But-“

“What have I said?” Feyd asked you. “I would never let anything hurt you or our children. There is nothing that can get into our palace unless I will it.”

You let the dream sit in the back of your mind, pushing it away from thought but not forgetting. And it did you well not to forget when you couldn’t sleep one night and a echoing crash startled you. No one else awoke and you took the risk to glance outside your room, where your guards stood to attention.

“Is everything alright Na-Baroness?”

You forced a smile. “All is fine. Just… stay alert.” With nothing else to say, you turn and return to your bed.

Feyd was not disturbed but you found yourself reaching under his pillow to touch the knife he always kept there. It was a reassuring reminder that if your dream came true tonight, there was something Feyd could do. You lay, the blank ceiling taunting you and your ears hearing every footstep and breath people made.

It was only as you had begun drifting back to sleep that a muffled shout came from the hallway and your heart stuttered. You reached over, shaking Feyd awake as he quickly looked around before settling his eyes on your own frantic ones.

“What’s going on?”

Your breath trembled once more. “The snakes are here.”

At your words, Feyd reached for the knife and practically jumped out of bed, directing you to the corner of the room furthest from the door, furthest from harm. The thump of a body was heard and Feyd tightened his grip, activating his shield.

Two men, Imperial soldiers burst through the door and you caught sight of the bodies of two others as well as your guards. Terror gripped you, a hatred of blood instilled in you since you were a young girl. Your hand flew to your mouth as you shrunk into the corner even more, wishing the floor would swallow you up.

Feyd leapt forward, his body practised in fighting people at a moments notice. His knife carved flesh, splattering blood over the room. A small scream escaped your lips as the bodies crashed to the floor and your husband stood in the centre of your room, blood dripping from the knife still in his hand.

He turned to face you, throwing the knife across the room and rushing towards you. You practically threw yourself into his arms and he squeezed you close to his chest and rested his head on yours.

“You’re okay.” He said, letting you feel his steady heartbeat against your rapid one. “The snakes are gone.”

“The snakes-?”

“They’re gone. We’re okay.” He pulled away just enough to take your hand and pull it down to your stomach. “She’s okay, you’re okay. We are all okay. No one can hurt you.”

You let your panic settle and relax into his arms. Everyone’s alive. You can manage whatever comes next, you can let the snakes try but they will never be able to bite you.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

[muxshwriting]

articulate

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd realises how much he misses his wife despite seeing her everyday || warnings: grovelling?, guilt, violence, anger || word count: || masterlist

read the precursor to this: voiceless

REQUEST: would you be able to write a part two to voiceless, where feyd becomes more interested in spending time and being seen with his wife, even around others while she grows more content without him (maybe finding other people/friends for company). kinda like a “falling in love too late” kinda thing? thanks sm ❤️

You had withdrawn from your husband, done the bare minimum that was expected of you. It was what was expected of you, and the members of Harkonnen High Society were glad to see you taking your proper place. It seemed the only person not enjoying your new role was you. Even your husband was far more contented by having his days without bother and to not be questioned everytime he did anything.

But as time wore on, it started as the little things Feyd noticed he now lacked: the small glances you shared with him across the table, a squeeze of his hand before he stood, a gentle kiss to greet him. Now he ate alone, with you eating in your own chambers. You greeted him in the morning with a cold nod, no words exchanged.

He wondered what you did with your days, supposing you now lived a very lonely existence. He supposed that was the life of all noble woman, for that was the tradition of Geidi Prime and House Harkonnen, their women were nothing more than grabs for power and means to an heir.

But the more he thought, the more he doubted his family’s tradition. His familial tradition was to murder one another, why should he follow a tradition that would have his son murder you once he came of age. Perhaps tradition needed changing, perhaps he would pay you a visit, invite you to join his some days. Then again, maybe that was guilt. And Feyd-Rautha didn’t feel guilt, for anything or anyone.

“Wife!” His voice echoed as he walked into your shared chambers one evening. You were sat reading a book and glanced up as he entered.

“Yes husband?” You replied to him, placing your book down and moving to stand.

“I want to accompany me tomorrow.”

His words sent a wave of confusion through you. There were no noble visits scheduled in the coming days, nothing that would require you by his side. “Accompany you? May I ask where?”

“To my duties.” Feyd said it like it was obvious. “I have been neglecting my duty to you. Is it an offence for a husband to require his wife’s company?”

The words were said without true care behind the words and you felt your stomach twist as you reached for your book once more. “I regret to inform you that I have engagements tomorrow that I must attend to.”

“Cancel them.”

You look up at his incredulously. “Excuse me? I cannot simply cancel my plans on a moments notice because of your whim.”

Feyd bit back his anger at your rejection, ignoring the sting of pain that sat at his heart. “Very well. When do your engagements cease?”

“I am a busy woman, I barely spend a day alone nowadays. Forgive me for not keeping my schedule free and spend my time wallowing in loneliness. I can free up the day after tomorrow. Is that satisfactory for you Na-Baron?”

His wife’s coolness towards him made him doubt his intentions in the first place. Finally, he nodded solemnly, turned on his heel and exited the chamber.

Unknown to Feyd, his wife had been finding her entertainment and pleasure in other ways, finding any way to spend a day with others. It had began with her handmaiden, just a few hours helped a friendship blossom that then extended to her friends within the servants. They had created a bond that could not be broken, a space where they were not servants and she was not Na-Baroness.

Many of the servants were slaves from off-world, much how she was a slave to her husband and had been ripped from her own home and her own family to join his. There was a solace in their space she knew Feyd would not understand.

True to her word, she joined Feyd days later, sat in her seat at the breakfast table, and followed three steps behind as she did in the beginning. But there was no longing threaded into every move she made. She did not long for his love anymore, there was not a begging for attention and affection. You didn’t go out of your way to squeeze his hand or press a kiss to his cheek.

Feyd had been expecting your affection. And yet you showed him none. He was your husband but he would not be your lover.

He wished he could be, an affection from you only to him. He wanted the devotion of his wife the same way he wanted air to breathe but you would not be his air. You had found a contented life on Geidi Prime that did not involve bending to your husbands will and crawling at his feet for his love. You would perform your marital duty and spend your days in your chambers or in hidden rooms with your friends where your duty would escape you and your title would be worth nothing.

now this also has a part three!! compelling

[muxshwriting]

coming home

Max Verstappen x reader

summary: max makes the decision no one thought he actually would. and he made the decision for you || word count: 950 || masterlist

You’re screaming as Max crosses the line. Yes, it’s P5 but it’s a championship secured. The team around you erupts as their dreams come true. There was a huge sense of anticipation as you ran through the pit lane towards parc ferme and towards him. You watch as he jumps out of the car with a weight visibly off his shoulders. He runs towards you, not a glance at anyone else.

“I’m so proud of you!” You’re shouting over the noise of the crowd but Max only hears you.

“I couldn’t have done it without you Schatz. For a second I didn’t think I would.”

“You made it. You won.”

He tears his helmet off, crashing his lips into yours and he finds himself home. The rest of the night is a blur as you watch Max receive his well earned celebrations for a season hard-fought. There’s nothing that could sour yours or his mood as the night burns on and Max goes from interview to interview, waiting for the time he can drink so much he forgets.

“Max, congratulations on the championship win. Would you like to speak about how much this means to you after this year?”

Max rubs a hand through his hair and adjusts his hat, a nervous tick he’d always had as he brought the microphone to his jaw. “Yeah. This championship means a lot because we weren’t sure it was going to happen earlier in the season. Of course it wouldn’t have been possible without my amazing team working so hard to make the car as good as it could be. It’s the people around us who push us to be the best versions of ourselves.”

Max can’t hope to get away sooner, to his team waiting to celebrate and to you. There’s always a choice in the back of his mind that tells him to abandon everything and run for the hills with you. Except this time, with the championship tucked in his belt, he’s not sure what’s stopping him anymore.

The triple header came to a close in Abu Dhabi, Max closing his season out with a glorious win but there’s a feeling in your gut that tells you Max is going to say it. You’d discussed his retirement before, and you’d always tried to persuade him to stick out his contract. You would tell him that you both had time to live your lives after his career. The last thing you wanted was for Max to throw his dream away for you.

A champagne-drenched Max finds you after the podium hiding in his driver’s room. “You’re going to announce it, aren’t you?” You quietly ask, not wanting to ruin the joy but needing an answer.

Max grinned, stripping his race suit from his body. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

“Then you know I am.”

“Max-“

He calms your worries with a simple declaration. “I love you. I know this is what I want. I’ve had my time, I don’t need anything more than you.”

You bite back the sting of tears and pull Max into a hug, pressing your lips against his.

“Is that a yes?” He whispers to you. “You’re okay with this?”

”Yes. I love you.”

With a kiss to his cheek, you send him to the hounds of journalists in the press conference and promise you’ll be right here when he’s done. It takes a moment for the right time to arise but when Max is asked a question about his hopes for the future, he only knows one answer.

“The future? My future? I’m retiring from formula one... effective immediately. I will be taking no more questions at this time. Thank you.”

And with that, Max put down his microphone. He stood and carefully removed his red bull hat and took a moment to simply look before he placed it where he had been sitting. He ignored the journalists practically screaming at him and the cameras that sounded like static. Without a word, he walked out of the door and promised himself he would never return.

The second he walks out of the door, your arms are wrapped around him and he falls into your embrace. Your words flow through him without being absorbed as he remembers and realises exactly what he’s done. A part of him will miss this life but most of his heart is grateful he stopped before it consumed his very being.

He had proved himself, set records for the ages and done what any formula one driver aims to do: win championships. Was it so unfair to want a different life than the one he had grown into? Was it so unfair to want that perfect family with a beachfront penthouse in Monaco or even a country home in the Netherlands? A house that always had spare bedrooms for guests to drop by, a house with love radiating from its walls and beauty running through it’s floors. Was it so unfair to want that before life slipped past him and he was a 40-year-old driving for a bottom ranking team trying to keep the dream alive?

But Max had a different dream now, a dream nothing could stop him from achieving.

Four years later, that dream is most certainly in progress as you sit in the window of that Dutch country home watching Max as he runs after your eldest daughter. There’s a babe in your arms and a feeling that nothing will ever be as perfect as this. There have been no regrets about leaving racing and no regrets about leaving that whole world behind.

Who knows what the future will bring? That’s the best part, it’s your future.

[muxshwriting]

sewn together

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: there was an expectation for a viscountess to become a mother within a year of her marriage. but not everything can be perfect || warnings: struggles with infertility, mentions of miscarriages, heartbreak, breakdowns, period typical sexism, ANGST, pregnancy || word count: 1189 || masterlist

this fic covers some very serious topics. please read the warnings carefully and do not read if anything in them triggers you. take care of yourself x

It began as an arranged marriage, birthed from a friendship between your two mothers. But that did not mean there was no space for love and adoration within it.

Anthony comes down stairs one morning to you sitting with Hyacinth on your lap in front of the pianoforte. She’s far too old to be sitting on your lap but you cradle her so gently, your hands over hers as you share the instrument. There’s a softness in your gaze and the way you murmur to her.

In that moment, something clicks. Perhaps it’s the culmination of things that have been occurring for weeks. But he sees you in a way he’d never seen anyone before, with pure unadulterated love. He knows in that moment that his marriage was always meant for more and it needs to mean more if he is to survive another day.

He makes his way over, pressing a good morning kiss into your hair and wishing his sister a good morning. Hyacinth jumped down from your lap and let her attention wander elsewhere but yours remained on her, watching her wistfully.

You could not wait to have children of your own, to cherish them in the way your mother had cherished you. You wanted that for yourself, a child that was yours before they were anyone else’s, even Anthony’s.

Part of you understood the pressure that was placed upon you the moment you said I do in the chapel but the true pressure was felt when the questions began. It was mere months into your union that the question of future children kept cropping up in conversation. Anthony would laugh it off, shutting his mother’s questions down simply and cradling you at night.

It wasn’t for lack of trying either, you and Anthony were in love and enjoyed your youthful love at every opportunity, but nothing seemed to happen. There was no denying the tugging on your heart every month when you’d wake up to bloodied sheets and the confirmation that you weren’t so lucky.

Anthony woke one morning to your silent cries as you sat curled into yourself. Why couldn’t you just do this for him? You were a dutiful wife, why couldn’t you do your duty and provide him an heir?

“I’m so sorry Anthony.”

His concern was palpable. “What for, my love?” You motioned around you, clutching your arms around your midriff and trying not to sob harder. “Oh. Do not fret my love. It’s alright.”

“You need an heir.” You tell him through tears.

Anthony reaches over to hold you in his arms, you practically sitting in his lap. “I have brothers, do not fret yourself.”

“But-“

“I would love to have children with you.” Anthony explains. “But if it is not to be, we shall have a myriad of nieces and nephews to spoil, yes?”

Seeing his point didn’t mean it stung any less. “Yes…”

“If it happens, it happens.”

He holds you until you slip back into sleep and you find yourself more and more grateful for such an amazing husband. If it were to happen, it would be the happiest moment of your life. But if it weren’t, you would live on. There would be another chance at a family, with Anthony’s siblings, your new siblings.

Time continues, life wears on and you try not to burden yourself with moral responsibility beyond your control. Your doubt trickles away and then it’s been almost a year since you married. A year of bliss.

“Are you feeling alright?” Anthony asks you one morning, a hand propping him up.

“Yes… do I not look alright?”

“It’s just-“ He seems nervous to say something. “By my memory, it’s been a few months…”

“A few months? Since wha-“ The revelation dawns on you like cold water in the morning. “Oh my god.”

“Do you think?”

“Oh my god! Anthony…”

He surges forward, capturing your lips with his and pulling you towards him. He pulls back, a look in his eyes only describable as pure love and tenderness. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You reply, settling into the space his body created for you.

Your heart positively sang in the weeks that followed and anyone could see the glow that you carried. There was no denying that your soul was truly fulfilled. This was all you wanted, a baby, a child that was yours and Anthony’s.

But not all things end the way you want them to and there has been a shadow that’s haunted your world for far too long.

You’re just lying in bed one night, doing nothing to strain yourself. Anthony’s beside you, head buried in an accounts book he should’ve completed during the day. Then your perfect world comes crumbling down.

A debilitating pain ricochets through you, bringing your curling into yourself with a cry. Anthony’s by your side in an instant but as you feel the wetness of blood between your thighs, you can’t deny the truth. A million emotions hit you at once, and once one tear falls, the rest follow.

Breath comes out as pants as the pain doesn’t let up for a moment and Anthony knows. Your scream echo in the small room and he knows. All he can do is hold you close, whispering words that have no meaning in this moment and try to make it all okay. But it never will be.

That child, your child, was your shot at happiness, a fulfilment unattainable by another metric. Now, you would have nothing to hold, nothing to raise. Your child was gone, before they could even be born into life.

The doubt creeped back in but there was a resignation in your mind that told you that you would never be a mother. You weren’t worthy. You weren’t deserving of a child of your own. There is no way to convince yourself that this was your destiny when it has been your desire since you were a young girl.

You feel society’s eyes on you at every function, even if no one is looking at you. And you can’t hold in the almost nightly tears that come. Perhaps the pain will lessen, but you’re not sure you want it to. Lessening would also mean forgetting the child that never was. Anthony feels the same pain as you, going about his day with a heaviness of a man far older than his years.

But what can you do? There is nothing except letting time pass, letting it wash over you and pull you along its tide.

You lock the part of you that craves a child away, into the deepest corners of your shadowed soul. You lock it all away and let it go. To survive, you have to let yourself enjoy life outside of children, let the baby rest and find peace wherever they are.

Years later, you never forgot your firstborn, even as you lay exhausted and sweaty in the birthing bed, cradling your eldest son in your arms. Anthony looks on with pride, seeing your dreams come to life and finally being able to hold his whole world in his arms.

[muxshwriting]

never too late

Jake Seresin x reader

summary: jake gets a phone call that changed everything || warnings: hospitals, best friend Jake, pregnancy, childbirth, pushing my girldad jake agenda, but the baby's not actually his || word count: 997 || masterlist

You'd known Jake since you were kids, growing up a few doors down from each other in Texas and spending most of your time with each other. There was nothing more that had happened, despite your wishes. When Jake joined the Navy, you naturally drifted apart but always found the tie to be there for him.

You had made it to his graduation, he had made it to your graduation from college. By sheer coincidence, you had managed to land a job near Jake's stationed post and it felt like nothing could come between you two. Then he got the phone call he had never expected.

"Jake? Can you come and pick me up? I'm at the hospital."

One phone call turned his whole life around. Jake came tearing into your room, his eyes searching erratically.

"You're alright?"

You nod, not saying anything because if you did, you would start crying.

"What's wrong?"

You always forgot how easily he could read you, your emotions, your mannerisms. There was no hiding anything from him. "I'm pregnant."

"Are we happy about that?" Jake asked carefully.

"I don't know." The tears are forming in the corners of your eyes and you can't hold them back.

"Okay." Jake perched on the bed next to you. "Okay. We'll figure it out. Do you know the Dad?"

"I already called him. He doesn't want it, says he'll sign his rights away if I have it. But I don't know."

He pulls you into him, letting your tears stain his shirt. He's whispering anything into your hair to calm you, to reassure you that it would be alright. You'd figure it out, it wouldn't be like this forever. If you needed him, he's there. You only have to ask and he's on your side.

And Jake kept to his word. When you decided to keep the baby and raise it yourself, he was there by your side, promising to teach your child everything he could. He accompanied you to every appointment, cradling your bump as it grew and setting up the nursery for you.

He gripped you hand tightly as the nurse moved the ultrasound wand over your stomach. "Everything's looking good, do you want to know the gender?"

On instinct, you look to Jake but he's already grinning at you. He motioned his head towards the screen.

"Yes please."

The tech turned the screen around so you could see your baby and Jake's grip tightened even more. "Congratulations mom and dad, you're having a baby girl."

The elation you feel doesn't give you a pause to correct the tech and Jake doesn't correct her either as he's pressing a kiss to you forehead and beaming even brighter. "A girl! We're having a girl." In your happiness, you don't have the heart to correct Jake either. And part of you doesn't want to.

As time passed, you regretted not acting on your feelings when you were younger so that Jake could be the father of your child, so he would be part of your new family. But that was delusion, he was your best friend. He didn't love you like that, he couldn't.

You put the thought aside as a pain rippled down your side and a liquid rushed down your legs and the panic set in. You knew this was coming but nothing prepared you for the startling realisation that you would met your daughter today. There's only one person you can call.

For the second time in his life, Jake receives a phone call turned his whole life around.

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure!"

"You're home?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming to get you."

He's there in record time, fussing over your bag as he practically carries you to his truck, too concerned to let you walk. The concern didn't stop as he rushed you into the hospital and over to the desk.

"Mom, Dad are we ready?"

"I'm ready to get this baby out of me!"

"Let's get started."

Your contractions rip through you, your progress slow ad steady. And when you were finally ready, the uncertainty bled into your bones. "I can't do this."

Jake, who had been diligently guarding your bed side, squeezed your hand. "You have walked through hell to be here, to birth this baby. This will not defeat you." Jake's words sent a shiver down your spine. "You're undefeatable. Say it for me."

"I- I'm undefeatable?"

"You're undefeatable." He agrees. "You're gonna have this baby."

It's as you're staring into his eyes, unaware of the situation around you that you find the strength to confess. "I love you."

Jake smiles but it's not a smile of pure happiness. It holds a subtle sadness like he thinks you don't mean your words. "I love you too, but let's have a baby, yeah?" Without another word, he clambers up onto the bed behind you and settles so your leaning against him.

A contraction ripples through as you focus on the feeling on Jake behind you, his hands cradling yours as he presses constant kisses into your hair. You're sobbing by the end of it, catching your breath as the doctor looks up at you.

"We'll push on the next one, okay?"

You nod but turn to face Jake. "I love you, I'm sorry but I mean it."

A light bursts in his eyes but the pain returns before he can answer. You're pushing with all your might, unsure if you can actually do this. Then his voice is in your head, echoing through your mind.

"I love you, I've always loved you. You can do this, I love you, you can do this. Please, we're gonna have a baby. I believe in you."

With a final breath, your daughter's scream fill the room and you slump back onto Jake. She's brought to you and placed on your chest, the picture of perfection as you can't take your eyes off her.

"She's perfect." You whisper.

"She's you, of course she'd be perfect."

[muxshwriting]

doomsday

Charles Leclerc x reader

summary: charles has always put others before himself, but you can’t keep watching as he pushes himself too far for people that don’t even care || warnings: charles is too selfless, injuries, overexertion, yelling, arguments, possible ending of relationship, mentions of death, grief, hospitals || word count: 1708 || masterlist

Charles was always passionate about his work. Formula One had been the only dream he had ever had. And now he was here, there was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to stay.

He’s a very empathetic person, always wanting to help others and putting them ahead of himself on occasion. But more and more, he was sacrificing his own well-being for other people.

It killed you to watch Charles work himself to the bone, pushing during training sessions, attending more media opportunities, staying late for meetings and cutting every corner to brake later than all the other drivers. There was a sinking feeling in your chest every time you got the text of I’ll be home late.

One night, a night he comes home from the factory late, you’re waiting up in the living room for him. He walks through the door, exhaustion written on his face as he runs a hand down it.

He catches your eye and does a double take, not expecting you to still be awake. “Why are you still up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I never can when you’re not home.” It’s the truth, a fitful rest is the best you can get when the other side of the bed is cold.

He stops in front of you, pulling you to your feet.

“I’ll always love you Charles. But I cannot keep watching you do this to yourself.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“The late nights don’t do anyone any good.” You try to reason.

“I’m trying.” He replies. “I’m trying but when I can give more, I do. If I can, why wouldn’t I?”

Slowly you shake your head. “You can’t give them everything and leave nothing for yourself. I won’t stay to see you do this.”

“I’m not giving them everything. I have you, don’t I? I’ve got to save something for my love.” He’s trying to sweet talk you and it’s working before you can think to the opposite.

“I love you.” You whisper to him. “But something’s got to change Charles. You can’t keep living like this.”

“I love you too and I won’t. I promise.”

You go to bed with the slimming hope that something will change for the better. But that slim chance only gets smaller as the weeks wane on and nothing seems to change. You have no idea if Charles even tried to cut back his work because it seemed like he didn’t even attempt to. You feel like you’re tearing your hair out just trying to make him understand what you’re seeing. He’s going to kill himself if he keeps going at the rate he is now. And you refuse to stick around and watch him.

“Charles!” The argument started from nothing, a slip of words that sent the annoyance of the past months straight to your soul. “I’m going to be planning a fucking funeral. Tell me, what flowers do you want to be buried with?” You’re making no sense as the argument only gets worse, coming out shouting.

Charles frowns, standing to meet you. “What are you even talking about right now?”

“You’re going to die!” The words tumble out as you yell, trying to get him to understand what you’re seeing. “You’re going to die in that stupid car trying to satisfy everybody else.”

Charles stares at you in silence. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking and you’re not sure you want to know. “…I can’t do this. Not now. I have-“

“You have work, right?” You finish his sentence for him, but your tone is defeated. There doesn’t seem to be a way to get through to him, there is no fighting this.

The anger inside him returns and something snaps. “You have no idea what kind of pressure I am under. I am representing a team that has traditions nothing can change. There are practically two countries breathing down my neck at all times, watching my every move. I have millions of fans critiquing me at every step and you want me to put myself first? I am a man, who is part of something so much bigger than myself. If I put myself first I would never have got into a kart. Is this what you want me to say?”

“Yes!” You shout back to him. “Please! Be angry. Be angry with me if you have to. Anything is better than the monotony you come home with, the lack of anything because it’s all been leached from you.”

“I can’t keep doing this.” He confesses.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“No.” He says sternly. “This-“ He motions between the two of you. “This isn’t working. I can’t keep coming home to someone who doesn’t understand my life.”

Part of you knew this was coming, part of you thought you should’ve done it months ago. But mostly, you just knew it was inevitable. But hey, at least you wouldn’t have to plan the funeral now. Maybe Charles would find time in between all his work to plan his own.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You’re defeated. There’s no fight left. “You’re right. This isn't working. I’ll be back for my things tomorrow. Goodbye Charles.”

He frowns at you, surprised you aren’t fighting him back anymore. He was expecting you to keep pushing him to be better, to be there for you instead of for his team and his work. For him, there was no choice, there couldn’t be. But for you, once, he would have thrown everything away. This is it.

You have no words for him, turning to grab the most important things and leaving for a friends house. You have to move on from him now, it’s all over.

You’ve casted Charles out of your mind and rather hypocritically, thrown yourself back into your work. But it’s never to a point where you have nothing left for yourself, you have to protect what you have. It’s been months, you don’t follow anything from that world anymore.

Then the phone rings.

“Hello? Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes… this is she.” You tentatively answer. It’s a voice you don’t recognise from an unknown number.

“Hello. I’m calling from the Princess Grace Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Charles Leclerc. Are you available to talk right now?”

You’ve risen from your couch, slightly in shock as you move to get ready to leave. “Yes. What’s going on?”

“Can you come to the hospital? Mr Leclerc was brought in unconscious and we’re still carrying out tests and examinations.”

“Yes. Yes. I can be there in fifteen minutes?” You’re mind stutters out a response as you’re already moving out of the front door. Why did Charles still have you saved as his emergency contact? Was he alright? What the hell had happened?

When you reach the hospital desk, they lead you up to Charles’ room and leave you at the door. He was brought in after a neighbour heard a crash. He was unconscious, probably dehydrated and over exerted himself to the point of exhaustion. They were doing the best they could for him, mainly just letting his rest and recuperate his strength.

Silently, you slip into the room and take a seat by his bedside, interlacing your fingers with his. His skin is colder than you remember, more lines etched on his forehead and a dullness there never was before. He looks tired, really tired. You fire up your phone again, pulling up Pascale’s number.

“Pascale?”

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

“The hospital called me. Charles fainted at home, he got brought in but he’s okay, i think. I was listed as his emergency contact but I can send you all the details for where he is.”

“What- Oh my- Please, yes please. He’s okay?”

“He’s just resting. I’m with him now, he’s asleep but he seems alright. The doctor said he didn’t hit his head when he fell, so there shouldn’t be any be anything to worry about.”

“I’m on my way.”

As soon as you hang up the call, Charles’ fingers twitch within yours. Your attention snaps to him as the almost permanent frown returns to his brows.

“Charles?”

Charles thinks he must be dreaming. You’re hear, beside him. Except you left him, he’s lost count of how many months ago it was. But you left and he’d regretted it ever since. Perhaps he could stay in this blissful moment for a while, imagining you were still here, that you were actually beside him.

“Charles? Are you awake?”

He groans. His brain really wanted to make it seem real today.

“How are you feeling?”

His eyes blink open, squinting in the harsh light. There’s a weight on one of his hands and two smells, one clinical and one oddly familiar. His head turns to the side and a mirage of you appears. You’re covered in a concerned look, staring down at him as he comes back to reality. You are there, truly. But he’s not at home. He’s at the hospital.

You’re holding out a glass of water to him, helping him sit upright as his senses return. He misses the weight of your hands in his and he’s half tempted to reach back for it again. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re here.” His voice sounds dead, even to him, and it isn’t just because he just woke up.

“I’m your emergency contact…” You explain. “I called your mother, she’s on her way.”

Charles sighs, a heavy sigh that someone would give after 50 years of work, when your back aches and your muscles shake. Why is he so tired? It’s the first time he’s stopped in months, is it all finally catching up to him?

“You were right.” He whispers the confession, like it’s a secret but anyone with eyes could see it. “You were always right.”

You smile, a sad sort of smile because you knew you were. It just took him landing in the hospital for him to agree. Despite the admission, you know that he doesn’t understand the extent of the truth. He’s too selfless, feels to much guilt to give himself what he truly needs. You got out while you could, but at least you mourned someone who was alive, rather than someone that was dead.

part two for this: revelation

feel free to send in a request xx

[muxshwriting]

voiceless - drabble(ish)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: being the wife of Feyd mean you aren't afforded the freedoms you once had including your opinion || warnings: borderline abusive relationship, prejudice, sexism || word count: 350 || masterlist

House Harkonnen was known across the galaxy for their brutality. They are heirs of cruelty because they were taught that cruelty will keep them in power. And it was because of that power that your father had decided that you would be wed into their great house.

The youngest nephew of the Baron and his heir, Feyd-Rautha would be your betrothed, your husband. He was barely older than you, a fresh adult with a penchant for blood and suffering and everything his house stood for. It was as if you were to be married to the devil himself.

After your union, there were certain things you'd immediately noticed. Women were objects, slaves or servants to the Harkonnens, they were not equal people. You could tell yourself that your value came from your experience, you intellgience and your knowledge. But in truth, to the Harkonnen's, your value came from your name and your father's money. Perhaps the pretty face helped but the power you were privy to mattered more.

Feyd ignored you most days, only acknowledging your presence when he returned to your chambers. When he did acknowledge you then, it was only to request that you help him change and be ready for bed. You joined him one day, shadowing him but always staying a few steps behind.

“Why do you follow me, wife?”

You pause in your step as your husband turns to face you, a calculating look in his eyes. “Am I forbidden from spending time with you?”

“Our time shared is within our bedchambers.” Feyd said shortly. There was no room for other discussion as he walked further down the corridor and left you standing in silence.

And as it was, the silence returned to your life. Empty chambers where there was nothing to be done all day. You were judged if you went out without Feyd and yet Feyd refused to be seen with you.

He did not care what you did with your day as long as you were not with him. But because you weren’t with him, you could do nothing with your day.

I have been peer pressured. there is now a part two to this: articulate

[muxshwriting]

pink skies

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

summary: after your husbands retirement from formula one, you take the time to show him how much he matters at home || warnings: i cried writing this, it is inspired by all the sad danny ric edits on tiktok, missing danny ric hours, angst, fluff, starting a family || word count: 1058 || masterlist

Everybody in Singapore that day knew. It wasn’t official, nothing was confirmed, but everyone knew. This was the end for Daniel Ricciardo, the last hurrah, the final race.

You watched as he hovered by the car before heading back to the garage, how he teared up in every interview and didn’t try to hide his emotions anymore when asked about the future. He’s savouring every moment he can in this world before it’s all stripped away from him without so much as an apology.

You can’t help but feel admiration for the man you married as he stumbles into your arms in his driver’s room after all the interviews, clinging to anything he can to keep himself upright. It doesn’t matter how long you have to stay at that track if it means Daniel can leave with a clearer conscience and a bittersweet smile.

He spent the next few hours saying goodbye to every engineer that had created his car across the year. His signature smile remained on his face, even as tears fell. He smiled like a man who could see the storm approaching but refused to run.

It’s well past midnight when Daniel finally takes his first step outside the paddock and admits to himself that this is it. You hold him close that night, closer then most others.

“You deserve so much more.” You whisper into the night air, knowing you could never say this to his face. “You deserve such a perfect goodbye and they are all too self-centred to give you what you’ve earned.”

Daniel holds in a shuddered breath at your words, still pretending to sleep. He hasn’t slept well at all recently, not since people stopped answering his questions about his contract. But he could always count on you. If there was one constant in a rocking sea, you were his land.

You both returned to Australia, to a friends ranch that was far enough in the outback that you could ignore the real world. Slowly and steadily, day by day, you saw your old Daniel peeking through the downtrodden exterior. There was a chance that the restless optimist you had originally fallen in love with could return, ready to chase the next thrill with the confidence of someone who had never doubted the ride in the first place.

Two months later, you’re back at home, curled up on the sofa with Daniel resting his mop of curls on your lap. You reach for the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels when the formula one appears, in Las Vegas. At the familiar sound, Daniel perks up before you can change it onto something else.

“Can you turn it up?” He asks quietly, so that you can barely hear him.

It was almost like 2023 again, where you could watch Daniel watching the races but sense his longing for that life back. But this time, there a quiet acceptance that the chapter had closed and he was able to watch someone else’s chapter of the story play out.

Before the race has even started, he’s sitting upright, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Max is gonna win it.” He mutters under his breath. “He’s gonna win it all.”

The race passes with a palpability until it’s all but confirmed. Daniel jumps up as Max crosses the line, shouting at the TV and celebrating like he was the won to win the championship. You’re able to snap a video of his celebration and silently send it to Max before Danny notices your phone in your hand. He’s back wearing mischief like a second skin as he sweeps you into his arms and spins you around.

“Danny!” Your laughter bubbles from beneath the surface and Danny’s joins yours.

“He won it! I knew he would…”

You can’t let the melancholy settle for too long. “You should call him.” You suggest gently. “You know he’d love to hear it from you.”

“Yeah…” He replies. “Yeah.”

The rest of the season passes as a blur, only catching glimpses of the other races and news of results. Danny’s preoccupied by your new domestic life, tending to the animals and watching the sunrises and sunsets. Although, there’s a lot more sunsets than sunrises as sleep claims him long into the mornings.

Summer swells and Christmas draws closer in Australia. You’re surrounded by everyone who loves you and Danny and there’s no place better than this one, in this exact moment.

You settle into the evening, still feeling the buzz in your veins as you settle in the doorway of your home. Danny joins you, an arm wrapped around your waist as you lean into him. Together, you stare in silence as the sun begins to slip below the horizon and the sky becomes a smattering of oranges and yellows and pinks.

“Thank you.” Danny whispers to you.

“For what?”

He takes a breath. “In Singapore, when you thought I was asleep, you told me I deserved better. I didn’t think I did then, but you made me realise that I do now. So… thank you.”

You laugh lightly, realising what he had heard. “You deserve everything.” You grasp his hand, pulling it down to rest on your stomach. Danny’s had one too many glasses of wine to understand what you’re trying to tell him, resting his head in the crook in your neck and nudging it against your skin.

“You’re so drunk Danny.”

Danny scrunched his nose in such an adorable way. “And you’re sober.”

“I know.” You replied, cryptically.

“We should change that.” Danny tries to lead you back inside but you keep his hand pressed against you.

“I can’t.”

“You can!”

“Danny…” You raise an eyebrow at him, motioning for him to look down and finally notice where you’ve been holding his hand. “I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh my god. You’re- Oh my god! I’m gonna be- You’re-“ He’s stumbling over his words, a smile wider than the sun on his face. it almost makes you think the sunrise has reversed and the day has returned.

“Breathe Danny. You’re gonna be a dad.”

He’s gasping for air as he processes every emotion he can in a fleeting second. “…I love you.”

You grasp him close as he holds you like he never wants to let go.

“You deserve everything…”

[muxshwriting]

a movie i’ve seen before

Jake Seresin x reader

summary: the impending doom of the end that you can’t avoid and can’t ignore, it’ll always be looming over you || warnings: angst, happy ending, break up, sadness, hints of depression (but not really) || word count: 1689 || masterlist

There was always going to be a time limit on love, you knew that. A small part of you dreamed you’d be able to avoid it. When you met Jake Seresin, everything seemed to slot into place for you. The constant ache in your bones, the tiredness of your mind. All of it was lifted when he would take you in his arms and kiss you sweetly. You were his, wholly and completely.

But he could not be entirely yours.

Jake’s soul was tied to the sky, to the planes he flew. There was no replacing that for him, nothing that could fill the hole that would leave.

You’d graduated from college, set to start your new job that September, leaving you with the summer to enjoy your last months of freedom. You’d travelled up and down the coast, spending your days on secluded beaches and simply enjoying glorious weather.

Jake, newly stationed at Miramar, caught your eye from across the bar one evening and simply couldn’t stay away.

“I’m Jake Seresin. You must be Belle, right?”

“Belle? You must be mistaken, I’m Y/N.” You laughed him off, assuming he had you confused with a friend of his.

“Y/N? It’s only that you’re so beautiful, I assumed you had a name to match. But I must say, yours suits you much better.”

A light blush covers your face as you duck your head to hide it. A few stray hairs slip from behind your ears and Jake gently reaches forward to tuck them back.

“Jake Seresin…” You say his name, mulling it over and meeting his piercing gaze.

He smiles, an honest one, not cocky or flirtatious. “You can wear it out however you like.” He whispers, his voice low as you lean into him.

“You better buy me a drink before any of that, like a gentleman would.”

You had plans to keep travelling but something in Miramar compelled you to stay, or rather someone.

Jake was the very picture of a gentleman, picking you up for dates and driving you home every time. He would cradle your hand with his, unable to hide his grin as he did. The next five weeks flew like the jets Jake loved. You spent every moment you could by his side, entwined with him.

Your souls would dance in the pale moonlight of the nights you lay twisted in sheets and tangled with limbs. But you could sense the impending wrenching of your hearts apart when you had to leave. And as the deadline approached, that feeling only grew.

“Jake…” You had whispered it into the morning air, almost afraid to speak and break the silence.

“Yeah?” He hadn’t even opened his eyes.

A pang of guilt hit your chest as you spoke the words, “I leave in two days.”

Still sleepy, Jake didn’t even comprehend what you were saying. “What?”

“In two days, I’m leaving. There’s a job, in New York, that’s been lined up for me since May. I’m leaving in two days.”

“…What?” He’s blinking away sleep as he sits up in bed and turns to face you. “You’re… leaving?” The pain seeps into his voice before he can stop it.

“Jake-“

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the pain vanished. “That’s fine.” The coldness had never been directed at you before and it hurt. It hurt like a stab to the heart. He simply turned over in bed, facing away. “Do you need help packing?”

You blinked back tears at his care despite his hurt. “No.” You whisper. “Everything’s set up for me.” You confess. “Jake-“

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

You’d essentially betrayed him, too afraid to tell him the truth in the beginning at risk of losing him despite the fact that you would lose him either way. If you had just been transparent, perhaps there would be a hope for you in the future, but your actions has made that impossible now.

The next two days passed in awkward encounters as the distance between you only grew. Jake could barely even look at you and you couldn’t keep his gaze when he did. Jake could barely even look at you and you couldn’t keep his gaze when he did. You barely spoke. It was as if everything you’d shared disappeared overnight.

The pain in your chest returned with every moment you shared with him but were distant. Perhaps you should have just lied and stayed here, where you were actually happy instead of carting yourself off to New York for a cushy corporate job.

You cornered him the morning you had to leave, a suitcase packed with all your things waiting at the door.

“Jake!” You were practically begging him. “Please just listen to me for two minutes.”

Jake bit back something, his jaw tightening. “Two minutes.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you before but I was afraid of ruining what we had. And then I ended up ruining it all anyone. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I just don’t want you to completely hate me?”

Jake takes a sharp breath in. “I could never hate you. I actually loved you, maybe I still do. But it’s too late for us now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Goodbye Jake Seresin.”

“Bye.”

New York held no happiness for you. The days blurred together and you were begging for something to break the monotony. There was no purpose her, no motivation to do anything beyond the minimum. Months rolled past without so much as a highlight and it was only when snow fell halfway through December did you shake yourself out of your misery.

In your silent evenings, alone in your apartment, you’d cast your mind back to him unconsciously. He was the blinding light in a world of darkness and you had purposely snuffed him out.

Part of you was begging for a call or text from him. Part of you knew that would be the push you needed to abandon everything you’d been working towards for years. This life should be your dream; a job you can enjoy, a community you could grow with, a place where you could find someone to love. You didn’t have the courage to text him first, knowing if he even read your message you would take it as a sign and travel across the country back to him.

Wherever he is is where you want to be. But you can’t. Because you tossed it all away.

Christmas approaches and your work party is uneventful beyond some part games and a few questions tossed around the group.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go? No money constraints, no time to waste.”

Your colleagues all gave their answers and you answered something about Europe half-heartedly, knowing you would want to be next to him. You supposed Jake was in Texas at this time of year, with his family. But you couldn’t even send him a Merry Christmas text because you were too afraid.

Christmas Day was a bustling day in the Seresin household. Jake was banned from the kitchen, his mother almost throwing veg at him just to get him to leave. He’s been put on babysitting his nephews and nieces while his sisters finished decorating and helping their mother.

Everyone was happy. Jake could distract himself all he wanted, tell himself he didn’t care. But his mind would always wander back to the summer, the perfect summer that would never extend past that. Part of him still blamed you and part of him understood your actions to an extent.

He wished you had told him sooner, just so he could prepare himself for the heartbreak you had brought him. But then he wouldn’t have the precious memories that inhabit his free time. He wouldn’t still hear the echoes of your laughter in his small house in Miramar.

The doorbell rang, not unexpected as a few extended family members were due to drop in at some point and Jake let his legs carry him to the door. He pulled it open, a smile plastered on his face.

But it wasn’t family standing there, it was you. With a small wrapped present in your hands, you stood with your eyes brows knitted together with worry and garaging his reaction.

“Merry Christmas.”

Jake stuttered as he spoke, “What- What are you doing here? You? You’re in Texas? Why are you in Texas?” He stepped out into the chilled air and closed the door behind him.

“I was a fool.” You tell him, “I loved you- I love you. And I threw it all away for a stupid reason and I regret everything.”

Jake didn’t let you mumble and trip over a response any more. You loved him, still. You were here. You took the time to travel from New York to Texas to see him on Christmas and tell him that you loved him even though he might not say it back. You had done what Jake was too angry to do for the last four months.

He surged forward, kissing you with a ferocity that made the world stop spinning. His hands called you with the care you had been absent of for so long and you never wanted to let go.

”I never stopped loving you.“ He said once he pulled back, breathless. “What happened to New York?”

”It doesn’t feel like home and I’m not sure it ever will. I’m applying for a virtual position so I can work and travel or something. From anywhere.” You don’t know if he’ll take you back but you need him to know that you can he his again, who only and completely. You want to be his again.

“You could visit Miramar.”

”I could.”

”Will you?”

Slowly, you nod. “As long as you’re there. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

”Would you travel to Texas when my deployment’s done?”

You reach for his hand, the present for him lying on the ground, long forgotten. “I’d travel anywhere if it meant I could spend time with you.“

[muxshwriting]

like him

bridgerton!reader (can be read as gn!reader)

summary: the terrifying reality that you’re chasing the ghost of your father || warnings: angst, comfort, grief, daddy issues (in a way?) || word count: 1045 || masterlist

You’d heard the Mamas of the Ton discussing your family more times than you can count. But there were only a handful of times you’d been directly mentioned in those discussions.

The overwhelming majority of those conversations were comparing you to others, to your mother, your siblings and your father. It was when they talked about your father that stabbed a hole in your heart every time.

“She’s so obviously Edmund’s daughter; the spitting image.”

They whisper it when you attend your first ball out in society, after all your siblings had gone on to marry for love. A part of you questions if they whispered about your father then too but the prominence of the gossip makes you stumble. You were being compared to a man you had never known, chasing a ghost of the past that everyone except from you seemed to see.

You’d spent most of the next day hidden in Anthony’s study, sitting on the floor and staring up at your father’s portrait. You picked out every similarity you had, every difference sticking out like a sore thumb. How could you relax before you knew everything about him? Until you had memorised every corner of his face?

Your eldest brother had joined you in the early evening, sitting at his desk and watching you watch the portrait. His chest heaved with the weight of grief that would never shift. You spoke nothing and Anthony left you to your thoughts until the house quietened and the fire dimmed.

He stood from his desk and lowered himself to the floor beside you.

“People tell me I look like him. They say it’s an uncanny resemblance. Did they say that about you?” You spoke softly, turning to face him, finally breaking the contact between you and your father.

Anthony met your gaze. “They said it but not as much as they say it to you.” He paused, collecting his words. “It is true. You’re the most like him out of all of us.”

“A bit hypocritical, no?” It was strange that that was the only thought floating through your head. The person most like him never got to meet him.

“He would like you.” Anthony ignored the comment. “You’d be his little shadow, made of all the best parts of him.”

“I feel like I should be doing something… for him.”

Anthony smiled. “You are. You’re being you.”

He laced his hand with yours as you turned your gaze back to the portrait. The night waned on and the pair of you sat in silence, your head on his shoulder until sleep threatened to claim you and he sent you off to bed.

Anthony shared your concerns with Violet the next morning, half asking for advice and half hoping she would talk to you in a way Anthony couldn’t.

She joined you in the living room, sitting beside you on the chaise. “Anthony told me about yesterday.” She said gently, not wanting to push you.

You nod silently. “Mama-“

“You remind me of Edmund every day.” Violet whispered to you. “There’s so much of him in you that I don’t even think you’re aware of.”

You turn to her, brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“The way your eyebrows furrow when you’re thinking about something, like you are now. You get the same twinkle in your eyes that he did, the same smile, the way you pout when you’re trying not to laugh. And your laugh-”

You’re entranced with every word your mama shares about your father. And the more you listen, you come to the startling realisation that you’ll never be able to properly meet the man you share so much with. You wonder how alike you truly are, and how much more alike you would be if he had lived on to raise you.

“I am sorry.”

“What?”

Violet explained herself. “You’ll never truly know him, beyond what we can tell you. There is no way to compare our memory to who Edmund truly was. I am so sorry that was taken from you.”

You bite back tears, rubbing circles in the inside of your wrist to calm yourself. “It’s alright.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But it has to be.” You shot back. “I would rather have your memories of Father than nothing at all and although nothing can replace him, you and Anthony have raised me to make him proud. And he would be- proud. He’d be proud of you.”

Now Violet was the one biting away the tears, smiling with a watery chuckle as she pulled you closer. She cradled you in her arms, tucking you under her chin. “He would.” She agreed. “He would be proud of everything.���

When your tears had dried and Violet isn’t clinging to you like you’ll disappear, she stands and motions for you to follow her. She leads you to a spare study you thought was empty or used by one of the valets. Slowly, she pushes the door open with a creak and lights a candle to light the room.

Everything is covered in white cloths or binded into piles to stop the dust from getting on them. Mama starts to look for something, lifting piles and peeking into their contents until she seemingly finds what she wants.

“Everything in here belonged to your father.”

The truth comes like a punch, the knowledge that you are standing surrounded by all of his things.

“And these-“ She holds out a bundle of notebooks, unwrapped from their binding. “-are your father’s journals.”

“For me?” The fact that she trusts you with them speaks volumes.

“You will never get the chance to know your father. I’m hoping that through his journals, you can get even a glimpse of him. Anything in this room is yours as much as it was his.”

The tears spring up again before you can stop them and you let them run down your face freely. “Mama-“

“I know.” She gently rubs your shoulder as she brushes past you to leave. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know it’s all here for when you’re ready.”

Just as she reaches the doorway, you turn and choke out a small, “Thank you,” your father’s journals clutched to your chest like a lifeline.