A photo could not show (the way my heart is beating)
Pairing : Bakugo Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku
Warnings : Aizawa’s POV, reference to suicide threats, past abuse and bullying, erasermight if you squint, Midnight haunts the narrative, reference to underage drinking, the whole plot is video surveillance, ptsd, third year class 1-A, so class 3-A, happy ending
Synopsis : When Aizawa, tired and tipsy, reveals some of Izuku and Bakugo’s very personal history to All Might, he ends up having to pull out evidence that no, Bakugo really does not want Izuku to kill himself anymore.
Moth’s prophecy 💡 : I love those kids with my whole being, and imagined this lil thing as an unseen moment from their last year at U.A. Really wish we would have gotten more slice of life / student shenanigans from canon, but eh, thank god for fan writers & artists !
Aizawa sighed, loudly, for the third time. Either the blond man ignored him, either he didn’t care. And the sniffles were slowly getting on his nerves.
“All Might, when we said we were ending the meeting earlier and that you should probably go rest, what did you not understand exactly ?”
“I… am resting ?” He raised his sparkling eyes from his stack of papers and Aizawa resisted the twitch to hit it.
“On my floor. In my room. While I’m grading papers. And you are still going over those !” He pointed an accusatory fingers at the papers, which All Might clutched to his heart, as if they were about to be destroyed.
The blond man put them down, and without surprise, Aizawa recognized the one sitting at the top of the stack. He would recognize it amongst hundreds. But again, he would probably recognize anyone’s handwriting from this class. They had written enough essays, apologies and additional homework for a lifetime.
Much cleaner and precise than in his personal notebooks, the ink swirled gracefully on the paper :
Post-graduation project :
Midoriya Izuku - 3-A
Teaching at UA
Now scattered around All Might, who had curled on himself, were nineteen more papers, more or less filled, some crumpled at the edges from having been read too many times tonight.
Kirishima Eijiro - 3-A
Intern at Fat Gum’s agency this year again.
Got a job offer as a sidekick for him post-graduation.
Open my own agency in 5 years.
Yaoyorozu Momo - 3-A
Currently preparing for the entrance exam at Tokyo’s Engineering School to obtain a degree in Heroic Civil Engineering, International Project Management course.
Aiming to keep my current schedule of hero work, volunteering and school.
Got a hero internship offer in the United States on condition I get into university.
Tokoyami Fumikage - 3-A
Got a job offer as a sidekick in Hawks’ former agency.
Would like to try infiltration missions with the commission.
Bakugo Katsuki - 3-A
Number 1 hero.
It all seemed pretty standard to Aizawa. Maybe even too normal for the kids he had seen grow up so fast. As if the tutorial to relearning how to live after trauma could be summed up in bullet points. So why was All Might sniffling on his floor like a kicked puppy, clinging on to Midoriya’s paper as if what was left of his life depended on it ?
Aizawa peeked at the stash of beers he had confiscated from Mineta’s room a week ago. The cans seemed to wink at him from under his desk. One wouldn’t hurt ? It would at least, maybe, make the situation less unbearable. He cracked one open and rubbed at his eyes, perfectly in sync with the flood now running from All Might’s.
“I ruined him. Took this boy under my wing, promised his mother I would take care of him, and now… Now his life is ruined.”
“What ?”
“I should never have given him One for All, this was my burden, my fight, my… my sacrifice ! Now he won’t even be able to be a hero anymore…”
Aizawa threw a can at All Might, not bothering to aim at his hands nor apologizing for the way it bumped back from his forehead to the floor.
“Oh my god, poor kid yeah.” All Might looked at him, all glossy eyed, clearly not getting the sarcasm. “His childhood idol offered him three years of the closest one can be to the top heroes, he defeated the greatest evil Japan might have known since quirks appeared, and now wants to teach the next generation at the best heroic school in the country ? Like, hm, let me think… his childhood idol, once again ? Yes indeed, sounds like he’s headed for a shit life.”
“Shota…” Aizawa winced, still not used to the familiarity. “You know what I mean. This isn’t what he dreamed of. This isn’t what he was promised.”
“He wasn’t promised anything, remember ? You found him full of hope, sure, but mostly delusional hope, and quirkless. This opportunity was more than he could have dreamed of. A fortunate chain of circumstances. And he made the most of it. Plenty of kids from here go into teaching by choice.”
All Might was pouting. And Aizawa wondered how many times it would take him to pass out from banging his own head on his desk. Probably too many for him to succeed before his stupid colleague would intervene. Or he could fake a call from security ? Tell All Might a villain got in the school, and shut the door right behind him.
“At least he has friends.”Had the sobbing finally calmed down ? He turned to the blond man, who was now looking on his phone at a picture of him, Midoriya and Bakugo, on a hike earlier this winter. Tears flooding again. God damn it.
He downed the beer and tried to focus on his computer screen. Clock indicated midnight. Of course it did. It always did.
He could have been done with this work already. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he hesitated between letting the older man ramble or try to stop him once again, since none seemed to get across the message to get out of his room. He was exhausted.
“Yeah. Friends are great. Maybe you could go talk about that with yours, All Might ?”
“He has Uraraka, and Ida, and Todoroki of course, the young Asui…”
“Thank you for reminding me of my students’ names.”
“And young Bakugo, of course, though I suppose he can’t be called like that anymore.”
“I mean they are smuggling alcohol in with the help of 3-B lately so I suppose not.”
“I’m so glad they have each other, he understands him and they ground each other you know Shota ?”
Was he even listening to him ? Aizawa considered telling him he was going to get promoted mascot of U.A, with a big Nezu costume for events. He considered putting on his earphones discreetly. In the end, he stayed like that, glued to his computer, gritting his teeth at All Might’s monologue. His eye hurt. His ears hurt.
“They’ve grown so much, from rivals to, well I think they have always been friends, but now one would even say best friends !”
“Sure, at least he’s not telling his friend to kill himself anymore.”
The hand slammed on his desk before he even had time to register his colleague standing up.
There was nothing left of One for All in All Might. Midoriya’s embers were already fading. Yet the veins on his arms and the dark light in his eyes sent shivers down Aizawa’s back. He wanted to crawl under his desk. Instead, he closed down his computer and held the blue piercing gaze.
“What did you say ?”
“Now you’re listening ? Good. Get out of my room, Toshinori. And leave those papers on the way out.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that until you repeat yourself.”
Aizawa sighed. He had fucked up. And no matter how quirkless All Might now was, he was still a mountain of muscle and anger he did not wish to send on one of his students.
On the other hand, he had promised. He could remember every word of this conversation like it was yesterday, swore he could see the shadows of it in the corners of his room.
A little under a year ago, as the kids were finishing up their second year, Bakugo had come to him. It was midnight, once again, always was, but he had at least had the decency to knock.
Aizawa had braced himself for almost anything. Complaints about the noise in the dorms. A rare request for an additional delay on the latest homework. Bakugo could have told him he blew up half the common room and the teacher would have probably just sighed. But he opened the door to a kid, really. A red-eyed, scared, tired kid. His therapist had recently reduced the frequency of their meetings to only one session per week, and considering both the time and day, Aizawa knew the next one wouldn’t be until next Monday. He also knew Bakugo couldn’t handle it. So he let him in.
The boy had cried, ugly cried. Going on and on about forgiveness and hurt. Kind of like All Might had been doing for god knew how long that night. It only took Aizawa one well timed question, lacking any judgment, for the gates to open. Bakugo spilled it all. The friendship. The rivalry. The self hatred. The bullying. The physical hurt. The psychological warfare. The threats. The threat. The boy knew he had been in the wrong, he was not begging for forgiveness, and that might have been worse for him : Midoriya had forgiven him long ago. Had moved on. Had accepted Bakugo, in all his loyalty and anger. While Bakugo was still stuck in the hallways of Aldera, still suffocating in mud in an alleyway, still on the ground of the coffin in the sky. Should have died, he said. Should have stayed dead. Now everyone was treating him as a hero and only he knew the truth. And Izuku. Who was a terrible judge of character, according to Bakugo. Aizawa agreed to that.
But All Might didn’t need to know all that. He didn’t need to know anything, because Aizawa had promised, and because things had changed since then. So he held the older man’s eyes until his hurt, and blond hair strands rushed towards the door. Finally.
“I’m going to see him. This type of behavior won’t be tolerated here.”
“I never said it happened here. But sure, barge in a traumatized kid’s room in the middle of the night to…” The door slammed close. “Not like he’s gonna be in there anyway…” The door opened again.
“And your clock’s broken, Shota.”
All Might was long gone when Aizawa finally answered. “It’s really not.”
“He’s not in his room !” God fucking damn it the lock. He had forgotten to lock the door and now he was back. Aizawa did not manage to stop the groan that came out of his mouth.
“No waaayyy…” Maybe he could make a run for it ? Take his computer and sprint to Hizashi’s room, or maybe Nem-… No. Of course not. He took a deep breath, and got back to grading. His hands were shaking. Second beer it would be.
“Shota, one of your students is out of the dorms at…” All Might checked his watch. “One in the morning ? And that’s all you have to say ? What if he’s out somewhere doing…”
“Doing what ? Hm ?” Without even realizing it, Aizawa had stood up, half of his hair raising up with him. “Going around first years’ dorms and telling them to kill themselves ? Going batshit crazy in the streets as if his only dream hadn’t always been to be a hero ? To be like you ?” He slammed Bakugo’s post-graduation project paper against All Might’s chest. “Has your opinion of him really changed that quickly ? Have you not doted on this kid too ? Has he not died for your ideals ?”
“Our… our ideals.” All Might was now looking at his shoes. Aizawa sat back down.
“Yeah. Our ideals. His too. Please don’t…” He threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Don’t do that to him. Don’t judge him when you don’t know half of it.”
“He’s not in his room though…”
“He’ll be back soon.” He could feel All Might’s question coming from his puzzled look. Always so expressive. And he had already given up on finishing grading his papers. Might as well finish making sure Bakugo would sleep uninterrupted tonight. “Come look at this.”
Aizawa opened a software All Might had never seen on his computer, the logo being Nezu with binoculars. A password he did not try to read, and a flash. The screen now showed an empty hallway. A green carpet. Big windows. In the corner of the screen, “3-A. Second floor. 01h13.”
“Are you spying on your students ?” Aizawa resisted rolling his eyes.
“You weren’t there much last year, between the hospital, commission and trials. But I’m sure you’ve heard of some problems we’ve had with students sneaking in and out, of the dorms and of each other’s rooms.” Aizawa shrugged at All Might’s shocked face. “Third years were the worst, but they have all been warned, and Principal Nezu got the parents’ permission as long as it was only in the shared spaces. I think most of them were reassured because it meant increased security or whatever. Well anyway, thanks to the cameras, it almost stopped. Happens only a few times a month now, across all dorms. Except…” He opened a file which contained hundreds of screen recordings, all dated between the installation of the cameras and two days ago. “Right there.”
It was late in the evening. Same floor as the live security camera. All Might knew exactly who was sleeping here, even helped the kid move his things to the room after Aoyama had left. Had he known, he thought, he never would have agreed to it.
The door opened as brutally as he thought it would, and Bakugo stepped out, brows furrowed, hair disheveled, sweating. Rushed to the door right next to his, and banged on the door.
“Did he hit him ?” All Might squeaked, hidden behind his hands. Aizawa could only sigh at the sight and pull at his hands to make him watch.
Midoriya opening the door. Midoriya smiling at Bakugo. Raising a hand to his shoulder, but the blonde swatting it and going back to his room without a word, or at least none captured by the deaf camera. End of the recording.
“What… am I supposed to understand from that ?”
“Could you wait ?”
Another one. Bakugo knocking, in the middle of the night, and leaving as soon as Midoriya shows his freckled nose and half-awake smile through the door.
Bakugo waiting, sat on the ground next to his neighbor’s door, rocking back and forth. Two hours of recording. When Midoriya finally opened, the boy just let his head fall against the other’s knee, letting out a breath so heavy his whole body visibly relaxed.
Sometimes it was the other way. Most of those times, Midoriya would get in answer a flick on the forehead, or a hair ruffle before Bakugo would slam the door on him. What was it if not another way to check a pulse ?
Aizawa started skimming through the recording until he found one in particular. Bakugo rushing out of his room so quickly he left the door wide open, a mark of burn on the handle. Slammed on Midoriya’s without stop, clearly screaming, even though All Might could not hear anything said. Midoriya opening and getting immediately pulled in the blond’s arms. A hug so suffocating anyone would have tried to get out of it, but he embraced back, and let himself be crushed for a few minutes as Bakugo hid his face in the green curls. When he finally let go, his classmate pulled him in the room, gave a thumbs up to Tokoyami who was peeking out of his own down the hall, and closed the door.
Quickly after that, it evolved into something too intimate for the cameras to catch. When they were not letting each other in directly, it was Bakugo leaving his door slightly open, even though he went to sleep hours before the others. Or opening Midoriya’s with a key obviously given, considering he would not been seen out of it before the early hours.
“I obviously called them in.” Aizawa answered before the question was even asked. “Reminded them of the rules. Of the cameras. But I also let them tell me what was up.” He let out a breath and turned to All Might, who was hanging on his every word. “They have nightmares. Well, mostly Bakugo, but they both do.”
“They all have nightmares, the young Jiro said that-“
“Bakugo died, All Might. Literally, died.” The teacher was getting antsy from refraining to scream at his elder. “A fact a lot of people seem to forget when dealing with him. His heart, blasted open. You get that, right ? You do remember it ? Because I watched it live and I couldn’t do shit !” The open beer cans, now adding up to three, flew through the room, along with a few pens and papers. “He died to make sure Midoriya would get a few seconds more, a minuscule chance to maybe turn the fight around. Oh yeah, and when he got back up, he fought your arch nemesis to the point of potentially dying again, and then had to watch his friend loose both his arms. And quirk. So I think the nightmares are particularly violent for those two, yes.”
All Might seemed to find the floor immensely more interesting than the sole eye glaring at him, but at least did not hide his shame.
“Anyway… It started with texts. Just checking in. “Alive ?” “👍🏻” or “You okay ? Heard a bang” “Fuck off”.” He really tried to refrain his smile, but the memory of the two boys sheepishly showing him their text history was too much, even for him. “But I guess at some point the paranoia took over. One would take just slightly too long to answer, and the other would need proof. Reassurance, really. A breath, a smile, an insult even, anything to make sure they didn’t wake up to some alternative universe where only one made it out.” All Might had sat down on the bed, clearly surprised at the revelations. “And I obviously still forbid them to go against the rules. So that’s what they did.”
Aizawa opened another recording. In the corner of the screen : “3rd year dorms. Common grounds. 23h47.” The footage was filmed from a drone, All Might had seen those around, but never questioned them.
The drone flew around the building of class B, then class A. Top to bottom. And on the way down, on the second floor, slowed and zoomed in on a balcony. Midoriya was crouching on the guardrail, little sparks of green light pulsing on the exposed skin of his legs. All Might almost screamed when he jumped, and landed quite ungracefully on Bakugo, who was waiting for him on the other side. A few seconds of silence and looking at each other, before they burst into a fit of laughter so loud even the drone picked it, though he could not retransmit it on the recording. Bakugo almost kicked Midoriya through his glass door to get him inside, and followed quickly, still smirking.
“I guess my authority is not as impactful as it used to be since I stopped expelling students.”
“I apologize, Shota…” All Might was fiddling with his hands, eyes still stuck to the screen. “I did not realize… I thought… Still, telling him to die…” Only silence answered him. Of course Aizawa agreed. It was fucked up. But he also knew how their lives had been so intertwined, for so long now, that bringing them apart was the thing most likely to kill one of them now, much more than a stupid insult could have years ago. “What is that…? What are they…?”
Behind them, the recordings had kept going. And All Might wasn’t sure he knew how he felt about seeing Midoriya cup his friend’s face and kiss his forehead while the “symbol of victory” was sobbing in the hallway. Nor about Bakugo pulling at the green-haired hoodie’s strings and kissing his cheek between their balconies before going back to his room, as red as Kirishima’s hair. Soon enough, the desperate nightly checks had turned to something more. Or maybe it had always been there, deeply hidden under layers and layers of trauma and codependency. Maybe the fear of death had made them appreciate each other’s life even more. Maybe that morning goodbye kiss they shared a few weeks ago mattered more now than those empty threats years ago.
Without even thinking about it, All Might had started rubbing his cheek against the hand Aizawa had put on his shoulder. The tears had started again. He looked almost smaller like that. Not the Symbol of Peace anymore. Barely even All Might. Just Toshinori.
“I know you feel responsible for him, Toshinori… For both of them. But they are almost eighteen now… They’re not really kids anymore, no matter how hard it is to watch them grow up.” The recordings had stopped. The computer screen was back to the live camera. “If you could trust them to care for each other in times of peace as much as they did in the face of death… I think you would save yourself a lot of stress.”
Green curls appeared in the corner of the screen, a bright smile and enthusiastic arms flying in all directions. Midoriya was reading out loud, they guessed, the summary of the dvd he was holding, “All Might’s greatest fights compilation n.4 ! Including : The Kaiju, Master 0 & Vortex”. Behind him, Bakugo was dragging his feet across the carpet, giving small kicks here and there to pieces of fluff. Though he was rolling his eyes and hushing Midoriya, a smirk was like glued to his face. In his hands, two 7/11 bags full to the brim with snacks and drinks.
Midoriya’s hand fell on the handle of his door, and they were about to enter the room, he turned around, as if his sixth sense was still working and alerting him. Looking straight to the camera placed up on the wall at the end of the hallway, he gave a big grin and wave, and entered the room, laughing. Bakugo glared at it and gave the middle finger, to the object or the two men watching behind, they would never know, but as he closed the door behind them, Aizawa turned his computer off.
“Go to sleep, Toshinori. They are right where they need to be.”
Pairing : Midoriya Izuku x gn!reader / Bakugo Katsuki x gn!reader / Todoroki Shoto x gn!reader / Uraraka Ochako x gn!reader / Kirishima Eijiro x gn!reader
Warnings : headcanons, suggestive content, pet names, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, post-war, post-timeskip, light spoilers for MHA ending, quirkless!Deku, reader has a suit-kink ?, no use of y/n
Synopsis : Being a pro-hero’s partner comes with a lot of downs. Night shifts, anxiety, press scrutiny, … It also comes with its perks, and for you, the main one happens to be their work outfits
Moth’s prophecy 💡: Hi cryptids, your mother is currently occupying the winter break for F1 by eating anime breakfast lunch and dinner, so you get what you get. MHA brain rot for all ! If you wish for other characters in this setting let me know, it would be my pleasure.
💚 Midoriya Izuku 💚
You already had a thing for the teacher look, and he knows it. His tie has been used around your wrists more than his neck at that point
You can see it makes him soooo happy to be back on the field as a hero, and you should be supportive, really, or anxious about the dangers that came with the job
But you see him on TV and all you can think of is how the metal of the way-too-expensive suit clings to him like second skin and how that make-believe black whip would probably feel even better than his tie
So when he comes home in the middle of the night after another triple shift -school, dorms, patrol-, you can't even pretend to be asleep
It's all you've been thinking of all day, and even though he has the delicacy of walking slowly in the hallway of your apartment, you can hear from his heavy steps he hasn't taken the suit off yet
His hair is all tousled, and he immediately bows down in shame when he sees you in the doorframe of the living room
“Oh shit I’m so sorry baby, I woke you up ? I knew I should have taken it off before entering but my god the patrol got so much longer than planned and I didn't see the time and-”
“You can keep it on.” He stops blabbering, mouth open, as you try your hardest to look confident in your request. “Kats spent a lot on it, I think you should actually wear it even more. Make it worth his money.”
“Are you... Making fun of me ?” He starts taking off his cape, and you almost jump on him, nails gripping at the cold shoulder plates
“I'm really not ! Please don't take it off just yet...”
You can see the blush spreading to his ears as he hugs you awkwardly, trying not to step on your bare feet
“O-oh... You mean you like… like it ?” He asks, pretending to clarify even though he seems to already know by now. You want to punch him, take back your request, but you just nod against his chest, your mustered confidence thrown out the window
“Let me at least take off the gloves, you'll freeze and they're all dirty” You grab at his wrist to prevent him from doing so
“I…” now you're struggling to talk ? “I thought you could show me... If it really works like the black whip... I've never seen it in real life.” You met way after he had lost his quirk, so besides his suit, the only images you have of it was the broadcast of the battle he fought years ago, which isn’t the best fuel for your naughty daydreaming
It seems he fought his grin for too long, because his soft smile turns huge on his face, and he wastes no time pulling you up, your legs wrapping around his waist
He already had no issue carrying you, but the suit truly makes him feel like you weigh nothing
“So that's what that was all about !” As he is walking to the bedroom, he prevents you from hiding your face in his neck by pinching at your cheeks “Well lemme just turn off the data sharing on this thing, no need for All Might to find out how it works in… other circumstances.”
You lay in bed, laughing, as he tries to turn it off, imagining his mentor barging in, scared to death because of "unusual activities detected", but your fun is cut short when black and blue small flashes of light spark from one of his gloves
“Soooo you see, black whip used to work through-”
“Oh please spare me the lecture, I have a date with Hero-Deku right now, not teacher-Midoriya.” The light flashes as you feel something tug at your wrists sharply
“Yes ma'am.”
🧡 Bakugo Katsuki 🧡
“Fucking villain and fucking cameras everywhere and the fucking commission and their fucking reports” You wince when you hear the door slam, mentally taking note to check the latches later
“Bad day ? Want me to run you a… bath ?” The words die on your lips as you peek through in the living room. You turn to the window, sakura flowers painting the whole park across the street pink
You hadn’t realized spring was already there until your boyfriend came home in his summer hero suit, arms bare and full of scars, only a few black leather cuffs decorating the empty spaces
He groans but his shoulders relaxes, and it only makes you want to bite at his biceps more
“Don’t bother pup, with the luck I have today you’ll end up drowning in it. Imma take a shower.”
He sits on the stairs in the entryway to take off his boots, and you come behind him, your fingers instinctively playing with the braided twin strands of hair in his neck, making him shiver
“Stop that.” He grabs at your wrist and shoots you an annoyed look, but no matter how hard he tries, you can see he doesn’t mean it
“Or what ?” Your free hand rises to his scalp and you drag your nails in them, pleased to see the hairs on the nape of his neck dress up
“Or I’ll make you.” You shoot him a wink and he sighs. One day you’ll be the death of him, as if he hasn’t seen it close enough already. “At least let me clean up before you act like a brat.” He goes back to his laces, and you slump against his back, dressing gown slipping down your shoulder
“But I like you all dirty… You didn’t even tell me you changed suits…” Desperate is an understatement at that point, and the way you’re dragging your hands up and down his arms is driving him mad. Everything has been way too stimulating today, and here comes you.
He leans back against you, head in the crook of your neck, and you feel him smirk against your skin
“Aren’t you an impatient, pathetic, little puppy, begging like that ? Thought I had taught you better by now.”
You take one of the strap on his chest and make it slap against his skin with a smile, giggling when his breath gets stuck in his throat “Guess you’ll have to teach me again.”
He immediately turns around, grabbing your cheeks and locking you under him on the ground. “What do you want from me ? Go on, wanna play big ? Use your big words then ?”
“Keep it on…” You blush and his brows furrow, following your eyes to his chest, his belt, wristbands, all of his summer suit, really. And his grin is infuriating. Bakugo doesn’t blush, doesn’t hesitate, and most of all, doesn’t question you drooling over a few patches of exposed skin, because you never hid how you thought he looked like a piece of art, and you did not intend to do so now.
“Tsk… Then…” His hand goes down from your cheeks to your neck, shoulder, and opens up your bathrobe even more than it already was, fingers tingling at your skin with tiny shocks from his quirk. “You take it off.”
🤍 Todoroki Shoto 🤍
You can’t handle your alcohol, you know it very well, but when Mina offers to pour you another shot, your head is already too foggy to say no
You see his hand on her pink wrist before you even feel him behind you. “I think she’s had enough, Ashido… Thanks for being so eager to celebrate though.”
“Shotoooooo” You jump at his neck, peppering his face with kisses while his hand goes straight to your back to support you. “You looked so good on stage Mister number twoooo I’m so proud of you !”
He smiles softly, like he always does when it’s you, like he never used to before, according to his friends, and sits, bringing you down on his lap. “Thank you my love. Glad you could make it tonight.”
Everything feels hot. And you know it’s not just his quirk, because his cold hand is on your thigh, yet you can feel small sweat droplets running down your back. Your head is pounding, the music is too loud, but you can’t take your eyes away from his chest and the mesmerizing movement of the blue flames embedded in his shirt
“Pretty…” He immediately closes the distance to your face, and your breath stops.
What did you say, love, I didn’t hear ?” He’s so close now, too close, your lips brushing against his
“Your new suit, it’s so pretty…” You slam your hands on each side of his face and plant your eyes in his, who are wide in surprise. “You’re so pretty.” A kiss to his forehead. “And cute.” Another to his nose. “And fit.” One below his eye, on the border of his scar. “And you have a huge di-“
“Okay okay how bout we go take a breather ?” You don’t have time to stick out your tongue to Mina, who almost fell to the ground laughing, before you’re carried princess-style to one of the balconies of the building
It’s freezing, or it should be, but cuddled up against his thermo-regulated suit, you can only feel the wind
“How ‘bout we keep the intimate talking for non work-settings next time ?” You raise your head to him and finally see he’s blushing, so hard even his ears have gotten as red as half his hair.
“What a shame, I wanted to show you how much I love your new look and how warm it makes me feel insi-“ He cuts you off with a kiss, one too rushed to not be at least half as excited as you are
“I’ll go get the car, please don’t get another drink while waiting” He puts you down but doesn’t go inside immediately, head down, still red. “Fuck.” Your eyes follow his to his pants, in no way shaped appropriately to re-enter the gala room.
“Oooorrr you could warm me up again ? I’m so cold in this dress Shoto…” You bat your eyelashes at him, and it takes him a second to go from offering you go back inside alone to understanding the innuendo and pulling you close to his chest.
“I would much rather take care of you at home, as soon as I can not make a scene of myself in there.” You giggle as he kisses your head gently. “Thanks. For the compliments. It’s… It warms me up too.”
🩷 Uraraka Ochako 🩷
“ Uuuggghhhh” Ochako lets herself fall on the couch next to you, face down, with a groan so loud it probably woke up your neighbors. You laugh as your hand goes to scratch at her scalp, and her noises turn to appreciation.
“ How did it go without Tsuyu ?” You put your book down, crawling closer to your girlfriend, hand never leaving her tangled hair
“Sooooo haaaard… I forgot it was quirk exploration today, this kid almost broke his leg because I forgot she wasn’t there to catch him.” Explains why she was in her bodysuit and not in casual clothes then. Explains also why you couldn’t take your eyes off her ass, even though she was going on and on about her day and you should be listening.
“And so I told him that subventions don’t just fall from the sky and that if he wants to get involved-“ You moved again, sitting next to her hips, and put your hands on her shoulders. Not including the way it perfectly hugged her body and the practicality of it, one of the advantages of this suit was that you always saw when she was tense.
“So my mom calls me, and obviously I can’t answer during class, but nnhg…” The moan escaped from her lips as soon as you pressed down the tender skin on her back, proceeding to gently massage her.
“Keep going ‘Chako, am listening.” You’ve done this hundred of times, you know precisely how to work the knots in her back, but this time, the way her whole body feels smooth like butter is making you blush so hard you’re glad she’s laying on her stomach. You think the one who designed this suit should be both rewarded by the state and put in prison
“You don’t have toooooo…” She tries to keep speaking but none of her sentences come to an end, all interrupted by various moans and groans that only amplify once you sit on her thighs and drag your hands lower, past her hips accessories
“That…” Grabbing her buttcheeks with your hands, you start kissing her backbone to the rhythm of her whimpers. “is a crime I can’t have my hands right here at every minute of the day.”
“Honey I work with kids I’m not sure-“ The slap surprises her, and she shoots you an amused look from behind her messed up hair. “Guess my opinion is not needed right now ?”
You nod and keep massaging her, lingering on her waist, sideboobs and cheeks way longer than necessary. When she seems to be fully relaxed and feels you rubbing against her, she taps on your knee to get you up
“Come on, lemme take care of you too.”
❤️ Kirishima Eijiro ❤️
“Red Riot ! Your partner might have been your best idea since we signed you !” Fat gum is laughing while dropping a dozen of meat balls in his mouth, and Eijiro has no idea what he is talking about until he sees you standing behind the pro-hero, distributing little food boxes to the agency sidekicks
“Princess !” He runs to you and lifts you up as you break into laughter, beaming
“Isn’t that my favorite hero back from patrol ?” He spins you around, dumb grin plastered to his face, until you get dizzy. Grabbing at the open mask around his mouth, you move it slightly so you can kiss him without hurting yourself
He’s sweaty and honestly kind of dirty and has a new small cut on his abs and you couldn’t care less about it all, dragging your hand all over his body as soon as he puts you down
He leans down to speak in your ear, but still talks loudly enough for Fat Gum to hear “Did your plan to bribe him to get me more days off worked ?”. He laughs as his boss throws a skewer at him, but you stopped listening a while ago now, not even sure when
The way his chest rises up when he speaks, skin always soft despite being used as a shield almost every day, the small veins appearing when he stretches his arms above his head
You’re suddenly very thankful your boyfriend is a hero, because it means you get to see him half naked every day without ever being judged by anyone
Tamaki, though, is very clearly judging the way your hand is tracing his colleague’s abs in the middle of the agency, while said colleague is joking around and not having any shame about it
“Please go home… or let me go home…” He drags his hood even lower than usual, and Eijiro puts his arm around you, still smiling
“Actually that does sound like a plan. I’ll go change, you wait for me right here okay ?” As he turns to leave, you tug at the cape around his waist, voice so low it can barely be heard in the loud atmosphere of the agency
“Actually… I thought we could shower at home… together ? And make the way back like… sorry it’s dumb” Of course it’s dumb. Making the way back still suited up ? He would either get harassed by so many fans you would have to wait on a bench for an hour, or get called on an arrest because the police will think he’s still in service, and you would have to go home alone. You would have his body exposed all the same at home, you could wait
“My little princess wants to show their boyfriend around ? Are we playing the ego game now ?” He whispers in your ear and your knees buckle, which is just enough to confirm his thoughts. Baring his teeth, his sweet talk promises blissful pain “You show the whole world I’m yours, and when we get home, I’ll mark you just enough to do the same, deal ?”
Warnings : reader cheating, fluff then angst then fluff, childhood lovers to strangers to who knows, inaccurate Dutch school calendar, use of y/n
Synopsis : You always knew Max would leave, long before you understood what it meant. But you thought your bond would be stronger than anything. When Max comes to find you, four years after your last talk, and is met with a ring on your finger, you both realize belief doesn’t stop time from passing. You could stop any additional damage though.
Moth’s prophecy 💡 : This one has been scratching at the back of my brain for weeks and I need to give it to you before it’s even finished so I can get some rest from it. Heavily inspired by Peter & All Too Well, Merry Christmas please don’t call, and I love you I’m sorry, because I’m a basic pop girl bitch and I love to cry. I always recommend a good cry to a white girl’s breakup song. Love y’all ! (yes a part 2 is planned and already in writing)
The first time you ever saw Max Verstappen, he had a bloody nose and a glare that could kill.
You were seven years old, sitting on one of the worn-out wood benches in the schoolyard, an apple juice box clenched in one hand and your backpack strap in the other. First week of school, and you hadn’t yet figured out where you fitted. Max, apparently, had already figured exactly where he didn’t. A small crowd had gathered near the swings, murmuring with an excitement that only ever meant one thing: a fight. You came closer too. Back against the metal pole, lip split and blood smeared across his face, Max was eyeing up a boy at least two years older than him, but who didn’t look in better shape.
“You fight like a girl”, the boy sneered.
Max spat on the dirt at their feet. “You fight like a baby.”
Before the other kid could lunge at him, a teacher grabbed him by the collar, and everyone dispersed. The fight was over. Yet you didn’t move with the crowd, staring as Max wiped his nose with the sleeve of his already-ruined sweater. It felt as if your whole body was screaming at you to say something, do something, and before you knew it, you had walked right up to him and shoved your juice box in his free hand.
“What’s this for ?”
“Your nose.” You could feel your round cheeks burning up, but answered truthfully.
He stared at you like you were an idiot, but still poked the straw through the foil top and took a sip. Just like that, you were friends.
It was easy with Max, in the way only childhood friendships could be.
He was almost your neighbor, a few residential roads separating your house from his, which always seemed to faintly smell of motor oil and laundry detergent. His mother was kind, soft-spoken, and always made small talk with your parents at the supermarket. You had decided she was great the day she started stocking on that snack Max hated but you loved, just so he could trade with you after class. His father was… different. He didn’t talk much, and there always seemed to be undertones in his words you were the only one to not understand. Your dad had told you he was famous, and that Max carried his legacy, whatever that meant. All you could tell was that even that young, Max wasn’t playing clown as much when his dad was around. Not that he would ever let you see him scared.
“I don’t cry.” He told you once, after you had fallen while biking around the lake behind your house. He had been gentle when helping you back up, inspecting your scraped knee, yet his tone was stern, too stern for a child, as if the words coming out of his mouth were not his, only borrowed. “Crying is for babies.”
You sniffled, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “I don’t cry either.” and he nodded approvingly.
By the time you were ten, Max had two distinct versions of himself, and sometimes you felt like you were the only one allowed to see both.
There was the Max who threw pebbles at your window and chased you to the lake, jumping in fully clothed on hot summer days. The boy who made up elaborate lies about where babies came from to see if you believed him, yet didn’t let you embarrass yourself and took the blame when you had told everyone at school. The one who, when your bike chain broke on the way home, got off his own and walked the rest of the way, even though you were racing, and even though he was once again clearly winning.
And then, there was the other Max. The Max who trained every weekend, spent hours on tracks with his father, and always smelled like sweat and gasoline when he came home to show you his trophies. The one the other kids disliked because he was too competitive, too aggressive, too talented. The one who pushed the older boys to rush to you after training, and never apologized for it.
“You’re going to be famous one day”, you told him once, sitting on the floor next to him, watching as he was cleaning up his kart. You were fiddling with his sister’s bracelet, the one he trusted you with whenever he got dirty.
Max didn’t look up. “I know.” There was no arrogance in his voice, no bravado. Just fact.
And for the very first time, you had the strangest, sinking feeling that one day, you would be watching him on TV instead of from the stands. Thinking back on it, you probably knew something was shifting, long before you even knew what it meant. But you shoved the thought away before it could settle. Because Max was your best friend, and best friends never left.
You didn’t fall in love in the way books or movies made it seem. There was no grand realization, no sudden spark or moment of clarity. Love crept up on you like opening the windows in November and realizing a tree lost all of its leaves, despite you seeing it everyday. By the time you were twelve, it was just a known thing: Max Verstappen was yours, and you were his.
There was no asking out, no awkward confession. It was in the way his arm draped lazily over you when laying in the sun. How he started waiting for you on your porch instead of at the corner of your street. How his hand always seemed to find yours, without either of you even thinking about it. How he kissed you for the first time.
Sitting on his bed, watching a movie on his laptop, the glow of the screen was casting shadows on the posters of his walls. His fingers were tracing small figures on your waist as you were cuddled up on his chest, and you started shivering. Then, as natural as breathing, he raised your chin and kissed you. A soft kiss, though probably a bit messy, in the way children do. You had thought about it before. Maybe it would happen at the school ball, or at Christmas under the mistletoe. Your young mind was getting filled with teenage romcoms lately, so you probably had expectations. Yet as his lips brushed yours, all the movies faded. There was no better place for it than in the comfort of his room, because that’s where he would forever be yours only. You blinked at him when he pulled away, your lips still tingling.
“Oh.”
He frowned. “Oh ?”
“No, good oh.” So he laughed, and you did too, and he kissed you again, just to be sure, then again, until the movie was long forgotten.
That was it. No drama, no questions, you were twelve years old and in love with Max Verstappen, just like the sky was blue and the sun rose every day.
Falling in love with Max was easy. Loving him through everything that came after was harder.
You were thirteen when Max started racing internationally. It’s what he always wanted, what everyone knew was coming, and you were proud, but it all happened so fast.
One day, he was still just Max, your best friend, boyfriend, who took you to the track and let you rest your head on his lap when you were tired. The next, he was going places. Literally. He spent more and more weekends away, traveling across Europe, testing, training, and before you could blink the weekends became longer, he left school early, when he was not simply skipping it. And biking home alone had never been much fun.
You still remember that one Monday in January, first day back to school after the Christmas break. It was so cold your mom took you to school, and you waited in front of the gate for Max’s car to arrive, until your nose and cheeks hurt. And you sat at your desk, barely listening to the teachers, eyes fixed on his empty seat next to yours. You ate with friends but he did not come after lunch either. You knew in your heart he wasn’t sick. He was simply never coming back. You saw it in his sparkly eyes, in the way he was slumped on your couch like he owned the place when you came back home. Didn’t even need to open his mouth. His father had taken him out of school and in private tutoring, and he was mad happy about it. More time for racing. So you ruffled at his hair and told him you were happy for him, because you were. Because someone had to get something out of it. Or else, what was it even for ?
“Did you see the race ?” Max’s voice was cracking over the phone, the signal cutting in and out as he called you from a hotel somewhere in Spain.
“Of course I saw it,” you said, twisting the cord of your landline around your finger. “I even sat through the post-race interviews. That’s how much I love you.” You had gotten good at the long distance thing you thought, smiling at yourself in the mirror, a picture perfect main character from your favorite movies.
He laughed, but left a little silence, clearly expecting a bit more. “And ?”
You grinned. “You looked cute.” Might as well make him work for it.
“Not what I meant.”
“Oh, you meant the race ? Yeah, that was fine too, I guess.” You could barely help yourself from laughing, imagining his scrunched eyebrows, wishing he was there to push at your shoulders and pinch your cheeks. So you grabbed at the flesh and did it yourself, nails digging softly, just to feel, for an instant, he might be there.
“You guess ?” You could hear the offended look on his face, and caved in.
“Okay, okay, you were incredible. You won ! Again ! Not that I expected any less of you. I’m so proud, Max, you have no idea.” Your voice softened, and almost in a whisper, you felt the words slip out. “I wish I had been there.”
He let out a breath. “Me too.”
It was the first time he had said it. That he missed you. That maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all as easy as he made it look.
The warmth in your chest was quickly doused by the realization that this was going to be your life now. Loving Max from a distance, cheering him on through a screen, pretending that phone calls were enough. Long distance would never end, because he would never settle.
You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to smile. “You’ll be home soon, right?”
A pause. “Yeah,” he said. “Soon.”
You carried on your debrief of the race, neither of you lingering to admit that soon was never soon enough.
The first time you and Max made love, it felt like something holy. You had been together for years by then, but always careful, always waiting—because you could. Because there was time.
Until suddenly, there wasn’t.
It was late, the night before he left for pre-season testing, for the real beginning of everything he had worked for. The jump to Formula 1 had been expected, but not so fast, not so young, before either of you had even finished high school. You were preparing your entrance exams for university and he was touring appartements in England to be closer to the factory. Nothing made sense anymore. So when he laid you down on your bed, moon spilling silver all over your walls, and got so close to you you felt like breathing the same air, you knew it was The moment.
It wasn’t planned, wasn’t some grand, orchestrated moment. It was just inevitable. His fingers traced the shape of your lips, your nose, the veins in your neck, his touch reverent, as if he was trying to memorize you, and you let him. Because you needed to be memorized.
It wasn’t rushed, or desperate, you didn’t even feel like crying. He was slow, and careful, and you kissed every inch of him like a final signature on a love story you had written for years. You were his and he was yours.
When you finished, you rested your head on his bare chest, his fingers drawing slow circles under his tee-shirt you had put back on. It felt like your bodies were synchronized, humming in rhythm a melody you would never forget. So when he looked at you, and whispered “I love you.”, you thought you had never believed anything more.
The whole night, he kept you locked in his arms, hands fisted on the hem of your shirt, like he could feel you slipping away. Back then, you had thought it was ridiculous. He was the one leaving.
The second time was different.
So was the third.
And the fourth.
Because time passed.
Because Max came home, and left, and came home again, and you found yourself learning the rhythm of it. Of goodbyes that never got easier, of late-night phone calls that couldn’t replace the feeling of his hand in yours.
Every time he returned, you found your way back to each other like magnets, bodies pressed close, hearts wide open, as if words weren’t enough to express how much you missed each other, as if the lack of touch for a minute longer than necessary might kill you both.
But soon, it started to feel like something else. A ritual. A routine. A goodbye disguised as something sweeter. And it wasn’t that Max didn’t love you. You knew he did.
Yet by summer time, every time you were bouncing on his lap, hands gripping onto each other like a prayer, him moaning weakly in your neck, it felt like a last time. Like a way to say sorry, without saying it.
Sorry for leaving.
Sorry for missing your calls.
Sorry for building a life that you weren’t in.
It wasn’t until a morning in July, after he had slipped out of bed before the sun had risen, bags packed, ready to leave you behind again, when he had promised a few days earlier you would spend this whole summer break together, that the thought finally formed in your mind.
This feels like a pity fuck.
You weren’t sure if it was Max pitying you or you pitying yourself. And you weren’t sure which was worse.
You knew you were getting into university before you even got the acceptance letter. Good grades, good academic file, and aiming for a degree in education in a country that always lacked teachers. It didn’t mean you weren’t ecstatic about it. This dream, this success, this hard work, it was yours, and you owed it to you only. As Max’s world expanded far beyond your reach, this grounded you.
You called him the second you finished reading it, not even caring to check what time it could be wherever he was. He was going to congratulate you, and say how proud he is, and do the happy FaceTime dance with you, and maybe even book an evening soon to come celebrate with you.
“Move in with me.” What ? Too engrossed in your fantasy and giggles, you hadn’t even heard him pick up, and as he did, his face only saw your acceptance letter held up to his screen. “They’re talking about moving me to Monaco, after my birthday. I might switch up to RedBull next year. The pay won’t be the same. I could take care of you and-”
“Wait wait wait no no no what are you talking about ?” Everything was spinning, and you sat down on your bed to avoid falling. He probably hadn’t read the paper well. “I’ve been accepted Max !” You laughed, thinking it was cute he had already a plan for you in case you had failed. “I’m going to Uni, you have a future UvA graduate right there.”
“I heard you. And I said, move in with me.” Okay now this wasn’t funny anymore.
“Yeah that’s cute baby but my degree isn’t available remote and Amsterdam’s pretty nice I don’t mind living-”
“Screw Amsterdam ! Screw UvA, screw your degree, I’m asking you to come with me what don’t you understand ?” You almost dropped the phone at the rise of his voice. You were arguing a bit more than usual lately, but never to the point of screaming. What was wrong with him ? “I’ll pay for everything that’s not an issue I promise, and you can come to the races, and we’ll be together all the time, like for real I mean.”
“Max you’re joking right ?” The way his tired eyes, proof you had probably waken him up, got dark, when a second ago they seemed almost hopeful, gave you every answer you needed. You tried to keep your voice calm, but you were starting to shake. “Baby I’m not sure when you thought of all that but maybe consulting me could have been good ? Wait no scrap that, actually you should have known I would never accept ? I’ve talked about being a teacher since forever, this is my thing, I won’t throw it away to rot in your French apartment !”
“Monaco.”
“Oh whatever ! This is my dream I don’t-”
“THIS !” Hand flapping back and forth between the phone and himself, he was now fully screaming. “This is our dream ! Not the fucking cars, not the fucking kids, this ! Us ! Together ! And I finally have a way to make it real and comfortable and easy and away from this fucking town and you just what ? Say no ? To go to school ? You didn’t have enough of this ? You can go to school there if you want I don’t care just come home.”
“Oh but baby…” Tears running up to your eyes, you thought this was it. You hated everything about his rant, every word that came out of his mouth, every idea he thought he should get a prize for. Never before had he made you, and your projects, feel so insignificant. For the first time, you wondered if love was going to be enough. “I am home.”
The argument went on for what felt like hours. By the time you hanged up on him after he told you he had a “real job” to go to, you had gone through every insult from the Dutch dictionary you could remember, and his pleas had turned to threats. When your mother opened the door with a bouquet of flowers, your phone barely missed her face by a few centimeters.
After that, Max didn’t call. And you neither. At first, it was stubbornness. Then hurt. Then habit ? Next time he came home, summer was over, and it had been weeks since you had talked properly.
When he knocked on the door of your new apartment in the city, you cursed yourself for still sending him the address. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept. Like whatever fight he had been having in his head had already exhausted him. You let him in anyway.
Tried to talk. To make sense of it all, understand his perspective, explain yours. Between a few snarky remarks and humorless laughs, his hand caught yours, and when he looked at you, really looked at you, you suddenly couldn’t remember why you were still angry.
He was there now, wasn’t he ? So you kissed him. And he let you. Made you work for it, and then crawled to you in forgiveness. As if every apology could be contained between the cheap pillows of your couch. Him pulling at your hair and you digging your nails in his back in a sick catharsis you were unsure would be successful, but were still willing to try. Maybe that was missing. Your willingness to try, no matter what. Now you both knew. You would be better. You would make it work.
And you did, for a while. The cracks never show all at once. But soon enough, the arguments got closer, more heated. Thinking back on it, his move to “the big team” probably did not help. He was getting bitchy. And your patience grew thin.
It was always small things that made both of you snap. Petty things. A sharp tone when you asked him when he was coming home next. An irritated sigh when he asked why you couldn’t miss a class to visit him. Both of your schedules, a missed text, a picture with a touchy fan or a group project with only male classmates. And that one time, you couldn’t even remember what started it, only that you ended up screaming at each other in your apartment, so loud that the neighbors ended up calling the police.
And yet, every time, it ended in the same way. You would leave, and he would call you back, and try. Or he would leave, and you would call, and try. Falling back into each other like muscle memory, like the idea of not trying would be much worse than the exhaustion of doing it all over again.
Until one day he didn’t call. And neither did you.
Until the silence didn’t feel like a punishment anymore.
Until, eventually, it didn’t feel like anything at all.
The first thing Max noticed when he walked into his childhood house was that, despite his parents’ divorce years ago, nothing had really changed. The second was that it barely felt like home anymore.
“You’re home !” His mother still said, her voice carrying just the slightest hint of surprise. He was supposed to come only for Christmas, a quick weekend trip to appease everyone. Yet there he was, dropping his bag by the door, on the second week of December, barely a full day after the checkered flag fell on Abu Dhabi.
Outside, the sky was grey, and the sharp bite of winter seemed to infiltrate the windows where the snowflake stickers his nephews left had long outgrown his own. He had spent so many years chasing summer, now it felt like it had finally outrun him.
Sipping on the overly sweet coffee his mom always bought since his dad was gone, Max cut off his phone notifications with a sigh. The fourth title should have meant something.
And technically it did. It meant records, headlines, and shaking hands with people who mattered. Apparently, it also meant having to mute all of his socials before he mistakenly answered to one of the hundreds of people who suddenly remembered him, despite his team's poor performance this year. But it didn’t mean you. And it should have. It had, once, he swore he could remember it in a blurry way.
Back in his karting and feeder-series days, you always called him, or sent him voice messages, half-laughing half-crying, telling him how proud you were.
The first time he won in Formula 1, you were already broken up. Not a break, not one of those he would be able to fix with a few tongue tricks and sweet talk. You still sent him a congrats. How could you not ? This was one of the last times you talked. He opened your conversation. A thank you, a tentative at small talk. A message for his father’s birthday. Four years ago. He had typed something, then deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Closed the conversation, never to open it sober again.
He hadn’t expected anything the following times. He would have been stupid to. And yet every time, he waited a few hours before muting everything, allowing himself, once a year, to wait for your name to pop on his screen. It never did.
And home was supposed to help, but everything here was laced with you, and even his mother-
“And Vic’s kids will have Y/N next year, so I told them to-” His fingers froze around the mug as his mother kept talking, oblivious to how his whole body had just gone still. Since when was she talking about you ? She had been going on non stop about gossips and the lives of people he barely remembered, and like a familiar white noise, he had almost blocked it. But there you were. Back on the table, name casually dropped between a coffee and pastry, as if nothing had changed. “She was always so good with children, honestly I’m glad she decided to come back here after graduating, it’s much nicer than those big cities.”
“Come back ?” He was aware his voice barely sounded human, strangled in a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.
“Yes Maxy, come back. She lives here. Works the school you went to. Honestly I’m pretty sure I told you already, see that’s the problem with-” Forcing his grip to loosen, he exhaled slowly, blocking out his mother’s voice once again. Or maybe it was just the ring in his ears.
He had spent years running. Not coming home, not because he was scared, but because it bored him. Because without you, was this place really home anyway ? And there you were. There you always had been.
Max hated what he was feeling. Stepping into his childhood school, he caught himself inhaling the warm dust, romanticizing the drawings on the walls of the hallways, as if he was walking in slow-motion in one of those rom-coms you used to love. But he never liked school, never liked the smell of pencils shavings and the squeaky floors, and the little boy that fell on his ass at his feet definitely did not do so in slow-mo. Wide eyes blinking back at him, it seems his amazement was enough to keep him from crying.
“Hey buddy, sorry, you okay ?” The kid pointed a finger at him, and Max prayed he would shut his mouth and not start anything funny, he was way too nervous for that. “Yeah yeah that’s me, shhh… Let’s make a deal, you help me out and I sign your shirt, okay ? Deal ?” The boy nodded hard, and got back up immediately. “Could you tell me where Y/N’s classroom is ?”
The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah ! I was in her class this year !” Of course. And of course he seemed to adore you, starting a monologue about all the activities you did with his class as he led Max down the hallway, and pointed at a door decorated with colorful cutouts and little Christmas drawings taped to the windows.
Max swallowed hard, and signed the boy’s shirt without even looking at him. He didn’t seem to mind and ran off giggling as Max’s hand landed on the handle. He had thought about this moment, about a million times before. He knew what to say. He knew everything about you, so he knew how this would go. Yet he had planned on knocking and smiling and teasing and there he was with the door swung open and his mouth half open while you were looking at him in disbelief.
You were looking at him. And you barely recognized him. Of course you knew what he looked like, you couldn’t erase his face of the Dutch daily life no matter how hard you tried. But this vibe, this posture, the way his hair was combed, this wasn’t anything you knew. And the last time you had seen each other, you had both been fire and sharp edges, insults thrown over and over like you had invented a new language.
Now you were smiling like someone who was preparing to go on vacation and he was glowing like a four-time world champion. Yet the silence stretched between you like an open wound, raw and pulsing. Max was here, in your classroom, where the most dramatic thing that usually happened was a seven year old’s painting tube exploding. His presence felt too big, like he was taking up all the air, and you had to look right in his eyes to get a glimpse of the boy who had once been your entire world.
But he wasn’t just Max. Your Max. You finally understood the words of your father. Legacy. Genius. Prodigy. He was Max Verstappen, and you had no idea how to talk to him anymore.
“Hey.” You finally said, your voice coming quieter than you had wanted.
He looked confident when he finally closed back his mouth, but the way he shifted his weight on his feet told you it wasn’t all true. “Hey.”
A small hint of pain snapped you back to the pile of papers in your hands, which you had been holding way too tightly since he had stepped foot in your classroom. You forced yourself to put them down on your desk, but that just left your hands empty, and suddenly you were painfully aware of the weight of the ring on your left hand.
“I heard about your fourth title,” you said, trying to fill the space between you with something, anything. “Congratulations.”
His mouth twitched, something unreadable in his expression. “Thanks.” He hesitated. “I saw my mom. She’s the one who told me about you here. I mean teaching. I mean… Congratulations to you, too.”
You let out a laugh, which almost hurt your throat, because nothing about this felt funny. “Not quite the same as a world championship, but I love it.”
Max tilted his head, watching you the way he always had, like he was trying to solve you. “I can tell.” You took a step back, your body weighing a ton, and hummed. What could you even reply to that ? Thus the silence settled back in, heavier this time.
He was looking at you, and it felt like standing too close to an open flame. You wanted to run from the way he was analyzing you, to hide from him, from everything he knew about you. But you were paralyzed, back glued to your whiteboard, doing the exact same thing. The way he was dressed, if he had new beauty marks, the size of his arms, you felt curiosity creeping in and sitting at the front of your every thought. And during all of this, you saw him do the same, your eyes meeting here and there, but never too long. His gaze flickered to your hands, to the way your fingers twisted around each other, restless. You realized what you were doing and dropped them to your sides, but his eyes had already caught on the ring. He didn’t say anything.
You cleared your throat. “So, uh… What are you doing here, Max ?” It came out harsher than you intended, like an accusation instead of a question. You didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but for real : what was he doing here ? His lips parted, but before he could answer, the door creaked open behind him.
“There you are, babe. I’ve been waiting-” Your stomach dropped. Max turned, and you watched the exact moment realization slammed into him. “Oh wow” the man standing at the door was blinking at Max like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, like the boy from earlier. “Max. Max Verstappen. In here. Wow.”
Max’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah.”
The man grinned and stepped forward to shake his hand. “Man, this is crazy, I thought I would never get the chance to meet you ! She told me you guys were like childhood buddies, right ?” Something about his accent irritated Max, but he still shook his hand, nodding. His eyes darted back to you though. “I mean, wow. What are the odds ? Babe, you didn’t tell me he’d be in town !”
You forced a smile, but your throat felt too tight to speak. And then he said it.
“I’m Adam, by the way.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, completely unaware of the way the mood had shifted. Not that it was the best before that. “Her fiancé.” You saw it happen, the way Max’s whole body went still, his eyes flickering down to your left hand. The ring you had been fiddling with since the moment he arrived.
And when he looked back at you, there it was. Pain. Betrayal ? You started to get angry without knowing why. He had no right to feel betrayed. Still, an unspoken, and shared ache, settled into the space between you two.
Because now he knew. Now, it was real.
Max didn’t say anything. Not to you, not to Adam, he just stared, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your ribs, clawing its way up your throat. The look in his eyes was unreadable, but you knew him, you had known him better than anyone once. And you knew that beneath the mask of indifference, something sharp was lurking. He was pissed.
But Adam, oh sweet, oblivious Adam, just kept talking.
“Man, this is insane,” he laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. “I’ve been following F1 for years, I watch every single race, even when I’m not home, right babe ? You did so good this season, despite the car. In Vegas no one cared about Russel ! How did it feel ?”
Max blinked, expression smoothing out like he was flipping a switch. “Good,” he said, clipped and polite. “Felt good.”
“Good,” Adam repeated with a chuckle, nudging you playfully. “Hear that, babe? He wins his fourth title and it just feels good.” You forced a smile, but your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.
You weren’t looking at Adam, you were looking at Max. And Max was looking right back at you.
It wasn’t just a stare, it was a whole conversation. A silent, angry conversation, stretched between the inches of space separating you.
You’re engaged ?
You left. What did you expect me to do ?
I never thought you’d actually move on.
Why do you even care, we’ve been broken up for years ?
I-
“Wait,” Adam cut in, snapping both of you out of it. “You should come to dinner ! I mean, this is crazy, like you two reconnecting after all these years, me getting to pick at the brain of a world champ’…” He turned to you, beaming. “Babe, don’t you think that would be great ?” You suddenly felt like throwing up, and Max saved you before you could form a word.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Adam’s face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, of course. Yeah, you’re probably super busy.”
Max just nodded. His eyes flickered back to you, burning holes in your face. “I should go.” And just like that, he turned and left. Again.
Your feet moved before your brain did. You barely registered Adam calling your name before you were pushing past the door, following Max down the hallway, through the front entrance, out into the dimly lit parking lot where his fancy car was clearly out of place. Not again. He had wanted this, he was the one who came to satisfy some sick, twisted vengeance, and now what ? He wasn’t allowed to come, kick you in the gut and disappear like that. Not anymore.
“You’re leaving ?” Your voice came out sharp, breathless, and he froze, his back still turned to you. “Again ?”
His shoulders tensed, and then he turned, slow and deliberate. The parking lights above cast shadows across his face, but his eyes -God, his eyes- were bright with something between hurt and anger. Yours were probably the same, you thought.
“Don’t do that,” he muttered.
“Do what ?”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t act like this is my fault. Like I did something wrong by coming here.”
You crossed your arms, nails digging into your skin. The audacity of this man. Once, this would have made you laugh. Now you almost spat to his feet. “You did do something wrong, Max. You don’t just show up after years of silence and-”
“You’re the one who stopped trying first.” His voice was distorted, as if something got caught in his throat. “You’re… We said we would try. No matter what, we would keep trying.”
The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs. “That’s not fair-”
He took a step closer. Not too close, but enough that you could see the anger in his face, veins pulsing under the surface of his forehead. You remembered how his eyes always got dark before, but now that his face was one of an adult, he was much scarier. Much more handsome too. “Isn’t it ?”
“Max…”
“Hey, everything okay ?” You both snapped your heads toward the voice. Adam was jogging up to you, almost panting from the effort, oblivious to the storm brewing in front of him. Max’s face closed off instantly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.
“Yeah,” he said smoothly, barely missing a beat. “Just catching up.”
Adam nodded, glancing between you before offering Max a small smile. “Well, it was really great meeting you, man. Seriously. And congrats again.”
Max didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you. A good few seconds passed, so long it almost got unbearable, before you realized you were holding his car door open. As he reached for it, his fingers brushed against yours, soft, fleeting. Just enough to make your stomach drop. You should have taken a million steps back, but you held on, both to his fingers and his look. Daring him to close the door on you. On this conversation.
His fingers curled slightly, like he was about to hold on, and you missed a breath. But then he pushed your hand so kindly, and slipped into his car. The engine roared to life as he pulled out of the parking lot, without another word.
And just like that, your whole world was thrown off its axis.
The excuse came easily. Your mom had mentioned needing help with sorting out the attic, and Adam, ever the helpful fiancé, offered to come along. But you waved him off with a quick kiss and a promise that it wouldn’t take long. You could tell he didn’t think twice about it. Maybe he should have.
The house looked the same. Frozen in time in a way that made your chest tighten. The front porch still creaking on the third step, the wind chime still singing the same old tune, and the lake behind the house still stretching out like a secret only you and one other person ever truly understood.
You didn’t go inside. You didn’t knock. Instead, your feet followed the path you had known since childhood, past the dock, through the overgrown grass, and up toward the treehouse nestled deep in the woods. You had built it together with both of your dads, and years later, it still stood proud, though smaller than you remembered it. Your heartbeat kicked up before you even saw him. But you knew. You knew he’d be here.
Max was sitting on the old wooden floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. A beer dangling from his fingers, half-empty, the condensation leaving a wet ring on the floorboards. He looked up, clearly not surprised to see you.
“You came,” you said, stepping up onto the first rung of the ladder.
Max resisted winking at you, and exhaled slowly before answering. “So did you.”
You climbed the rest of the way up and slipped inside like you belonged there. Maybe you still did. Maybe you always would. He entered behind you, and sat by your side, among the scattered memories you had left behind when you moved out. The air was thick, but not like the day prior in your classroom. It almost felt like that one time after the first argument. Like there was room to talk. To explain.
“I think I came looking for you.” When did you get so bold ? You hoped you weren’t blushing, hoped your nervousness wasn’t mistaken for flirting.
There was a spark in his eye, the hint of a smirk on his lips, and you almost regretted speaking up. “If you were looking for me, you could’ve just texted.”
“Would you have answered ?”. Max took a long sip of his beer instead of replying, eyes fixed on a toy covered in dust. You needed answers, and if he was not going to speak you might as well leave. But instead, you played with a little ball for a while, then threw it on his lap. “Why did you come back, Max ?”
He looked at you, his face expressionless. Then, calmly, as if there was all the time in the world, asked back “Why didn’t you tell me you worked here ? ”
“You left,” you murmured, voice shakier than you expected. “You kept leaving. Me being there wouldn’t have changed anything. Don’t try to tell me you would have come home more often, you don’t do it for your own sister.”
Max exhaled through his nose, and let his head fall back against the wall of the treehouse. You could tell he was trying his hardest not to snap, and you were grateful for it, as if it wasn’t the bare minimum. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what could have been. You stopped waiting.”
You blinked. “I couldn’t wait forever.” Was he finally admitting the one thing you had blamed him for all those years ? Would you finally get some closure ?
“I asked you to come.” You sighed and almost got yourself ready for a sharp come back before he held up his hand. “Please know that… I know I fucked up. I was eighteen, and travelling the world and…” Shaking his head, it looked like he was struggling to find the right words, and started playing with the ball too. “I didn’t know how to keep you.”
You swallowed hard, and brought your knees to your chest. You couldn’t remember a time you had this discussion in such a calm way before. By now, it would already have been a screaming match. “So you thought what ? Keeping me meant taking my choices away ? You thought I’d just be ok to drop everything and have my life revolve only around you ?”
Throwing the ball back to you, he looked away, through the window to the lake. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was doing what everyone else did. You know, flying their girlfriends out, setting them up wherever we raced, I didn’t… As long as we were together, I thought it was okay. I… felt like my life revolved around you.”
“You would have stayed if that was the case.” He shot you a glare, and you simply shrugged. “Hear how that doesn’t make sense ?” Finally a small smile, which you gave him back. “It hurt. That you didn’t think I had my own dreams.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I really am.” It’s quiet, but it’s there. And it lifts a weight from your heart you had lived so long with you had almost forgotten.
So you thank him. Throw him back the ball. And for a while, god knows how long, you talk, and listen, and finally make peace with the thoughts you both battled with. On your side, at least, not in an attempt to get him back, but because there was so much you never said. So many times you ended up crying or insulting him before any of your arguments could be heard. So many “sorry” left unspoken.
You even laugh. Because he’s gotten funny with the years. Or maybe he always has been. Sometimes it feels like you’re confusing memories with nostalgia. But now, he’s grown, and you too, and here he is cracking jokes in your treehouse like you’ve not taken paths worlds apart. Before you even realize it, your hands have found each other, the ball long forgotten on the ground, and your fingers are laced together on the dusty floor. It wasn’t conscious, or intentional. And it should have felt strange. But instead it only felt like muscle memory, something neither of you forgot how to do.
“I missed you.” He said it first, not even looking at you, and you convinced yourself this must be what closure looks like. How could you even know ?
“I missed you too.” Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and caught in the warm feeling you basked in, you barely registered the name flashing on the screen before answering. “Hey babe.” The word felt foreign in your mouth, stomach twisting the moment it came out. Max’s eyes flickered to you, hand tensing around yours.
On the other end of the phone, Adam’s voice was blabbering about some tool your mom said he could borrow from their house. You blinked, and finally took in your surroundings, and most importantly, the way Max’s thumb was still brushing against yours.
A shock of panic went through you, and you stood up too fast, head colliding with the low wooden beam above. “Shit !” Clutching your forehead, you winced as your phone fell to the ground, and Max got up and held your chin up to inspect you.
“Are you okay ?” You gave him a thumbs up before Adam’s voice got out of the phone again, tone much sharper.
“Who was that babe ? You alright ?” You squeezed your eyes shut and cursed yourself.
“Yeah ! Yeah I just… ran into Max…” A pause on the other end of the line. Taking a deep breath, you only hoped your voice sounded normal. Human, at least. “Our parents live so close, it was bound to happen.” You felt Max’s eyes on you, but did not dare to look at him.
“Crazy running into him twice in two days !” Max exhaled sharply, somewhat caught between amusement and disbelief, but before he could say anything, Adam kept going. “He’s still not up for dinner ? Just something casual, at home, the three of us ?” Max stiffened, and you nearly dropped your phone.
Your mind raced for an excuse, anything, but before you could even think it through, your mouth betrayed you. “Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow ?” The moment the words got out, Max’s expression shifted into something almost comical.
“What the hell ?” He murmured under his breath, and you hissed back without moving your lips.
“I don’t know !”
Adam approved, and when the call ended, the silence was deafening. You and Max stared at each other for a few seconds, before erupting in laughter uncontrollably, the absurdity of the situation crashing down all at once.
“What just happened ?”
Max shook his head, still laughing. “You invited me to dinner.”
“No no no, you got invited ! I just panicked !”
His palm fell to the top of your head as you buried your face in your hands. With a small ruffle, he asked “No game plan eh ? It’s gonna be fun.”
You glared at him through your fingers, and sighed. “Shut up.” Somehow, you were still smiling.
sorry about the lack of content lately but I have just finished reading Sunrise on the reaping and though I am an emotional wreck all I’ve been able to think about is getting tag teamed by Finnick and Haymitch till I pass out
either I’ll be able to put it into words for the cryptids interested, or I’ll just vanish into the great unknown and devour every dark fic ever written for those for the next few days 🤷🏻♀️
Hi girlie !! Loved three is a crowd so much, would you be willing to write some poly for Kimi and Ollie ?? 🥺
MA’AM THOSE ARE CHILDREN 😭
No like fr so sorry to say no to some poly as it is my thiiiing but I won’t be writing for any of the rookies ! Exception made of maybe Yuki if I get a nice idea, you can exclude pretty much every driver under 25 as they are too young for me to feel any kind of attraction for, so I kinda feel weird writing for them if they are not platonic with the reader/MC, am sorry 🥹👉🏻👈🏻
Don’t hesitate to self-promote if you do write for those cuties cryptids, I personally don’t have any works in mind but I would hate to leave a girlie thirsty !!
Mooooth I was wondering since your title says “current hyperfixation”, do you write for other fandoms ?? Doesn’t mean to offend, I love your stories, I was just wondering if we would ever get some writing in other settings / with other characters
love yaaaa
Not offended at all no worries !! 🤗
I do ! I have written for yeeaaars in multiple fandoms, I’ve just never gotten around to posting it online, except for a very popular otome game back in middle school lmao, this account is my first real attempt at getting my lil blurbs out there !!
But on top of personal writings with my own characters, I’ve written for Harry Potter (like most of us I guess we all get started with the devil’s work) The Witcher, Avatar (the movies), Detroit Become Human, Halo, and probably a dozen more i couldn’t cite them all !! + some celebrity RPF here and there
It’s just that most of the time my hyperfixations are satiated with reading fanfiction, not always writing it, and lately F1 has been all I could think about when not dealing with my own complicated fictional babies 🤷🏻♀️
hiii! hope you had lots of fun on vacation! how was it!? any fun experiences or anything? ☺️
Hiii bby so goood thanks hihi !!
Went to Rome for a week, so the vibe was mostly walk from sunrise to sunset, eat a shit ton of food, be amazed at art all day long because the whole damn city is an open air museum, try not to get scammed lmao and laugh a lil bit too much at statues butts 🤭
This moth is back from vacation and has missed y’all 💗
I obviously still have two or three requests in the works as well as probably a dozen drafts + the ending of Better kind of best friend but I’m kind of in a slump and just wanna chitchat so don’t be shy ! Doesn’t have to be bout F1 lol 🦋
I'm not sure if I've said this before (terrible memory 😔) but ughhhh lunch by billie eilish is alex n reader's song 😋🤞🤞🤞
BABY I WANT TO EAT YOUR BRAIN BREAKFAST LUNCH AND DINNER IT IS SO THEM I need to make a Better Kind of Bestfriend playlist like asaaaap and this one will be top of the list 🙂↕️
Heyyy pookie, hope you’re doing good this is just to tell you that you’re actually crazy for the third part of better kind of best friend. ITS SOOOOO GOOD WTF IS WRONG WITH YOUUU??! Literally climbed up the wall when I saw you had posted and once again you did not disappoint nuh huh. I am usually a quiet lurker on tumblr but you 🫵 have compelled me 🙋♀️ to come out of the dark. God your brain is so big and wrinkly I love it
BAAAAHHHH BABY POOKIE STAAAAPPP 🥹🥰🫣
I’m soooo sorry I had some kind of bug with my inbox not showing my messages for a while and it has been fixed only recently so I just saw your lovely words and it made me bluuuuushhh hihihi
I’m so so so happy you like it, your support is so precious to me, love you lots 💗💗💗
we need Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux x Charles Leclerc smut plssssss
bbyyyy if you knew how much I agree with you lmao I’m STARVING for some WAGs’ appreciation !!
Guess we’ll have to write it ourselves 😤 am struggling a bit with writing smut lately, which is mainly why the latest part of Better Kind of Best Friend has been delayed so much, nothing I write sounds good enough, but my mind is fiiiiilled with filth demanding to be written 💗
