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iwaasfairy · 3 years ago

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┌─ “ ! „ DECLINE OF POWER

tw. cucking but w feelings, lil sub/dom, size kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, oikawa is a good bf and a good friend, but iwa is trying bro wordcount. 6.6k

a/n. i thought myself raw about this idea yesterday so here is a way too long fic about my iwa flavored whore infliction, @seijorhi thank you for bullying me into finishing it even though it isn't dark content

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader x oikawa tooru

He should’ve just said no. A simple ‘no’, maybe a shrug for emphasis, and none of this would be happening right now.

He wouldn’t be pressed into the corner of the sofa with his palms glossy and clammy no matter how much he wipes them, and his heartbeat going like there's a ticking bomb strapped to his chest. And Iwa prides himself on being good under pressure, the usual hiccups people have never enough to shake him from his natural rhythm.

Not enough to cause him any real trouble at least, it’s part of why Oikawa trusted him to be the ace in high school, and a reason why he’s still in a leadership position today. He’s supposed to be reliable, sturdy. The irony of it doesn’t escape him now that he’s never felt less sure about a decision— maybe ever. He should be happy; really, he is happy.

But under the weight of the room’s atmosphere, the crushing, unrelenting press on his chest, it’s hard to be entirely grateful about the feeling. He knew Oikawa was a sharer. Even Hajime would begrudgingly admit it’s one of the guy’s better qualities, and he’s had it for basically as long as they’ve known each other. Tonight though, he hates his best friend a little for his charity.

He could’ve just said no.

The sweat is wiped on his sweats again as he moves his foot up and down in time with his heartbeat’s meter, rocking the coffeetable. There’s a thick silence that the mumbles and chuckles on the other side of the room don’t fully break, a spell he can’t help but be lulled into. It might’ve been two minutes since he walked in or two hours, and Iwaizumi wouldn’t even feel the difference. All he knows is the heavy feeling of the air in his lungs and the taste of rum on his tongue is more than enough to have him feeling a bit sick.

Normally he doesn’t drink before a hookup. He’s plenty old and wise enough to do without, and he isn’t a fan of taking the edge off in the first place. The edge is half the fun, usually. But not here, not in this house, not with— you, where he’s entirely out of his element and free falling even past that. Your voice sounds pretty past the door, a sing-songy whine that Oikawa promptly answers and then shushes, not that he’s trying particularly hard to listen in. Wasn’t this supposed to be a fun idea? It’s starting to feel like the worst mistake of his fucking life, rising easily above agreeing to be Tooru’s friend, above every missed spike he’s ever spent a sleepless night of thought on.

When Oikawa had mumbled it over drinks, one useless comment followed by the next, Iwaizumi had actually laughed. Even if he wasn’t so entirely shell-shocked by the little offer it was funny, he would’ve laughed. Laughed off the idea that any of that was feasible, that he’d actually, truly be offering. “I’m serious,” Oikawa had smiled, clasping the top of his glass as if to lean onto it, the condensation dripping down the cool surface and creating a little ring below the glass. “I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, and-” he taps the plastic palm tree stirrer on the edge, “‘n I just thought now would be a good time to ask. The busy season is just about over for you, right?”

It hadn’t hit until Iwa actually looked up, meeting his friend’s telling gaze head on, amused grin slowly sliding from his own face. He can’t help but fall awfully quiet, does his very best not to think it over, before lifting his glass to his lips to avoid having to say anything because this situation is clearly too much for his ability to read social cues. But Oikawa Tooru sadly isn’t so easily fooled, and he patiently waits for Hajime to finish before raising a single brow. He can’t be serious. Can’t actually be -not- toying with him.

“You want me to- fuck your girlfriend,” he breathes out deep and slow, testing out the words as if he hadn’t just heard the brunet loud and clear. When that doesn’t make Tooru correct him, he leans in a little and says it again, even slower. “You want me to fuck your girlfriend.” Oikawa’s head easily bobs up and down, making the brown mass of hair flop onto his forehead, and Hajime feels himself pale on the spot. Luckily the bar is dark enough not to give too much away, but Hajime’s certain his friend sees the way he mouths your name, like even saying it out loud is a little too hard.

“We’ve been wanting to try it out,” Oikawa obnoxiously smacks his lips after his own sip, looking away to survey the room. “And she’d be much happier to know that it’s you, than some random guy we try to pick up at a nightclub somewhere. You’d feel comfortable for her.” For once, Hajime’s glad that Oikawa is so casual about such a serious topic, because this way he at least doesn’t have to paint a respectable emotion on his own face. His usually furrowed brow is completely gone out of shock, jaw mere millimeters from hanging loose.

Oikawa doesn’t specify if he’s extrapolating or those were your actual words, but it’s enough to have Hajime feeling a little drunk on the thought. You’d feel comfortable with him… comfortable enough to let him fuck you in your own bed, in front of your boyfriend who’s currently still stirring his drink. How is this not some kind of best friend-loyalty trick? He should say no. Out of principle and for his own sanity, and hope the topic never comes up again and he doesn’t ever have to face you if the mention of a threesome gets brought up. What he should do is finish his drink and head home and banish the thought from his fucking brain like shitty-kawa never said anything at all.

He can’t, apparently. Because he doesn’t remember when he says yes, only that Oikawa looks much too comforted by the answer, sending you a text with a little smile. A genuine one, not the shit-eating grin he wishes would show right about now. Convince him this is all some ruse. Instead the evening continues back into almost-pleasant ignorance, fraying his edges just a little more.

Fuck, if only— The bouncing of his foot stops the second the bedroom door opens, revealing the familiar brunet’s face as he waves his hands about here and there, lips turning up at the edges. “The lady’s ready.” He’s not. His throat feels dry and scratchy. You still come into view behind your tall, dramatic boyfriend, even though he isn’t ready for it. When Oikawa moves out of the doorway, you follow , a bit unsure as you scamper down his trail. It’s easy to tell from your expression, but it- it suits you a little too well. If you were his he’d cherish and abuse that shy act until the idea of pretense makes you dizzy.

You’re drop-dead perfect, all soft and doe-eyed and with blood rushed to your face to make your cheeks a little puffier. Hands flit down your body a few times as he looks at you under his lashes, trying to clear his voice with a grunt.

But he doesn’t manage, and Oikawa comes to stand behind you with his hands on your shoulders. He gives you a soft squeeze. You rock back in his hold and melt into him a little, glancing back for support too, looking so cute, cute, cute. It’s fucking addictive. “Isn’t she cute, Iwa-chan? My baby got all dolled up for you.” You are and it is, the way you’re chewing your bottom lip is unfairly cute. It drives him a little carnal, digging something out of him that he wishes he could put back. You’re in just a shirt, oversized and most likely Oikawa’s by the way it falls around your hips and curves, but it just looks so nice on you. You look so nice, a present shaped like a person as you bite your cheek.

“You’re- y-you look good,” he manages to croak out this time, low voice trembling his own chest as he goes to stand, but just as quickly thinks better of it. You’re definitely flustered, if the way your eyelids flutter and the shift of your weight is anything to go by, and so he quickly tries to correct. “Pretty, you look really fucking pretty.”

Oikawa hums, snakes an arm around your waist to tickle up your thigh. He takes the shirt along with him as his hand rises higher, exposing first your blue lace panties, then pulling it up over your half a bra of the same color. Iwa’s suddenly grateful for the brunet’s antics, watching each inch of uncovered skin get revealed. The lingerie clings to your tits unfairly well, exposing so much more of what he had mentally prepared himself to see. The lace doesn’t cover enough, little blue flowers sitting on the swell of your breasts, cupping them. There’s no teasing to the motion, which is good, because Hajime’s pretty sure any of it is too much right now.

“See? All dolled up,” Oikawa mumbles, dragging his lips along the stretch of your neck with soft kisses, before nudging your face back to Iwa. “Isn’t she precious like this?”

Iwa’s only half aware of the sound of Oikawa’s voice when your eyes find his again, questioning and clearly needing some type of reassurance. It heats his cheeks and makes his head feel a little floaty, but he can manage at least this much. His grip on the side of the couch gets a little tighter. “She’s so hot,” his eyes glide down from your pretty face to your tits, to the way your hands seem to cover your belly, the fabric clinging to your hips and your pretty cunt, “you’re hot,- so fucking sexy.” And you are.

The thought seems to echo. But you bite your lip at the praise, slowly dropping your hands to glance back at Tooru. The brunet only smiles, before brushing his long fingers down your jaw and splaying them along your neck. “What about you, baby? What do you think about our Iwa-chan, hm?” It has you shuddering in place, warm breath slipping down your spine. And he’s back to hating his friend, wants to drop dead on the spot. But the selfish side in him really, really wants to know the answer. You lean in for a little kiss when Oikawa sighs, gladly giving in to you, before you puff out your chest and lace your fingers with your boyfriend’s.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s spent way too much time imagining you just like this, in his lap, splayed out in his car, or even casually curled up in his own living room. Being faced with it though, knowing it’s real— it’s sickeningly effective, cock already swelling against his thigh.

He’s not sure if you play coy when staring at him with those innocent, pretty eyes; watching them glitter as you take in his clothes- or what sits beneath them maybe. A sick sense of satisfaction washes over him, his own chest puffing out a little automatically. You swallow, and lean into Oikawa a little more. But your voice is silvery and smooth as you speak, your pouty lips begging to get kisses. “Do you want me, Iwa? To fuck me like this,” your words meet him too soft, and goosebumps break out over his skin.

Pins and needles in his fingers because of his unrelenting grip. Without any coaching from Oikawa you walk a little closer, and brush two fingers along the edge of your bra cup. “I- I would like you to- f-fuck me, Iwa,” you whisper, “and let Tooru watch. What do you think?” It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but it's still too much.

Everything feels so tense, every muscle in his body protesting at your blatant flirting, and though his cock twitching at the idea it sends cold shivers down his neck. Really, he isn’t prepared to do this. If someone had told him this morning that the ominious ‘tonight works’ message would have him here like this, he would’ve told them to fuck off. Instead he’s here, blushing about the word fuck and the way your hands shy over your curves.

This is so stupid, he thinks, biting his cheek. He’s not a fucking teenager anymore. “Come here,” he instead mumbles, patting his thighs as he glances between you two again. You must’ve discussed it plenty, you two are a strong couple like that. Oikawa doesn’t look the faintest bit worried, only squeezes your fingers to make you move. You’re a little stiff as you crawl into his lap, but the darkness in your eyes is undeniable. His hands come to grab your sides, seating you onto his hips as his fingertips dig into the soft of your skin.

“You want me to fuck you? Fuck this pretty pussy,” again his eyes dart up to Oikawa for prosperity, he can’t help it. If you were his, he would keep you metaphorically chained to his bed. His friend only smiles though, looking just a shade away from smug, and Iwa furrows his brows. You make a little noise, a tiny mewl to catch his attention again. The weight of your body on his has heat pooling in his belly and balls unfairly quick, body close enough to smell your body lotion. Enough to notice freckles where he’s never had the ability to look.

“Baby, remember to answer him, hm,” Oikawa prompts, taking a seat close enough to comfort you, far enough to have a good view of the two of you; you bop your head up and down with a swallow. You lower yourself a little more, grinding your body onto his hips. His hands take a better grip on you to keep you still, as he feels his balls twitch hard. This is so fucking ridicolous, it’s laughable. His cock sits swollen against his thigh, aching to get readjusted, but he’s too afraid that any touch might set him off. Your hands trail down his chest over the flimsy, black top he’s wearing, nails running down his pecs and nipples.

“My girl gets so zoned out at the promise of cock sometimes, so make sure to get her attention, Iwa-chan.” A deep groan falls from his throat despite himself at Oikawa’s words, and he pulls you up onto his lap a little more, leading your hips along him. Even this little bit of friction is enough to have him heated beyond belief, a bead of precum dripping down along his thigh. Hajime looks at you, the slight furrow in your brow as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips, before he ruts himself up into you. It has you squeaking, one hand placed on his solid stomach to keep yourself upright.

You’re just so fucking pretty, he can’t help it. Even if he wasn’t— well, not that it matters now. You’re with Oikawa, he’s played this game for long enough to know it’s better not to think about it at all. He already decided he would do this weeks ago, consequences be damned. Still he glances over at his friend when the guy pulls his shirt over his head, casually palming his cock. “Anything off limits, Oikawa? What’s the-”

“You just fuck her how you like. And she’ll tell you the rest.” He splays his arms out over the back of the couch, before smiling when you look up at him with those pretty eyes a little dazed. “If she’s not too fucked out to use her words. Iwa-chan’s going to make you feel good, huh?” Your lip is pulled between your teeth when you nod, a soft hum following. You look back to Iwa for the same, before slowly untangling your tongue.

“You can just pretend Tooru’s not here, Iwa.” Your chest heaves up and down when you roll your hips down on him again, this time seeming to find the right angle for friction because your eyes flutter harder when he bucks back under you.

“Yeah?” It comes out raspy and a little too eager, not that you seem bothered. And really, he’s about to fuck Oikawa’s girl in front of him. Seeming eager should be last on his list of issues with the situation. Though you’re sitting on his cock with only some thin fabric to separate you, there’s a different kind of sensation that comes when he unclamps his hands from your hips to slowly, reverently slide them up your sides. You’re sensitive, a little ticklish maybe, blowing out a tense breath when he brushes his thumb under your tits a few times. “I’m going to take this off, ‘kay?”

It’s more to himself then it is to you, but you nod anyway, leaning your chest into him to give him more access. It’s so sweet and he can feel himself harden even more, unfairly affected by every small touch. He unclasps the bra easily, lets it drop when you pull back, and you smile. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking pretty. It’s making him a bit lightheaded. “Fuck, baby, I- that’s it.” Iwaizumi isn’t usually a slow lover, and he definitely shouldn’t be now, not with the love of his best friend’s life— but he wants to take his time with you. Wants to let you feel every touch, every breath he’s wasted on you in the past.

Selfish, that’s what he is. He tries to say something nice to lead you into it, watches your face for just a breath longer. But he can’t really think of anything clever, and instead he just leans in to capture you in a kiss, mouth taking yours and claiming it for the very first time in — ever. Did you ever end up laying that promised kiss on him in spin the bottle? Your tongue is soft and sweet, not much different from how he imagined it. But there’s a little noise you make, and the way you reach up to cup his face is so much more than he could’ve ever asked for, tilting his head to the side a little. “Hm, that’s a -good girl.”

You keep moving your hips, keep forcing beads of precum into his boxers as his own hands trail down your back. It’s so fucking tender, probably too much so. But he didn’t exactly start it, so for now he doesn’t care. Just lets himself indulge in the feeling of your hot pussy grind against him as you lick into his mouth, letting him suck on your tongue and press your face into his and bite your lip. You whine when he does, an intoxicating little mewl when you throw your head back to invite him along your throat. “Iwa, you taste so good. Feels good too.”

“Yeah?” He follows, open mouth kisses and tongue along the length of your neck to settle right above your shoulder, sucking the skin there. Not hard enough to make a mark, but enough to have you whimpering again. “Ah- shit.” Your hands tangle into his hair and tug, making his thighs flex and arm wrap tighter around your waist, before he pulls back to watch you, watch the rise and fall of your chest. “Bedroom. Get onto the bed, quick,” he manages to grunt, a little muffled against your neck with another kiss, before he slaps the soft skin of your ass for good measure.

For his own enjoyment. For himself when he looks back. You listen so well, squeak a little when Oikawa does the same as you pass by, chuckling when you race to the bedroom. Something about it just feels so off, but he keeps his mouth shut when Oikawa spares him a little glance. No words are said, and he’s quick to get up and follow behind, not only because of the desire to be close to you.

You’re waiting by the side of the bed when he walks in, instantly feeling a bit crowded. Your edges seem to melt a little in the room, a sight that only lures him closer. Hajime catches your ankle with his foot before you can lay down yourself with a smile. He catches you halfway to the muted, tan spread though, and your surprise slips off too easily. Clearly, what Oikawa said was true. You do feel comfortable with him. You trust him, and it’s this that makes the hairs on his neck stand up, because he’s not sure what to do with that. Not sure what he can do with that.

When the brush of his breath slides along your chest you shiver under him. Your arms wrap around his neck as his face moves down between your tits, laying you down before him but not disconnecting yet. Your pretty tits are kissed all over, licking and sucking, biting around the smooth skin.

He grunts at the addition of another weight on the mattress, a sharp streak of possession flaring up before he remembers his place. Oikawa slides in with an easy hum, tangles his fingers with yours for a few seconds. Exactly, that’s what he is. A one time fling. But it doesn’t take away the feeling of wanting to own you, to spread you open on his fingers, his cock, show you off to your shared friends like a trophy. He’s really not doing it for the achievement. But the idea of hearing you moan for him in front of Oikawa is enough to give him a headache. His mouth wraps around your nipple and sucks hard, hard enough to make your back bow off the bed. You whisper his name. “F-feels, ah- that feels good.”

Hajime pulls back to slide you higher on the bed, watches the obvious places his mouth has been. He’s harder than he’s been in a while. He kicks his sweats off next to the bed a bit too fast, almost tripping on the one leg. But you’re eyeing him down as he does with what he can only describe as hunger. His shirt and then boxers follow suit. For a second he’s not sure how you’ll react, can’t help but feel too seen under your gaze. But then your face changes from wanting to a cute, almost disbelieving pout, it makes pride glow in his chest like nothing else. He knows you’re used to plenty, if Oikawa’s exploits are anything to go by, but still.

Your expression only makes him harder. He knows he’s thick and flushed, letting you gawk for a bit as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock. “You got me this fucking hard, y’see that?” Your blown out pupils flick back up to his face when he speaks, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. Your legs spread a little as if calling him back to you, the wet spot of your pussy darkening the pretty fabric. “Want this fat cock inside you?” His voice sounds low, gravelly, and you do a little double take back to his dripping cock before you nod.

Your own hand reaches up to tug a nipple, before you motion him back to you. An offer he gladly takes, doing his best to ignore the way Oikawa shifts on the bed to get a better angle. There’s a moment of hesitation on his part as he gets in between your legs, pulling his cock down to tap your pussy a few times over your lacy panties, letting it bounce between his legs under your eyes. You’re not shy about the way you’re basically eating him up either, but still his touch is slow and careful tracing up the side of your thighs to grip onto the baby blue fabric, color similar enough to his old high school jersey that he imagines fucking you in it.

An unfair visual that makes a shiver run down his back, basically bucking his hips into the air. You’re looking at him so fucking pretty, lips glossy and bitten swollen, eyes a little drooped, more dazed than he’s used to seeing you. If he had the chance he’d make you look at him like that every fucking second for the rest of his life. “‘M gonna taste you first, that okay with you?” he slowly asks, once again more for himself than for you. He doesn’t want to overstep, sure, but it’s also preparation for what he’s about to do. Cupping your cheek when you nod slow and needy, he bends to lay a few heated kisses on your mouth, can’t help himself. And you moan into it too, breathing his own name into his mouth.

Then he gets down to the edge of the bed and pats your puffy lips through your panties, rubbing up and down. They’re slicked straight through, another thing to add to the list of ego winners, and Hajime rubs two fingers first along the sides and then pushing down to part your bottom lips. “Ah- Iwa, p-please. Want more.”

“One second, baby,” he quickly assures, placing little kisses above the bow of your panties, hooking two fingers around the wet spot and pulling the fabric taunt. The noises you make are pure erotic, not loud enough to be anything more than whimpers and moans, but they burn into his mind loud and clear. Slipping the fabric to the side, he trails rough fingertips down your slicked up pussy, watching as more liquid drips out of you for him to swipe his fingers into. Unfairly pretty, it really is a sight to be seen. Oikawa must think so too, because the brunet leans down beside him to watch too.

“You’re drenched, princess.” A soft chuckle comes from beside him, and your boyfriend pulls your thighs open a little further when Iwa noses at your pretty pussy, placing a kiss onto the hooded clit. “Looks like Iwa-chan really is doing a good job. You enjoying that?”

“Mhm, ‘m enjoying ‘t so much,” you answer pitched and breathy, voice breaking a little when Iwa takes the opening to suck the top of your lips into his mouth and run the length of his tongue over you, swiping up more of the wetness. Hands come to his head to knead through his hair, gently tugging once again. You taste -fucking divine-. It takes him a second to place the heady taste, tongue swiping out once, twice for more. But then it hits, really hits him, that your pussy is dripping like a whore because of him, for him.

Oikawa hasn’t even touched you tonight, and you taste fucking divine. He doesn’t really register the next few seconds buried in your pussy until you’re tugging his hair hard, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you level with his shoulders. He must’ve knocked Oikawa aside with the motion because his friend laughs lightly, and moves back onto the bed to brush his fingers down your throat. “He’s enjoying it too.”

“‘N you, Tooru?” you quietly breathe, and though he can’t see it, he hears you two kiss and hears the way Oikawa swallows the moan he’s pulling out of you. Licking like a man starved into your warm pussy, nose at your clit and his slight stubble rubbing your puffy lips. Your hips buck against his hold, rub yourself a little on his face, and he groans long and loud at the way his cock twitches so hard his balls pull up. You smell so good, taste so fucking good. Not that he imagined otherwise, but the sweetness of your pussy on his tongue makes him homesick.

He belongs three fingers deep in this pussy, the thought hits him, an mean, possessive one that he barely pushes back as he gets up onto his knees and lifts your hips along with it. “Fucking perfect pussy,” he grunts against you, and means it too.

You wiggle yourself against his face needy n pretty though, so fucking pretty. His fingers are splayed out over your soft thighs as you clamp them around his head, tits bouncing a little with the motion. Your slick is basically running down his chin by the time he even thinks to put his fingers in, your voice already so high and whiny— and though he doesn’t exactly recognize the sound, it’s clear when you start opening your teary eyes to look him in the eyes that you’re close.

“Iwa- I-Iwa, I’m- gonna cum. Oh, please don’t stop. Please, p-please.”

He adds a second finger into your clenching pussy and curls right in time for your breath to cease for a few seconds, legs clamping around his ears and your body curling off the comforter to keep his lips sealed around your clit, pussy fluttering so pretty around his fingers as he fucks you through the feeling. “Oh, fuck- me, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” you whine so cutely when you cum, making little noises that have him fucking forward into nothing, smearing precum onto the blanket. Everything about you is pretty, even with the clear sheen of exhaustion that washes over you when you drop back down with the strength of a baby.

He lets you down and gets up from the floor to pull your underwear down your legs, before sliding his fingers back into your pussy. Your moan is hitched and a little protesting, but barely. “Gonna fuck you now, okay, baby? Ruin this pretty cunt.” Ruin you for anyone else, his mind echoes, but he keeps that to himself. It’s misplaced anyway, but he still can’t help it. Swiping his tongue out to clean some of you off his face, he looks up to Tooru. Who’s now reclined back on the bed with a pillow under him, stroking his cock at you both. A possessive spark once again burns hot in his chest. But still, “Want me to use a condom?” he asks, if only out of respect.

Out of obligation for their years of friendship.

“Mn-no,” you whine under him though, grabbing at his thigh. Your nails dig in hard enough for him to hiss, and Oikawa chuckles.

“You heard the girl. She does like it raw.”

Fuck you- raw. Oh, fuck. He hadn’t actually thought things through to this point. His heavy cock moves with the way his chest rises and falls, and you mewl in satisfaction at the sight. “Wan’you to fuck me just like this, Iwa. Like this, please.” Your polite little babble basically goes over his head, all he can hear over his heartbeat is the way you say it. Like nothing he’s ever heard you as, not in all the years he’s known you. It does something weird to his body, makes him feel so hot and cold at the same time. A little numb too.

He forces himself to slide you up into the bed to lay you closer to the head, and crawls over you dazed. His cock is so fucking hard and he’s so wet from your slick and his precum, but nothing feels entirely right. Until he meets your eyes and you stroke a hand down his chest, as if wanting to hear his heart hammer wildly under his skin. Your eyes are glossy and your pupils so wide as you eye him down, before putting your legs around his thighs to pull him a bit closer. “Fuck me like you mean it, okay?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck. If he was close to cumming before, he’s just about done for now. A hard pull is needed between his legs, grabbing at the base of his own cock hard and tight to make sure it doesn’t all go to waste. If either of you notice his struggle, you don’t say anything. The sounds of Oikawa and of you blur in the too-hot room, sweat running down his back as he carefully nudges your legs apart a little more. You’re small under him, eyes more aimed at his chest when he lines up, and for a second he almost laughs at how appropriate it is.

But your lashes flutter as he pushes up against you, letting you guide him inside with a gentle brush of your palm. Everything about you is soft, he’s always known this, but the way your pussy spreads around him is just so- fucking- disproportionally soft. Velvet walls that seem to welcome him home when he slides into the wet mess between your legs, inch by fucking inch. Your voice hitches as you wrap your own little arm under his bicep and squeeze, letting him in a little more. “Ah, agh— Iwa-”

“Hajime.” He’s shaking as he says it, leaning down to kiss you long and hard. Your tongue swallows up the rest of whatever confession is wanting to come out, and he thanks every God he knows by name that you don’t notice. When he pulls back you look into his face with a little pout, brows furrowing at the stretch of his cock in your - “tight, fucking tight,” pussy, and he keeps himself up on one arm. The way he fills you out and you have to widen your legs more makes his body feel like he’s glowing.

Your nails dig into his back in need, scratching down his shoulder blade. The sting feels good. But it’s when your mouth cracks open to let out some little sounds that he really loses it. “H-hajime,” you pant, letting him kiss you again with a moan of your name, “Hajime, Hajime.” His face must be flushed seven shades til sunday, because he can feel the heat radiating from him, ears glowing hot. He fills you out with a grunt, bottoming out in you hard enough to have you mewling again.

“You’re so fucking pretty, oh- fuck, so fucking good for me,” he rambles, looking from your face to the way his cock is stretching you out, how your thighs are trembling around him. “That’s my girl.” He pulls back out, letting you hold yourself up on the bed by wrapping a leg around his glutes, before sliding back into your warmth. You’re just so good, feel so warm around him. You’re dripping too, he can feel the wetness run down his balls when he pulls back out to build a rhythm.

It’s not his best work, a little sloppy because of his constant staring, but you’re wiggling down so nicely— skin slapping against his strong thighs as he pulls you down on his cock. “God- fuck I’m close, you’re so pretty. Y’like getting fucked like this, huh?” The slightly cross eyed way you’re staring through him seems to prove so, so he places his elbows next to your head to fuck into you harder, a little faster too. “You’re drooling, baby.” The way you bounce and your tits bounce and the way you tear up, unable to say anything are all perfect. He whispers your name into your hair, and you wrap your arms around his chest to hang on.

It feels like an embrace. With his cock inside you and your pussy spasming around him and your lashes clumped together from the feeling, you’re quite possibly still the best person in the world to him. The feeling washes over him like the weight of the ocean, suffocating and thick. But you cling on, and he lets you. “Hajime. ‘M- your cock- ahgh.” He pushes his cock further, angling it a little until you really let out a cry, and your eyes press closed hard.

“Haj’me, h’jime— gon’cum. Gonna cum, please keep going. Please, please, please.” He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have it in him to deny you anything, wrapping his large hand around your hip to pull you onto him again and again and again. He kisses you, you moan and pant and throw your head back with the loud sound of the bed moving with the motions. And then he reaches down to rub over your clit, and you’re clenching around him so hard he goes lightheaded. His vision goes black for a second, before he can watch you twitch and bend for him, letting him bite down on your neck with a mewl that sends shivers down his spine.

“Hajime!”

Maybe he just thinks it. Or maybe he whispers it into your hair, so low no one will ever hear it.

Pleasure rips through his body, down his spine and to his balls as he locks up, cumming into your tight little cunt. It’s his cum that fills you up tonight, each pump emptying his balls into your spasming pussy. He can barely fuck you through it because of how hard you’re gripping his cock, clinging to him, lifting yourself from the bed to be closer and make every noise he knows will haunt him for the next months. But you don’t stop, so neither does he, squared shoulders as he moves until you milk him dry and the head of his cock feels a bit raw.

He doesn’t stop fucking into you until you whine his name pitiful and satisfied again, pressing against his chest with an exhausted giggle. “Hajime, please. Too much— it hurts.” You’re still heaving against his chest when your lids flutter open, lashes splayed out in funny directions because of the tears that still glisten in your eyes. But you look contented, a little curl to your lips as you once again pat at his shoulder. “Whew, that was a lot.”

He slowly eases his half-hard cock out of you, careful not to hurt you any more, before scooting back a little on his knees. You look to the side, the heat on your face still there as your eyes go half-mast at your boyfriend. “What’dya think? Did you cum?”

“Twice,” he hears you two kiss, hears how you giggle and take a deep breath. “You have no idea how hot you looked, love.” Hajime can’t make himself look over. He’s not a sore loser. He’s not. It’s just— the eyes he can feel on the side of his face, the accusatory way they seem to linger in his peripherals is unbearable. The bed squeaks when he gets off to find his clothes. He doesn’t really want to look back at the mess he’s left behind either, not only in fear of getting hard again. Though it’s part of it- he’s not really sure if he could mentally handle any more.

But before he has any chance to get collected, you slip from the bed and come to stand in front of him, tilting your head so cutely to the side as you brush his arm with your hand. “Where are you going? You don’t have to hurry out or anything, come lay down with us for a second.” Your pretty eyes are still a little blown out, but they’re genuine when you regard him. “Right, Tooru? There’s plenty of room.”

It’s sweet. He’s always— he has always loved that about you. Like he loves the way you smile, like he loves the way you look at him. Like he loves laughing at your jokes, loves hearing your voice over the phone, loves seeing pictures of you and Makki and Tooru being stupid. He loves you a little more than he did yesterday, he thinks, picking up his sweats from the floor as you stand there all doe-eyed with his cum dripping out of you.

But he’s sure of one thing, and that’s that he’d rather die than have to lay with Tooru’s accusations printed onto his forehead. Oikawa’s always been too smart for his own good, it’s one of the guy’s better qualities too. So he only gives you a little kiss between your brows, before scratching awkwardly at his neck. “No, I think I’m just gonna take a shower and head on home if that’s alright with you two.” You pout, but take a polite step back, playing with your own fingers.

“I’ve got a pretty early morning and, y’know,” you nod in understanding at his half-hearted attempt, before smiling and sweetly walking around him to go get a towel. “Should get going…”

It stays quiet for a few seconds, before Tooru makes a little sucking sound with his tongue. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwa smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #tw.cuckold #tw.cucking #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.iwaizumi

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curiousscientistkae · 3 years ago

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oh yeah since I have new peeps here is a rundown of myshe ra kiddos +finally adding some i never talked about. Ages are just to show gaps between kids, they are not "canon". Under the cut stuff. I uh....ramble

Glimmadora:

Harper-20, eldest daughter/child. Born Feb 1st. She/Her, Demi-Bi. Heir to Brightmoon, gets called 'AJ' (Adora Jr) a lot by Glimmer since she looks and acts a lot like Adora. Has shoulder length two toned blonde hair (top half light like She-ra, bottom darker like Adora) with sparkles at the edns, sparkling purple eyes shaped like Adora's, tan skin like Glimmer, glasses, sometimes wears a hearing aid in her right ear. Has cream/purple wing markings on her back that later will turn into feathery cream wings with purple tips.

Sound based powers (cause my brain was like light and sound) but still can create light stuff they just make sounds also. Also can turn invisible. Being unable to control the powers as a toddler, she lost her hearing in her right ear. Everyone in the family knows sign language.

Smart af, witty, as the eldest of all the kids can be protective to a fault, anxious, wants to not fuck up and be a great queen. Will overwork herself and is a perfectionist, though can be forgetful. Is a great shoulder to lean on/be listened to.

Grows to 6' (she got them angella genes (who is alive in this au, not micah) and athletic build like Adora. Named to match the 'er' at Glimmer's name, her sound powers, and the Lyra constellation. Glimmer was the one to have her.

Mira-13, youngest daughter eldest twin. Born July 9th. She/Her, Lesbian, about 5 mins older than Micah. Powerless Princess. Got her great aunt and grandpa's hair color, pale skin (same as Adora), ice blue eyes shaped like Adora's, freckles on face. Usually has hair in ponytail held up by that butterfly pin from princess prom. Also almost always has a red cloak around her. Called 'Mimi'

Born with no magic and not connected to the moonstone (long story short in my au, First Ones cannot use magic without help or it will kill them. Mira got the most FO genes thus she cannot use magic. Whole ass idea i need to explore). Tries to make up for it with fighting skills. While she doesn't show it a lot, she hates the fact she is powerless and will not grow wings either.

Clever, rebellious, loves to explore. Can have a temper to her, wears her heart on her sleeve. Natural born leader. Butts heads with her mothers the most and has run away a few times (once for a very very long time heh). At the end of the day, she doesn't want to be in the shadow of anyone/wants to make her own mark.

Grows to 5'6", chubby build like Glimmer. Named to match the 'ra' in Adora's name and the 'Mi' in Micah's name. OG she was going to have healing powers before I got rid of that so it was also sort for Miracles. 'Mira' is a star, one that is an actual shooting star. Adora was the one to have her

Micah-13, youngest child only son. Born July 9th. He/Him and They/Them. Demi-Boy. Bi, about 5 mins younger than Mira. Has spell powers. Messy, chin length dark purple hair (the same shade as the bottom half of Glimmer's hair), sky blue eyes with sparkles and shaped like Glimmer's, freckles on face. Light tan skin (between his sisters). Has purple wing markings on back and later will get purple feathered wings. Called MJ (Micah Jr) or Mickey

Like his grandfather, great aunt, and Ma before him, he can use spells. Struggles with it but eventually learns he is best at defensive ones. They look up to many of the guards in the castle and wants to be one when he grows up.

Quiet, soft spoken, nervous boy. Def keeps his twin sister from doing something totally stupid. Trusting, sometimes too much, can hold grudges if wronged badly. Tries to see the best in others. Named to honor his grandfather, they want to live up to them and be a great sorcerer

Grows to 5'11, more avg/a bit stocky build. Named to match the 'Mi' with Mira and as Micah is dead in this still (i made them a long time ago) after him. Adora was the one to have them.

Scorpia's Kid

Onca-13, only child of Scorpia. Born May 4th. They/Them. Non-binary Pan. Magicat/Scorpion. OG a scorptra kid but Catra no longer with Scorpia. Has medium length snow white hair, usually in a small pony tail, light brown skin, amber eyes (only iris has the color not the whole eye). Cat fangs and white cat tail. Has those scorpion shouler pads and venom their fangs (not as strong as their mother's) and blue blood. No fur. Called 'Onc' or by Scorpia her 'Lil' Kitling'

Has electrical powers like Scorpia. Venom will only make the part they bite numb, does not fully knock anyone out. Is quick on their feet.

Laid back, quick to adapt, resting bitch face, can be a little lazy, sometimes acts without thinking, and easily distracted. Before growth spurt, they were small and grew a hatred of being seen as always needing help. Just a gentle giant really.

Grows to 6'3, strong build like Scorpia. Named after the latin species name of the Jaguar.

(i so need to work and the following kids more rip)

Bowfuma

Robin-18, eldest son/child of Bow and Perfuma. Born March 20th, He/Him. Gay. Dark brown skin, dark brown, short hair, dark brown eyes. Wears glasses. Has plant powers. Called Robby. Heir to Plumeria.

Plant powers are a WIP kind of, might be like Perfuma or a little dif but is connected to the Runestone. Knows some archery but prefers a crossbow.

Self assured, he knows who he is and what he wants to do, fair-takes both sides of an argument into account. Is the least likely to cause shit. Can be messy and hates when his things are moved. Procrastinator.

Grows to 6', lean build. Named after both Robin Hood, the archer, and the bird

Eliza-16, only daughter. Born Sept 15th, She/Her, Aro/Ace. Dark brown skin, dark brown hair in two braids, dark brown eyes, freckles. Needs glasses but wears contacts. Powers allows her to talk to animals. Called 'Liza'.

Also connected to the runestone, Eliza and talk to animals. She actually started to talk to them before speaking to her parents. When she talks to them, to others it sounds like she is making the animal sounds.

Passionate and loves animals. While her cousin Mira puts her energy into trouble, she puts it into being outside and building things or helping her mom and dad. Hates being stuck inside. Can be whimsical. Loves to be challenged and doesn't back down from stuff, even when maybe she should. Can be a bit dense.

Grows to 5'8", lean build. Named after Eliza Thornberry.

Ash-15, youngest of their siblings. Born Nov 23rd. He/She/They genderfluid. No real label-uses queer. Medium brown skin, medium length, wavy blonde hair, dark brown eyes. Freckles. Has no powers but does not mind it at all.

Unlike his younger cousin, Mira, Ash does not care they do not have powers or are not next in line for the thorn. They are happy to just learn from their father or others. Kind of a jack of all trades.

Has a big heart and a love for all life. Once she is set on something, she sees it through to the end. Very observant of the world and what goes on in it. Can be impatient and doesn’t always take things seriously. Jokes way to often. Free-spirit

Grows to 5'10", thin build like his mom. Named after the type of tree which you could use to make a bow.

Seamista

Newt-18, oldest and only son of Sea Hawk and Mermista. Born Dec 11th, Trans Man He/Him, Pan ace. Dark brown skin, dark brown eyes, short blue hair. Has no runestone powers but can still turn into a merman when in the water.

Newt was next in line for the throne but stepped down, not liking the idea of being a king. He likes to spend time at the beach, swimming, and enjoying being in the sun. Usually keeps his sisters from killing each other.

Hard worker, does not usually slack off, does hate being in the spotlight. Humble. Good at reading emotions. Can lose track of time easily. Has his mother's dry sense of humor. Will faint at the sight of blood

Grows to 5'7", build like Sea Hawk. Named for the salamander that is associate with fire. And with it being an amphibian and transitioning from one stage to another, kind of works there also.

Sandra-15, oldest daughter. Born Mar 7th, She/Her, Pan. Medium brown skin, brown eyes, dark long brown curly hair. Has water based powers (still a WIP whoops). Can turn into a mermaid when in the water.

After her brother stepped down, she is now the heir to her kingdom. Still working a bit on her powers but is connected to the runestone. FIGHTS with her sister all the time.

Very much a girly girl, loves pink, skirts, sparkles, all that jazz. Takes her role as princess seriously. Dutiful and punctual. Hates messes, likes things to be neat. Does not like things randomly being dropped on her.

Grows to 5'8", Mermista's body build. Nickname is Sandy and is called that the most. Named cause yeah....sandy.

Yamuna-12, youngest child/daughter. Born Apr 13th, She/Her, Greyromo/sexual Lesbian. Long blue hair though will dye it many colors, usually orange, light brown skin, brown eyes. Water powers. Cannot fully turn into a mermaid when in the water, just gets webbing and gills.

She can control the temperature of the water around her, freezing it or boiling it at will. Is a great sailor

Pure Sea Hawk child, pretty much his clone. Wild, hyper, will set shit on fire. Takes pride in everything she does. Will blurt out things without thinking and can be pushy. Doesn't like to be told to do things. Zero filter.

Grows to 5'2", small body build. Named after one of the largest rivers in India.

(these guys are VERY WIP so not much to them)

Ada-Entrapta child, on the younger end. Adopted, trans woman, het. Does love robots and what not, helps their mom out a lot. Probably can run on little sleep and still be fine. Name was given to me by my good friend Dorku named after Ada Lovelace, a mathematician and first computer programmer. Very close with Onca

Luka and Felix-Catra's sons, adopted. Both magicats. Catra moves away from everyone and wouldnt really come into focus until much much later when Mira runs off. Luka and Felix idk ages yet but are only a year apart in age. Luka means light (he is one of Catra's lights now) and Felix is a cartoon cat. Would become close friends with Mira later on

(im too lazy to proof lmao and free to ask questions or change stuff up lmao god)

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docholligay · 5 years ago

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Angst Prompt Day: Pharah / Mercy, "N I G H T M A R E"

2361 Words. I hope you enjoy!

For most of her life, Pharah had avoided most mental scars related to her service. The human mind is a strange thing, and while seeing comrades killed in combat saddened her, and losing her arm had been painful in more ways than one, she had gone through the rocky periods of her life and come out quite unscarred. She held Mercy, when she cried, the high wind reminding her too much of that night, and she did Dva the favor of speaking softly when some too loud boom took her far away, and she was even known to grip Tracer’s shoulder tightly when a sharp cold got in between her ribs, and she trembled.

But Pharah could not imagine what any of these things felt like on a personal level, because her mind had seemed to reject that precise method of injury. Tracer had grumbled that of course she didn’t, because Pharah was bloody fucking perfect all the time, and Pharah had shaken her head, and simply said there was no accounting for the way a mind reacted. But, in truth, she approached it with a mix of pride and fear, in ways she could not have potentially articulated to anyone but herself. There was, of course, a pride there, that she was strong, and she was resolute, and while any other normal person would have faced these consequences, Pharah was untouched. But there was the argument, of course, in the back of her mind. You are untouched because you are untouchable. You don’t feel things like other people do. You’re just like your mother. Cold.

But Pharah was, above all things, a logical sort, and she could not change what did and didn’t affect her, and she did try very hard to show kindness and empathy, and so she put the worry to the side. She would be better than her mother, because she would try, and so she simply allowed that her brain was good at protecting her.

Until it wasn’t.

Moira broke Tracer, and it was a well known fact. That she had managed to claw her way back to a fully functioning human being was the sort of miracle that could only be explained by the very nature of Lena Oxton, a woman who would not be beat, who would only die when she was good and ready. Pharah loved that about her, that she was a tiny Jack Russell Terrier in human form. Seeing her bound back into the office a few months after being put in an induced coma, once again dirtying three different spoons because she couldn’t remember where she’d put the last one, yelling about how she was going to shoot Moira through the temple and see if she didn’t, gave Pharah a sense of stability in the world.

But Moira broke Tracer, and everyone knew it. Pharah was very lucky not to be too seriously hurt. Tracer had been cobbled back together, but Pharah had only been deeply scratched. She was perfectly functional.

And then she dreamed.

During the day, it was very easy to distract herself from the sense of panic that rose up at the strangest times. A gate would clang shut at just the right tone, there would be the sound of a boot on a concrete floor, and all of a sudden she could feel the restraint at her wrist, the buzz through her body, the sound of Tracer screaming….but there was the warmth of a brick beneath her hand. There was the conversation fo the two old ladies behind her, complaining about Marks and Spencer’s, there was Tracer, putting an ice cube in her hand, and gently telling her, ‘you aren’t there, love.’

The night held none of this. The soft darkness was a canvas that her mind could work its will upon, and she traveled there, and she felt angry and betrayed by her own mind, how richly it painted the picture, how she could feel Moira’s breath against her cheek. She woke in a cold sweat, her chest tight, and often rushed herself down to the kitchen to panic quietly, to not bother Mercy, to click the spoon against the edge of her mug as she stirred and let it be the bell that chimed her home.

Pharah was not generally unkind to herself, but she had a tendency to take all responsibility as hers and hers alone, and so it was her who would figure out the mess Moira had made of her, and wasn’t it self-pitying to even note the pain in her shoulder and the panic in her mind, against what had happened to Tracer? She didn’t complain, and so Pharah would put her head down and work this out.

What she had not counted on was the intense and deep love of her wife, and how little escaped her notice, even if she allowed things to pass without comment. It was foolish, Pharah would later chuckle, in the way that as her hair greyed, she laughed at herself more and more, to think she could hide her symptoms from an actual doctor, to not have known that Mercy was simply giving her time, but she could be very arrogant in that way from time to time. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, Mercy’s touch in the night, but it was all the same.

It came one night, a handful of months after the incident itself. Pharah would often object to the absolute lack of creativity on the part of her mind, in the darkness. It never came up with anything novel, never played new parts or reminded her of different hurts, but came back to that same grey place.

“You take so much for such a little thing.”

Pharah heard that line, over and over, the villain of the picture entering stage right. She bucked against the restraints holding her, just as she always did, ignoring the searing, shooting, hammering pain running down through that shoulder that came to a stop. The movie progressed as always, with no response from the unfeeling leather around her.

She wanted to yell, wanted to make some clever quip and science or Ireland or a football team or anything that would pull Moira away from her work. Tracer had come up with so many, her mind was so quick and agile, and Pharah could not remember if she had hated herself so much int he moment or if her ind had gently supplied her the hindsight, but she burned with rage that she was so logical and straightforward and had no real mind for sass. She had never considered it a military gift of Tracer’s, because she was a fool, and could not see things as expansively as her small teammate.

“Oh fuck off, Moira, couldn’t even properly be doing this, ‘ad you not stolen Win’s work.”

Tracer’s voice was reedy, always, but filled with that biting contempt, too. Shut up, Pharah wanted to say, stop talking, stop making her want to hurt you. Don’t you dare say that next line--

“Win’s work, Ang’s...you’re not a scientist, just a bloody fucking thief, and you won’t learn nothing from doing this love, you’re a--”

She screamed. She always screamed, when Moira hit the switch, when she dangled Tracer in between time and timelessness, seeing how long one could sustain in that space. Tracer only ever blinked for a second, maybe a second and a half if she was pushing her limits, but Moira just kept her there, letting it eat at her, but not releasing her into it either, playing tug of war with her body.

Had Pharah yelled? Had she even tried? She felt like she must have, but she never did, here and so maybe she had been--

She sat up straight, gasping, cold sweat pouring down her back. There wasn’t any air in the room, she was still in that grey cold laboratory and it was running out of air, and she felt it begin to crush her. Then, there was a strong pull around her shoulders. A lamp clicked on.

“Fareeha.” There was a voice in her ear, and it wasn’t quiet. “Fareeha, come here.”

It was a command and it was her wife, and she felt the edge soften on the thought, because Mercy hadn’t been there, and if Mercy hadn;t been there than maybe. There was a pinch on the back of her hand, and the world started to come back into view, and for the first time she took a breath with air in it, and the tightness began to cease, slowly ebbing like the tide.

“Fareeha look at me.”

She turned around and there was Mercy, her face in opposition to all the command and ferocity of her demands that Pharah be released from the thought.

“You are not there. Tell me what time it is.”

Pharah turned her head and looked at the clock. “1:02.”

“Yes, it is 1:02. Do you know what day it is? Tell me.”

Pharah turned it over and over in her mind, the memory receding into the background as she imagined the calendar. “It has to be the 23rd, I think.”

“What is four times six?”

It was then that Pharah came back to herself enough, got enough air in her lungs, to realize what Mercy was doing, to love her so intensely that it cast out all other feelings and fears. She smiled. Moira faded in the background, having lost the battle in record time. How could a devil stand against this angel?

“Twenty-four.”

Mercy cupped her cheek gently. “Yes. How are you?”

She was still shaking, a bit, and the pour of sweat down her back was making her cold, but Pharah was back home, now, with her wife, and she was safe, and though her shoulder still hurt from what had been done to it, she was free now, and on the mend, and Tracer had lived, and she was mending. She remembered all these things, in a beautiful instant, like coming up from the deep water to see the sun.

Pharah nodded, and then flushed. “I---I apologize.”

It sounded silly even to her. She would never begrudge Mercy any of the love she had given her, when she had been struggling with fear, with the memories of what had happened to her, but she had been a child, and Mercy was very tender, and so it was much more natural that she would need help. Pharah was the anchor in a storm. She was iron.

She looked at Mercy, who had taken her hand away. Her brows were furrowed and she was angry, maybe even hurt, as she assessed Pharah.

“Why should you do this yourself? Why are you thinking you are stronger than all of us?” It came sharp, in that rare way Mercy used to call someone to account. “Do you not--do you not trust me with your feelings?”

Pharah had not taken it as the arrogance it was. She had not taken it as a mark of her attempts at invulnerability. She never would have taken it as an act of mistrust. She was helping, she had assured herself. She was not piling things on to people struggling with their own lives. She loved Mercy more than anything on this earth, and she was meant to help her, and she had already done so much with Pharah’s injury not one, but twice. She wanted to protect her, and not be the protected.

She closed her eyes. It was frustrating, how she fell back into these traps. How she worked and worked at being more open, more soft, and yet, the moment there was trouble, she shut herself up again like an oyster, and she would be that alone, if she didn’t fight to keep herself open. And she had done it again, pledging that she would honor Mercy and then refusing to do her the love of trusting her with her most fragile things.

But Mercy was good, and sensed her frustration, and touched her with great love, her voice soft and warm again.

“Fareeha, I am here to be your partner, in life.” She ran her hand through Pharah’s scattered hair, “Your help. You have always helped with my burden. Do not be thinking I want you to carry this yourself. Why, when we have four hands?”

“Three.” Fareeha chuckled. ‘At night.”

Mercy scooted close to her. “You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need.”

Pharah felt tears sting at her eyes, surprised by the rapier of tenderness that stuck between her ribs. Be strong, had been the ethos of her childhood. Be hard, be the rock that evil breaks itself upon. An Amari is an army in herself, she was told. Command requires firmness.

“I love you, Angela.” Whatever she said, it was never enough, never the depth of what she truly felt, but as she laid her head on Mercy’s shoulder, she trusted that Mercy would know the all the meanings behind it.

Mercy kissed her temple. “Let us help you. There is no shame in having to need it.”

The Pharah that life had built argued inside her. No, it said, I am not the one who needs help. This is the weakness of a moment, and I will be fine in the morning. I am the helper. I am the one who brings order from chaos. I do not require the things that other people do. I am a wall. I am a rock. I am the sword that brings justice to this world.

But there was another Pharah, too, one that she was growing, row by row, leaf by leaf. One that she was trying to nurture, and water, no matter the difficulty. And it was this Pharah who spoke now, two carefully chosen words.

“I’m struggling.”

#seolh

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