#and I told myself 'I at least want to make it to the day when the Lee and Gaara VS Kimimaro fight will be animated'

[puckinghischier]

Fallen

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: part 2 to falling

notes: hello!!! considering it’s after midnight, i’m giving you guys a gift for my birthday. this was very fun to write and i continue to just make myself sad that i don’t have a nico in my life. i hope you enjoy! happy reading! 🫶🏼

this is unedited!!

request: anon requested a part 2 to falling

[4.9k]

“I really wish you’d let me carry something, Neeks,” you whine out, pressing the button to call the elevator down to the parking garage.

“Nope. I’m perfectly capable of carrying your groceries on my own,” Nico dramatically swings the reusable shopping bags over his shoulder, walking a few feet away before turning and striking a pose.

Your laugh echoes around the concrete garage, amused at his theatrics.

It’s been about three weeks since your accident at the rink, and Nico hasn’t left your side since. As long as he’s in Jersey, that is.

After that first night he’s only really left your apartment to either go to practice and games, or to sleep. Sometimes even the latter not being true, considering there’s been a few nights he’s crashed on your couch after late-night movie sessions or particularly rough games.

During your follow up appointment your doctor told you to keep the sling on for a few more weeks, not wanting to add any unnecessary strain to the healing muscles in your shoulder. After you told Nico the sling was here to stay, he insisted he was going to, literally, be your right-hand man.

You were also told, as long as you and the sling are one, going to work is on your list of restricted activities. So is any form of strenuous activity, lifting anything over ten pounds, and whatever else Nico deems unsafe for you to do. Like carrying your groceries.

Nico has shown up at your apartment every morning with a cup of coffee, either bringing you breakfast or offering to cook for you. He takes his post-practice and pre-game naps on your couch in case you need him to do anything for you. After home games he shows up with takeout and candy, keeping you company while you’re stuck in your apartment day after day.

When he’s on the road he enlisted the help of Jesper’s girlfriend, Nicole, to come over and check on you at least once a day. Anytime he’s playing in a different state, no matter where he is, he always manages to have dinner delivered to your house, making sure you’re not stuck eating microwave meals and simple dinners, thanks to your limited cooking ability and lack of being able to drive at the moment.

Before he has to leave for stretch of away games, he always makes sure he takes you to the grocery store, stocking your pantry and fridge to make sure you have everything you need while he’s gone. He calls you every chance he has on the road, wanting to check on you and how you’re feeling while keeping you up on the team happenings, knowing how eager you are to get back to work.

Today is one of his ‘preparation’ days, as you’ve dubbed them. He showed up this morning with a coffee and a bagel, cut into quarters instead of in halves, so the insides wouldn’t slip out of the other side when you tried to take a one-handed bite. He did your dishes and folded your laundry for you while you showered, twisting your hair into one of his trademark braids after you were dressed before ushering you out of your apartment, claiming the two of you had errands to run.

The first errand on his list was taking you to the rink, a satisfied feeling settling over him when he saw the large smile on your face when he told you he asked if you could sit in on practice today. You were practically buzzing with excitement, not having been at the rink since the day of your fall. You had grown to love the sport of hockey during your time at your job. Missing the chill of the air, the sound of pucks sliding across the ice and the scrape of their skates as the players come to a stop.

Several of the players slide over to the bench where you sit, just as excited to see you as you are to see them.

Jack and Luke come over first, telling you how ready they are for you to be back, having given themselves the job of Puck Police, ensuring that all of the pucks are cleared out of the skate path leading towards the benches.

Jesper, Timo, and Holtzy tell you how much they miss the jokes you would tell them so they would quit mean mugging and actually smile during arrival pictures.

Dawson, Johnny, and Curtis joined the gathered group, bringing you a card that everyone from the team had signed. It was a giant novelty card, clearly custom made, considering there was a picture of the whole team on the front, the inside reading “Sorry you fell over our pucks. We feel really pucking bad about it.”

You were doubled over in laughter the entire time the team spent chatting with you before their practice officially started, fulling understanding the sentiment that laughter is the best medicine. You were even able to give the young girl filling in for you some pointers, helping her adjust the settings on the camera for different shots, happy you were able to sneak in a little bit of work to your visit.

After practice was over and Nico was showered and ready to go, the two of you went out for lunch at a small café just down the street from the rink, their large bakery selection immediately catching your eye. You ended up having cake for lunch, telling Nico to mind his own business when he asked if you wanted any ‘real’ food.

Once lunch was over, he took you to the grocery store, helping you pick out ready made meals and a few other essentials before bringing you back to your apartment, where you were currently witnessing Nico’s wannabe model moves.

Once the elevator lifts you to your floor, you walk over and unlock your door, leaving it open behind you for Nico to walk through, following you straight to your kitchen to put away your groceries.

You grab a box of cereal, setting it down on the counter before reaching up to open your cabinet door. Just as you’re reaching up to place the box on the shelf, you hear something fall, a bottle of water slipping off of one of the shelves in your fridge. You jump slightly, trying to turn your body at the same time, the sudden movement pinching one of the nerves in your shoulder, causing you to let out a hiss.

Nico immediately clocked the displeased noise, jerking his body into a standing position and walking over towards you.

“Are you okay? What happened? Did you try to lift this up with your bad arm?” he asks you, arms hovering around your frame, eyes glued your slinged shoulder.

You finish pushing the cardboard box onto the shelf, closing the wooden cabinet door.

Rolling your arm a bit, you turn to face Nico.

“I’m fine. Just jumped a little and it caught my shoulder in a funny way, I guess. No big deal, just more uncomfortable than anything,” you assure him.

He narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge if you’re lying to him or not.

Narrowing your eyes back at him, you pull a face at him.

He backs up, laughing, seemingly convinced you’re fine.

Walking back over to finish placing the several salad kits you bought in the fridge, Nico starts talking with his head fully inside of your fridge.

“So, we leave out around six tonight and I won’t be back until late Friday night,” he tells you, meaning he’ll be gone almost four full days, considering today is Monday. “Nicole offered to stay over here if you wanted her to, incase you needed to go anywhere.”

You’ve gained a friend in Nicole through this whole process, enjoying her company. You didn’t have many girl friends in the city, your job taking up the majority of your time. Nico was the person you spent the most time with, even before these past few weeks, but you occasionally tagged along to outings with the team, growing close to Jack, Luke, Timo, and Jesper, too. You figure that’s why Nico chose to ask Nicole to help out, seeing as you’d spent some time with her during celebratory bar nights and get togethers at Nico’s apartment.

The two of you were friendly before, but now you would consider yourself good friends, going out to lunch together and watching bad reality tv during the day when she would come over. She even helped you do your skincare routine one night before bed, giving you different tips and tricks on the order of application. It felt like you were in middle school again having a sleepover with your best friend.

“I might take her up on that. I think there’s new episodes of The Circle on Netflix. We could binge them while eating ice cream!” your eyes light up with an idea.

Nico laughs and shakes his head at you while shutting your fridge door.

“I really don’t understand your obsession with these awful shows. Jesper and I were talking about how we wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you signed up for your own spot on one soon.”

The thought of Nico talking about you when Jesper is talking about Nicole makes your brain stutter for a moment.

You can’t deny that your new found feelings for Nico have continued to develop during the time he’s spent being your self-appointed helper. His insistence on being your personal chauffer, showing up every day like clockwork, even going as far to tell the media team the alternate captains are going to have to do post-game media for home games until you’re back to work causes your feelings to grow each day.

You haven’t told your mom about the arrangement with Nico, not wanting to get her hopes up, still not entirely convinced Nico isn’t just being nice. The two of you haven’t shared any intense moments like the first night he braided your hair, now the braiding sessions being filled with small talk and laughter.

Hearing that Nico is bringing you up when Jesper is talking about his own girlfriend, however, sparks a seed of hope in you.

“And if we do, you and Jesper can be our cheerleaders from the other side,” you tell him, sticking your tongue out.

When Nico finishes putting away the rest of your groceries, he takes the reusable bag and returns it to its hiding spot under the sink.

At this point, Nico knows your apartment as well as you do. He knows where all of your dishes go, because he unloads your dishwasher and washes anything by hand that won’t fit. He knows where all of your clothes go in your room, helping you wash, fold, and put away your laundry – with the exception of your underwear, he hasn’t earned access to that drawer yet. He knows where everything in your bathroom is, having to take a shower one morning after he crashed on the couch. He even knows which junk drawer has which random items in it.

You’ve become so comfortable with Nico being here, it’s like a tiny part of you doesn’t want your arm to heal, just so he has to continue coming over and playing roommate.

Nico walks over and leans against your stove, facing you.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine while I’m gone? It’s the longest stretch of away games we’ve had since your fall.”

He looks genuinely worried, the thought causing a familiar swirl in your belly.

“I’ll be fine, Neeks. This thing comes off next week anyways,” you lift the arm in your sling for emphasis. “I’m going to have to get used to you being gone again, anyways. This week will be like a practice run.”

You catch the way Nico’s eyes just slightly fall. If you weren’t always paying attention to his beautiful eyes, you would’ve missed it, perking up just as quickly as they fell.

“God, finally. Thought I’d have to be your maid forever,” he exaggerates his words, making a big show of rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up above his head.

“Oh shut it, you love hanging out with me,” you step towards him, wagging your finger in his face.

He tilts his head, pretending to think about your words. “Yeah, I guess you’re pretty good company,” he reaches out, grabbing the finger a few inches from his nose.

The two of you stand there, his hand not letting go of your finger, letting it drop in-between your bodies.

His lips fall from his wide smile, slightly separated as he stares at you.

Feeling the energy shift, you stare back at him, not knowing what exactly is happening. Neither one of you have spoken for a solid minute now, your finger still trapped in his hand.

Your eyes flick down to his pink lips, and back up to his eyes. He darts his tongue out to lick his dry lips, unable to move your gaze from them this time. Thinking about what his lips would feel like on yours, the alarm bells start going off in your head.

Clearing your throat and stepping back, you break the moment, not knowing what else to do.

Nico drops your finger, bringing a hand up to run through his long hair, looking away from your face.

Was he thinking about kissing you like you were thinking about kissing him? Would you have really let him? Why did you interrupt the moment? You like him you idiot!

When Nico pushes himself off of your stove, you start ignoring the voice in your head.

“I need to get going. Still need to stop by my place and grab a few things before heading to the rink,” he says, still refusing to meet your eye. “I’ll, uh, call you when we get there, like usual, okay?”

Nodding at him you reply with a “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Alright. Good. I’ll see you in a few days?” he walks over to you, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to give you a hug, but doesn’t know if he should.

You eliminate the space between you, wrapping him up in a hug. “Sounds perfect. Play safe.”

He hugs your body to his for a few more moments before letting go, a small “Bye” leaving his mouth before he grabs his keys off of your kitchen table and exits your apartment with a wave.

You stand in your kitchen thinking about your interaction, deciding a phone call to your mother was needed.

———————————————————————————

Grabbing the bowl of freshly popped popcorn, you walk back over to your living room and plop down next to Nicole.

Tonight was the night the boys are supposed to be getting back from their road trip. Since they weren’t supposed to be getting back until late tonight, you decided to spend the evening watching some of your favorite rom coms to pass the time.

Nicole always said waiting for Jesper to get home on the day of was the worst, because she knows its so close but the time always seems to drag. You surprisingly understood, the past week feeling like the longest of your life without Nico’s presence around your apartment.

After your phone call with your mom the other night, you allowed yourself to realize you want to be with Nico. Your confession to her that you did actually have feelings for the hockey player earned a squeal of joy and an extremely enthusiastic “I told you so!”

Talking with your mom about his actions throughout your whole accident and healing process really opened your eyes to how long you’ve really had feelings for him. You weren’t completely blind, finding Nico attractive from the very beginning, but you hadn’t really let yourself go all the way. Preventing yourself from getting your hopes up and embarrassing yourself, you kept using the excuse of him just being nice to justify why there were no feelings involved in your friendship.

You realized what a load of bullshit that was, though, considering how often you found yourself calling him to tell him good news whenever you received any. Or wanting to have a movie night anytime you were upset or sad, knowing your mood would improve the second Nico walked through your door. Or all the times at the bar when you would ignore men’s advances, wanting to just spend time talking with Nico the whole night.

Your mom recounted all the times she knew, once again marking that first time he helped you on the ice as the moment. She’s still not able to convince you that it was then, considering you and Nico didn’t even really know each other then.

Thinking back on your phone call with your mom made you think about how you hadn’t heard from Nico in a while, pulling your phone out to see if he had given you any update on where they were.

Nicole threw a handful of popcorn at you, fussing at you to pay attention to the movie and that they’ll be home when they’re home. You surrendered to her wishes and placed your phone face down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your third movie of the night was about halfway over when you heard a key turning in the lock on your door, knowing that only one other person had a key to your apartment.

You grab the remote and pause the movie, turning your body to face behind your couch, waiting for Nico to walk around the corner.

As he rounds the corner, suitcase in hand, you can’t help the grin that breaks out on your face.

“You’re back!” you exclaim, fighting the urge to leap off of the couch and crush him in a hug.

“I’m tired,” he responds, his smile bright but eyes tired.

The dark skin under his eyes confirm his words, assuming he had been asleep on the plane until they landed.

“Well, I guess that means I need to get home to Jesp,” Nicole says, sitting up and grabbing her shoes.

Nico looks over, mumbling out a “Good to see you Nicole, thanks for keeping her company this week,” before looking over at you, yawning as he told you he was going to take a quick shower then crash on your couch.

You give him a nod, telling him the stuff he bought last time was still in there.

Nicole gives the two of you a look, waiting until she hears the bathroom door shut to speak up.

“He keeps shower stuff here?”

Looking over at her you explain the time he fell asleep here and needed to shower that morning, stating you had too many expensive looking products to waste on himself, so he bought his own shower essentials and uses them anytime he decides to shower here after practice.

“So let me get this straight. He comes home to your apartment after a long road series, keeps his own products in your shower, has a key, and stays the night sometimes?” she watches you nod, her words not sinking in. “So, he does all of this, but the two of you still claim you’re just friends?”

Not knowing how to respond, you just stare at her. She keeps looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“Well…I mean…I don’t know,” you finally spit out.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she questions.

“I mean, there’s little moments here and there that lets me think we could be more than friends, but I don’t want to bring it up because what if he’s just being nice? What if he agrees that we’re really just friends?” you open up to Nicole, the only other person you’re able to talk about this with being your mom.

She scoffs at you. “Are you kidding me? What kind of moments? Because from where Jesper and I are sitting, we keep expecting you guys to make it official any day now.”

Your cheeks heat at her words. “Well, like the fact I never even had to ask him to do all of this stuff for me, he just did. And he admitted that he drove all the way to the hospital the night I got hurt because no one had any updates, then drove here with no socks on when they told him I had already come home. He keeps getting all of these restaurants to cut my food up in weird ways so it’s easier for me to eat with one hand. And if they don’t do it, he will,” you keep rambling, not focusing on your surroundings enough to hear the shower shut off. “I mean, he offered me skating lessons when he saw me stumble on the ice once, then started coming over for dinner multiple times a week, unless they’re on the road.”

Nicole looks past you down the short hallway, noticing the light shining through the open bathroom door.

You keep talking. “The biggest one, though, is that I think we almost kissed before they left on Monday,” you tell her, causing Nicole’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“SPILL,” Nicole insists, her interest at an all time high.

“Well, we were standing in my kitchen just goofing off and I stuck my finger in his face. He grabbed it and wouldn’t let go, then we just kind of started staring at each other. Before I knew what was happening, I was staring at his lips and he was staring at mine, then I got nervous and stepped back before anything could happen,” you tell her with a shrug.

Nicole groans. “Are you serious!? You could have kissed him and you chickened out? What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know! I was thinking ‘what if I just have something on my face and he doesn’t actually want to kiss me.’”

She shakes her head at you. Movement down the hallway catches her eye, watching Nico step out of the small bathroom, and idea forming.

“I mean, you do like him, right?” She watches Nico’s figure stop in his tracks.

You sigh at her, letting your head sag a bit.

“Of course I like Nico. He’s kind, funny, takes care of me,” you start, a dreamy tone making its way into your voice. “Not to mention he’s insanely attractive. I just…don’t want to mess things up.”

Nicole flits her eyes over to Nico while you’re not paying attention, watching his face morph into shock.

“Y/N, the only way you’re going to be able to know if he feels the same way or not is to tell him. Forget about making a fool of yourself. Nico won’t shun you if he doesn’t feel the same way, he’s not that kind of guy,” she assures you.

“I know, Nic. But how do I even bring it up? How do I find the right time to slide ‘hey, so I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, let me know if you feel the same!’” You pull a thumbs up at her, pulling a sarcastic face.

Nicole smirks at you, confusing you until she says “Just like that,” before pointing behind you to a freshly showered Nico standing in the hallway, having heard every word you just said.

You turn around, snapping your head back towards Nicole when you see Nico. You don’t move, too petrified with the fact he just heard you say you were in love with him.

“Y/N, is that true?” Nico calls out, cautiously walking towards your couch.

Nicole stands, claiming it was time for her to go before she hastily made her exit.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, trying to pull off the ‘if I can’t see them, they can’t see me,’ move.

“Is what you just told Nicole true? You’re in love with me?” you hear from in front of you now, feeling the couch dip.

You refuse to open your eyes, wanting to disappear into thin air. When Nico reaches his hand out, grabbing your non-slinged hand in his own, your eyes snap open.

He’s looking at you with an expression in his eyes you’ve only ever seen a few times before. Once when you wore his jersey for opposites day at work, handing him your camera to tote around all day as you, very poorly, skated around the ice, trying to scoot a puck around. The second was when you surprised him with a pan of brownies for his birthday, knowing how much he loves the chocolatey squares. The third was when he braided your hair for the first time, recognizing the softness of his eyes through the mirror. The most recent, aside from right now, was earlier this week, during the same moment you just described to Nicole.

“I…” you try to speak, but you’re still stuck in shock.

Nico chuckles and drops his head, looking at your hand in his.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too?” he repeats your words, looking up and into your eyes as he says them.

Your mouth snaps shut, a new kind of shock entering your system.

“I think I have been since that first time Jack almost took you out on the ice,” he starts. “I had seen you before, but we only really spoke when you were telling me how to pose for pictures. Or making me smile for arrival pictures,” he reminisces, a fond smile on his face. “I always thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but I knew I had to get you to talk to me somehow, the skating lessons being my perfect in,” he tells you, squeezing your hand.

You can’t believe your mother was right. The lessons were a calculated move for Nico to establish himself in your life.

Nico keeps talking, pulling you from the realization. “The more we spent time together, the more I realized I wanted you to be more than just my pretty coworker I taught how to ice skate. So, when you offered the dinners after lessons, I jumped. I was hoping it was your way of telling me you had feelings for me, too, but when you kept telling your mom we were just friends, I figured I could wait it out a little longer,” he references all the times you complained about your mom jumping to conclusions. “I kept lying in wait, trying to find the perfect moment to make my move, and then you got hurt. I was so worried when they told me you fell and they had to take you to the hospital. Got scared it was my fault, that I told you the wrong thing during a skating lesson, or I pushed you to skate on your own before you were ready,” he starts rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand.

“When I realized you would need major help while your arm was in that sling, not even being able to brush your hair by yourself, I knew this is where I could tell you. Maybe bring it up when I was braiding your hair, or slip a note in your bagel bag one morning. Hell, I even thought about spelling it out with sushi pieces that first night, but figured that might be a bit tacky,” you laughed at his words, remembering wondering what was taking him so long to bring your food to you. “But then, every time I thought about it, I chickened out. The closest I ever got was the moment in your kitchen, every muscle in my body screaming at me to just lean in and kiss you,” your laugh is cut short at his confession. “When you pulled back before I could, I assumed you didn’t feel the same way, so I left. I was embarrassed, not wanting to sit in the rejection any longer. But this week, being away for so long after spending nearly every day with you for the past three weeks, I knew I had to tell you.”

You’re glad he was as affected by not being around you this week as you were, not feeling as pathetic anymore.

“Was going to tell you when I walked through the door actually, but then I saw Nicole here and didn’t want to do it in front of her. That worked out great, didn’t it?” he laughs at the situation, Nicole clearly having different plans.

You scoff out a “Yeah, clearly, considering she railroaded me without me even knowing.”

“Well, I’m very glad she did, because now I can stop talking about you like a lovesick puppy to them,” Nico tells you, confirming your earlier feeling that Nico brings you up during ‘girlfriend talk’.

“My mom is so totally going to freak out when I tell her we’re dating,” you tell him, stopping yourself. “We are dating, right?”

Nico laughs as he brings his hands up to cup your face, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips as soft as you imagined they were. He keeps the kiss light and sweet before pulling back.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” your cheeks flush, earning another laugh from the man in front of you.

“C’mon, I’m tired and would love to sleep in an actual bed tonight. We can talk details tomorrow, girlfriend,” he emphasizes the word. “Right now, I need cuddles and sleep,” he stands, holding his hand out for you to grab as you stand, leading you down the hallway towards your bedroom.

Thinking back to what lead you to this moment, you giggle quietly to yourself, finding it a little comical that it took you literally falling on the ice and injuring yourself to realize you’d already fallen there once before.

[unemployedhockeyfan]

Not All Breakups Are Equal Pt. 2

Summary: Lando and Eloise deal with the fallout of their friendship after Eloise left Lando standing in his Monaco apartment.

Warnings: angst I guess and I'm pretty sure just one swear word

Notes: Hi! Thanks for the support on part one!! Sorry it took a few days for this part. I write for my adult job, too, so sometimes I'm just a little too worn out to write after work.

[2.33k]

Part 1

The days in New York are easy. Daily life is just fast enough that I don’t even have the opportunity to think of the friendship breakup that’s constantly trying to pull at my heart. 

Days are nothing compared to nights. 

New York has seemingly earned its title of “The City That Never Sleeps.” I wish I could say it’s because I make my nights as fast paced as my days, but that would be one of the biggest lies I’ve ever told — second only to all the years I told myself I didn’t love Lando… At least not that way. 

My nights are filled with little to no sleep as I toss and turn in the bed squished into the tiny hotel room. All that fills my brain is his smile, his laugh and the look on his face as I walked out the door of his apartment. 

I never want to forget the smile or the laugh, but that last look is one I wish wasn’t burned into my brain. 

It’s been three weeks since I last saw or talked to Lando. He’s since won his first race in Formula 1. 

A race I wasn’t there for. 

I was supposed to be. I had a pass and in all honesty, I could’ve still shown up. If I did, though, I would’ve fallen back into the same pattern as before. The people-pleasing nature of my personality would’ve come out and I would’ve continued to let Lando’s new girlfriend talk ill about me. 

My mind was overflowing with the memories I had of watching Lando celebrate in Miami while I sat 1,200 miles north. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep tonight. At least not anymore than the three hours I had already barely managed. 

As I rolled over to grab my phone off the nightstand, the cheap digital clock was shining 3:30 a.m. 

“Hm, Max is probably up by now. I can call him,” was the initial thought that crossed my mind. 

Max wasn’t necessarily thrilled when he found out that my plane ticket landed me across the Atlantic Ocean, but he got over it relatively quickly when he found out I had friends from university in the area. 

It took a while, but the line finally connected, welcoming me to one of the most comforting voices in my life. 

“Eloise, long time no hear.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’ve been busy.”

“Really? Or are you just lying to me?” Max always seemed to be able to read my mind, no matter how much I wished he couldn’t.

“It’s a half lie. The days have been busy, the nights are just restless.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

The silence lasted for a few moments too long. It allowed Max just enough time to steer the conversation in a direction I was trying to avoid. 

“He misses you, Elle.”

“I saw his win in Miami. He looked happy. I couldn’t help but watch.”

“He wanted you there.”

I know Max is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie, and I know that truthfully Lando didn’t want me to leave his apartment just over a month ago, but I did. 

“You should call him, not me.”

“It depends, Max” 

“On what? Whether or not he’s broken up with his girlfriend?”

“Actually, exactly that.”

“I thought you told him you were OK if they were dating as long as she was nicer to you,” Max pushed back. 

“I am, I just don’t think she’s capable of changing in just a few weeks.” 

My voice was getting louder and I didn’t really want to take my anger out on Max. He hadn’t done anything wrong — maybe just pushed the wrong button or two. 

We sat in silence, the only noise being our breathing on either end of the line. It lasted well over a minute before I let out an exaggerated sigh. I was not only going to come clean to Max, but to myself as well. 

“Max, it's just… It’s hard and it hurts,” I said as my eyes slowly started to leak fresh tears. 

“I know, Eloise, I know. I don’t think anyone is expecting it to be easy for you or for him.”

“No, Max, I don’t just mean distancing myself from him. It’s hard to even be around him nowadays when I see how he treats other girls when all I want is for him to treat me that way.”

The pause in the conversation was deafening. With the phone pressed to my ear, I waited for Max to say something, to say anything. 

“Max?”

“Well, it’s about time you admitted it to yourself,” he said with a rather large chuckle.

“Stop, this isn’t funny.”

I was laughing too, though. I couldn’t stop. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the fact that for the first time in a month I felt comfortable in my surroundings, but I laughed for a good three minutes before Max’s voice finally came through again. 

“You sure do laugh a lot for someone who thinks this isn’t funny!”

“Can’t help it right now.”

“I mean, I am pretty funny,” Max said with an audible smug look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, well, looks aren’t everything.”

“Good one, Elle. I’m going to hang up on you so you have to call him.”

“I’m not going to, I need more time. Plus, he’s in Montreal right now, it’s 3:30 for him, too, and I’d imagine he’s asleep.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that, right?”

“Hm, I learned it from you.”

“Get some sleep, Eloise. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Maxy. And, I promise, I’ll call him eventually.”

It was nearly two months later before I decided it was finally time to talk to Lando again. Of course, by that point, I was well past sleep deprived between restless nights in New York and changing time zones as I returned home to the United Kingdom. 

With my brain barely functioning, I decided the best bet would be to not call Lando, but show up in Austria at his next race. I had all the passes I needed to show up thanks to both myself and Lando thinking this falling out was never going to happen. 

I managed to avoid all the areas I knew Lando would be during the days leading up to Sunday. I saw and anxiously watched as Lando raced Max for the lead. I sat and nearly cried as I watched Lando’s race come to an end just laps shy of yet another podium. 

Lando is hard on himself. He holds himself to a level that’s nearly impossible to reach, and I know his mood after this race will be anything but stellar. He’s bound to be angry, and I start to fear what his reaction will be if he sees me. 

As I stand lost and confused in the paddock, I hear my name being called by maybe one of the few people who could make me smile at this moment. 

“Eloise! Elle, is that you?”

I whip my head around to see a smiling Daniel Ricciardo jogging my way. Before I could even respond, I’m wrapped in the embrace of one of my favorite members of the F1 world. 

“What are you doing here? Does Lando know?”

“I’m assuming he’s clued you in on what’s happened?”

“Just a little, don’t know all the details.” 

“Um, yeah, well he doesn’t know I’m here. Really, I don’t even know why I’m here. I should probably leave. There was part of me that wanted to talk to him, but after everything that’s gone on just today, it’s probably best I make myself just disappear. I don’t want to make this any worse than it probably already is for him.”

“Eloise, you’re rambling.”

I couldn’t help it, I was nervous. I was standing in front of one of Lando’s former teammates and just steps away from the McLaren garage. 

“Do you want me to call him and get him down here? I really don’t think you off all people could make this moment worse for him”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Call him.”

Lando must’ve answered quickly, but it seemed to take some convincing from the Aussie to lure Lando out of his driver’s room. Eventually the word was that he was on his way down. 

I wouldn’t let Daniel leave. I couldn’t let Daniel leave. Just over a minute after Daniel had hung up the phone, I heard a voice that I’d been missing for months. 

The voice was so calming on the ears that I had a physical reaction to it. Everything seemed to calm down around me the second the first word came stumbling from Lando’s mouth. 

“What’s up, Daniel? Really just not in the mood right now.”

He didn’t respond. Daniel just stepped out of the way, revealing me to the man who still held so much of my soul. 

“Hey, Lan.” 

The tension was palpable. Lando and I stood there staring at one another as Daniel slowly disappeared to likely return to his own driver’s room. I didn’t want to say anything until he responded, but I was scared that if I waited for him, it would be silent for hours. 

“Sorry for just showing up and not calling. For some reason it seemed easier to jump on a plane than it did to pick up the phone.” 

“You’re here? In Austria? You’re here, really here? I went back home, I called and nothing. Now, you’re just here?”

“Lan, I’m sorry. I needed space. I just didn’t know the best way to come back.”

I could tell Lando was trying to not get angry. His body language becomes so easy to read after knowing him for years.

His hand ran through the curls on his head after rubbing his face almost too hard. 

“Um, let’s just go to my driver’s room. We probably shouldn’t have this conversation in public.” 

The walk to his room was awkward. There were eyes glancing at us and some whispers, too. I knew it had been awhile since I had been at one of these, but this surely wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. 

“Listen, Eloise, I’m not mad. I’m just confused. You left me in my apartment and then disappeared for months with nothing from you. I had to rely on Max to at least know you were alive.”

Lando took a seat on his makeshift bed after making room next to him for me to sit. 

“I know, Lando. I can only imagine how much it hurt you for me to leave, but I had to protect myself. I was hurting so much.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Lando was crying. With the events that had already unfolded today, this really wasn’t the best time for this conversation, but it didn’t look like I could avoid it any longer. 

“Lan, I know you didn’t want to hurt me.” 

Before I could stop myself, I was wiping the tears that were starting to spill from his eyes. He looked so vulnerable at this moment. 

“And, really, Lando, I don’t think I ever really felt hurt by you. I just wanted you to hear me and it felt like you were blinded by some love.” 

“It wasn’t love. It was lust or some shit like that. It just definitely wasn’t love.”

I’m not sure how I was really supposed to take that revelation. Was he still seeing her? Was it still too new that he was just describing it as lust?

My confusion must’ve been evident on my face because before I could utter a response, Lando was talking again. He was talking to me as he slowly grabbed both of my hands in his, running his thumbs over the back of them. 

“She’s gone. She’s not in the picture anymore. The day after you left, Max and I had a heart-to-heart. Really, he kind of laid into me and wouldn’t stop. He kept saying that some fling was never going to be worth what you meant to me — what you mean to me.”

It was my turn to start crying. The tears didn’t flow as fast as they did the night I walked out of his apartment, but they were there. Lando quickly pulled me into his chest, placing a needed kiss on my temple. 

“Eloise, I will spend every day for the rest of my life apologizing for allowing her to say those things about you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” my voice slightly muffled but my head in his chest. 

As I leaned back, I grabbed his hands once again and looked him in the eyes — those eyes that have held me captive since I was 13. 

“Why didn’t you come find me after you broke it off with her? Max isn’t that strong, he would’ve told you where I was in a heartbeat if he knew it was over.”

“I knew where you were. I knew you were tucked away in a crummy New York hotel room. I just wanted to give you space. Telling you she was gone would’ve just rushed you, and I didn’t want to do that.”

“You really do surprise me sometimes, Lando Norris. Can we go back to being friends again? I can’t do life without you in it.”

“About that…”

About what? What could Lando possibly want to say to me? I thought this conversation was going well, I thought it was oddly healing in a way. Was he about to push me out the door this time? 

“I don’t know if we can be friends again, Eloise.”

Oh my god this really is it. Our friendship is ending. After months of me not letting it die in my brain as I took my own space, Lando Norris was about to shatter my heart into a million unrecoverable pieces. 

“We can’t be friends because it’s not OK for friends to love one another the way I love you.”

“Wait, what?”

[ghostbustting]

I REALLY NEED A PART 2 OF YOUR FIRST FANFIC-

it’s amazing and i enjoyed every word i read in it.😭

I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVED IT SJSBDHSBA :DD

╰┈➤“𝑷𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑺„ ๋࣭⭑

The second part of 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑷𝑰𝑪

90s!James Hetfield x Reader

Contains Smut.

The lingering encounter with James Hetfield that night before his concert kept me up and awake almost every night, the printed pictures I kept, as James told me to do, an evidence of the filthy things we did on that couch. An evidence of how a frontman of a metal band was able to make me lose my self respect and dignity. Turning the old decent me to someone with such dirty thoughts every lonely night.

The way he held me, the way he felt in me, the way he kissed me, the way he talked to me.. every single thing he did to me that night burned a hole in my brain in order to fill that hole with that exact memory.

How I’d go through those pictures of me whenever I couldn’t sleep at night while I yearn for him is surely something I found shameless for me that I have to keep to myself.

His face, his voice, his touch.. oh what more can I wish for than to see him again? I can’t help but wonder if this even meant anything to him but meaningless sex with a random photographer.

I’d go through my days, walking down to street only to find people wearing Metallica t-shirts, posters of him on random walls, his music blaring from some bar. Everything just forced me to remember him.

Even at work, my colleagues wouldn’t stop praising me for being able to meet all four members of Metallica in person. If only they knew what happened between me and one of those members that night.

Another thing that bugged me was the fact that there’s still one last thing he asked of me that I have not done; to go to his next concert and give him the copies of the pictures.

Each time his requests linger in my mind, I feel a pang of nervousness in my heart, knowing my full schedule of work had prevent me to fulfill what he wanted me to do, not having enough free time and so less money to even buy a ticket if I had time. It felt like I had completely lose the chance of meeting him once again and giving him those pictures that could’ve made him remember our encounter forever.

It’s a thought I start to think of daily.

That fact also made me remember what I am, just a lucky new photographer that was sent to take innocent pictures in the backstage of Metallica’s show. Being able to be touched and acknowledged by James Hetfield that way should be more than enough luck for me.

I should be grateful.

But at the same time, it’s him.

How can one not be greedy when it’s James Hetfield?

At first, I don’t believe nor understand how girls could easily fall to their knees just by the sight of him from a piece of paper or the sound of him from the radio. I thought he was just another rock star with a bunch of groupies. I was wrong, apparently. That man just knows his ways around women.

His presence onstage and offstage can both make you pay full attention to him, he was.. a totally interesting person. Even besides the sex we had.

It was the frontman effect I suppose, always being able to catch people’s attention.

Then, as if fate have finally went my way, my manager decided to send me to yet again another Metallica concert to take more pictures of the band and the show. Words cannot express how much I wanted to jump up and down and spin around and roll around the ground out of excitement that day. I couldn’t count how many people thought I was a mad woman walking down the streets with a smile that wide, cheeks red.

My heart never stopped beating loudly whenever I think about meeting Hetfield in person again, no matter whether he decided to play with me again or forgotten about me. I just yearn to see those blue eyes of his in person once again. To make him see me again. To make him acknowledge me again. Even if he forget me, at least I’ll please myself by doing enough such as observing in the sight of that beautiful man.

This time, they sent me with a partner again— and unfortunately, he was well and healthy, meaning I had to go through this with him trailing around with me together. Though it means easier work process, it also gave me a small lost of hope for having a private encounter with Hetfield again. That is if it’s even possible in the first place.

That night, my partner, Stan and I walk into the backstage together, this time we were told to go after the show instead of before the show. Yet the situation is no different, still the same busy backstage of a Metallica concert.

“Just.. act professional but keep it totally casual, ‘kay?” I spoke to him, he had an stupid nervous expression on his face as he nods that made me cringe to myself, he was also a new photographer, a little younger than me even. He’s kind of a wimp, always making me do all the fucking talking. But eh it’s his first time meeting one of the biggest metal bands.

I walk ahead of him, practically leading his slow and unsure steps even though I barely know this place, I just continue to walk down the hallway. Cause as they say, keep moving forward.. right?

And as I thought in my theory, we came across a door with the band’s name on it, apparently all in the same dressing room this time. “Is that it?” Stan asked behind me in a shocked whisper.

I roll my eyes a little and chuckle nervously at his dorky reaction, trying to act like this shit is normal to me. Meanwhile, my mind cannot stop thinking about James and the pictures he asked me for that I had brought in my bag. “Professional, right?” I say, almost to myself more than to him.

“Okay, let’s do this…” I mutter with a sigh as I slowly place my hand on the handle, pulling it down with a tongue click as I slowly push the door open.

Just as I did, oh guess just who showed up in front of the door?

James stood there, a stupid smirk was on his face— yeah, that typical James Hetfield smirk, his sweat visible through his black top, yet another beer in his hand. His eyebrows raised and his smirk faltered a little when he saw me, quite obviously surprised to see me here.

Our eyes meet, not a single one of us able to utter out a word as we’re still phased by this sudden reunition. He blinked a couple times before taking the sight of me in, “..You.”

My own eyes widened a little, before I clear my throat and speak as well. “Hi. We’re uh.. here to take pictures for the papers..?” My fingers fiddle with the strap of my rucksack. I can only hope he doesn’t have any super hearing ability. Cause then he’d be able to hear the sweat trickling down the back of my neck, the small breaths I let out nervously, or how embarrassingly fast my heart beats.

Then, his smirk returns and he move aside. “Right. Step right in, sweets.” He say, calling me with that damn nickname again that I haven’t been able to shoo out of my head ever since our last encounter, the way he called me ‘Sweets’ or ‘Sweetheart’ scratching a part of my brain that I surely cannot reach.

Stan and I then enter the room, finding the other three scattered around, some groupies sitting on the couch with them. Drummer Lars Ulrich looked up and grinned when he saw me, “The pretty one’s back, huh?” He asked James, who was walking behind me.

“She’s here to collect hot pictures of us again for her lonely nights, aren’t ya?” James chuckle, walking by me with a secret pat to my ass, something the others couldn’t see.

Jason Newsted turned his eyes towards Stan, raising an eyebrow. “And who’s this dude?” He snickered with Lars, meanwhile Kirk Hammett only chuckled a little.

I turn to Stan, sighing when I found him frozen in his spot, eyes wide and hands trembling a little. I clear my throat and gently place a hand on Stan’s back, “This is Stan, he’s my um.. partner.” I introduced him slowly.

I feel a lump in my throat when I feel a pair of eyes staring at me beside me. There’s only one member that isn’t sitting on that couch, and by this time I’m pretty sure I can recognize his gaze, having thoughts about it once too many times before.

Taking deep breaths, I turn to Stan, smiling a little. “Remember, professional. One hundred percent professional.” I say to him, even though I reallt should be concerning about myself when I say that.

Stan and I then start to take pictures of the guys, Stan focusing on Lars and Kirk while I focus on James and Jason, feeling James’ eyes on me the entire time I take the pictures for Jason first, almost too obvious to avoid. I can hear him sigh every now and then, especially when I kept laughing and telling Jason to put his chin down since he wont stop putting it up.

After awhile, I move on to James, feeling a little nervous for some reason.

While I take the pictures of him, he took a big sip of his beer, making my photography look completely candid. I try to act casual about the way he gaze at me, trying to do my job professionally. He was quiet and easy to deal with, judging from how Stan is struggling with the drummer and guitarist over there.

That’s when he spoke up, “So.. took you damn long enough.” He said.

I look up with a raised eyebrow, “Sorry?”

He chuckle and run a hand through his gorgeous hair, he looked at the others first before continuing, finding them occupied with Stan and the groupies. “It’s been weeks. Have you forgotten about what I told you to do?” He ask, his voice a little lower now.

Clearing my throat, I look away a little. I thought about my answer, looking up to make sure the others are still too busy to notice the proximity between James and I. I shake my head and reach my hand into my bag, “I.. No, I’ve got the—”

“Not here, sweetheart.”

I look up at him with confusion and surprise as my hand pauses, “What do you mean?” I ask slowly, feeling quite unsure of what he mean by that. It’s not like the others will notice it, right?

He look ay me with that stupid fucking smirk again that he surely gave to all of the thousand girls he had underneath him before me, “Come with me.” He whisper with a spark of excitement in his voice, “My hotel’s right around the corner.”

My eyes widen and I swallow the lump in my throat, I glance at the others once again. “But they—” James’ hand took my jaw gently and turned my head back towards him.

“They wont give a fuck.” He smirk and took advantage of my statue-like state, taking my hand and grabbing his jacket.

He slowly slip through the room’s door and took me with him, making our way towards the exit. “James!” I whisper-yelled, finding this risky and too obvious. I wouldn’t want Stan to tell anyone that James Hetfield took me back to his hotel room.

“Don’t worry, just a little adventure.” He winked to me.

My mind was racing with thoughts of what’s going on, why he needed to take me out of here, what his plan was. But the fact that it’s just us.. going to his hotel room.. already made me feel like I’m gonna pass out.

He took us into a cab. My hand in his the entire time is something that made me feel so warm and excited, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.

I look up at him, only to find him completely chilled and looking out the window like this is a regular thing for him to do. Perhaps it is. He probably fucked a girl before the show anyways.

The ride seems to take so long despite him saying the hotel was just around the corner, his hold on my hand seems to tighten while not even gazing my way, my heart seems to explode in any minutes now with how nervous he make me even just by sitting close to him and holding his hand.

When we stop in front of the hotel, he wasted no time with paying the driver and opening the door. Rushing us out and into the big hotel, careful for any lurking fans or paparazzi around us.

It went so fast.

Everything went so fast.

Too fast, perhaps?

Cause even after zoning out just a bit, the next thing I know I was pushed into his hotel room and pinned against the closed door behind me, one of his hand beside my head while the other on my waist.

The position we’re in reminds me too much of when we first met, the same way he pinned me against the door of his dressing room, the way his bigger figure towers over me, his eyes so mesmerizing you won’t even think of looking away.

He was silent, somehow. His face slightly leaning down, close to my neck. I can smell the faint scent of beer from his breath and the cologne he wore mixed with some of his after-show sweat.

My breath hitched when he squeezed my hip and press a kiss on my neck, his beard giving a slight tickle to my skin. I feel the warmth of his tongue gently glide on my skin, dampening a spot on my neck.

Trembling a little, my hands reach up and hold his shoulder, squirming a little as he starts to violate my neck, sucking and nibbling on the skin now.

My soft sighs fills his ear as he focus on marking my neck, licking each freshly marked spot to make them hurt less.

He groaned into my hair, pulling me close and grinding the rock hard bulge on his pants against me, “What took you so long to visit me again, baby? I thought we made a deal..” He grumbled, both his hands on my hips now as he continue his attempts to grind on my body.

I whimper and run a hand through his hair, gripping the strands lightly. “I.. I was busy..” I spoke in a small voice, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Right..” He chuckled, as if he doesn’t believe me.

Suddenly, he hold me still by my waist and lift me up, carrying me all the way to the tidied up hotel bed. “Strip. You’re a big girl, do it yourself.” He commanded, the sternness in his voice surprising me a little. “And give me that.” He grabbed my bag and yanked it away from me.

Knowing better than to disobey him, I sit up on the edge of the bed and slowly begin to discard every piece of fabric that covers my skin away from him. I didn’t know what he was doing with my bag, but I didn’t really care. I feel some sort of trust towards him, strangely enough.

By the time I take off my last piece of clothing, which is my panties, I feel the mattress behind me sinking down as James’ weight joins mine on the bed, his body completely bare as well.

I turn around and find him sitting with his legs spread out, his hard cock standing proudly with precum dripping out of his red swollen tip. He was leaning on the pillows, smirking at me as he hold one of the pictures I printed from our last session in his hand.

Raising an eyebrow with a small blush on both my cheeks, I slowly crawl up the bed and beside him. I watch as he took his cock in one of his big hands, pumping it up and down as he look through the printed pictures.

“Fuck, sweetheart..” He grunted out as he work on himself.

I sat there like an idiot, not knowing what to do. My eyes are completely hallucinated by the sight of his hand gripping and jerking off his cock. He must’ve noticed my eyes, cause then he chuckled and smirk at me. “Like what you’re seeing?”

I watch as he continue to masturbate to the filthy pictures in his hands, I can feel my bare pussy aching at the thought of having him inside me again, pressing my thighs together as I slowly nod, looking almost shameful for it.

He beckoned for me to come closer with his fingers, “Come here, sweet girl.”

Slowly, I start crawling closer, my eyes still intrigued by his cock. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen it in person, nights I’ve spent yearning for it to fill me up, looking at it through the picture of me sucking it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel it in person.

With me taking too long to come closer, he took his hand off his cock and grabbed me by my hips, positioning me with such ease to sit on his mouth, facing the rest of his body. He was manhandling me like I knew he would tonight. How I love feeling those big hands on me.

I gasp when I was introduced to the warmth and wetness of his tongue again, this time licking up and sucking on my aching cunt. I moan with pleasure, “James!” My hand clasped onto my mouth as the absolute lust controlled over me. “F-fuck..!”

His hand grabbed my arm tightly and pulled my hand off my mouth. To my surprise, he led it down towards his twitching cock, leading me to wrap my palm around it and move my hand up and down his shaft. “Keep going..” He murmured.

I can feel his voice and groan vibrate against my pussy as I willingly move my hand up and down him, all while whimpering and squirming on top of his mouth, his tongue won’t stop devouring me, his lips practically making out with my clit.

Heavy breaths are all I can make out with small vulnerable “James..” ’s. We just started yet I already feel like crumbling into pieces right on his magician of a tongue.

Forcing myself to lean forward over his body, I stretch myself enough for my mouth to be able to reach the tip of his cock, sliding it past my lips and into my mouth, causing another groan to vibrate up me from his mouth.

Time seems to stop.

Innocence turns into impurity.

Hesitance turns into addiction.

Admiration turns into obsession.

All that I can ever think of at this moment is how his tongue slides up and down my soaking cunt and diving past the folds, making me lose my mind while I try to continue bobbing my head up and down his girth, almost choking.

But I couldn’t care less if I choke. It felt good. He felt right in my mouth. And suddenly it was my mission to please him as much as he pleased me. To make him addicted to my touches like I am to his.

And it seemed to work.

Cause then he grabbed my hips and pull on my ass even more, pressing me down onto his face as his tongue discover me even deeper. His hands starts travelling up to my chest and grope my breasts and every single flesh he can squeeze, his own hips thrusting up into my mouth.

I pull back from his cock to let out the loudest moan I’ve ever let out in my entire life, coming down from my high right on his cock, feeling him drink all my juices up as if he’s been in Sahara the whole time. “Ah..! Shit..!” I gasp, grinding back and forth on his face before lifting my hips up to let him breathe.

That’s when white streaks of his own cum starts to shoot up to my face, I hear him groan even more as his cock twitches and slowly soften again.

I get off him and take deep breaths as I lightly touch my face, scooping up some of his cum with my finger. I desperately suck on that finger, needing to taste him.

James sat up and gently hold my chin as I suck on the cum on my finger, my eyes look up at him. He groans at the sight and push my finger aside so he can kiss me passionately, holding my face in his hand.

Pulling away, he rest his forehead on mine. “You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He confessed, grinning. “Didn’t even fuck a single girl these weeks, waiting for you.”

I hum and sigh, trying to catch my breath as he wipe the rest of his cum off my face using a piece of clothing laying around. “Is.. Is that so?” I ask in pure disbelief. I didn’t even expect him to remember me. Let alone thinking about me and waiting for me all these weeks.

“Yes, you.. you intrigue me, sweetheart.” I close my eyes when the back of his hand caress my cheek, “So I’m just saying..” He grin widely before covering my eyes with his hands, making me smile and giggle. “Picture us.. going around this shitty town tomorrow.. just the two of us. I’ll take you wherever you want.” He press a light kiss on my lips.

With his hands still covering my eyes, I grin and hum, pretending to think about it. “..alright.”

My vision then return when he pull his hand back, smiling widely like a teenager that just asked out his crush. “Alright?” He repeated, to which I chuckle and nod at. “Alright!” He whisper-yelled to himself in celebration.

I laugh softly, who knew James Hetfield was such a dork? But god, just thinking of where this might lead fills my heart with a new emotion. It feels warm, almost comforting, seeing him smile genuinely and not one of those cheesy Hetfield smirks.

When I tried to stand up, he suddenly pull me back down and wrap his arms around me. “I didn’t remember saying we’re done for the night..” He whisper in my ear.

God, this man..

[pekkhum]

Are you trans yourself or is it just your daughter? :0

And in any case, how is her transition going so far?

Sending much love <3

I think this will be more fun to answer via story time and the long mode answer:

Around the time of my 37th birthday I started seeing a couple incredibly hilarious and relatable memes about being trans go by on my feed. They were just so great that I found myself seeking out more and learning to understand trans folk more and more. I kept wanting to comment and holding myself back, because, of course I'm not trans, I just feel all the things trans women feel all the time and have struggled with those feelings since I was very, very young. Still cis, though.

There was eventually a day when the dam broke and I admitted online that I am trans, but it was three days later, while reading about internalized transphobia, that it all hit home. I had myself a nice little fit about how I didn't want to be trans, not because it is bad, but because the world makes life suck for trans people. (Actually, 6 months before, in the most egg moment ever, I told a woman that I had been thinking about how hard life as a transgender lesbian would be and that it would be much easier to be a straight guy. I was wrong for reasons most trans folk can guess.)

That day, I sat my child down to explain that I've realized that I am very much trans, that I have resources she can read to understand what that all means, and that I would let her other parent know, so she had someone else to talk to if she wanted. (Thankfully, we are peacefully divorced, so that wasn't an issue.)

I later found out that my child had devoured those resources, stolen one of my skirts my work-mom gave me (she's so supportive) and tried on names, pronouns, and skirts. It was a month later that she greeted me in the morning in a skirt and informed me that she was certain her feelings weren't something else and I discovered that I have a daughter! 😊

I was in the process of trying to get HRT and my insurance changed, then my health network intentionally and willfully screwed me over and yanked my chain, because they didn't want to provide a referral (it turned out to be owned by the Catholic church, here in America), but didn't want to admit their bigotry. I was forced to change health networks and get a new primary and wait months for a new appointment for a referral and my daughter's needs were similarly delayed, but she was even further behind! I had just gotten HRT when I was laid off and left with no insurance. This means I'm on an incorrect dose and my daughter hasn't gotten hers.

To make matters worse, our ADHD has made sitting down for voice training or learning makeup (it is so overwhelming!) difficult for us and we've not found others willing and able to help with the latter. My daughter has gotten a lot of nice clothing from her mama (I'm mom, the ex is mama 🤷‍♀️), and she just looks so cute, but she hasn't felt brave enough to present at school or anything. I'm hoping a GSA in college will help, but I'm making sure not to push her. She's still figuring out her personal vibe, but it seems to lean toward her mama's style, instead of my tastes, with just a few exceptions. Whatever she goes with, I'm proud beyond belief!

I joined a writer's group and only ever introduced myself under my unmistakably femme chosen name and everyone was cool with my very unfemme appearing dysphoria hoodie wearing self. I am grateful beyond belief. The dose may be too low, but the HRT has been very much working. Unfortunately, even freshly shaved with a straight razor, my beard is forever visible (I'm told a little blush or color corrector can hide that, but keep looking horrible when I try), but thanks to HRT, I at least saw a woman with a beard shadow, when last I walked into the bathroom. (Also, I fill out my sundress more, now!)

With family and friends, we are fully socially transitioned, though, and I am grateful, every day, for those we've been able to keep. It wasn't all, but it seems I'd already cut the problems, in advance. Also, we can both wear whatever around the house, so we dress for ourselves, at least.

We dressed up extra for our first Pride parade, though! I won't have a ton of opportunities to wear that rainbow skirt, but I love it greatly!

We are early in transition, with lots of problems yet to solve, but we are so much happier, so far. I'm finally alive and she finally cares about who she will be! We're also so much closer now and have opened up a lot more to each other. I adore my daughter and I'm so glad to be her mom! 💖🥲

[liillyliilly]

His Diary

akaashi keiji x reader words; 10082 synopsis; For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

She decided that this was her new favorite book. It had all the right amounts of everything in it, drama, romance, depression, self-loathing. The journal she found was likely never written to be read. The journal he lost, the journal that Akaashi Keiji misplaced on a train going home from his editing job, he never expected to become a crux in his journey to love.

In all honesty, she didn’t even know it was a journal. It just seemed to be an episodic novel with a unique font, something along the vein of The Perks of Being A Wallflower. She only ever knew the leather-bound pages as a novel with no name. The author used a first-person perspective when writing and told the story of a young volleyball player who wanted desperately to find a passion, so he surrounded himself with others who had passion. What he seemed to enjoy more than playing the sport was writing though.

The author of the untitled book loved to read because the way he wrote made everything else she had read pale in comparison to the inky brilliance. He had captured teenager-dom with such sleight of hand that she believed his writing was made of magic and fairy dust. The story made her cry, made her groan, and made her feel second-hand embarrassment to an extreme she thought wasn’t possible.

When she read the first chapter, she realized she ought to pace her reading, because there were only so many entries. And she had no way of contacting or looking up the author, there was no information of who the author was on the back of the book. There was a Fukurodani Sticker, a school she remembers from her own time at a high school nearby, they were known for their volleyball skills and prowess, so she assumed maybe the author had some lived experience when it came to volleyball. Maybe that was a hobby aside from being a writer of such compelling stories.

She carried it everywhere from the day she picked it up on the floor of the train, it was always in her backpack, purse, and suitcase. She never left it alone, it had become a part of her. She felt like somehow this author reached into her heart and left fingerprints of his making into permanent fixtures of her anatomical structure. DATE: XX-XX-2013 TITLE: Alethiology; The Study of Truth

Today I realized that maybe I am all that I will be. My capacity has limits in comparison to others. A friend of a friend told me that their volleyball captain made a speech once, not to the whole team, just talking with buddies. His speech, or at least the parts I remember from it, was devastating. He said something like guys like Atsumu and all those geniuses, do things on a scale of 1-20, whereas normal guys like me do things on a scale of 1-10. Or maybe they have a denser more compact 1-10. And if 1-20 doesn’t work out, they try things from A to Z.

I’ve never thought of things like that. There’s always been a straightforward path for me, whereas, in comparison to Bokuto, he seems to have a much longer and more complex route ahead of him. Am I all that I will be? Is there a way for the normal guy to switch from 1-10 and try 1-20?

We have another game soon, maybe I can control more than I expect. Is flight into this world of geniuses possible? I can only control myself and my thoughts, but maybe there are external factors that contribute to my role on this team. My role in life as well.

Bokuto is asking for me, I need to go. Hope I can write again soon, but with all the games we’ll be playing I’m doubtful I can write with actual thoughts and not just tallies and plays from the games.

- A.K.

“I mean, who thinks of things like that Miwa?” She sits in the styling chair, getting a refresher on her hair. Miwa snips away lightly, inspecting each strand with duty and consideration for the entire look.

“Your author crush does.” Miwa brushes away some hair from Y/N’s shoulders, tidying up the apron wrapped around her.

She just rolls her eyes at Miwa’s comment. Flipping to the page in the book, tracing a finger over the deep black gel pen markings. Numbers and dashes and names of high schools against Fukurodani tell the story of the adventure at Tokyo’s national volleyball tournament from way back in 2013. She had barely started her second year of middle school in 2013, ripely being 14 years old.

Miwa and her sip some freshly made smoothies of Miwa’s creation, sitting at a table in the window of the entrance to the salon. Miwa bounces her foot that’s crossed over her leg and she pours over the entry once again. It was becoming addicting to choose one entry to re-read until she ingrained the stylistic choices into a deep long-term memory.

At that same moment, Bokuto Koutarou and his best friend Akaashi Keiji walk past Miwa’s Salon, attempting to plan a group hangout to celebrate Bokuto joining the MSBY Black Jackals team.

“I’ll need to make sure Konoha comes, and that he brings that cute friend of his for you,” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows repeatedly, and Akaashi shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Konoha is dating that cute girl he brings around.” Akaashi clarifies. Bokuto looks stunned, but then he remembers them making out on his couch during movie night that one time.

Akaashi looks around the street for a moment, peeking into the windows and observing the various occupants. When he sees his journal, the one that’s been missing for a little over a year, he just has to get it back.

When Akaashi pulls Bokuto into the hair salon, and barely below a scream says, “You stole my journal!” pointing at the girl who was indeed holding his journal from high school, Bokuto feels like his head was put through a blender. There were three very distinct things occurring at that moment. A pretty girl was shoving a book into her bag looking very defensive, Akaashi was trying to take the aforementioned girl’s bag from her, and a girl who he assumed was the pretty girl’s friend had a pair of scissors pointing at Bokuto by the throat.

Akaashi was still trying to pull the bag away, the pretty girl was looking extremely scared, and the scissors girl had opened and closed them one too many times for Bokuto’s comfort.

“Listen, I think we should all just take a moment to pause.” Bokuto held his hands up, shuffling to outturn his pockets in a show of lack of violent intentions. The black-haired girl puts the scissors back into her half apron that’s around her waist and then folds her arms.

Bokuto then pries Akaashi away from the pretty girl who was now clutching her bag against her chest and sniffling a little. Akaashi did feel bad that he made such a bad first impression, but he swore she had his journal. His embarrassing high school journal, the same journal that had cataloged many things he wished he never had recorded down on paper.

Bokuto pushes Akaashi’s head down, forcing him into a deep bow. Bokuto follows suit and also bows.

“I’m sorry for, uh, trying to steal your bag. But I think you may have a book, that isn’t a book at all, but rather my journal.” Akaashi is now sitting at the table in the window, Bokuto, the black-haired girl, and the pretty girl also sitting with him.

Outside the evening had quickly set in, with the orange and pink colors racing to get to the skyline. The blue began to fade into a deep dark navy color. And the lights on the streets began to flicker on. The lights on the outside of the salon began to twinkle from the setting they had been placed on, fairy lights luring those with a need for a haircut into the salon.

Bokuto had his head on his hand, staring intensely at the girl who had taken Akaashi’s journal, sighing slightly at the way her lips pouted and shined from her lip gloss. The girl with the scissors had brought out two more glasses of thick smoothie.

She pulled out the journal from her Doughnut Macaroon-style crossbody bag and slid it over to Akaashi. Akaashi flipped through the pages, immediately recognizing it as his. His face goes red and he readjusts his glasses, and she realizes that this must be his journal. He even goes straight to the back cover and smiles at the sticker she had grown to love to trace with her pinkie when reading.

“I’m not done with it yet, so, I really do hate to say this, but you can’t have it back until I finish it.” She takes the book back and tucks it into her bag again. Akaashi looks dumbfounded, eyebrows raised and lips pursed into a line.

“You’re just going to keep private property? Even though you know it’s mine?” What a dauntless woman she was, to show what Akaashi considered to be audacity with the whole journal situation.

Bokuto chimes in at this point, “Akaashi, I think we should just let the pretty girl keep your little diary.” Bokuto then starts nodding his head up and down to try and get agreement from Akaashi. Akaashi scoffs.

“Okay, so it’s settled, my cutie of a best friend will keep the journal until she finishes it, we’ll get your numbers and she can contact y’all when she finishes the journal, and I get to cut both of y’all’s hair because honestly, it’s atrocious.” Leave it to Miwa to consolidate a plan in a matter of moments.

Miwa touched the spiky salt and pepper hair that Bokuto had, and Miwa’s expression turned sour when she felt the amount of gel on top of his head, then Miwa pulled out a photo of Yuki Ishikawa in a two-block cut and explained what color of black dye Miwa will use for Bokuto. For Akaashi, Miwa just did a trim and tidied up his sides to bring them slightly tighter into his face.

While annoyed, Akaashi does give her his number, along with his name, and Bokuto does the same with much more enthusiasm. After the haircuts are finished, Akaashi tries to pull Bokuto away from the salon, but Bokuto keeps doing the ‘call me later’ signal with his hand and blowing a kiss to her wistfully. She just waves to the both of them while Miwa giggles behind her dye-stained glove. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Meraki; Putting A Piece of Yourself Into Your Passion

I am the protagonist of the world. We lost but I am still alive, we lost but I loved the game. I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter if you are the best character, the most complex, or the most ‘genius’ of them all. It doesn’t matter because I am the protagonist. I can be the hero of my own story without ever having won first place in a big-name tournament.

Bokuto is graduating, and I’ll still be here, which is disappointing. He’s my best friend I think. Even if he’s the most annoying ass I’ve ever met, he’s still my best friend and I would never trade him for any other person in the entire world. Together we are the protagonists of the world.

Second place is just as accoladed as first place. If I wasn’t who I am, then maybe I would’ve gotten mad. The first-place winner is a rich school, they’ve been a powerhouse for decades at this point, and this win is just another notch on the belt. If I wasn’t who I am, especially after this tournament, maybe I would’ve gotten frustrated at myself for not doing enough. For not being a setter like Kageyama. Or a setter like Oikawa. That doesn’t matter though, I am a setter. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. But a human mind will always wonder why. And sometimes it's just because you’re unlucky.

Kenma told me about his loss to Karasuno, his sweaty hands made the ball slip in the final point. He laughed about it, he said that that was the best game of volleyball he’s ever played. When Kenma told Kuroo thanks for teaching him volleyball, I cried, but not as much as Kuroo did. They remind me of why I went to Fukurodani. I saw Bokuto’s passion for the sport. His passion encouraged mine, and look where we got to. We because the victors at the end of the war.

Mom made katsu chicken for dinner, I did some homework, and I had to put away my volleyball uniform for next year. I practiced in my backyard, alternating between overhead and underhand passes, seeing how long I could go without dropping the ball. Dad called me into the house for ice cream after thirty minutes elapsed.

I called Bokuto tonight before I went to bed. Told him that he’s my best friend and that I love volleyball. Bokuto agreed.

- A.K.

She was crying, and so she held the book out in front of her, resting it on her blanket. She finally had some faces to match with the words she was reading, and it all felt much too real. Bokuto did seem like the type of person to adopt and bring a person like Akaashi into his fold. But the way that Akaashi genuinely admired and appreciated his best friend was unparalleled and she felt like he would understand the exact way she felt about her best friend, Miwa.

Miwa and her met when she was fresh out of college. She hadn’t an idea of what to do in her life, while Miwa seemed to have her passion set out in front of her with her hair and makeup salon. When she got a haircut from Miwa and started ranting about her life, Miwa just told her to slow everything down. Take a gap year from life and just be a human. So, she picked up shifts at Miwa’s salon and moved in with her.

The best friends slowly became business partners as well, and an expansion to the salon was added, a small specialty bookshop that she ran, while Miwa continued to do hairstyling. Their customers were dedicated and loved to support their business. Branding remained solely under Miwa’s name, but she became everything else to the brand as well, the little addition that made the salon extra special.

When she started to cough a little from the way her heart was beating erratically from crying about Akaashi’s diary, she had to get out of bed and get a glass of water. Akaashi’s number was resting on her kitchen table. Miwa was watching some rom-com in the living room of their shared apartment. She brushed pasted the kitchen and sat next to Miwa.

“A good chapter?” Miwa threw a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“He’s devastating. Who writes like they feel every emotion entirely?” She started crying again and Miwa laughed a little before rubbing her best friend’s back.

“You could always call him and tell him he’s a good writer if you need to talk about it. Sure it’s unconventional, but maybe he has more insights that you can cry to.” She grabbed a pillow and started hitting Miwa with it.

She did take Akaashi’s number into her room on her way back to bed though. Leaving the series of digits on her bedside table, she re-read the passage and cried again. She thinks she knows him better than most, but they aren’t even friends.

Since realizing he’s a person, and that Akaashi lived this story in the book. The story of his life recorded in his journal, she starts to wonder about what happened to him after he stopped writing in the diary. But she hasn’t finished the story yet, so she’ll have to see what happens next. Again, trying to pace herself, she puts the book away until tomorrow when she can read a little more.

Akaashi sits in his office, he’s still there and it’s much later than the clock would like to admit. The clock wondered if Akaashi would ever go home. But there he was, reviewing the different styles of manga serializations Udai Tenma wanted to try out for his next series. His haircut makes him feel a little colder because now the air can hit right behind his ear instead of being covered with his hair. He puts on a beanie to fight the chill.

When it gets too late at night, his mind tends to wander slightly. Just barely drifting out of his control, like the way a lily pad will drift to the center of a pond when the stem at the base of the connection is severed. He can’t dive into the pond to bring his thoughts back into his hands.

He thinks about her. The girl with his journal. The journal was a cheap 2,500 yen book, but he liked the paper, it was a cold press thicker GSM than most other paper forms. Gel inks went on smoothly to the paper, letting him get more words across by the second than if he was writing with a ballpoint. He remembers that from when he used to write in the journal in high school.

Throwing himself into the back of his seat, he rubs his face, his glasses almost falling off from how he runs his hands up from his chin to his forehead. Setting the glasses on his desk, he spins his chair a little. The clock screams at him, he takes the message from his dedicated clock and grabs his messenger bag.

On the train, he thinks about her again. Instead of getting irritated at how Bokuto essentially gave his journal away to a stranger again, he wonders what her thoughts are. Was his writing any good to warrant such a committed reader? Did she like his journal only because it was funny to read what his dramatic high school self wrote about?

He cringes thinking about all the potential things he wrote down. There’s no direct recollection of what he wrote down exactly, but he knows vaguely what was on his mind when he was writing. His ego, his insecurities, his favorite things. Lots about volleyball, Bokuto, and books. Once he wrote about his thoughts on sex, which is embarrassing for him that a grown woman is reading his teenage idealizations of intimacy.

It could be considered something unique to read. Akaashi settled into the belief that she was merely reading his journal because it was something different than typical books that were being published. Although, why she was reading his journal instead of a Haruki Murakami book was beyond him. Nothing beats his favorite literary giant.

Setting his bag on the coat hanger stand, and shrugging out of his long pea coat. He heats some stovetop ramen while listening to Bokuto talk over the phone, he was ranting about the same girl that Akaashi had had on his mind.

“Oh and those eyes of hers. Did you see them?” Of course, Akaashi saw them, they were big, bright, and astute. Akaashi hums in response, and Bokuto continues barreling through his late-night thoughts.

“I think we should invite her to my party. You know, the one to celebrate my big accomplishment.” In a different apartment, Bokuto spins a volleyball on his finger, but he keeps dropping it so he ends up just repeatedly tossing it into the air so he can satiate the desire to feel his fingers on the ball.

“Yeah, how about no.”

Bokuto asks why not, almost in a whining tone.

“Did you forget she has my journal still?” Akaashi put his bowl in the sink, putting on rubber gloves as he started to wash out the dish and then put it on the drying rack. He decided to finish all his dishes right now anyway since he still had the gloves on.

“Your diary can’t be that juicy, you didn’t do anything too dramatic in high school. Plus I know you wanna see her again too. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a piqued interest. Also, did I use piqued right?”

“You used it right, yes.”

He eventually agreed to let Bokuto invite her to the small get-together. Akaashi didn’t know why Bokuto kept referring to it as a party.

A week later, Akaashi realized that maybe Bokuto kept calling it a party because it had shifted from a friends-only gathering to a huge party at the park. Some other Fukurodani alumni helped to set up decorations in the central gazebo and make banners to hang all over the pavilion. Akaashi was mixing the punch at a table, while Konoha asked what he had been up to lately.

Kuroo and Kenma brought huge gifts for Bokuto, a PlayStation from Kenma, and a packet of potential sponsorship deals from Kuroo.

When she finally made her way to the pavilion with a small brown package, Akaashi couldn't care less about the party. She was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt with a tiered white and gold skirt, and her shoes were a pair of sneakers, but the whole outfit made Akaashi concede to Bokuto’s claim of her being “drool-worthy”. He had to remember that this was the same woman who had his diary. The whole conflict between physical attraction and mental frustration made for an entirely convoluted reaction to her presence.

She bows politely to Bokuto when he goes over to her, offering the gift with both hands, only then did Akaashi wonder how old she must have been. Bokuto had been talking to her more than him, and Bokuto had mentioned that she was a second-year middle schooler when Bokuto was in his third year. Akaashi did some mental math and realized that he, himself, must have been around three to four years older than her.

Akaashi forced himself to ignore the idea of a cute younger girlfriend that started to pester him in the back of his mind. He wanted his journal back, and that’s all this relationship was to him, a mutual exchange of her reading and then him eventually getting back his property. But with the way she had done her hair, Akaashi had a hard time focusing solely on wanting his diary returned.

She was glad that Bokuto appreciated the gift, she hadn’t known him longer than a week or so, and she had gone with a safe gift based on what she knew about him and why this party was even being thrown. She got him a wearable jump monitor that her dad had bought a month ago but never used, she was grateful for having a father who never threw things away. She also included some stickers that she had bought from a small sticker shop online, and some that she had made using Miwa’s craft supplies.

When the excitement of her being at the park died down, she made her way to a table, with a small plate of desserts. She observed how everyone interacted with each other, almost as if they had been friends since the dawn of time, and she believed that that very well might have been the case.

Akaashi stalked her from afar. He appreciated that she was similar to him in a way that mattered to him, she was a watcher. She would assess what was going on, who would talk to who, and how they would nonverbally communicate as well. He got so engrossed in watching her that he neglected to observe the others as well.

Specifically, Konoha, Washio, and Komi had grabbed a water cooler and had the full intention of dumping the water on Akaashi. It was payback for declining their invitations to various other parties from the last year. So there he was, not only soaked through with water but revealed from his vantage point unmistakably indicating to her that he must have been watching her. She laughed a little at the antics but then brought over a small cloth she had in her crossbody bag.

His white shirt was completely transparent, and his brown slacks had turned from a regular light brown into a dark musty brown. The only way to resolve the issue in her mind was to start dabbing at his chest with her handkerchief.

“I see that your friends have a peculiar method of exacting humor.” Her handkerchief eventually was too soaked through that she was just touching his chest with a cloth that had performed osmosis and was now at equilibrium with the water on his shirt.

“Yep.”

“Look, there’s a hoodie in my car, I know we aren’t too close, but it’s probably better to wear my oversized hoodie than to have your whole torso on display for the rest of the night.” She shoves her thumb in the direction of her car.

After making their way to her car, she digs through the trunk and pulls out a grey hoodie with the words ‘Miwa’s Salon’ embroidered on the back. He tugs at the back of his shirt to take it off and she widens her eyes before turning around. The hoodie is comfortable, with a soft fleece on the inside, and it smelt like lychee, vanilla, and surprisingly chocolate marshmallows. It smells like her and he wonders if he could have the scent bottled and then sprayed all over his house.

Suddenly he’s tugging at the collar of the hoodie and swallowing thickly, looking around at anything but her figure in front of him.

“We should probably get heading back to everyone now that you’ve changed.” She goes to start walking to the gazebo, but Akaashi’s words stop her.

“How well do you know me?” She tilted her head and said something about not following along with what he was saying, so he continued, “Well, you’re reading a part of me, you know with my journal, my internal thoughts and hopes and dreams and all that. So, how well do you know me?”

She timidly bites down on her bottom lip, formulating a response. But Akaashi surmises that she must not really care much for the conversation, so he, unfortunately, starts to run his mouth and the words just spiral out.

“You know, it doesn’t matter, to you, it’s just a story about a teenage boy who played volleyball. It’s silly to assume you’d try and actually-”

She cuts in, “I know you’re a considerate person. And it's not just about the volleyball stuff, it's about you, finding yourself to some degree. I know you are polite. I know you’re allergic to beating around the bush, you’re direct and blunt. I know that you can overthink too much.”

Akaashi repeatedly adjusted his glasses, and she stepped just a little bit closer to him, folding her hands behind her back and leaning in slightly so she didn’t have to talk as loudly.

“You also have a bad habit of thinking you can control more than you can, one of the interesting things in your journal is how you jump back and forth between knowing what you can control and then inflating from stress and thinking you can micromanage the entire world. You said you can control the court, but in reality, that’s your worldview. You conclude you can control the entire world sometimes.”

He regrets starting the conversation because this revelation of how much she knew about him exposes him. Akaashi didn’t know how to continue with the gap in knowledge between the two of them.

He only knew she was younger than him, she was incredibly perceptive, and she smelled so freaking good he just wanted to shove her into the backseat of her car and kiss her. Akaashi’s thoughts could not have been his own at this point, he was going crazy. He must have gotten sick from the cold water being dumped on him he speculates.

When they get back to the gazebo, Akaashi thanks Bokuto for the party and heads home. She stays at the party, talking to a select few people and wondering what exactly she said that scared Akaashi off so quickly.

Sitting in the tub, Akaashi rests his head against the shower wall and lets the hot water filter his congestion that didn’t exist. His hand twitched over to his phone, which was on the toilet seat playing some piano music that he hoped would alleviate all his bad habits. He wonders if she will text him soon. If she would text him ever. He felt like he was younger, it was ridiculous that one person would have such an effect on him to this degree.

After the party, she sits with Miwa, disclosing everything that happened at the party.

“And then he just ran off?” She nods at Miwa repeating what she just said. “Girlie, you gave him an in-depth review of his personality and you’re shocked that he ran away? Sometimes you can be too judicious for your own good.”

“Should I text him an apology?”

“Are you sorry for anything?” Miwa rolled her eyes, hating when she got like this. Miwa never allowed her to apologize for things that didn’t need to be apologized for.

“No.” She rubs her arm and chews the inside of her cheek.

“I think you think he’s hot, I mean, you understand this man on a deeper level that he now grasps, and you said he had the chest and torso of some kind of slutty librarian/gym rat agglomeration.” Miwa takes a bobby pin out of her hair and runs a hand through her bob cut, “If it was me, I would send him a picture of the journal and ask for nudes, or else the book gets it.”

She hits Miwa with a pillow, and Miwa realizes she really should throw the pillows away or else getting hit with them would be a very painful recurrence.

Miwa goes to sleep, but she stays up just a little later. Eyeing Akaashi’s number that lay painfully glaring at her. She decides to read more of his diary instead of texting him. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Weltschmerz; Sadness When The World Isn’t As It Should Be

Summer sucks. Bokuto has a training thing for some team he wants to be a part of in the future. All my friends that were third years are essentially gone, actually out and living life, and I’m stuck here. At least there’s only one more year left of high school. And then I can go and work for a literary magazine.

I miss people. Despite their failings, I do need people in my life.

You can only play so much volleyball in a day by yourself before your motivation is gone by the third week of playing alone.

It’s times like these that make me think about the future. I don’t spend much time with girls per se, but they are pretty and nice. Our manager is a girl, but she has a boyfriend. She’s chill.

Sometimes, when I feel like something is wrong, I turn to the idea of love. I’ll admit that I love a few things in life, but that’s only because I think love is something truly special that you can’t just fling around. I ‘like’ things more often than I ‘love’ them. Volleyball, my best friend, my family, books, and writing.

Will I know when I’ve found the love of my life? My parents said they knew they loved each other from the first moment they met. Will I feel like that too? Will I know it’s love? How can a feeling be recognized as a specific feeling? How do I know what anger feels like, besides that heat and pressure and red hot sun? How do I know what sadness feels like, besides water, coldness, and finishing a run? Would love have those distinct colors and associations? Or would love just become the person I love?

I don’t believe in soulmates. Definitely not. I think people are infinitely compatible, and it all depends on our ability to communicate and agree to grow with a person for the rest of our lives. I believe we make our own soulmates, through sharing experiences and agreeing to be ourselves no matter what. I told my mom this and she just smiled at me like I still had a lot of life left to live.

But don’t I have enough experience to know what I want? Or at least to formulate my own opinions and beliefs? I may be 17 but I am not an idiot.

Or did my mom’s look of a wistful future just mean that when I fall in love I’ll know it and I’ll look back to these words and think I’m completely ridiculous?

Dad made spaghetti for dinner. It was gross so we ended up having to order udon from the place I like instead.

We watched a movie Mom wanted to show me, the title was something like Wildly Wealthy Westerners or something. It was just about rich people from America and Canada, plus a subplot of romance between a basic guy and this rich heiress girl who just couldn’t be together because of rich people's reasons. It was silly but the music was good. The ending kiss scene was hot, he shoved her into the backseat of his jeep and I swear I heard Mom sigh.

- A.K.

She didn’t expect him to text her on Monday of the following week, asking if they could meet for tea at a place near his work during his lunch break. She surprised herself by agreeing to it, and then by cheekily calling it a date.

Akaashi shoved his phone into Udai’s face, “What does this mean?”

Udai pushed his bangs back and inspected the text messages on Akaashi’s phone. “I think it means she agreed to go on the date you asked her on?”

“But I didn’t ask her on a date?”

“Oh, but you definitely did. Oh and tea? What dork takes a girl for tea on a first date?” Udai pushed Akaashi’s phone away and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then Udai’s face breaks into a blinding grin, “Is this your little diary thief? And the one who gave you the sweater at Bo’s party? Oh, it is isn’t it, do you have a picture of her?”

Akaashi briefly flashed a photo Bokuto had taken with her in Udai’s direction.

“DAMN! I need me my own diary thief,” Udai raised his eyebrows and started laughing a little, and then he ruffled his hair and used his fingers to zoom into her face, slowly, he started moving down the picture to her body. Akaashi pulled his phone back before Udai got too far down.

The clock on Akaashi’s desk wanted him to leave for an early lunch and by an early lunch, an hour early. So there he sat at the small cafe on the corner by his office building, rubbing his sweaty hands against the legs of his pants, waiting for her. She was five minutes early and was surprised to see him already at a table, so she decided to have a little fun.

Since his back was turned, she went up to him and tapped his shoulder, when he turned around she let out a small “Boo!” and put her hands up into an imitation of claws, trying her best to seem scary. He just thought she was adorable. He motioned for her to sit down.

Resting her crossbody bag against the back of the chair, she took a seat. Akaashi was able to wave down a waiter, who gave them a single menu to look over.

“What kind of tea do you like?” She asked, using her pointer finger to scan through the options the cafe had available.

“I like black tea, and sometimes chamomile tea.” He asked her for her favorite type, and she told him. He tried to commit her favorite to memory as quickly as possible.

Eventually, they had their tea, and the silence started to set in. Between sips, Akaashi would try to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. But he thought it was all too bold. So he told her a little about his life, his work, and his friends and she did the same, returning statements in a unique fashion about her life. Her word choice was special, calculated even. She was like him in another way that mattered, a calculated, intentional way of speaking.

She could always make him yearn to be a little more considerate of his words. Until she managed to pry them out of him.

“So why am I here?” She stirs a little more sugar into her tea, then pauses from drinking her tea to take a sip of her water.

“I want one of your journals.”

She laughs before realizing he’s entirely serious, “How do you even know that I have any journals to lend to you? For all you know, I could be living a journal-less life.” She waves her small stirring spoon around, before putting it into her mouth.

“I can’t explain it, but I know you have journals. Only someone with a journal of their own would be so obsessed with another’s.” Akaashi takes the spoon from her mouth and uses it to stir some sugar into his tea. Her mouth gapes for a moment while he smirks, looking right into her intelligent eyes.

The next day they have tea again, and she gives him one of her journals from high school.

“Don’t read it all in one go.” She pauses, “I don’t write nearly as well as you do, so don’t scrutinize my words the way you do all your mangakas’ words.”

Akaashi nods.

He read it all in one night. He calls her in the middle of said night.

“Who the hell is this Ito kid? When did you and he start talking? Just outta nowhere he pops up at the end of your last entry. Where’s the careful recollection of all your interactions with him?” Akaashi is exasperated, running his hand through his hair. He disagreed with what she said about her writing.

She was compelling and interesting, and she most definitely had his heart. Her high school experience had been so different from his, and she seemed to be much more optimistic about life than he was. Despite her calling him a realist, he believed that in comparison to her, he was a total pessimist.

She explained to him about Ito, and that he was a short-lived crush she had had at the end of her second year in high school. Akaashi was glad when she said she didn’t even talk to him anymore. Based on the way she had written about him, Akaashi thought that Ito would be the love of her life, and Akaashi was slowly realizing maybe his heart was in the process of making her the love of his life.

“When do I get the next journal?” Akaashi wanted to keep talking to her despite the lateness of the hour.

“You don’t. I told you to pace yourself, I only have one of yours so you’re only getting one of mine.” She was lying on her stomach on her bed, slightly kicking her feet while talking to Akaashi.

Akaashi groans but tells her he’ll return the journal next week when he can have another long lunch break. She says she’ll be there.

Akaashi recalls when he remembered his diary was lost.

It had been a long day at work, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. His mom hadn’t remembered his apartment address, so she sent one of his old journals to his work office. He put it into his satchel and made his way home.

On the train, there had been a slight jostling. And Akaashi hadn’t noticed the journal falling out of his bag and under his seat.

When he exited the train, she had gotten onto it. She sat down in the same seat he had. Right when Akaashi started walking to the stairs to exit the station, she reached down under the seat to stow away her bag, only to be met with a rough material. And for a moment, if they had just turned around, their eyes would’ve met right as the train pulled away.

When he finally got home, he unpacked his bag, looking to put away his journal safely into a box with other memorabilia from high school. When he dumped his bag upside down, shaking everything out, he just couldn’t find his journal. When going home from work the next day, he had asked all the employees if they had seen a leatherbound notebook. None turned up.

If there ever was a moment that could’ve changed the future, that was what it would’ve been. If the train hadn’t jostled. If Akaashi Keiji hadn’t been tired from work and forgot to check for the journal on his way out of the station. If she hadn’t sat right where he had been sitting, and most definitely, if she didn’t love a good book, then it all would’ve turned out differently.

But that’s not the story that’s being told. The story being told is of Akaashi Keiji realizing that to love someone, you have to accept that they may know you better than you know yourself.

It had been six months, and she was close to finishing the journal. Somedays she didn’t read at all, others she read three entries and wanted to binge the rest of the diary.

They went for tea every single week. Sometimes twice. Then other times, he would take her around Tokyo to go exploring. They went to every museum, every library, every cafe that specialized in tea. He figured that they ought to be on an even playing field when it came to how well they knew each other, so instead of getting more journals from her, they traded lists of their top one hundred favorite books.

She had put three Haruki Murakami books on her list and Akaashi wanted to hold her face in his hands and kiss her.

But they were just friends. Friends who knew each other better than Akaashi was comfortable with. She knew what he would order before he said it, and he knew what she was going to comment before she stated it. When she asked him about his experience with failure, he knew that she had gotten in too deep.

She knew more about him than he expected her to, she knew all about the silly things that rattled around in his brain, and although it had been a journal from high school, he knew that people stayed pretty similar throughout life. So when she looked at him, she didn’t just see professional editor Akaashi Keiji, she saw a teenager who wondered what place he had in the world as well. She saw him as acne-ridden and languid with life. He wanted to control her perspective of him and he couldn’t do that now, because she had the key to his past and the map of his future.

So he tried to put some space between them. Just in case. Maybe it was a horrible tendency to overthink, no, he knew it was his horrible overthinking tendency. There were so many ways their relationship could go. He could completely crush her, to be completely crushed himself in turn.

Walking the edge of a knife with her. Balancing on the blade of friendship, if he fell onto one side, with no cuts, then they could have a happy relationship. If he cut himself on that blade, then the worst-case scenario would be that she realizes she doesn’t like him back and then there’s just someone who knows him too well out in the world.

When he hadn’t texted her in four weeks and her messages were left on read, she decided to finish the journal and be done with it. Their time as friends was short-lived she thought. She thought there may have been something more for the pair of them. And suddenly all the depressing love songs became about him. Which made her resentful, because who ruins ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls like that for someone? DATE: XX-XX-14 TITLE: Quatervois; A Crossroads

I graduated today. I went through that book of fancy words Mom gave me and stumbled across this one. Quatervois, a crossroads. Does this count as a crossroads?

The magazine I want to work for said I could have an internship while I attend college. An internship in the manga editing department. Was I not good enough for the literature department? Is it because of my age? I think my essay and grades were good enough to at least qualify me for a chance to interview in that department. But they only let me interview for the editing department.

Does that make me a career failure? I like the magazine, but I’m not sold on the department they want me to go into.

Washio called me to congratulate me, he said that I was finally crossing over into the real world. I’m pretty sure I’ve been living in the real world for as long as I’ve been alive, but Washio made it seem like things would be so different for me. I digress.

When nothing seems straightforward, and you come to a fork in the road and you have two options that you can’t see down, how do you choose which road to go down? The one lined with flowers, or the one with a dirt path that could eventually have something more alluring at the end.

- A.K.

On the penultimate page of the journal was a glued-down picture of Akaashi wearing his graduation suit, and holding his graduation scroll, his parents stood on either side of him grinning proudly at their only child. Maybe she should’ve checked the book from the last page and then started reading the front. But she didn’t want spoilers, that’s why she never checked the second to last page.

She texted Akaashi and said she finished the journal and was ready to return it. When he didn’t respond, but had read the message, she texted Bokuto asking for some clarification. She asked if Akaashi had said anything about her that would’ve indicated why he was mad. Bokuto just said that Akaashi wasn’t mad at all. So now she was confused. If he wasn’t upset, then why was he ignoring her?

Instead of going to their tea place, she goes to his office during lunch. She scans the buttons, looking for his department.

“Hey diary thief, whatcha doing here?” A shorter guy with shaggy black hair and a hoodie with a denim jacket over it comes around to her and presses the elevator button.

“Are you going to the Manga Editing Department?” She checked before entering the elevator with the shaggy-haired guy, who had introduced himself as Udai Tenma, but she could just call him Tenma. He confirms and then doubly checks her identity as the same person Akaashi had been talking about and spending all his lunch breaks with.

“It’s funny that you know about the journal, I came here to return it finally. Probably much to Akaashi’s delight.” She adjusts her bag across her shoulders, giving a short sigh.

“No, Akaashi loves that you have his journal. At first, he was a little annoyed, but now it’s kinda like you have a little piece of him all the time. I told him just to get you a necklace with his name on it, but noooooo Udai I can’t do that because I’d essentially be confessing if I did something like that.” Udai did a brilliant imitation of Akaashi, even going as far as to push his shoulders back to make him seem taller and with a broader build.

Udai turned slowly to face her, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “Please pretend I don’t exist, I never said anything about Akaashi’s undying love,” He froze, “Also ignore what I just said.”

Udai got out of the elevator on the floor below the editing department. She could hear him start to criticize himself and say he owes Akaashi so many more favors and solids now.

She walked through the office, lightly admiring all the manga panels, all the stories that had come out of this building astounded her, it had been a while since she last read a manga, so she considered picking one up on her way out. Maybe she’d read the one written by Udai.

Then she sees him. Akaashi, with a pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other. His head is moving slightly, due to the music playing through his headphones she assumes. He fidgets in his chair, wiggling the seat around. Despite being angry at him, he was still adorable when he was engrossed in his work.

“You’re being childish.” She handed Akaashi the journal. Akaashi had to take off his headphones when he saw that his journal was being thrust into his face, he dropped his pencil and turned around only to be met with her. Even though she seemed to be upset with him, she still looked beautiful.

Akaashi looked confused, so she clarified, “Ghosting? Really? You could have just said you didn’t want to be friends.” Her tone is sharp and penetrating.

It wasn’t the being friends part, it was the part where he wanted her to be entirely his. An overwhelming desire to attach her to him in all senses. He swallows and takes the journal back. He wants to ask what her thoughts were, and what she came to understand about him. Yet, he knew she was upset with him. He would be upset with her too if she did what he had done.

He had completely blown his chance, hadn’t he? The one woman who had read the teenage journal and still wanted to be friends. Maybe her knowing more about him wouldn’t be too bad at all, maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

“I don’t want to be friends.” She starts to sniffle, she quickly runs the sleeve of her shirt onto her eyes. Akaashi rushed the next part out, “I can’t be just friends with you I’m afraid. I think I want more.”

She blinks rapidly before regaining composure and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to sort out your feelings. Because if you really wanted more, you wouldn’t have treated me like I was disposable. You wouldn’t have ignored me. So, figure it out, and let me know what the result is. You know where to find me.”

She rubs her thumb on his cheek in a parting gesture. He remembers when she did that for the first time, around three months ago. They were at a library he had found in a far corner of Tokyo, and he was talking about a book that Udai hadn’t understood at all, which made him irate that Udai could skim over such an important story. They were in their little section, with dim lights and a stack of books they wanted to talk about.

As he was waving his hands around, trying to show her the pages and lines he was referencing in the book, when she reached over and brushed her thumb against his cheek, the rest of her fingers resting along his jaw and lower cheek. Her palm barely contacts his chin.

“You had a little mark there. But I think it’s just a cute little freckle, it won’t wipe off.” She brushes against his skin again, and when the mark doesn’t disappear, she leans back into her chair, waiting for Akaashi to begin again. When he starts talking again about the book, he keeps stumbling and stuttering over his words.

She gave a small wave before leaving his office space. Akaashi's co-workers just turned their heads to watch her exit, heads sticking out of cubicles, and then in a blink, they all turned to face Akaashi with disappointed faces, shaking their heads and clicking their tongues. Then, they went back to work and Akaashi was sitting at his desk with his journal brazenly staring at him.

He had one chance to make it right. So he set aside Udai’s manga draft, knowing he could go through it in less than an hour, and he picked up his pencil, writing one more entry in his journal.

He can only wait a week before giving it to her when he shows up to her apartment unannounced. Miwa opens the door and rolls her eyes, but letting him in.

“I gotta run and get some new specialty scissors. I’m not afraid to use them in an unintended use if I get back and she’s crying.” Miwa motions her fingers from her eyes to his. Akaashi gives her a thumbs up.

When she comes out of her room, she inspects him on the couch, he’s holding his journal.

“Read the last page for me. It’s an extended edition.” He jokes somewhat. She sits next to him and reads his ‘extended edition’. DATE: XX-XX-XX TITLE: Micawber; An Eternal Optimist

I was stupid. Believe me, I know I was a whole idiot and a half.

Here’s to giving up realism and embracing optimism.

You knew who I was before I knew you. I was scared that you would know too much. That’s hilarious, right? I wanted you to know me, and yet there I was completely afraid to let you get too close, but you were already close. It’s not just what words were contained here, although I re-read my journal and there are definitely some things I should’ve self-censored.

You were what made the entire difference. Your ability to perceive me as a whole rather than a sum of my parts was the distinction that was made.

With you, I truly am a protagonist. Not a side character anymore, but the main character who shares the limelight with his love interest. Although, I have a distinct feeling that you may be more of a main character than me. But, I know you’d say you digress.

In your journal, you mentioned once how you believed that a good story can compel you to be changed. How characters drive a real tangible change in a person. Did I do that for you? At least a little bit? I know I was changed when I read your story, I realized that maybe I liked you a little more than just liking you.

Please don’t think I am mean. I was cruel, rude, and inconsiderate to you. Ghosting for more than a month because I was worried is likely going down in my personal history as the worst thing I’ve ever done to you. But I’m dedicated to never doing anything bad to you ever again. I’ll never hurt you, and I’ll never lie.

I’m optimistic that you like me a little. Maybe even a little more than like.

So, tell me why I still feel worried. Is this feeling even worried? Or is this what love feels like? The desperation to not hurt you in any way. The pang of knowing that I am myself with you. And, yes, the physical magnetism that makes me feel just a little more like a teenager when I am with you.

I think this feeling is love. I just think it’s so overwhelming that I ended up making it into a negative emotion instead of what it is.

I’m sorry. Forgive me or I really won’t know what to do with all these feelings that flit around in my heart for you.

I love you.

- Yours, Akaashi Keiji

She knew he was watching her. She had her nose in his journal, reading what he had written for her.

“Can you get me a tissue?” Akaashi handed her one. He was ready to say his goodbyes.

When she closes the journal, he looks at her with curious eyes. She smiles.

“Best book ever.”

He grabs her by the back of her head and kisses her. She held his face in her hands, tilting her head slightly and he hummed into her mouth. His nose was cold on her face, but the warmth of his mouth contrasted with the frostiness. His other hand grips her hip, trying to pull her closer to him. Despite them being already so close, he wanted her to envelop him.

Then he was pressing her down onto her couch, both hands on her hips. When she wrapped a leg around his waist he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Her head was on the arm of the couch, and he had moved from her mouth to the side of her face to her neck, to right above her bra, leaving a trail of his making. He was glad she was wearing a low-cut top because it made it easier for him to pull the shirt down so he could reach more of her skin.

In contrast to him, she felt soft and pliable. She also felt wholly his in this moment.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling the strands in a mellow methodology, not wanting to hurt him almost. She wanted his hair just a little longer, but the short hair tickled her neck, so she was happy with the length it was currently.

The top of her chest was creamy and supple. He let his tongue brush out once, twice, before going back up to kiss her again. He licked at her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth just enough for him to run his tongue into it for a moment, before biting at her bottom lip in thanks.

“You taste like sugar.” He was hot in the face and had some hair sticking to his forehead. She pushed his bangs back tenderly, his chest was still rapidly moving up and down trying to catch his breath. He went in for another kiss, still short of breath, so she had to intervene.

“Slow down loverboy, you need to breathe, or else you can’t keep going.” She laughs a little and he can feel the way her body carries the laugh from her chest to her stomach. She moves in close to his ear, “And that would be a zero-sum game for us both.”

He nods, and she draws his head down to rest on her chest.

“Is this better or worse than that fantasy you had about making out with a girl in the backseat of a car?” She recalls one of his entries from his journal.

He rubs his face against her, inhaling deeply. “This is way better. But we’re still gonna kiss in the back of my jeep, and soon at that.”

She hums a little in response.

The next year, Akaashi and her moved in together, Miwa was glad because now she could finally walk around her apartment without clothes on (despite her doing that when they were roommates anyway). Bokuto was glad to see that Akaashi finally had someone to read his confusing books and that he didn’t have to read another one ever again. Udai would occasionally make a joke about if it didn’t work out with Akaashi she had a place in his awaiting arms. Akaashi threatened to work for another manga magazine and Udai would be stuck using only Grammarly. That usually shut Udai up pretty quickly.

They both kept detailed journals. And when they finished them, they would let the other read them. Akaashi let her read all his past journals as well, and she let him read her diaries.

Maybe love isn’t what you expected at first, maybe it's not even a feeling you want to feel at that moment, or for that person. But love works out for the best in the end. Whether that’s with a best friend, a lover, a child, or even a book.

For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

[ichigosoju]

🍪🥛

[larryrickard]

i had a dream that i made little cards that say "THEY!" on them that i handed out to people at work who got my pronouns wrong, immediately after they got it wrong. and in smaller text (or on the back) it said "i don't want an apology, i want you to do better" or "don't say you're sorry, DO BETTER" and ..... i kind of want to do it. maybe i'll get some moo cards made lmao

various scenarios included:

me slamming it down on a desk in front of them.

instead i had stickers, would slowly peel one off while they watched, and stick it on it on them.

handing out a quarter sheet piece of paper based on the 'i caught being good' tags we'd get in kindergarten which said 'i got caught misgendering hallie/my coworker'. it would have their name and date on it and a giant 🙁 face. i had them as a pad of paper and would hold up a finger to say 'wait a second', dramatically pull it out of my back pocket, take my pen out of another pocket, slowly fill it out in front of them, and hand it to them while staring them in the eyes.

getting a whiteboard for the outer side of my cubicle wall that said '[days] since i was misgendred' (with a bonus by saying 'last offender: [name]'

i also dreamt that i got into trouble for it because i was making people feel bad and was 'creating a hostile work environment'. i was just like.... okay and how do you think i feel? and my boss shut up real fuckin quick. dunno if that would be the case irl but if that does happen i can only dream.

[daz4i]

i know aging isn't the end of the world and 24 isn't that old and life isn't a race etc etc etc. however,

[dancing-with-stars]

guys. guys !!!!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[lexicals]

.

[whimsyprinx]

i don’t think I’m like actually allowed to be happy or that I even know how to be anymore

[pepprs]

ykw that was exactly the thing i was vaguing about earlier this morning btw (sorry). since saturday night the whole topic of [pausing here to transform into a hideous beast because of the word my phone was trying to suggest i put after ‘topic of.’ like could this get any more meta and/or disturbing] anyways the whole topic of.. me and how i am or am not situated like.. r*mantically. it’s been multiple times every day since saturday night that it’s come up in posts i see in irl convos in photo memory reminders in shows my family is watching etc. ajd im not like mad at anyone/thing for posting / talking about it it’s just i feel like exploding a little bit between me myself and i that’s all

[noxtivagus]

evening has come again huh

[fingertipsmp3]

Have accidentally ended up reading 6 books at once. How did this happen. We’re smarter than this

[teruthecreator]

note to self: never tell family any personal decisions or plans you have. literally just do it without them knowing and tell them after it has happened