Helloo, Do You Write For Max? I Really Love Your Writing. Your Stories Feel So Intimate And Warm. If

Helloo, do you write for Max? I really love your writing. Your stories feel so intimate and warm. If you do write for max, can you write domesticmax. Like him and the reader are expecting and he admits that he is afraid of not being a good father. The baby arrives and he turns to be an amazing dad to his baby boy. Showing him off to other drivers and being look at my son he's amazing (can you tell that i just listened to dear theodosia)🥹 Thank you!

—blonde hair, lemonade tea dad!max verstappen x mom!female reader (established relationship) love, mackie... what up party people! so so sorry to tell you that max is in fact a girl dad in this fic. i came back to read carefully but it was too late. I am sorry. please forgive me. also let me know if you can spot the dear theodosia references because there is a couple warnings for: pregnancy and labor and birth and such. language and angst but only if you really really squint. christian horner. 4.4k words.

June 18th, 2023

It was poetic, almost. Disgustingly so, considering you were searching for anything but poetry in that chilly bathroom late Sunday afternoon. Max isn’t even around. He’s in Montreal, getting ready to race and blissfully unaware of your current reality–of his current reality.

You were just trying to clean the apartment, had been digging through the depths of the hall closet when the box–along with the first aid kit you were attempting to reach–fell down onto your head. After cussing out the plastic tote and feeling the lines of your face to be sure they hadn’t been injured, you started to clean up the mess. The Clearblue box and all its royal blues and bright pinks glare at you.

You took it for fun, planned on sending a picture of it to Max to give him a little scare before revealing the negative result. It was so far in the back of your mind, in fact, that after you left it on the bathroom counter, you resumed your cleaning. It wasn’t until hours later, when the idea of the joke didn’t feel so funny anymore, that you tossed the plastic test into the bin.

As it clattered to the bottom of the now empty metal trash can, you realized that–just to be safe–you should check the results.

It was then that the walls of the apartment sunk into the ground with your stomach, when the little life-defining stick defined your life. In the commercials for pregnancy tests, every woman always gets the result she was hoping for. You weren’t even hoping, and still, it managed to give you the wrong one.

A thick blue plus sign stares back at you through the tiny indicator window and your life will literally never be the same as it was thirty seconds earlier. No matter what you do, no matter how it goes, you will always be pregnant at this moment. Forever and ever, you are pregnant on Father’s Day 2023, and you will live with that knowledge until you don’t live any longer.

Your first thought is Max–well. Your third thought is Max. Your first thought is does plus mean it’s negative, and your second thought it what the fuck. Max is your third thought, and he’s the only one that really matters, you suppose.

You should call him. No, no. You can’t tell him that you're pregnant a few hours before he gets into a race car. He’ll kill himself out there and your baby will grow up without a father. Your baby. You have the sudden urge to throw up every meal you’ve eaten in the last week all at once. To heave and heave until there is nothing left in your system and then heave a little bit more.

June 20th, 2023

He comes home to you on Tuesday night. You’ve got eleven pregnancy tests sitting on the tank of the toilet in the master bath and a knot in your chest the size of North America. You’re waiting for him, sweaty armpits and thumping heartbeat as you pace from one end of the bedroom to the other, Find My Friends open on your phone and sat face up on the dresser.

He calls out your name before he’s even shut the door behind him and you don’t know where you find the voice to call back to him, “in the bedroom.”

“You okay?” He asks, perhaps your voice is nowhere near as secretive as you’d originally thought.

“No,” you say. “Can you come here?”

He’s never been particularly heavy footed, but today the sound of his socked feet creaking down the long hall echoes throughout the entire apartment with every squeal of the floorboards below him. He knocks on the unlatched door with a single knuckle before pushing it open. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurt. There’s nothing sweet about the delivery, but then again, there was nothing sweet about pulling a plastic stick out of the trash either. There’s nothing sweet about any of this.

He stares at you blankly. “Okay.”

And, as if there was any other option, you feel the need to clarify the obvious for him. “It’s yours.”

“I… yeah,” he nods. You know he’s swallowing a no fucking shit, Sherlock, and you’re grateful for it. “How… when did you find out?”

“Sunday.” You croak, sit on the end of the bed because you don’t know that you can stand here facing him like this for a moment longer. “I wanted to tell you in person, I guess.”

You can literally see his thoughts processing, his mind catching up to his reality. The silence of brainwork is deafening and you almost wish he would get upset. At least then, you’d have a clue as to his own introspection. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Fuck.”

It’s almost like he forgot you were even there, the way he repeats himself with so much more intention. “Fuck, are you okay?”

You offer up a strained laugh, your eyes fixed on a single cat hair at the corner of the area rug, sitting on your sweaty palms. “Are you?”

“I mean,” you see him run a hand through his hair in your peripheral. The image of four year old him flickers through your mind, all blonde and blushed and sweet. You wonder if yours will look like him. “You’re the one who’s…”

“Pregnant,” you affirm, because it’s the only word you’ve been able to think about for three days now.

He nods, looks like he might throw up. The thought of it gurgles your insides. “Pregnant,” he whispers, almost entirely to himself. “You’re the one who’s pregnant.”

July 15th, 2023

It’s been three days since you last shit and today is your first ultrasound. You read on Google over breakfast that it is the size of a blueberry and you wonder if by the end of this you’ll ever be able to look at a fruit salad the same again. You and Max struggle to refer to the baby as anything but it, the blueberry-sized monster that has begun to wreak havoc on your body.

You can’t feed the cats without dry-heaving, and Max handles it when he’s around but when he’s not… it isn’t like you can not feed them. You had to invest in a robotic litter box that self-cleans so you can avoid handling the kitty litter that is apparently one of many things that have become incredibly toxic to you in the past several weeks.

Max drives to the appointment, and you’re starting to think he’s become a slower driver. You’re nauseous that he’s already changing. “Do you think we’ll hear its heartbeat?” You ponder aloud, twisting the cap of the Ginger Ale bottle in the cupholder.

“I dunno,” he says, eyes fixed on the winding road. “Does it have one yet?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, muttering against the plastic lip of the bottle.

There’s a goosebump inducing silence that falls over the two of you when, almost an hour after your conversation about the heartbeat, the lub-dubs are filling the room around you. Nice and strong, your tech had commented with a beaming smile on her face. “Holy shit,” Max breathes.

“Maxie,” you squeaked out, reaching for his hand without looking away from the pattern on the bottom of the screen, the pattern of our baby’s heart. You feel suddenly like a child yourself, your hand enveloped in his. He kisses your temple hastily and everything is so fucking real.

August 20th, 2023

Max spends summer break with his hands in your hair, acting as a makeshift hair tie while you’re hunched over the toilet bowl. You’re almost a third of the way there, you try to remind yourself at every opportunity, but particularly on the days where the only thing you can keep down is a large cherry slushie from the petrol station at the end of your block.

The two of you leave for Zandvoort a week early, make a stop in Maaseik with the intent of making exactly one thing known. Sophie is going to be a grandmother again, and Vic is going to be an aunt.

“Soph,” you started, Max’s mom making her way across the back patio deck, a bowl of something unidentifiable in her hand. You’re lounging beside Max, who just gave you the go-ahead nudge when Sophie appeared, and Victoria is sat on the wooden floor, a fork clinking against a ceramic plate of fruit on the coffee table. Tom chases the boys around the back grass and continues to warn them of dog poop piles. Life feels exactly like it should. “What do you think about coming to Monaco in March?” You ask. “Vic, you too.”

“March?” Sofie laughs. “Why so far?”

“We thought you might like to meet the baby,” Max says, and even though you aren’t looking at him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“The baby?” She questions, visibly confused.

Victoria’s head shoots in your direction, wide eyes finding yours, squealing around a mouthful of fruit. “No!” You smile hard, biting down onto your bottom lip as you nod. “Oh my God!” She yelps, stumbling around the table to her feet, lunging on you with a giggly bear hug.

“Oh my God, are you pregnant?” Sophie finally asks. You nod along with Max’s verbal confirmation, watch a suddenly teary-eyed Sophie envelop her baby in her arms.

Her tears bring your own, when you and Max trade places, when Sophie has your cheeks cupped in her hands. She says your name so softly, whispers her kind words so they stay only for the two of you. “You are made for motherhood,” she tells you. “You already glow, darling.”

August 27th, 2023

He tells his father sometime that weekend when you aren’t around. It’s how you asked him to do it, had no interest in sharing that moment with Jos. The two of you have maintained a cordial relationship all these years, but if it was up to just you, Jos could find out when you show up with a six-month-old on your hip next year. He is important to Max, but he is no father to you.

Max tells you that it goes well, that Jos told him to give you a hug and a kiss and his best wishes. You smile and kiss him and wish he could understand how much better he deserved, how much better he has earned.

September 12, 2023

Max has been referring to the baby exclusively as Poopy for two weeks now. You’d told him one morning that your bump was quote-en-quote, fucking huge, and he’d replied that it just looked like you needed to have a shit.

“Are you calling our baby poop?” You’d quipped, running your hand along your bare stomach in the full-length mirror.

“No,” he replied around his toothbrush. “Poop-y, because it’s cute.”

He’s objectively right, your bump isn’t nearly as large as it feels. All of your clothes–even your shape hugging jeans–still fit and not even the sixteen-year-old triple zeroes on TikTok have commented about you gaining weight.

In fact, you’ve kept it all under wraps pretty well, considering you’ve been at almost half the races this season. Max has become stupidly protective of you; he complains when you’re at home and there is nobody to feed the cats for you, and when you do show up, he doesn’t let you out of sight.

He’s lucky that he’s always been touchy, or he would’ve given it away, the way his hand slots comfortably over your stomach every chance he gets. There’s nothing to feel, you would know, but he’s always there

On the way to your doctor’s appointment that afternoon, his hand is in its new favorite spot. He definitely drives slower now, there isn’t a question about it. You’ll find out the sex at today’s ultrasound, start speaking names into the world and hopefully something will stick before you’re signing Poopy Verstappen’s birth certificate.

October 20th, 2023

Max read online that her ears are fully developed now, and that it’s more than important to talk to her as much as possible. He talks and talks to his baby girl for hours on end, sometimes to the point that you feel like you’re interrupting something between the two of them.

Tonight, in a hotel room in Austin, Texas, you’re reading a gossip magazine. It’s the only thing you’ve been able to focus on for weeks now; any writing that requires your brain to think critically is a no-go. Max is propped up on a pillow halfway down the bed, talking to her about a whole lot of nothing.

You haven’t been able to agree on a name yet. Your heart is set on Elle, on long blonde braids tied with green ribbons and his baby blues and sparkly pink jelly sandals. Max makes an argument for Nora, with pink cheeks and your nose and a belly laugh that people couldn’t help but smile at. Neither of you wants to budge, so Poopy continues her reign.

He’s silent for some time, and if it weren’t for the aimless path his finger traces over your stomach, you’d think that he’d fallen asleep. “You know, Poops,” he starts again, and you smile softly. “You scare the hell out of me.” You don’t comment, but a hand finds his hair, your fingers running mindlessly through the blonde locks. “Your Mum is going to be perfect, but you’re getting the short end of the stick with me.” Another pause. You wonder if you should speak.

You don’t. He isn’t talking to his girlfriend right now.

“I don’t know how to be a dad, Poopy, but I know how much I love you.”

The tears burn in your eyes and blur the pages of the magazine. You want to tell him he’s a fool, that nobody will be a better dad than him. You want to scream–Max, Max, Max! Your Max. Her Max. You want to tell him that even though none of this was in the plan, there is not another person, not another soul in any other million universes and alternate lives that you would rather stray from the plan with. No one else could make a hard veer left into uncharted territory feel like a scenic drive around your family’s hometown.

“I’m going to try harder than I’ve ever tried, though,” he continues. “And, just do you know, I have a pretty good record when it comes to the things I want, isn’t that right, Mummy?” He shifts his head on the pillow to look at you. You’re met with his smile, almost certainly expecting you to have not been paying attention, to meet him with an equally please smile and a curious hum.

Instead, he’s faced with your red, teary eyes and your pursed smile. “Yeah,” you croak through a laugh. “Your daddy’s a winner, Poopy. The fucking best.”

Max’s hand moves from your stomach to reach up to your cheek. He wipes the single tear that breaks through the damn, eyes laced horribly with concern, thumb softly circling the skin in the wake of the salty tear. You frown, silently affirm your convictions to him with a quick I love you.

I love you, he mouths back. So much.

You nod in agreement.

Someday, you’re going to be able to tell your daughter without bursting into sobs that Dad doesn’t understand his worry is proof enough he’s the best father. For now, you’ll just have to settle for the hope that your thoughts can transfer to her the way her hunger transfers to you.

October 21st, 2023

GP and Christian find out you’re pregnant in the hours between FP3 and Qualifying. It’s getting harder and harder to hide your bump, even with the incoming autumn weather. A sweatshirt that you’d bought just to conceal your stomach and Max’s RedBull team jacket and you’re still paranoid that everyone around you can tell.

You’re mid conversation with the three of them in hospitality while eating lunch. You’re picking at your plate because Christian is eating a pasta salad of some kind. You can smell the cherry tomatoes and it makes you green.

You keep repeating the same thing to yourself, a silent mantra while you completely ignore their conversation. You will not be sick. You will not be sick. You will not be sick. Max can tell something is bothering you, his hand finding the space between your body and the back of the chair, rubbing comforting paths along your spine. His leg bounces anxiously under the table. It’s truly a miracle you’ve kept it a fucking secret for this long.

It’s not the nausea that gives you away, surprisingly. Nor is it the baby bump hidden by layers of fabric. What gives the pregnancy away is the baby herself.

Max moves to collect the plates from the table and you thank whatever God might be watching over you that the cherry tomatoes are leaving your nose’s smell radius. It’s when he’s on his way back, weaving his way through the tables and chairs with ease, a glass of a familiar carbonated beverage in his hand, that you feel it–her–that you feel her.

Max’s presence still gives you butterflies, but this. This is something different. This is a kick or a punch or a headbutt, this is your little girl getting comfortable, this is you feeling her getting comfortable. Max is sitting into the seat next to you with a sigh, setting the glass on the tabletop in front of you and you’re not even thinking about where you are—much less who your company is—when you grab his wrist and move his hand to your stomach. It’s just you and him and her.

“What?” He asks, visibly worried at the grip you have on him.

“Feel,” you say, push his hand flat against the fabric. She moves again. “Do you feel that?”

He nods, “yeah.”

“That’s her,” you smile, eyes fixed on him, on his reaction.

“That’s her?” He laughs, eyes darting between yours and his hand. “Shit.”

When the moment is broken, when she’s comfortable and ready to go back to sleeping or whatever she does in her infinite free time, the two of you are met with GP and Christian’s matching expressions. It’s a sight to behold, the two men and their raised brows and wide eyes and confused smile as they lean forward in their seats.

“Uh, are you…?” Christian asks you quietly.

You nod, “it’s a secret,” and both of them nod.

Christian reaches across the table for you, gives your arm a weighted squeeze. “Congratulations, both of you,” he says, barely above a whisper. GP follows suit, in his own GP way.

“Scary world where there are two of either of you,” he quips. “You guys will handle it, though.”

When they excuse themselves, they both give Max’s shoulder a heavy smack and a squeeze, their own shared, silent congratulations.

“Well,” you say when it’s just the two of you left at the table, drawing shapes in the condensation on the glass of ginger ale. “I guess now we don’t have to find a way to tell them.”

November 17th, 2023

You’re MIA for Mexico and Brazil, and show up to the paddock in Vegas on Friday with Max, a form-fitted midi-dress and sandals for the desert heat. There’s no room for interpretation or guesses or assumptions, no gray area where they can feel entitled to commenting on your weight. It’s black and white, from the bump to the waddle to the placement of your hand when you walk.

The World Champion is going to be a dad, hear the little lion roar.

December 13th, 2023

Things are starting to feel very, very real. Like, you’re two and a half months from having a baby in your arms and she still doesn’t have a name, real. Nesting is in full force, and it feels like every single corner of the apartment is filled with baby toys and furniture and outfits and books.

Max has been working in the nursery since the two of you got home from Abu Dhabi. He won’t let you anywhere near it, and makes you wear a mask when you even walk down the hall past the freshly painted bedroom. Each night you think he couldn’t become more protective over you, and each morning you’re surprised to find that somehow, he is.

The paint is finally dry, the room fully aired out, and your guest room is no longer a guest room. The bikes and the extra rack of clothes and the spare sleeping space have all been replaced by a rocking chair and throw blankets and an insanely expensive crib, with the world’s tiniest socks and sweet little mittens because when you finally meet her she'll be helpless against even her own finger nails.

Pictures fill the shelves and the walls and the table next to the rocking chair, of you and of Max and of you and Max. Of your friends and your family and all the people who will love your baby girl almost as much as the two of you do.

It’s a bedroom fit for only the world’s finest.

“You have the world’s best daddy,” you say, standing in the middle of the nursery with Max’s arm around your shoulder, your hand carefully cradling your stomach. “He outdid himself, Poops. Wait until you see this.”

He presses his lips against your temple. “We have to find her a name.”

“We have names,” you say, admiring the mobile hung over the crib, the different farm animals swaying in the breeze pouring in from the open window.

Max laughs. You hope she has his laugh. You hope she has his everything, even his unrelenting competitiveness and his roll of the dice temperament and his sweet, sweet lisp. “We have to agree on one of the names.”

February 27th, 2024

Max Verstappen to Miss Pre-Season Testing. The headline is everywhere, Max’s phone blowing up with texts and calls and emails since Red Bull made the announcement some days prior. Some days, you say, because you’ve been in the hospital for almost three now and they’re beginning to blend together.

Testing is the last thing on either of your minds, literally couldn’t be further from the forefront at this moment.

“I think,” you whisper through gritted teeth, cut off by your own contraction. You squeeze his hand like your life depends on it, like he’d challenged you to break every last metacarpal. The hand that survives mutilation is brushing sweat stucken hair from your forehead. He learned to stop attempting to talk you through them hours ago.

This is a whole new level of exhaustion, a different kind of pain. The look in your eyes will haunt his nightmares, he thinks.

“I think we should name her Nora,” you finally find the space to speak.

He laughs, but it’s not the laugh you hope she has. It’s nervous, anxious, scared fucking shitless. “We don’t need to worry about that right now,” he tells you.

“She doesn’t have a name, Max,” you say, voice laced with exhaustion and frustration and desperation. “She needs a name and Nora is a name.”

“Nora isn’t her name,” he insists, and you know he's right. She isn’t Nora. She isn’t Elle, either. She sure as fuck isn’t Poopy, that dumb fucking nickname. He’s never nicknaming anything, ever again.

“Eleanor. Her name is Eleanor,” you grit, squeezing his hand and groaning through another contraction.

Max nods. “Eleanor,” he smiles. Eleanor. “She has your eyes and my nose and beautiful blonde hair and she’s perfect in all of the ways.”

February 28th, 2024. Sometime after 3:17 am.

Max is wrong about half of it. She has your nose and his soft blue eyes. Her hair is soft and barely more than fuzz and is white as white can be. She has ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and a smile that at least two people would kill to keep on her itty bitty lips.

She looks so small in his arms, like a real-life baby doll, like a sight that you could never tire of seeing.

“Now, you’re not so scary,” he whispers to her, and everything about him is quiet: his voice, his breathing, his lips kissing her head and his smile to you. “I bet you can’t even fight. You’re just a little thing, Poopy.”

“Uh-uh,” you hum. “No more Poopy.”

He laughs, dead silent. It’s impressive, almost. “Don’t listen to her, Poops.” There is something so incredibly human about this moment, about seeing your person speak to the person you created together. She is you and she is him and you don’t know why this wasn’t always the plan. “Mum is as crazy as she is beautiful.”

September 1st, 2024

“It’s a shame,” Daniel speaks to Max, bouncing Eleanor on his hip, giddy smile on both of their faces. “Everytime I see her she looks more like you and less like her mother.”

“Ay, Daniel!” Charles laughs, squeezing Eleanor’s foot. She follows the voices with her big blue eyes. “Be nice, mate,” now that he has her attention, he speaks only in a baby-voice. “Yes,” he says, “tell Uncle Daniel to be nice to Papa.”

There have been a lot of moments in the past six months that have left you in awe of your partner, but none strike you quite the way that watching him introduce your daughter to the grid does. He’s so in his element, his two world’s colliding as he gets to show off his girl.

His girl, who, like Daniel teases, looks more and more like him every day. Pride is not what you feel watching them together, your guy and your world. It isn’t a strong enough word for what you’re faced with. You would die for her, you would kill for her. There is a certain solace in knowing he might be the only person in the world who feels exactly the same way.

“This is our daughter,” he begins every introduction, even though he could just as easily say my daughter. No, he could never, not when he falls more in love with you everytime he looks at her, not when he picks up on every minuscule thing she does that reminds him of you.

Never could it be his daughter. Not when you’ve created the best thing to ever come of him, when even here, in Monza and the sea of red and prancing horses and tifosi pride he knows that nobody on planet Earth has the supporters that he does.

mr & mrs park.

synopsis : in which the task of killing your enemy is abruptly put on a pause when you discover their cute little secret.

pairing : mafia seonghwa x reader.

theme ( s ) : romcom, angst, action & smut.

word count : 50K ( i- )

there are three things you need to know before you read this.

one, you screwed up.

two, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

three, you’re holding onto a revolver.

Keep reading

3K notes View Post

that-jax

5 years ago

escaped:

chapter one:

see you again

you were incredibly pissed about what happened at the USJ, and how eraserhead was horribly injured. you spend a whole week off of your usual patrols because you couldn’t focus. sitting here, on the usual roof you’d met eraserhead, you wait, seeing if any crime would happen, and get your mind of him.

“hey, long time, no see,” you hear from behind you, and you straighten up, “surprised you’re even here. tsukauchi said he didn’t see you for a week.”

you visibly shake, “how could i? you were hurt and i couldn’t do anything to stop it!” you take a breath before you start breathing again, “you’re the only person so far who hasn’t hurt me nor betrayed my trust since meeting you over a year ago, and seeing you hurt like that, made me realize that i can’t lose you too. i’m sorry eraserhead.”

before he could speak, you jumped from the roof, and ran, hoping to find a place to calm down before you have a panic attack, only to find a villain trying to hurt a civilian.

“well, damn, just my luck, isn’t it?” you speak, the microphone in your mask making your voice sound deeper, “do you really wanna hurt her?”

the villain laughs, “man! i can’t believe it’s really you, glitch! i’ve been wanting to fight you for a long time.”

with the villain’s attention on you, you see the woman trying to get away, so you keep the villain’s attention on you.

“here’s your chance then, come at me with all you got!” you yell, and the villain immediately charges at you. without knowing the villains quirk, you decide to try and stay as far away as you can, at least until you know it and how it works.

“you know, you’re hard to find, been out here for weeks hoping to catch your attention,” he speaks before throwing the knife he had in his hand at you, “and i finally got it!”

dodging so the knife doesn’t hit you, you chuckle, “sorry, why did you want my attention? wouldn’t it be more rewarding to have endeavor’s or all might’s?” you speak, trying to get him in engage in conversation more, “why is my direct attention so important to you?”

he laughs, “ah, but why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, jumping trying to get in close to throw a punch, “you fight quirkless, but yet, you are undefeated, so if i’m able to defeat you, imagine the credibility i’ll have defeating you!”

you chuckle, a dark glint in your eyes, “i’d like to see you try.”

after a few moments of dodging his punches, he finally lands one on your arm, causing it to break in half.

“oh you fucking bitch,” you swear in english, before going back to japanese, “so your quirk is super strength, or something related to it.”

the villain grins sickeningly, “oh, you’re right. my quirk lets me fight with the same power as endeavor but nowhere near his size, not many expect it.”

“at least i’ll know to expect it,” you hear eraserhead’s voice from behind the villain and the villain turns around, and you feel a sense a dread wash over you.

“eraserhead too? oh, this is a party,” he says, “good thing, this is a mutation quirk, you can’t erase it.”

realizing what was happening, you run, jumping on the walls, the way you were trained to, jumping in front of eraserhead just as the villain delivers a devastating blow to your chest, and you feel the air leave your lungs and your vision blurring.

“even better! i got glitch! now time to make them pay,” the villain says, and you can hear the sirens.

“you really think i’d follow her without backup? you got another thing coming,” you hear eraserhead say, and you try to lift your head up but it takes too much energy and your chest is in too much pain. you don’t remember much after that.

——

waking up smelling antiseptic confuses you for a minute and then you jump into panic. your eyes shoot open and you sit up quickly, and see 4 other people in the room. you feel your chest heave in panic as you realize you don’t have your mask on. the old lady seems to notice this immediately and walks over to you.

“it’s okay dearie, you’re safe and your injures are healed,” she speaks to you, softly, an attempt to calm you down, and it does, a little.

“taking a hit for eraser, huh, glitch?” a man, who you recognize as present mic, says. you freeze when he says that, the panic setting back in as you realize a bunch of pro heroes know who you are.

“it’s okay. yes, we do know your identity, or at least what your face looks like, but we have no intention on arresting you,” the bear, dog, hybrid says, “i’m nezu, the principal!”

“wait, you said i wasn’t going to be arrested?” you ask, panic still in your chest.

“you will not be arrested as you did not break any laws. vigilantism is only illegal when you use your quirk, and as far as aizawa has said, you don’t use it,” nezu spoke, watching your face carefully.

“who the fuck is aizawa?” you speak after a moment of silence, and present mic immediately starts laughing, eraserhead looks annoyed, the doctor looks confused and the principal looks the same except his smile is slightly bigger, showing he’s amused.

“me, i’m aizawa,” eraserhead, no, aizawa speaks.

“oh,” you speak, voice quiet, “sorry, usually i’m better at figuring things like this out but i’m slightly panicky.”

“why dearie? is there a reason or do you have anxiety?” the doctor asks, “and i’m recovery girl, considering you didn’t know eraserhead was aizawa, it’s easier to tell you.”

you nod, “i have anxiety and ptsd. i don’t go to hospitals or doctors often. only when i’m on the verge of dying, which hasn’t been in years.”

“why would you be on the verge of dying?” nezu asks, his voice softer, as if he knows to tread lightly.

“uh, no offense, but you guys haven’t gotten to the level of trust where you get to unlock my tragic backstory,” you say, shrugging, “just know, it wasn’t pretty.”

nezu nods, and looking away from him, you see present mic looking sad and aizawa looks unbothered, until you look at him in the eyes, and see he’s bothered by something.

“do you have anywhere to stay dearie?” recovery girl asks, and you shake your head.

“no, for the most part i stay at homeless shelters when it’s cold and the rest of the year i stay wherever i can.”

silence falls over the room, and you can cut the tension with a knife.

“how old are you, little listener?” present mic asks, and you raise your head to look him in the eyes.

“i just turned 16,” you speak, shrugging.

you hear a gasp from recovery girl, and you turn to look at her, “what?”

“where are your parents?” nezu asks, his voice slightly colder now, as if he’s angry.

you shrug, “don’t know. don’t care. i left america when i was 10, caught a plane here, haven’t been back since.”

you hear aizawa sigh lowly, and you look at him, tilting you head, in a questioning manner.

“did you even know your parents?” he asks, after a moment, and you shake your head.

“no, i don’t think so,” you finally reply, voice meek.

a silence falls once again, until nezu breaks it, “aizawa, yamada, would you let her sleep at your apartment tonight? i would like to speak with her more tomorrow,” he asks, and you immediately hold your hands up.

“no, no, nope. i’m not doing that. i don’t want to be a bother,” you speak, “is there anyway i can just stay here?”

present mic looks distraught, “it wouldn’t be a bother, right, shota?”

aizawa sighs, “i rather you stay where the two of us can watch you, than you escape.”

you gasp mockingly, “how dare you accuse me of trying to escape?”

he looks at you, and deadpans, “because you totally didn’t escape tonight during our talk.”

you shrug, “was gonna cry if i didn’t, so i yeeted out of there. also, don’t ask why i was gonna cry, don’t wanna talk about it.”

nezu nodded, “do stay with aizawa and yamada. we’ll talk about your arrangement tomorrow with the school.”

you nodded, and sat up to stand but as soon as you did, you got lightheaded and stay back down, “i forget i’m anemic.”

recovery girl sighs, “between you and midoryia, i have my work cut out for me this year.”

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that-jax

5 years ago

you have a few favorites? They don't have to be brand new or anything. Just some that you love?

I have some new and some old! Also some Jeddy cuz I’ve been reading a whole lot of Jeddy lately, but I’ll put those in the end! Also, this is gonna be mostly smut because that's what I mostly read unless I’m in a very wholesome mood. This is gonna be long, like very long, I’m bad at picking favorites there are just too many (34 to be exact, apparently and this is the most I could narrow it down). (I also ran out of things to say because I remember loving those fics SO MUCH but I dont remember enough to give a “review”)

The Magic Cat by dot_the_writer

When Harry sees Draco Malfoy with painted nails and wearing an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, his obsession from school comes back in full force. Featuring supportive friends, cute cats and lots of Harry figuring out what he wants.

This one I read just this morning when my best friend asked me to rec her some hurt/comfort (hi Jess) and it’s my most recent favorite. Sooo cute!

A New Page by bixgirl1

Draco just wanted to find out what was up with Potter’s new attitude. Some light stalking, the discovery of a hidden diary, and a lot of wanking later, and he has some answers.

They’re just not the ones he expected.

(Things have changed since sixth year, folks. …Mostly.)

This one also, I read fairly recently and I mean @bixgirl1 fics, do I even need to say more?

The Tapestry of Kinship by khalulu

Harry is at loose ends, Draco is good with needles, and Draco’s young daughter wants to see a certain tapestry repaired. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will never be the same.

Helix by Saras_Girl

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again. [2014 advent fic]

Sanguis Vita Est by Shiguresan

Whilst Voldemort’s prisoner, Draco is made a vampire and forced to take Harry as his first meal. With Draco managing to resist the temptation to drain him, just barely, in a moment of blind rage at what he has been forced to become, he aids Harry in the destruction of Voldemort. But even with that threat vanquished, once back at Hogwarts, Draco finds himself disturbingly addicted to Harry’s blood. And amongst all this, a dark shadow looms ominously on the outline of the forest, watching them closely. A vampire!Draco story and also an ‘Eighth year’ story.

I read this ages ago but I remember hesitating before I started to read this because it’s 312k+ and I didn’t really read super long fics back then, but I loved this so much, also vampire!Draco is a good

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

My favorite execution of the “character’s life kinda sucks so character magically gets sent to an alternate universe” trope. Oh also, it’s part of a series

dirtynumbangelboy by magpie_fngrl

After Harry’s unfortunate encounter with his ex, Draco Malfoy makes him a proposition. Draco wants his parents to stop matchmaking him and Harry wants to make his ex jealous. All they need to do is simply pretend they’re in love. Problem is… Draco already is.

Again another amazing fake relationship fic!

Give Me Sweet Oblivion by tryslora

Italy seems like a long way to go to keep a fetish secret. But the club is exclusive, and the far away location, and Muggle nature, promises anonymity from Wizarding Britain. The only problem is that sometimes, great minds think alike.

One of the actual hottest smut fics that I’ve read, recced to me by my friend @the-cellar-spiral Fun fact, we planned and failed to write a kind of sequel to this, we had @tryslora ‘s permission and everything, we just never really had time, but who knows maybe in the future.

Every Me and Every You by bixgirl1

Harry liked his life just fine, thankyouverymuch — so it was bad enough when a sly fairy cursed him to leap into alternate realities. But seeing Malfoy in all of them? Definitely way too much. And worse yet: needing the bastard’s help to figure out how to get out of of it.

It was a disaster waiting to happen, really.

Well… probably.

Another AMAZING alternate universe fic, using @magpiefngrl ‘s tumblr prompt AU’s as said alternate universes that Harry keeps going in and out of, which makes it 974957839 times better! Also Unspeakable!Draco, also the alternate realities are almost always sexual and it’s great

Dating for Dads in Denial by aibidil

In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

Since You Asked by Magnolia822

Newly retired Draco Malfoy writes an anonymous agony column for the Quibbler, for which he quickly gains a reputation for offering pithy, practical advice. His life is comfortably predictable until he receives a letter from a reader seeking a divorce from his wife of thirty years. The situation seems far too familiar … could the writer be the Savior himself?

Salty Sweet by Aelys_Althea

Draco was a Master. He’d always been one, but having a town of Muggles consider him as close to God’s gift as they would ever receive was certainly validating. Except it wasn’t enough. After years of settling, of conjuring masterpieces with his fingers and his prowess, Draco realised he needed a change.

How hard could it be to find an apprentice pâtissier that did what they were told? As it happened, doing ‘what was told’ was about the last thing on his inevitable prospect’s mind. Trust Harry Potter to be the one to turn Draco’s life upside down.

Moldova’s Magical Tea by aibidil

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture and, hopefully, to bring the community together after the war. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. Featuring Muggle music from summer 2001, trips to the Muggle cinema, herbology and magical herbal infusions, and Draco trying to convince Harry that, while he’s still a snarky git, he’s no longer a bigot.

The Critiquer by dysonrules

When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.

Career Choices: Harry: Shiftless layabout; Draco: Cock Critiquer

But, In Dreams by kedavranox

Harry is a Seer, with a particular affinity for speaking to the dead, but this comes at a price he’s slowly killing himself to pay.

My Name Was Safest in Your Mouth by alpha_exodus

Harry didn’t ask for Malfoy to walk into his shop after so many years. But one event leads to another, and soon they’re scrambling to help Hermione find the solution to one of the most insidious viruses the wizarding world has ever seen. To make matters worse, Malfoy’s hiding something, and Harry really wants to kiss him—except Malfoy doesn’t date. Ever.

I Can’t Take It! by XxTheDarkLordxX

After the war, Draco Malfoy became an author. A best selling author whose books move the hearts of those who read them. Which wouldn’t be a problem for Ron if all of them weren’t about Harry! It was obvious to him that Malfoy was in love with his best friend but why was it that no one else seemed to think so? He was going to get to the bottom of this and get Harry to stop mooning over the blonde idiot at the same time. Perhaps, they just needed someone to come along and get them to fess up. For the safety of his own sanity, Ron was going to help Malfoy ensnare Harry. That is, if they can get along long enough not to kill each other.

The Full Monty by magpie_fngrl

Harry poses for a naked Auror calendar and Draco goes batshit crazy with lust.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It’s Potter’s fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It’s been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco’s getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he’s falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Moon-Eyed by loveglowsinthedark

Draco Malfoy, Head of Veela Affairs at the Department of Magical Beings, does not do people favours.

Harry Potter, recently turned werewolf, is not “people” – not to Draco anyway.

Does Draco plan to fall in love with Harry when he decides to help him? No. Does he end up falling in love with him anyway? Pft, what do you think?

Adventures in Solitude (Are You There, Sirius? It’s Me, Draco) by oceaxe

Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war… and secrets about Harry Potter.

Proof of the Pudding by gracie137

When Greg’s bakery opens on Diagon Alley, Draco doesn’t expect it to the place he ends up finding love, but then again Harry Potter had always ended up defying Draco’s expectations.

AKA: The One Where Gregory Goyle somehow ends up running both a bakery and a match making service.

The Rules of Matchbreaking by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)

For Prompt #51:When Draco gets fired, he reluctantly agrees to break up a girl’s relationship for her disapproving mother. Through word of mouth, the one-time gig turns him into a professional Matchbreaker, however he winds up falling for one of his clients and must somehow balance his secret job and love life.[excerpt]:“So who is it? The Curse-breaker and the Veela? The head of the Department of Magical Transportation?” Draco’s eyes lit up. “The Dragon-tamer?” Now that particular Weasley could be fun.

“No. It’s Harry,” Hermione said, the name exploding out of her in a rush.

Draco blinked, stunned into silence.

“Harry,” he said, after he recovered his faculties. “You want me to break up Harry and the Weaselette?!“

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers.

This is the very first Drarry fic I read, while trying to research dares for a seungchuchu fic I was writing at the time and it is the fic that made me ship Drarry and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

Ligabus Filium by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley)

It should be careful, deliberate, but it isn’t. Like every other part of their relationship, it happens gradually and then all at once, before they even realize it. And when the little blue threads bind them together, there’s no going back.

The Printed Press by Soupy_George

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter’s very public and very … sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl

Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Foundations!verse by Saras_Girl

Reparations by Saras_Girl

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

Foundations by Saras_Girl

When one door closes, another one opens – with a bit of a push. Life, love, and complications. [sequel to Reparations]

So this was included in my healer!Harry rec list but this series is just so good also it has way too many fics in the series for me to link to all of them but once you read the two main fics there’s no way you’re not gonna wanna read the one-shots that come with the series as well.

Are You Mine? by gracerene

A trilogy of fics set in an Epilogue-Compliant Harry Potter ‘Verse, with various accompanying time-stamps and one-shots. Fics are in chronological order.

Not Just When You Want to Be by gracerene

A little over a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together. Staying together is a different matter entirely.

What I’m Waiting to Find by gracerene

James has devoted the past two years to being the best damn Chaser that Puddlemere United has ever seen…and to getting over his teenage crush on Teddy. But when Teddy comes back to England after a long stint abroad, James’s resolve to move on is put to the test.

All of the Time by gracerene

Twenty-five years later, Harry and Draco find their way back to one another.

I read this one fairly recently as well and this is definitely one of my all-time favorite series, the first and third fics are Drarry and the second is Jeddy. I honestly love this so much that I lowkey want to go find @gracerene09 down and thank her for writing such an amazing series. Oh fair warning though, the first fic made me ugly cry and opened a wound that only the third fic could heal so you know, prepare yourself. There are also accompanying oneshots that are also v amazing!

This Must Be the Place by aibidil

When your dad is Harry Potter, your face shows up in Teen Witch, your social media videos go viral, and sometimes your life depends on pretending to date your metamorph godbrother, whom you’ve been over for years, thank you very much. Or, the one where James and Teddy do animal yoga and risqué karaoke and their families could do with seeing fewer videos of them snogging.

I’m a sucker of the fake relationship trope and @aibidil wrote this sooo beautifully

The Hidden Side by gracerene

Twenty years ago today, James Sirius Potter was born into this world. Four years, two months, and six days later, somebody took him.

Oh god this, THIS Auror!Teddy is one of my favorite Teddy’s. Also super intriguing plot and still quite a few unexpected twists even though the biggest revelation you guess/know pretty early on. Oh and background drarry!

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that-jax

4 years ago

SO, MAFIA AU (AKA a good excuse to draw Yuri and Victor in a uniform/suit) Officer Katsuki and mafia boss Nikiforov! WILL DEF DRAW MORE OF THIS, I AM EXCITE NEXT

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that-jax

1 year ago

missing this barrel rat right now

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that-jax

1 year ago

THIS gif deserves a whole post by itself, i lost consciousness.

*Gif credits to owner

357 notes View Post

that-jax

2 years ago

three taps (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: kaz taps three times. it’s his way to say i love you, i care.

the three times it took jesper to realize that three taps were something more than a meaningless habit.

warnings: violence, blood, implied se*ual as*ault (not detailed at all and very brief)

a/n: did i write this in less than a day? yes. did the inspiration come to me at six am? also yes. what about your other 50 wip, anna? did you write anything for them? nope.

hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

i. tap, tap, tap

Jesper had seen him do it more times than he could count. It was Kaz’s thing. Three taps, index finger hitting a wooden table, thumb brushing against a map or cane harshly meeting the floor. Most times they were fast taps, like a subconscious action, coming and going before anyone could give it any mind. Other times, however, they were slower, more emphasized, as if trying to make a point. Jesper was used to the taps, as he imagined (Y/N) and Inej also were. The sound came prior to every heist, prior to pronouncing the words of luck (no mourners, no funerals).

It was Kaz’s habit, something he probably did without even realizing, and Jesper couldn’t help but find it oddly comforting, a routine that somehow eased his nerves. (The world could be going to war, Ketterdam could be crashing down in flames, and Kaz would still tap three times. There was a sense of safety in that.)

It wasn’t until Jesper had a closer look that he realized the action was perhaps not as meaningless as he believed.

ii. cane meets ground three times: come back to me, i’m here

(Y/N) had known Kaz the longest out of all of them. Jesper hadn’t known the Slat without her, he hadn’t known Kaz without her. She’d always been there, a person in which the Dregs often found solace and always obtained an ear to listen without judgment. (Y/N) was a walking contradiction, soft around the edges yet powerful enough to bring the toughest people to their knees. She was everything Kaz wasn’t, maybe that was the reason they complimented each other as well as they did.

Keep reading

6K notes View Post

that-jax

5 years ago