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onecanonlife · 3 years

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Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,040)

(first part) (second part) (fourth part)

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Part Three

She knocks twice before opening the door, and he barely has time to look up before she’s there. Slightly hesitant, perhaps, but the look on her face is one of resolve as she steps into the room, and nudges the door closed behind her.

It takes a second to find his voice. He can’t remember if she’s ever visited him here. Surely she has, at one point or another. Anyone is free to come find him whenever they choose. He makes himself available, or at least, as available as he can be. The door is never locked, and he is always here.

“Niki?” he asks. “Is something wrong?” He puts down his pen. He hadn’t actually been using it, had instead been twirling it between his fingers and staring off into space. He finds himself doing that incredibly often, and sometimes, he catches himself wondering if it’s worth getting out of bed at all, if that’s all he’s going to do with his time.

She smiles at him, then, but like so many of the smiles she’s directed towards him lately, it seems strained, thin, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Not for me,” she says. “But I would like to talk to you for a little while, if that would be okay?”

She’s already reaching for a chair, one of the ones he keeps in here, set up so that he can carry out meetings across this desk. None of them are very comfortable, but before he can offer to find her a better one—there has to be one somewhere in this building—she is sitting, perching on the edge, crossing one leg over the other and resting her forearms on her thigh.

Anxiety is already rising. He doesn’t know why she’d come here, doesn’t know what she’d want to talk about, if nothing is wrong on her end of things. Not with that look on her face. Except, there was the whole thing yesterday, and he was very rude to all of them, so perhaps that’s the subject matter. He gave an apology, but it was rushed, and then he all but ran away. He wouldn’t blame her if she had a piece to say on that, little though he wants to discuss it.

So perhaps he should go ahead and get in on it.

“About yesterday—” he starts, but she’s saying the exact same thing, almost in unison, so he cuts off. But she does too, and for a second, they just stare at each other, neither sure how to proceed.

“Go on,” Niki says, after a moment, and he nods, somewhat tentative.

“Right. I just wanted to say, about yesterday, I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lose my temper there. I was just feeling a bit stressed, ended up snapping. But I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything you did.”

Niki draws in a breath. He can see her steeling herself, visibly, and his trepidation grows; what could she possibly have to say to him that would take so much mental preparation?

“I accept your apology,” she says, “but, actually Wilbur, I wanted to apologize to you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I pushed you yesterday, even when it was pretty obvious you weren’t feeling comfortable talking about it,” she says. “I think—I think we do need to talk about some things, and that’s why I’m here, but I shouldn’t have confronted you like I did. Especially in front of others, since it was a conversation that we had with just each other. So I’m very sorry about that.”

He isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Some part of him feels a bit mollified, because it is true that he felt uncomfortable with the direction the conversation took. But at the same time, that doesn’t really excuse how he reacted to it. He could have handled it better. Should have handled it better, in fact.

“Oh,” he says, and scrambles for something else. Talking is his thing, is what he’s good at. He can’t just be saying oh to people. He needs a response. Needs to be well-spoken, eloquent, because that’s what is expected of him, and he has to fulfill expectations. “Well, that’s alright, then. You really don’t have anything you need to apologize for.”

She frowns. Why did that make her frown? What did he say?

“Okay,” she says, and that doesn’t help him figure it out at all. “Would you mind if we talked about something, though?”

He doesn’t know what else she would want to talk about. At least, not like this. Not coming to his office, expression serious, body language tense. Not saying this, that nothing is wrong with her—because if she doesn’t have a problem of some kind, he doesn’t know why she would be acting this way. Unless there’s another problem with him. Or she thinks there’s another problem with him. But—no, he’s been doing well, lately. Yesterday’s outburst aside, he’s made all of his recent meetings, he’s finished all the paperwork that urgently needed to be done, and he’s been meticulous about his appearance.

Mostly. His coat still hasn’t made it into the wash. But he’s done everything that he’s had the time and energy for, and he thought that it was all holding up.

“Of course,” he says. “What is it?”

She draws in another breath. That’s the second time, now, that she’s steadied herself in so obvious a fashion.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’d really, really like it if you’d answer me truthfully,” she says, and he can feel his pulse quickening already. “Wil, are you alright?”

She puts a strange sort of emphasis on the final word. He’s not sure why. For a second, he’s lost, adrift, has no idea at all how to answer, because—because of course he’s alright. He’s fine. Just fine. He’s keeping his head above water, steering clear of the circling sharks, and that’s what’s most important. So why do the words linger in his mouth before he can force them out? Why does it take so much effort?

No. He needs to pull himself together.

“Yes,” he says. “Niki, I’m perfectly well.”

Her face crumples. He jolts, hand jerking forward, his instinct to comfort her, but his desk is in the way.

“Wil,” she says, voice soft. “You’re not sleeping.”

The way she says it, so frankly, so matter-of-fact, as if she knows, takes him aback.

“I—” he starts, but she’s already gone on.

“Your eyes are always bloodshot, and I know I joked about the bags under them, but—they’re really bad. Really dark. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes, when you walk, you kind of—sway, a little bit. Like you’re too tired to stay upright properly.”

He hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t—that can’t possibly be right, can it? Because it’s true, he’s not getting as much sleep as he would like, but it can’t be that bad. It’s not as if he never sleeps at all. So it can’t be that bad. Can’t be that noticeable. Niki has to be looking too hard, jumping at shadows that aren’t there, because the alternative is worse. Is unthinkable.

Because if what she’s saying is true, who else has seen?

“I sleep,” he refutes, but it sounds weak to his own ears. Meek. And Niki shakes her head.

“Not enough,” she says. “And—” She cuts off. And then, she reaches out for him. He watches as she closes her fingers around his wrist, feeling almost outside of himself. His head is buzzing. “Wil, you’re too skinny. I’m really worried that you’re not eating enough.”

He eats. He does. Maybe not a lot, since food has become increasingly hard to choke down—this morning, for instance, he tried, and almost threw it all back up on the spot. But he does eat. And it’s not like he wouldn’t, if he could. He just sort of—can’t. Not much, at any rate. But it’s not as though he doesn’t eat at all.

“I think you might be reading too much into things, there,” he says, and tries a smile. “I eat, I promise. How could I not, with you around?”

“You’ve been by twice in as many weeks,” Niki states. “And both times, you left in a hurry, before I could give you much of anything at all, because the conversation turned to something you didn’t want to talk about. No, you can’t tell me I’m wrong,” she adds, raising a finger at him. He leans back, away from it. “I’m not wrong. That’s why you left. Both times. And I—I really am sorry, Wil, if this isn’t something you want to talk about. If you don’t feel comfortable with it. I don’t want to hurt you, or pressure you, or anything like that. But I’m scared you’re hurting yourself.”

She’s—what.

Now that—that truly is a ludicrous idea. That is—

No. He wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t—by itself, the risk of someone noticing is more than enough to dissuade him, though—he is self-aware enough to realize that if that’s his first reason for—abstaining, then that might not be a good sign. Of. Things. He’ll think about it later.

Or not. Or maybe never. This seems like a good thing to not think about, actually.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of,” Niki says, and he’s left it too long again. Too long without a reply. He keeps doing that, keeps getting lost in his own head. He needs to stay more present, needs to keep his head in the game. It’s just hard, when everything feels so far away, when he’s constantly thinking through a thick fog. “Not unless—not unless you are, but—”

She sounds like she might actually cry, at that, and that is enough to force him to focus.

“I’m not,” he says, and to his relief, his voice comes out firm, steady. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she says. “That’s good. I’m—I’m really glad. But—you’re overworking yourself. You’re not sleeping or eating enough, and you’re always in here, and that’s—none of it’s good for you. None of it is healthy. And then, your hair—”

Annoyance bubbles up. Just a bit.

“Do we have to be on about that again?” he asks. “We’ve been through this. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know you don’t think it is,” she says. “But I’ve heard about things like this, Wil. It’s not that—it’s not that it looks bad, or anything like that. It’s just that hair doesn’t do that without a reason. Not when you’re twenty-four years old. That’s why I keep bringing it up. You’re stressed, even if you try to deny it.”

“And what if I am?” he asks. “It’s a stressful job. I’m running a nation here. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing my job.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Niki says. “Who—I know you’re capable. I never said that you weren’t.”

He may have overplayed his hand a bit, with that one. There’s a bit of confusion in her tone now, where there wasn’t before, stacked on top of an increasing amount of worry. He’s not doing very good work of assuaging her concerns. But even still, this conversation is bothering him, now. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep a straight face, and he brings his hands together, folding them on top of his desk. Her hand falls away from his wrist, and—it’s because he’s so tired, that he has to catch himself before he grabs it, moves it back to where it was. He’s not that needy.

“Then I’m not quite sure that I understand the point of this,” he says, and tries his best not to bite out the words. Just because his temper is on a short fuse doesn’t mean that he can take it out on Niki. She’s just trying to help him. “I am stressed, it’s true. But it’s not as if there’s anything to be done about that. And as I’ve been saying, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“The point is that you’re working yourself into the ground!” Niki says, her eyes flashing. “It doesn’t matter if you can handle it, it’s about whether you should!”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he snaps. “Aren’t I the president? Isn’t this my job?”

“Not if it costs you this much!” she snaps back.

And—she doesn’t mean it like that. He’s almost certain that she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t mean it like it came out, doesn’t mean she thinks he shouldn’t be president. The thing is, he would accept it, if that were the case. If his people banded together and decided that someone else would do a better job than him. If they thought he was no longer deserving of the position. He would accept it. He would step down, retire to private citizenship. He just doesn’t know what he would do afterward. Doesn’t know what he would do with himself, if the country he founded decided he was no longer good enough for them.

But of course, he has never been good enough. Not really. He’s hanging onto his pretense by bloody fingertips.

Has Niki realized it?

“It’s not worth it if this is what it does to you,” Niki continues, voice softer. “Nothing is. Nothing matters if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

He doesn’t—that’s not right. It can’t be right, because the country is more important. L’Manberg is more important, has been since the day they declared their independence, staked everything on a van and a dream. He started it, and so it is up to him to continue it, because the prosperity of his people must come first. His nation must come first.

What is he, in the face of that?

For a second, Niki goes blurry. He blinks, hard, and she comes back into focus, but his eyes are prickling. Stinging. His chest has gone tight, his breaths coming shorter, and he doesn’t want this. This can’t be happening now. He needs to—to shove it all away, down in a box, never to see the light of day. Only to be opened when he’s alone, in his quarters, safely ensconced where there is no one else to watch him break down. No one else to watch his shame.

He’s not doing this in front of Niki.

And yet, the sensation doesn’t subside, so he stands abruptly, surprising her, he thinks, and he walks to the window, shoving the curtains away and staring out over what he can see of the country from here. It’s not much; the window is not very big, but he can see the walls, the black and yellow ramparts. Standing tall, standing strong. This is why he does this, why he works so hard, why he refuses to show vulnerability. This is why. This is what he is protecting, what he must continue to protect, for as long as he is allowed.

His eyes sting again, the world wavering. There is a sob trapped behind his ribcage, clawing at him, trying to tear him open. He breathes, deeply, and doesn’t let it. Now is not the time, and here is not the place, and he will not lose his composure. He will not. Not over—and what is he reacting to in the first place? Niki’s words? He has no real reason for the tears welling up. He’s just weak. Emotionally. That’s what this is. And that’s why he can’t let it show.

Another deep breath. He pretends it doesn’t shake.

“Wil?” Niki asks. Behind him, now, and he doesn’t turn to look back at her.

“L’Manberg is worth everything,” he says. “You do understand that, right?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“I love L’Manberg,” Niki says. “We all love L’Manberg. But we don’t love it more than we love you.”

He winces, and he’s glad he’s turned away from her, glad she didn’t see.

Perhaps she believes that’s the truth. But it can’t possibly be. He could understand them loving him in connection to loving L’Manberg, this city, this nation, this wonderful place that they’ve built together, that he’s poured his sweat and blood and tears into. He and L’Manberg are irrevocably intertwined, and he could understand loving him, simply by virtue of loving the other. But separately? He hasn’t done anything. L’Manberg is his crowning achievement; besides that, what does he have to offer people? What reason? What virtue?

In a way, he is L’Manberg, and he cannot remove himself from it, no more than a bird can remove its own wings.

“Wil?” Niki says. Her voice has gone sharp. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, he lies, and—his voice breaks. Just a little bit. It would probably be unnoticeable, if the circumstances were any different. If Niki weren’t already paying so much attention to him, scrutinizing him, spotlight turned up to its maximum brightness. Like he’s on stage, and she’s in the audience, and he’s fumbled the line and she’s only noticed because she knows how the play is supposed to go.

Metaphors. Spiraling away from him. Just like this conversation.

“Wil,” Niki says again, more insistent. And closer. She’s stood up, stepped toward him. He still doesn’t turn, because the prickling has only gotten worse, and he’s scared to blink, lest that send the tears spilling over. If she looks at his face, she’ll see them. There’s no avoiding that. “Wil, please. Don’t lie to me.”

Ah. She knows.

He’s not sure why that’s the thing that breaks him. Why that’s the thing that pushes it all over into being too much.

The sob escapes.

Only partially; he tamps down on it on instinct, and his fist flies up to his mouth. Habit, that, to muffle his sounds. But that almost makes it worse, because the sob comes out sounding not quite like a sob, but instead more of a strangled whimper, bit off and weak, like the dying call of some small, hapless animal.

He doesn’t let another one out. He presses his fist against his lips, though he doesn’t part them, doesn’t bite down. But the damage has already been done, and then, Niki is there, right by his side, and he doesn’t dare to look directly at her, but he can imagine what expression she’s making. Some variation on the same one she’s had this whole time. Concern, deep and abiding and wholly undeserved, wholly unneeded.

“Hey,” she says. “Please talk to me. What is it? What can I do?”

His throat is too thick, too clogged. He has no hope of evening out his voice.

“You could go,” he manages, hoarse. Blunt, and he hopes she doesn’t mistake it as anger. He’s not angry. Not at her, at least. “I might need a moment?”

He didn’t mean for that to be a question. But Niki just steps closer, shaking her head.

“I’ll do anything other than that,” she says. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not if—oh, Wil.”

She has a good angle, now, to see his face fully. So the jig is up, and he knows there’s no hope of getting her to leave now. That’s how Niki is. Too kind. Too caring. And sure enough, she reaches out toward him in the next moment, and his usual reaction would be to flinch away, but instead, he just watches through obscured vision as her hand nears his face, and cups his cheek, tilting his head toward her.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. Part of him wants to jerk away from the contact, and part of him wants to stay there forever. Or for a good, long time, at least. Just because it really is nice to be touched in a way that is not meant to harm him.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.” But he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, so he blinks, and there go the first tears. Dripping down, out in the open, no disguising them. There are more sobs building up, but these, he forces down, keeps in his chest, out of his throat. Even if it makes his breathing unsteady, makes his chest jump and hitch every few seconds, it’s better than the alternative.

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “If it’s hurting you, then it’s not nothing. Please believe me.”

He can’t. He can’t do that. Not even for her sake.

“Is it what I said?” she asks. “I swear, I’m not angry with you. I just want to help.”

He shudders, and turns his face away from her. Her hand falls from him.

“Is it—is it that?” she asks, and oh, how he wishes she wouldn’t. “Why does that upset you?”

He—he can’t. He can’t answer that. He can’t talk about this. He can’t.

“If you would—if you would rather I go get someone else, I could do that,” Niki says, slowly, and he can tell that it pains her. He might be hurting her feelings, with this. He wishes he could explain that it’s not her in particular that he can’t trust with this. It’s everyone.

For a moment, he entertains taking her up on the offer, if only because she would have to leave to retrieve someone, which would give him time to escape his office and go—where? Where would he go? To his room, to scream into his pillow once again? A bit late for that. And the idea is foolish anyhow; she doesn’t need to leave at all, can just talk to someone on her communicator and stay with him until they arrive, and no, absolutely not. He doesn’t want that. As bad as this is, as shit as he feels right now, he doesn’t want anyone else to see. It’s bad enough that it’s Niki but—what if it were Tubbo, or Tommy? One of the people who looks up to him as an example and not just a friend or brother?

No. Bad enough that it’s Niki, but better her than someone else, and he’s done it again, has taken too long to respond because his brain refuses to think any faster than a slow, plodding pace, a trot rather than a gallop, and—

“Please don’t,” he says, and it comes out both whisper and plea. And then, because he has to try again, because he won’t be satisfied unless he does, he says, “Really, I just need—a moment. It happens sometimes, it’s fine, but if we could maybe pick this up later—”

“I’m not leaving you while you’re crying,” Niki says. “Please get that through your head.”

“But you should,” he says. He fights to get the words out past the lump in his throats, past the pressure that continues to build up. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. And I’m fine, because I can, I’m used to it. So if you’ll just give me a minute, I can—I can compose myself, and we can keep on.” He bites out each word, wary of letting something loose that he doesn’t want to, but that has the downside of airing his frustration again. He’s not trying to snap at her, he really isn’t, but better that than to dissolve into full-on crying. A few tears are manageable. He can get this back under control.

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “why on earth do you think you’re something that I have to deal with?”

He looks at her again, something in her tone compelling him. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

And this is not going to be the right answer, not going to be what she’s looking for, but he’s so worn out that he just—

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Oh,” Niki says. “Oh. No, Wil, no, that’s not right. You’re not—is this why you haven’t told anyone? Because you’re—oh, Prime, Wil. You’re not something I have to ‘deal’ with. You’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.” And before he can even begin to think of how to respond to that, she steps forward, and then her arms are around him, and she’s hugging him.

That’s when his knees decide to buckle.

“Oh, shit,” Niki says, but she guides them both down to the floor, so that they’re kneeling, kneeling and she’s still hugging him, still has her hands splayed on his back. “Okay, you’re okay. Are you with me, Wil?”

He intends to say yes. What comes out instead is a small, “Mhm.” Not even a word. And he’d be angry with himself, except all of a sudden, his chest is heaving, and the tears are coming quicker, and scrunching up his eyes doesn’t help, and it sort of hurts, now, to hold back the sobs that want to wrench out of him, hurts in his ribs. And he’s shaking, and despite all of that, he’s starting to feel cloudy again, distant from himself, and with that realization comes another: at this point, he’s lost control. His body has decided to shut down on him, and he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.

The sobs start coming out. Loud, broken things, like shards of glass twisted and half-melted until there’s no putting the pieces back together the same.

His mind feels detached. Impartial. Numb. So he no longer bothers to try and stop it. Just floats, a bystander within himself, as he has a complete break down on the floor of his office, with Niki holding him.

He’s not sure how long it takes for the tears to stop. He’s not counting. Not taking notice of much of anything, really. His body wears itself out, and he’s left there, slumped against her, like an empty shell.

She’s been talking to him this whole time, a stream of platitudes, comfort words, tumbling after one another, but now, she stops. For a moment, there is silence. He can hear himself breathing, rough and ragged.

“Hey,” Niki says. “Are you still here?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. He doesn’t feel very present, and frankly, he likes it that way, right this second. If he were feeling any more present, he’d be dealing with far more than he thinks he’s equipped for. But he is here physically, and he has enough presence of mind to respond to her, at least, even if it all feels so very far away, and he is so very tired.

He has been this tired all along, he thinks. This was a breaking point. Does it make him feel any better, that this was probably inevitable?

“Yeah,” he murmurs. His head is resting on her shoulder. He keeps it that way. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes.

“That’s good,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you actually asking,” he mumbles, “or are you going to make me anyway?”

She sighs. That was the wrong thing to say. It’s harder for him to care.

“I don’t want to make you do anything,” she says. “That’s not why I’m here. If you really, really don’t want to talk about it, then—we don’t have to. But I think you need to. I think you’re hurting, and you’ve kept it to yourself, and I think that’s not a good thing.”

“‘S better than the alternative.”

“Okay,” she says. “What’s the alternative?”

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell her? Every instinct he has cries out against it, but the thing about that is that his instincts are rather dull at the moment. Easier to push aside. And his logical reasoning informs him that he’s already cried all over her, so really, he owes her an explanation at this point. Doing so might make everything worse, but if that’s the case, it’s no more than he deserves, for being unable to keep it together.

“Niki,” he says, “I’m a bad president.”

His voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirtsleeve. But he knows she understands him, because she stiffens.

“What makes you say that?” she asks.

“‘M not any good,” he tells her. “I’ve got all this work to do and I can barely do any of it. I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I’ve only been pretending this whole time, to know what I’m doing. I’m a shit leader.”

“You’re not,” Niki says, “but if you really think that, why didn’t you ask for help?”

He shakes his head, still holding his face on her shoulder. He doesn’t want to see her expression. “Can’t,” he says. “‘M supposed to be able to do it. I didn’t want you to know I’m a failure.”

Niki doesn’t respond. For a full three seconds, and he wonders if this is the part where she leaves. Finally. And then, she stops hugging him, and the part of him that is still awake enough to form coherent sentences thinks, yes, this is it, this is what you have sowed. Except then, she doesn’t leave at all, makes no move to get up, and instead grips him by the arms, and moves him backwards, so that she can stare him right in the face.

“Wilbur Soot,” she says, and she sounds more upset than he has ever heard her. “You are not a failure.”

“I am,” he says. Why is he trying so hard to get her to believe it? Maybe he just feels like he’s committed, now, to pulling the rug out. “I am.”

“You’re not,” she insists. “You made this nation. You took a drug van and turned it into a country where everyone is happy and free. Everyone looks up to you. We all love you.”

And there it is. The problem, in a nutshell.

“And what happens when you stop?” he murmurs.

Niki is completely silent, completely still. Staring at him.

“What happens when it turns out I’ve never been good enough?” he continues, voice weak. “What happens when the man you look up to lets you down? What happens when you know that all I am, in the end, is a pathetic shell who can barely get himself out of bed in the morning, much less make any of the moves that would lead to actual prosperity? What happens when you all learn that your president is shit at his job?” His voice strengthens as he goes on, rises to a more normal tone, fueled by his own disgust.

In a way, it’s freeing, finally saying all of this aloud. Whatever the consequences may be.

“What exactly,” Niki says, “have we done to make you think there’s anything you could do that would make us stop caring about you?”

She actually does sound a little bit angry, now. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her nostrils flared. He opens his mouth to respond, because the answer to that should be fairly obvious at this point, but she continues before he can.

“Do you really think we only love you because of—because you’re president? Or because you’ve made a country? We love this country because you made it, not the other way around. Why would you—Wil. Have you been thinking like this the whole time?”

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to respond. Paralyzed. Stricken dumb. Blinking, working his jaw. She shakes her head, tossing her hair, and—are those tears glittering in her eyes? Surely not.

It’s another second before she keeps talking. She was waiting on a response from him, he believes, but it’s one that he is incapable of giving.

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe that.”

And the way she says it—he wants to cry again, for putting that pain in her voice. That expression on her face. Her hands are still on his shoulders, have not yet been pulled back, but suddenly, his skin is crawling, the contact too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For his numerous inadequacies, maybe. For the fact that he’s not strong enough for this, and never has been. For the way he started this country and so foolishly believed that he would be able to lead it well, that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the paperwork and struck with the desire to lie in bed all day and do absolutely nothing, a desire that’s harder and harder to fight. For the manner in which his body has betrayed him, time and time again, for his hair turning white and his inability to prevent his outbursts and the way that it shut down on him just now, let everything out in the most unbecoming method possible. For the fact that he was weak enough to let it all show, too weak to press on and get through it.

For hurting her, certainly. He never wanted to do that.

But then, to his surprise, she yanks him forward, swift and insistent, into another hug. His mind shouts in alarm, but his body, once again, has a different idea, and he finds himself slumping into her hold again.

“You are worth more than L’Manberg,” she says. “If this place went up in flames tomorrow, I’d be most concerned with making sure you were alive.”

No. No, she can’t just say that, can’t say it and mean it, because if she does—

“Stop,” he rasps.

“No,” she says. “We don’t love you because you made this nation, or because you’re the president. We love you because you’re our friend, and you’re our friend because you’re good and kind and clever and funny, and you’re you. Not because you’re good at making speeches or signing papers or building walls. You’re just you. I promise that’s enough, Wilbur.”

He shudders again. Full-bodied.

“I don’t believe you,” he admits. What’s one more mark against him, at this point? “I can’t.”

“Then let us help you so that you can,” she says. “Don’t shut us out.”

That’s another thing that he can’t answer. His mind is spinning. He doesn’t know what to believe. He wishes this whole thing hadn’t happened in the first place, wishes she hadn’t stepped in here at all. And yet, some part of him feels safe. Safer than he’s felt in a good long while. He’s not so stupid as to think that it’s not because she’s holding him.

“How about we start with this?” she says. Her voice has softened. “How about you take a nap, and then, when you wake up, we get you some food. Something nice and simple, like soup.”

That—is easier to comprehend. Physical needs. Needs that he’s not intentionally neglecting, but that he can’t seem to make himself take care of. He can—he can do that, especially if it makes Niki feel better, and he is tired. Exhausted. His eyes are drooping shut already, though he shouldn’t fall asleep on Niki. He should go—back to his room. To his bed. That’s where he should sleep. Except he’s almost never able to get good sleep, there, and he still feels safe. Right here, right now. Safe, and he can’t remember the last time that happened. Can’t hope to anticipate the next time it will.

“Alright,” he mumbles. Niki isn’t pushing him off yet. Maybe she’ll wait until he’s out.

There’s still a portion of himself screaming not to do this. Screaming that he just keeps digging himself a bigger hole. That with everything he continues to reveal, with every weakness he puts on display, he’s only going to make the inevitable fallout worse. Because there will be fallout, no matter what Niki says. Perhaps she is telling the truth. Perhaps. But she doesn’t speak for everyone else, and he doesn’t want—

But he’s so tired, in the end.

“Don’t let anyone else in?” he says. He’s unsure if the words come out understandable. He’s slipping. He’s letting himself.

“Just sleep, Wil,” she answers, and that’s the last thing he hears.

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aressss1 · 3 years

Text

Sweet Nothings

(God!Technoblade x Male!Reader)

Read Me on AO3!

~~~~~~

You were very content with your life in this tiny village. Business was at its peak, and you were well known amongst the people. You had your regulars that came in daily, and you even had found an apprentice to help you out around the shop. Niki, was a great apprentice, learning how to bake and tend to the bakery on her own. The eagerness in her actions made you confident that she would be just fine taking care of the place in your stead, when you needed a break once in a while.

One early morning, when the world was still dark, you walked the cobblestone streets to your bakery. The warm glow of the over hanging lanterns washed over your form. There was a cold nip to the air as you walked. Letting your eyes wander, your eyes spot the decorations overhead. Festival decorations, for a festival made in celebration of the era of peace among your lands, and for the blood god.

Today was Niki’s first day alone in the bakery. Your job today was to set up a booth and run it for the festival. You had the perfect spot to entice travelers from across the world to eat your delicious baked goods. Town square was the perfect place, but you… had scored the place closest to the entrance of the town square to set up your booth. The area that had gotten the most foot traffic in festivals. You were excited for what could come of this. Your bakery could very well thrive off this one day alone!

The bakery before you was already lit up. You smirked knowing that your apprentice had beaten you to the punch. You twisted the doorknob and walked in whistling a familiar tune, signifying to Niki that you weren’t some stranger just walking in.

“Morning boss!” Niki leaned out from behind the doorway of the kitchen as she said it. “You’re looking really handsome today!” Her eyes sparkled and you smirked. The garb you had chosen for the festival cost you a pretty penny, but it was worth it.

“Well, a man has gotta look his best for his business don’t you think?” You ran your fingers through your hair, before putting your chef’s hat on. “How many goods have you made so far this morning my dear?”

The beginning of the morning went by smoothly. You had set up your booth while Niki had made quadruple the amount of baked goods that you normally made on a regular day. Festivals were good for business and you didn’t want to keep the people waiting. Now… You wished the middle of the day went just as smooth.

More foot traffic meant more problems… Thieves taking from your stock, people touching everything they didn’t intend to buy, people who weren’t satisfied being rude, and so much more. You had your hands full with everything. By the end of the festival when lanterns were sent into the sky to celebrate the blood god keeping peace across the land, you were out of breath. Your booth had seen it’s last customer of the day, and your head was still reeling. But that didn’t stop you from lighting your own lantern. You let it go as you still stood next to your booth, unaware of the fact that eyes lingered over you, as you closed your eyes uttering your thanks to the very blood god who watched you with curious eyes.

His eyes spotted your lantern ascending into the sky, he didn’t make himself known to you, He scanned over you once more before he followed the lantern’s light, awaiting the moment that it would come down. When it did, he looked at your handiwork adorning the material. Drawings and script told a story of your gratitude, that, without the peace that he had given, you would be a broken man with no passion in life. This peace gave you enough to stand on so you could pave your way into a successful business.

A slight smile pulled at his lips, a mortal had piqued his interest, there was definitely more he wanted to know about you. He would rest now and make himself known to you later. He held onto your lantern, keeping it for himself.

Days passed, and you struggled with the volume of customers who had come in. So each day you adjusted your inventory, to keep up with your customers. There were times when you could breath in between bursts of people. You could cry at the success from the booth just days before.

On one of your breaks, you sat down on a stool to help ease the discomfort in your back. You had been on your feet the entire day and you needed this break. You reveled in the silence and peace, you closed your eyes, letting out a little sigh. When the door opened, and you heard the bell sound off, signifying a customer, you gave off a small, tired grunt.

“Welcome to my bakery, how may I help you-” When you opened your eyes all the air left your lungs, and you couldn’t say any more. In front of you, stood a very tall man, with long pink hair, a golden crown that reminded you more of a circlet gilded his head. His ears were pointed and downturned, making it obvious he wasn’t human. His eyes rivalled the gold that sat atop his head. Deep purple to black armor hugged his body and a royal red cloak spilled from around his shoulders.

His eyes studied your face, and you felt a blush redden your cheeks. He moved around your bakery in the most graceful way you had ever seen anyone move and you fought to regain your composure.

“Make yourself at home, take a look around and if you need anything you can just ask.” You bowed your head to offer your respect to him. When his eyes searched over you once more you cleared your throat. Was this guy a soldier? A commander? His aura was one that suggested he was a man of power. Even so, this guy didn’t know what to get… His eyes wandered around looking at all the pastries and other baked goods, it was obvious he was having trouble deciding on what to get.

“Would you like a sample?” You offered, you almost shrunk at the man’s gaze, but you didn’t let yourself falter you held out a cupcake for him to take, and when he took it, you felt your heartbeat in your ears. When he hesitantly took a bite, you visibly relaxed when he gave you a smile, crumbs falling from his lip.

“I’ll take some more of these.” His deep voice shook you to your very core. Strangely, as much as this guy was intimidating… He was alluring, and you packaged up more cupcakes for him, giving him an extra one, because he was a first-time customer. Or… At least you told yourself that.

“Thank you very much! Here is your order and should you come back you will be welcomed with open arms!” You told him your name as he held his hand out with his payment. When he dropped it into your hand your eyes widened and in the palm of your hand were three gold pieces. Your heart dropped and when you looked back up, he was gone. You charged mere copper for your goods, not gold??? You were dumbfounded.

Months had passed, and the mysterious stranger came in each and every day. Ordering and trying new things from you. He had become a constant in your life, and you found yourself growing closer to him. You found out his name was Techno, and he was a war hero. You could tell he was leaving bits and pieces from you, but you figured if he wanted you to know he would tell you.

One night you locked up your bakery, and you were just about to head home. Your steps echoing off the cobblestone path once more. You looked up to see Techno, knelt down in front of someone, holding out a loaf of bread out to a straggler down on his luck. You had sold Techno that bread earlier. You couldn’t help but feel the smile tug on your lips. Techno stood tall after the straggler thanked him profusely, his eyes finding yours. You felt your heartbeat faster, as he towered over you.

“You have brought beauty into this world and it’s a crime not to share it.” Techno cocked his head at you, his hand resting on your cheek. “I would like to see more of the beauty you create.” He drops his hand from your face, holding it out for you to take.

You sigh happily, intertwining your fingers with his, happy to follow him wherever he would lead you. He led you to a place where you could see every star, away from the village. Foliage surrounded you and it was a nice change of pace rather than the buildings around you.

Techno looked at you, as you marveled at the scenery before you. He basked in your presence; you were such a breath of fresh air opposed to every other mortal around. He watched you make your way to a nearby stream, kneeling letting the cool water flow through your fingers. Techno summoned forth your lantern. When you stood and faced him again, you were shocked at the lantern in his hands.

“How did you get that?” You felt heat rise up to your cheeks.

“It tells a beautiful story.” He ignored your question, “Of a man, who was cast out based on his preferences… Going on a hard-earned journey to make a bakery. Determined to be successful, while hiding who you truly are, is… Tragic.” Techno cupped your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “I do not wish to take credit for your hard work because I slaughter those who wish to upset the peace.”

Your eyes widened; the blood god was real… And he was standing before you, gazing at you with a fond expression. This beautiful man before you stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you felt your tears coming forth. You were scared, scared to tell Niki of your preferences, in fear she would abandon you. If any of your patrons knew, your business would be ruined…

“This world is filled with cruelty.” His words caused shivers to go up your spine. “I… want to shield you from that cruelty.” He leaned closer and closer to you, his lips just barely grazing yours. “If you’ll have me.” He barely whispered, but you heard him loud and clear. You threw your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tip toes to push your lips against his. That was when your tears spilled forth.

The two of you, melted into each other, the moon above shone down on you. Before too long this towering blood god cradled you in his arms, your head resting on his chest plate. You thought you were content with your life before… What you had before couldn’t compare to what you had now. Technoblade the Blood God had fallen for a mortal, and no one could take you away from him.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #god!techno #male!reader #fluff #mcyt x reader

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

request: “for akaashi (fluff preferably) based on la la lost you by niki?” for anon

a/n: this ended up being a mix of angst and fluff, mainly bc the song itself is pretty bittersweet. i tried my best, i hope anon still likes this though!

genre: angst, fluff, gn!reader.

warnings: mentions/implications of sex and alcohol

song in reference: la la lost you - niki

Akaashi Keiji was one of the kindest souls to ever grace your life.

You distinctly remember the first night you met him. You and your friends had gone out to a bar in Koreatown on a warm October night. Bokuto, who was dating one of said friends, had invited his own to join. “The more the merrier!” He had howled and you had playfully rolled your eyes at him, but you were curious. On multiple occasions, he had spoken of his best friend and roommate who seemed endlessly busy and “never had time for fun”, and how much he wanted for you all to meet him. This was the one night that he would show, as he had just completed a massive project and felt that he deserved a night out.

Your fingers had been swirling the straw in your rum and coke when Bokuto’s eyes lit up at the person who had walked through the door. “Yo, Akaashi!” He had yelled, waving his arm around so flamboyantly that no one would miss it. And Akaashi Keiji had appeared.

He was ethereal.

LA was a hub for fashion, full of beauties walking down Sunset Boulevard as if it was their own runway. Yet this man before you was dressed in nothing but black, ripped skinny jeans, a black button down over a grey V-neck t-shirt, and you felt that he had stolen the show. His hair had been stylishly disheveled, but even the dim lights of the bar couldn’t hide the color of his eyes. Cobalt blue had stared into your own – you could’ve sworn he was looking right into your soul, but the contact was short-lived as Bokuto stood and pulled him in for a bro hug. The tiny smile on his face had conveyed that he was content in being here, and he left to go get a drink from the bar.

When he returned, the only available seat was across from you. One by one, Bokuto rattled off your names, to which you all had either waved or shook his hand. You settled for the latter with your brightest smile, and when sparks of electricity coursed through your vein at the contact, you did your best to hide its effects on you. Perhaps he had felt the same, but you’ll never know now.

It had been a fun night. Your nerves were getting the best of you, going through your drinks a little faster than usual. On your third glass of rum and coke, Akaashi had taken the liberty of getting a glass of water for you, even ordering a couple of appetizers for the table. “You never buy me food!” Bokuto had cried out while stealing some of the kimchi fries.

“Idiot, who does most of the cooking at home?”

“Okay, maybe, but still! What’s the occasion?”

“I’m expecting a big bonus after this project,” Akaashi had pointed out, though perhaps the tips of his ears were pinked. “Take advantage of my generosity, it doesn’t happen very often.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re always nice, and you know it.”

Akaashi had purposefully placed the basket of onion rings in front of you, gesturing for you to take the first one. The rest of your friends had curiously watched the interaction, their knowing grins widening when Akaashi watched you intently bite into the fried appetizer and smiled when you expressed your approval.

Akaashi had been the one to take care of you that night, though you were adamant in walking around first to sober up. He had no problem driving, only a couple of beers in his system, but you wanted to ensure that it was completely safe for him. At the time, you also just really wanted some pastries from the nearby bakery and Asian bakeries were practically heaven -- nothing could convince you otherwise. With little inhibitions, you had taken the plunge and linked arms with him, practically dragging him in the right direction. You had missed the blush on his cheeks, and to most others, you two looked like any other couple enjoying the night.

He had indulged in your rambling and broken thoughts, carrying on an easy conversation with you. He had even paid for the slice of a chocolate Swiss roll cake you wanted, getting a cappuccino to-go for himself.

“You have to let me pay you back,” you had grumbled in the passenger seat of his car: a dark grey, modest Toyota Corolla that was a few years old, added to the picture you were trying to paint of him. “Even if you’re expecting a bonus, I wanna make it up to you.”

“Take my number then,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes bored into his phone while typing out your address into the navigation app. “Or Venmo, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t try to return it to you.”

“So I have to make excuses to see you then,” you mumbled under your breath. But Akaashi must have the hearing of a bat, because right after you had said those words, he had chuckled and looked over at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“You don’t need to.”

And thus began a wonderful three-year relationship.

You honestly wish it had been a more painful break-up. Perhaps it would’ve made you miss him less.

Akaashi had been watching you sleep, your naked body wrapped in his sheets and his finger lightly tracing circles on your arm. The action must have woken you up, your body stirring and eyelids fighting exhaustion. Akaashi’s heart melted at the smile you offered him – as much as you had referred to him as an angel, he felt that nothing was more beautiful than the sight before him shrouded in the rays of the California sun. “Good morning, love,” he cooed.

“G’morning, Keiji,” you mumbled and snuggled into him. His arms wrapped around your waist and he planted a kiss on your nose, causing you to giggle. If he could have you here for eternity, he’d trade over his soul in a heartbeat. “What’s our plan for today?” You sleepily asked.

“I can make some breakfast, if you’d like. Or we can go get some dim sum?” He proposed.

“Hmmm, as good as dim sum sounds, I want to make breakfast for you, y’know. A little thank you for last night.”

“Enjoyed it that much?” He smirked, eyes drinking in the number of love bites he had left on your body.

“Don’t get cocky,” you teased, booping his nose with a finger before you rolled out of bed. Akaashi appreciatively watched the scene before him, especially as you bent over to pick up the button down he wore the night before and discarded on the ground. You rifled through his drawers to grab some clean underwear you purposefully left there, sliding it on before leaving for the kitchen.

About twenty minutes later, Akaashi had wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you flip pancakes. His chin rested on your shoulder and his lips occasionally left kisses on your neck. The sinking of lead in his heart began to grow heavier, even as you handed him a plate, butter and syrup already put on just the way he liked it. It wasn’t until you were almost done eating when he had broached the topic.

“They’re giving me a promotion.”

You had paused in sipping your coffee. “Keiji, that’s amazing! You’ve been working so hard for this, I’m so proud of you!”

“I know, it’s great to finally be acknowledged. But…they want me to move. To New York City.”

“Oh.”

Akaashi gnawed on his bottom lip in anxiety, watching all the emotions process on your face. He watched you struggle to find the right words, and his heart dropped when you mustered the best supportive smile you could.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have left then.”

In those few months, Akaashi began to understand the different measurements of time. No longer was it measured in just seconds and minutes. Akaashi began to measure it in the number of days he could still hold your hand, the number of times he could pull you in a hug, the moments when you would lean over the back of his chair to observe his work. How many more kisses could he leave on your cheek? How many more smiles would he see in person before they were just in an electronic screen?

In all fairness, the two of you had tried to make it work. But with his promotion, he had been busier than ever, completing projects, building rapport with his new team, getting used to the city. Coupled with your own hectic life, a 3-hour time difference was just enough to drive a nail into the coffin. There was no fighting, no screaming. Just calm acceptance that perhaps, this wasn’t going to work out.

“I’m so sorry,” he had whispered over the phone, nearly on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay,” you had softly replied and Akaashi wanted to explode. To you, there was nothing he could do wrong. Everything was always okay with you when it came to him, and for once, he wanted you to tell him it wasn’t. He didn’t have the gall to voice his frustration – after all, wasn’t it his fault anyways? “Keiji, just…let me know if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

“You’re too good to me,” and that was his way of acknowledging you. The phone call ended with gentle goodbyes, yet it took every cell in his body to not fling the phone against his apartment wall.

5 months later, you find yourself driving down Highway 1 on a fall afternoon. Though it’s full of curves and loops, the journey is freeing and calming with the view of the ocean right by you. There is serenity in the waves that crashes against the cliffs, and nothing is more beautiful than a California sunset. Even though the wind often howls over the sea and blows your hair into a disarray, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Your hands steer your car into a resting spot and shift the gear into park. The keys leave the ignition and you collapse into the back of your seat, eyes turning to appreciate the view in front of you. Just like the many other days since, your mind drifts to thoughts of Akaashi.

Does he regret breaking it off? Does he miss you as much as you do him? Does he wish that he had fought harder for your relationship?

You almost laugh to yourself – Akaashi had always loved driving to places with you, one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel. The number of times he had taken you to the Malibu beach to watch the sunsets was astronomical in your three years. Yet he had traded it all for the shadowy undergrounds of the New York subways, his car sold to help with moving expenses, and walking through the crowded streets. The closest he would ever get to driving was sitting in taxis, but stuck in traffic with a stranger was, perhaps, less than ideal for him. New York City is charming in its own way, you agree. But LA was different, and LA was where it had all begun for you two.

Akaashi often gets tagged in pictures with other women, their grins wide and skin glinting from the flash of the camera. Whether they’re co-workers or new partners in his life, you can’t help but wish for his happiness. There was little reason to be bitter, to hope that he experiences the pain of missing what he lost. You only wished that New York City had truly welcomed him into its embrace, treating him with the same love you had given. After all, it was very unlikely that he would ever return to the city of angels. Your inner demons would become solely yours to deal with, nothing for him to worry about any longer.

And for the first time in months, you felt at peace. You were ready to take the leap and regain the last piece of closure. Fishing your phone from the cupholder, you felt lucky that you still had a couple of bars of signal – it’s not too late in New York, and Akaashi would most likely still be awake. Your thumb taps and scrolls across your screen until you find his number, hesitating slightly before hitting the call button. Too nervous to hold the phone to your ear, you turn on the speaker and hear the dial tones echo in your car.

There’s a pause, a click, a rustle of papers, then, “—hello?”

A small smile graces your complexion, your eyes catching the view of the sun setting over the horizon of the ocean. The pang in your heart was akin to the feeling of missing a platonic friend rather than an ex-boyfriend. You were healing.

“Hey, Keiji. How are you doing?”

fin

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi angst #akaashi #keiji #akaashi keiji #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #akaashi x you #haikyuu x you

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ridiasfangirlings · 4 years

Note

Sarumi are merpeople & have been best friends since childhood. Something causes Yata to turn into a human. Let's say he's only a halfling; half the time he has a human body & half the time he has a mer body. This time no matter what he tries, he can't change back to a mer, So he joins a pirate crew (Homra) so can travel across the ocean so he can be on tell Saru what's going on. Saru makes a deal w/ the sea witch (his father) to become human in order to find Misaki. S4 are members of the Navy.

Maybe Yata's whole merman deal is kinda like the half demons in Inuyasha, like he's normally a merman but on the night of the new moon he turns human and hangs out on land for the evening. His mom was a mermaid and his dad a human, maybe with magic powers or something and he turned Yata's mom human for a day – oh, wait, imagine Yata's mom made a deal with Sea Witch Niki to be turned into a human for one night so she could be with the handsome fisherman that she'd fallen in love with. Niki agreed but wouldn't tell her the price, only that it would be paid when he felt like it and she might not be the one to pay. Yata's mom then gets pregnant and has baby Yata, the first night he turns into a human she freaks out and poor baby Yata almost drowns until she gets him onto dry land. From then on Yata's mom always taught him to mark the cycles of the moon, so that he's always on the beach when the new moon occurs.

After her one night with Yata's dad Yata's mom never sees him again, she ends up marrying another merman and has 'normal' kids and this is why Yata always feels kinda like he doesn't belong with them. Fushimi meanwhile is ostracized as the son of the Sea Witch, Kisa was like an ambitious merwoman who fell for Niki's spell of appearing to be a decent person and he promised her a child, asking only in exchange that he name the kid. Once Kisa was pregnant though she realized how actually terrible Niki was and once she had the ability to she abandoned Fushimi and swam off to find some other mer colony where no one would know her as the Sea Witch's wife, leaving Fushimi behind. Naturally no one wanted anything to do with Fushimi because they all fear his dad, Niki himself only visiting the kid occasionally to tease him and play with him. The only one who manages to get close to Fushimi is Yata, who finds him one day hiding in a sunken ship and thinks he's found a new friend. Fushimi tries to make Yata go away but Yata ends up totally becoming intrigued by him and eventually they become good friends.

Of course at some point Niki becomes aware that his little Saruhiko has a friend and he needs to do something about that. Yata's still been having his human nights, Fushimi keeps track of the moon for him now and on the new moon they'll swim up to a beach and usually Yata will hang around on the rocks talking to Fushimi. This night though the sea is really rough and there's a storm, so Yata tells Fushimi that he's going to go shelter in a nearby cave for the night and he'll meet Fushimi back on the beach in the morning. Niki decides it's time to take his price for the magic he worked for Yata's mom and uses his powers to take away Yata's merman half. The next day when Yata wakes up he realizes with a start that he's overslept and it's already midday, it takes him a moment to realize that he's still human. He goes to the beach but Fushimi's not there and Yata suddenly realizes that this isn't even the beach where he was the night before, he's somehow been transported to a completely different shore. Yata jumps in the water but he doesn't change back, he's still a human.

Yata spends a few days by the beach trying to change back but to no avail, he's stuck as a human. He decides that he needs to find some way to get back across the ocean to find Saruhiko and tell him what's happened, but obviously that's easier said than done since he's never really been on a boat before or talked to humans and also he's butt naked. Yata decides to follow this nearby road to whatever settlement happens to be close and figures he can work from there. On his way though he's jumped by some highway robbers, who are dismayed to see this weird kid is naked and has nothing of value on him. Yata fights the guys anyway and he ends up being saved unexpectedly by a couple travelers passing by, Mikoto and Totsuka. Yata finds out that the two of them are pirates and asks to join the crew, Mikoto is totally unruffled by the fact that Yata's naked and figures the kid seems like he throws a mean punch so it's fine. They get Yata some clothes and he explains that he's a merman really, at first they don't quite believe him but maybe he's vouched for by Anna, one of their crewmates who's really a selkie. Yata joins the Homra crew and he learns how to be a human and work on a ship and he starts getting really close to all the Homra guys, he's never had a family like this before and he feels like he actually belongs somewhere for once. Even so though he worries about Saruhiko, hoping to find him somehow and tell him what's happened.

Fushimi meanwhile is distressed when Misaki doesn't show up at the beach, he hangs around there for days but no Misaki. He's trying to decide what to do when Niki shows up, wondering if he can help his poor anxious son. Of course Fushimi is immediately on guard, not trusting Niki to help him at all out of the goodness of his heart or anything like that. He doesn't have any other options though, only Niki can turn him human so he can look for Misaki. Niki agrees to do it, but as the transformation is happening he adds that oh yeah by the way I'm taking your voice as payment and if you can't get your little friend to confess his love to you and kiss you within three days of meeting him again you belong to me forever, have fun on the surface little monkey.

Fushimi doesn't even have time to swear before he's swept up by the waves and dumped onto some rocks in the middle of the ocean, mute, naked and pissed off. He's irritated with himself for ever even agreeing to Niki's help, like even if he finds Misaki there's no way Yata would ever confess his love for Fushimi or anything like that. Fushimi ends up being picked up by a passing navy ship, navy captain Munakata finds this poor stranded urchin to be very intriguing. Fushimi soon becomes a reluctant member of the crew, not having any way to communicate besides scowls and tongue clicks. Munakata informs him that while they would like to take him back to shore they are pursuing a pirate vessel currently, one belonging to the pirate gang known as Homra.

#sarumi #Talking K #*listens to Poor Unfortunate Souls on repeat while typing*#maybe Saru changes his hair and they find him some glasses so Yata doesn't recognize him at first from a distance #but Fushimi sees Yata there on the ship so happy with his new friends #and now he thinks he's been abandoned and he'll never win true love's kiss and all that #but then when Niki comes to take him away the navy defends him and yata realizes who he is #yelling Fushimi's name and running to save him from Niki and then kissing him dramatically

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moonlilith · 4 years

Text

Ex-Almost

↬ Pairing: one sided oiiwa/iwaoi + implied atsuiwa

↬ Timeline: timeskip | pre-olympic

↬ Genre: Angst ☔️

↬ Wordcount: 1,751

↬ AN: SPOILERS of Haikyuu since it’s timeskip. I listened to Heather, Lookalike by Conan Gray & Lose by Niki while writing this. Also a repost since when i wanted to edit it, this app decides to swoosh it away and all the writings were gone

↬ check out my other works here

“No, we didn’t date. Technically he wasn’t an ex-boyfriend. But he was an ex-something, an ex-maybe, an ex-almost.”

If people were to ask him how to describe himself, he would say; Oikawa Tooru is a man of dignity but with anxiety, he was confident but still has insecurities. He desperately needs his anchor; Iwaizumi Hajime and he had always believed that Iwa wouldn’t let him sink further.

For him, Iwa has always been there even before he had born and he certainly didn’t know a world where Iwa doesn’t exist, because he had assumed that Iwa being born earlier had always been waiting for him.

He was too dependent on his anchor, to think that Hajime and Tooru were eternal until it wasn’t. The text from the Seijoh’s VBC 3rd year popped up in his head, making his serve swerve off out of court. “Sorry!” He looked towards his teammates with a smile that covers his true self.

“I have a boyfriend.” Was what Iwa had said causing a ruckus in the group chat. Iwa texted it at exactly 3pm in Japan but for Oikawa it was 3am. And it had kept him awake ever since. Iwa had only told them since they’re all were planning to meet up for winter break and all Oikawa could think off was that Iwa’s boyfriend will be there.

His right knee just hurts a little more than usual today. The throbbing pain must have been evident since his teammates kept whispering. He felt sorry that he had worried them. The sound of the ball from his served was enough to cut his ringing thoughts. “Stay safe for winter break.” He cheered with his team but as soon as they leave, he plumped himself on the floor.

“Tooru, we’re going for a drink, want to join?” His team manager, Nicolas look at his face concern laced all over, his shadow towering his figure. Nicholas has been so kind to him. He knows about Oikawa’s injuries and he always reminded him not to push himself. Just like Iwa did. He bitterly recalled. “Sorry Nich, I’m going back to Japan tonight. We’ll get the drinks when I get back.” He pat Nicholas on his head and head towards the showers.

Oikawa slammed the door shut behind himself and walked across the room. His cheeks flamed, and his hands were fisted so tightly his fingernails cut into his palms. He twists the shower knob as he let the cold water washed away his frustration. “I’m fine.” He said trying to convince himself. Every time he closes his eyes; all he could think of Iwa in someone else’s comfort. He cursed himself for being too late.

The first day back at Miyagi was spent with him sleeping all day to the jet lagged. It wasn’t until that night when his mother told him that Iwaizumi had also come home for winter break. Oikawa was hesitant for the first time. If he were back in his high school days, he would straight up and ran towards his house without warning but now everything’s different.

He still decided to visit Iwaizumi’s household the next day to bring the souvenirs. Even if Iwa wasn’t home—which what he had hope honestly since he was afraid of being alone with Iwa would make him spill or worst loss his composure, he needed to visit Iwa’s mother. She did also take care of him alot and Oikawa regards her as his mother too.

He stood at their doorway, taking a deep breath before someone too familiar call out to him. His husky voice that was filled with shock. “Oikawa?” Oikawa turns to look at his ‘friend’ laced with someone else. “Ah, Iwa-chan…” he tried. He really did try to make it seem like everything was fine when he was on the verge of breaking down. His right knee starts to hurt again. And he had to muster up the strength and urge to complain towards Iwa.

“Ah, Haji-chan is this your Kusokawa?” The man chuckles a laughter when Iwa lightly scold him and hit his chest. “I’m Miya Atsumu, MSBY Black Jackals Setter, Iwa’s boyfriend.” Oikawa didn’t want to introduce himself. What should he say, “I’m Oikawa Tooru, Iwa’s childhood friend?” If he said that, it means that he had accepted the role that was given to him and he—he didn’t want that. He settled with just his name, “Oikawa Tooru.”

“Ah, this is as if two of my boys are coming back home, huh Tooru.” His mother smiled at him. Oikawa returned the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Iwaizumi would know. His eyes can’t help but glance at Atsumu to see his reaction, but he was busy containing his laughter over something that Iwa had whispered to him.

He already was considered as family in Iwaizumi’s household but the sight in front of him already told him, he had lost. It doesn’t matter if their family, thinks you’re a family. Not when the person doesn’t feel the same. If it was the stupid him, he would have rubbed this fact all over Atsumu’s face. But he knew better, Oikawa was just a family and Atsumu was a lover to Iwa.

It must have been accidental, and Oikawa didn’t mean to pry. Heck, he wished he hadn’t seen Iwa kissing another man. The guy Atsumu was like a mirror of him. At least there were some aspects that Oikawa could see but would not acknowledge their similarities. What’s the point when of being a lookalike when Iwa didn’t chooses him? Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one thinking that when Matsukawa and Hanamaki had forced him to go out drinking.

Hanamaki’s words kept circling in his head and he cursed for the comfort he found when it’s useless. “Isn’t that Miya Atsumu kind of like your lookalike Oikawa?” Makki was drunk with how he slurs his words and the glare that Mattsun gave him was enough to know that two of his friends were avoiding the topic of anything related to the said man.

All of them decided to visit Seijoh. At least to recall some memories was what Makki suggested. All five of them including Atsumu were walking together under the bright winter sky. They passed the playground that was a fond memory for Oikawa but when he looked towards Iwa, he didn’t share the same looked and continue ahead to visit their school.

The playground where they stop after their loss to Karasuno and his knees start throbbing more than usual. Iwa stopped him as they sat under the tree. Iwaizumi was on his knees, leaving a soft trail of kisses on his knees and eventually went up, kissing him when it looked like Oikawa was going to cry again whether for the loss or for the pain.

“Oikawa?” Mattsun stopped in his tracks when he noticed that Oikawa was touching his knees. “Oh? I’m fine Mattsun. Let’s go, those kids must be excited to see the Grand King Oikawa-senpai.” He hated himself for acting. And yet he hated that the only things he had of Iwa was his memories. The memories that was fond only to him and nothing to Iwa.

Winter break ended and they were back to their usual. Oikawa felt homesick after he came back. He felt homesick, whether there was a person in his arms or if he were in theirs. But how could he feel homesick when the person he calls home is no longer his? It never had been his to start with. He had to swallow the bitter tears. Nicholas came with drinks and it always ended the same way. With him in Oikawa’s arms.

Oikawa didn’t know what he tried to prove. Was it to himself? Or was it in hopes that Iwa knew and somehow would feel the same bitterness he felt whenever he thinks of him with Atsumu. “God, I’m so stupid.” He muttered under his breath. He knew he needed to accept the fact that Iwaizumi isn’t thinking about him at all. Not when Atsumu is there with him. As much as he hated to admit it, Iwa and him is nothing but he still couldn’t.

He felt physically sick, the feeling of trying to puke all his guts out were strong in his mind as he returned Nicholas’s kiss. He felt guilty. It was like a battle of himself, where one told him to stay loyal to the unrequited love of his and the devilishly one told him he shouldn’t ever need to feel alone when Iwa is in the comfort of someone’s else arms. Why should he feel the cold winter when Iwa was feeling the warm summer?

In a split second, their clothes were off, and all Oikawa could think about was Iwa. Did Iwa ever feel lonely while he was a world away? Did Iwa seek comfort from Atsumu? Why did their memories kissing inadvertently on the playground near their home, that cold winter night became a bitter memory now? “I can’t Nich…” He softly pushed Nicholas that was straddled on his lap.

Nicholas nodded understanding, his hand grabbed Oikawa’s cheeks “Who was he to you, Tooru?” Who was Iwa to him? Childhood friend would be the easiest response. But Iwa was more than that. More than an irreplaceable partner to him. “Lover?” Nicholas noticed the sudden tears that left his pretty eyes. “No, we didn’t date. Technically he wasn’t an ex-boyfriend. But he was an ex-something, an ex-maybe, an ex-almost.”

His tears kept falling and he disgusted himself. Not only did he think about Iwa when he was with another man but now, he’s crying over it for the first time too. His mind recalled his teacher saying that ‘almost’ was the saddest word— before he didn’t exactly understand the meaning but now everything makes sense. Iwaizumi Hajime was his almost.

“Shush…” He felt the lips that settles on his tear stains cheek, the sweet voice that’s a contrast to Iwa’s huskier ones telling him that Oikawa wasn’t alone and to cry his heart out. Nicholas kissed his tears away and all Oikawa could think was that he lied. He lied to everyone. He wasn’t fine. Broken cries, incoherent sobs, accompanied by the sick feeling in his stomach and it didn’t help that his knees hurt a lot. His knees hurt even more today, and Oikawa isn’t sure whether it was just his knee or whether it was his entire body crying for his heartbreak.

↬ oikawa is my comfort character but why do i love to make him sad??

↬ also was inspired between a talk about me and irl about how atsumu kinda have almost the same personality as oikawa and what if things?

↬ the names things are heavily inspired by gusari’s dj

↬ when hajime & tooru names are combines it forms 徹" meaning "obstinate" or "dauntless"

↬ tooru means ‘to pierce through’ & ‘to see through until the end’ and hajime means ‘beginning’ so when the end and the beginning comes together, they become eternal ( I recommend u to read gunjou no shashin for more context)

↬ should i do a part 2 with iwa’s pov?

#haikyuucreations #haikyuu angst #haikyuu iwaizumi #hq oikawa #haikyuu imagines #hq iwaizumi #hq atsumu #hq iwaoi #hq oiiwa #haikyuu #hq atsuiwa #atsuiwa #iwaoi #oiiwa #haikyuu writings #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu atsumu

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