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80.17% All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! [Oregairu, Poly] / Chapter 93: All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 89

章節 93: All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 89

Among the many, [many] things that anime characters tend to do that may seem unremarkable at first blush (and, no, blushing doesn't number among them; that could be another whole lecture entirely) are the… all-nighters.

We have all seen it in one way or another: from the fighter too filled with nervous energy before the big day who goes out at night to train with his bald, noseless childhood friend that he cares about more than his own future son (just compare how he reacts when one of the two of them is beaten within, or past, an inch of their life), to the students heartwarmingly doing their best to prepare their last Culture Festival until the Sun rises up and one member of the chosen couple tenderly lies their jacket over their sleeping partner, thus solidifying who of the two will get up when the baby needs a diaper change in the middle of the night.

Look, I get it. It makes for gorgeous imagery, the coming dawn signaling an overcoming of a struggle that we all can empathize with. The exhaustion of a night filled with anything but rest giving way to light and warmth, maybe falling upon the delicate features of a beautiful girl defenselessly asleep in the same room as a character who we all hope isn't addicted to the Sleeping Sex tag.

It seems… almost mundane. A way to humanize the characters we're all supposed to relate to, bringing their struggles to this one note of mundane issues.

Except then the fuckers go and [keep acting like nothing happened].

Yeah. Sure. No problem. You spend the whole night tossing around on your bed until you finally give up, get dressed without alarming the 'I can't believe it's not yandere' younger sister peacefully snoring in the room beside yours, grab a single can of coffee out of the fridge and walk toward your (second) girlfriend's house, and that's no issue at all.

It's not like your stomach revolts at the heavy fall of dense coffee and milk when it's so early that the Sun is no more than a gray presence on the horizon. Not like you discover that your feet are unsteady and your eyes blurry. Not like you just want to close your eyes at every intersection, hoping to develop a functional form of sonambulism.

Not like you then arrive at your destination and realize that nobody even slightly sane would already be awake at this godforsaken hour, so you decide to stand up and rest against the wall opposite the door of the house where your [presumably] asleep girlfriend lives.

['To be fair, it's not like we have that much experience interacting with sane people anymore.']

That's incredibly hurtful of you, Brain-chan. Just insinuating that bitches be crazy—

['They are sleeping with you.']

Point taken.

['Also, never let Shizu or Iroha hear you say the line "bitches be crazy" out loud.']

As endearing as it is that you keep trying to take upon yourself the burdens that Self-Preservation-kun left unattended, I can't help but notice that you didn't include Haruno there.

['She'll tear the truth out of your far too spacious cranium with no issues whatsoever. Speaking it aloud will only amuse her at that point.']

Right.

['…']

What?

['I don't know, it's hard to engage in vapid back and forth when we're… like this.']

Yeah.

['And you love her too much to let go of it when you're tired and alone.']

It's… Do I? At… Damn it, I can't even pretend to take that question seriously, not after…

['After looking into a mirror. With her.']

Yeah. It… It was supposed to… I wanted her to see herself. To look into those gorgeous eyes of hers and watch as they opened to… To what she thought for so long she'd never have.

['But you also looked. And you saw her. With you.']

I did.

[And now you're stalking another woman, you philanderer.']

It's [not] stalking. Not if you have sex afterward. Josei has taught me so.

['You mean "consensual sex," right?']

What part of 'josei' don't you understand?

['… Right.']

Of course. I'm [always] right. That's my one defining, most endearing character trait, after all.

['I don't think "endearing" is the word you're looking for…']

Mayhaps. As vast as my vocabulary is, I'm struggling to come up with an alternate descriptor that fits better than—

['Cursed.']

Cursed?

['Yup. How would you explain getting caught in the middle of stalking twice in a row by the same guy otherwise?']

It's [not] stalking if—wait, what?

With an effort of will the likes of which Zaimokuza would spend three paragraphs describing, I lift my gaze from the stretch of deserted pedestrian road and look to my left, past the red brick wall surrounding the small yard that prefaces Iroha's house entrance, trying to focus on the (slow) blur of motion that I just caught, and I'm sure it's most definitely [not—]

Security-kun, the long-suffering character in search of a heroine to defend from plenty of tags and likely frustrated at all those heroines so enthusiastically enjoying the tags in question, stands right outside of a still-open door set in the middle of its own brick wall and looks at me.

I look back at him.

Then, like an idiot, I wave.

"What are you doing here?" he asks with, mayhaps, a tad more familiarity than our two previous encounters may warrant.

But my heart is as broad as the plains, and my compassion equal to that of the Buddha himself—at least while sleep-deprived and mildly suspicious of being trapped in a hallucination the likes of which would make an Uchiha brat squint really hard—so I answer his somewhat insolent approach with a warm smile that surely has nothing to do with the young man flinching.

… Rude.

"So, funny story…" I start.

"I somehow doubt it," he mutters.

"Remember that girl who chased me after I pinned her to a wall?" I push forward with the utmost example of Japanese politeness I can conjure, given the circumstances.

"Which of them?" he immediately ripostes.

"That's completely unfair. Haruno didn't chase me, and it was her who pinned me to a wall," I say, straightening the lapels of my jacket with all the dignity I've learned from anime butlers.

"… So. The second one."

"Yes. The second one," I concur, even if the first woman I had to chase was actually Shizu.

Up the stairs.

To our first blowjob.

Look, I just don't feel like oversharing with poor Security-kun over here. He already looks stressed enough.

"What—" he starts.

"She lives here," I say, pointing at Iroha's door.

"Are you [stalking her?"]

['Don't you fucking dare—']

"Not according to josei rules."

"Wha—okay, I [know] what that means, and you and I are going to have a—"

"Hachiman Hikigaya, I presume?" a fourth interlocutor interjects, making all three of us, Brain-chan included, stop abruptly and slowly turn toward Iroha's door.

Where a middle-aged woman dressed in a powder-blue bathrobe who's not as blessed as Yuigahamama (but that may still manage to get Iroha to kick my shin) glares at me from her open door.

And, well…

"The one and only," I say, for lack of a better way to answer such a question—

"Gods, I hope so…" Security-kun grumbles.

And so, despite my heart being as broad as the plains themselves, I throw a glare at him.

It's just the politely Japanese thing to do, you understand.

***

"Damage control?" Iroha's mother asks me from the other side of a round kitchen table.

"I don't care about the brand; just give me coffee," I politely answer.

She blinks at me.

Then closes her eyes, groans, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Heh.

"Don't get cute with me after the night I just had, young man," she grumbles.

"I'm afraid the cuteness is an integral part of my persona. Asking me to not be cute is like asking Iroha to act sincerely and unguarded in front of people she doesn't trust," I answer with a measured, reassuring tone.

['You do realize we don't want this woman to hate us, don't you?']

Too late. I exist, and she's a popular woman. Those two facts are bound by an inextricable law of reality that can't be so easily infringed upon.

Not without a stand, at least.

"I should slap you," she says, staring up at the ceiling, her head draped over the backrest of her expensive-looking leather and metal chair. Because let it never be said that class warfare doesn't have a place in kitchen furniture.

"Wasn't there a saying about reporters better avoiding becoming a headline? Because I'm pretty sure that 'Middle-aged Woman Assaults Daughter's Lover—'"

Huh.

Well, on the bright side of things, I can now confirm that I like whatever brand of coffee they have.

"This is going to stain," I dispassionately say, looking at the cold coffee spreading over my shirt.

"If you expect an invitation to take it off and wash it, I should remind you that [middle-aged women] should not invite their daughters' lovers to undress in front of them," she says with unexplainable hostility.

"Let it never be said that I can't take a hint," I said, hoping against hope that my statement becomes somehow literal.

"What the Hell are you doing?!"

"Not expecting an invitation," I say, already shrugging my half-unbuttoned shirt off and then using it to towel off the coffee on my face and chest.

For some reason, Iroha's mother stares.

Which, quite frankly, it's better than her stabbing me, so I'll take as much staring as she can dish out. What, does she expect me, [me], the veteran of a foursome including the likes of a fully unleashed, genuine Haruno Yukinoshita and a voyeuristic and fully-equipped Iroha Isshiki to get [shy]?

['I'm pretty sure the burning tingle on your cheeks is you blushing.']

It could be an allergic reaction.

['To coffee?']

Oh God. Mom was right. I'm dying.

['… Shut up and go wash that shirt.']

Yes, Ma'am.

So, due to Brain-chan's prompting and not at all because I can no longer keep a straight face while a woman wearing a bathrobe eyes up my glistening chest, I stand up and go to the metallic sink set in a dark grey counter, immediately running cold water over the stain, hoping it hasn't had enough time to set as I pump the ceramic soap dispenser a few times and then start scrubbing—

"So. You really want to be a househusband," a dry tone says from behind me.

"She told you that much, uh?" I answer, working the suds into the fabric.

"She told me about the [pregnancy scare]."

"I'm going to murder her."

"Can't say I particularly blame you. But I'll still stab you through both kidneys before you can lay a finger on my little girl."

My lips try to quirk into half a grin.

I don't let them.

The… The water is cold. Not cool, but cold, the level rising slowly as it numbs my hands after running over my bare arms, as I keep using it to try and distract myself from the woman behind me.

The woman I have come to confront.

It's kind of counterproductive.

"I could say about ten things, off the top of my head, that would get you to flinch back in horror, guilt, and repulsion regarding how misguided your protective urges have been over the past few years," I finally say.

Most of the coffee seems to be gone, but there remains a stubborn splotch of faint beige spread across the collar.

I may need to borrow actual detergent.

"And you won't?" she says.

"Won't what?" I answer, pumping a bit more soap into my cupped hand and hoping it will do the trick.

Then the water cuts off, and I have to look up from my drenched shirt and into a woman's eyes that are more chestnut than luminous honey.

A woman standing right beside me, her arm stretched around me to push down the faucet's lever.

"Won't tell me. Those ten things," she says in a low tone I don't recognize.

So I, reluctantly, let the mess of wet fabric plop down into the steel sink, wipe the soap on my shirt, and turn around, the grey granite counter digging into the small of my bare back as I lean on it and look down at a woman who's only slightly taller than her daughter.

"She already told you everything that mattered. I won't add what I think to that," I say.

Her arm's still around me, clutching the faucet tight enough that it trembles even as her eyes remain impassive and fixed on mine.

"It matters. To me," she says, her voice finally unsteady.

"What?"

"It [matters]. Everything. Every way I failed her. I want to—I [need] to know. I hurt my daughter, Hikigaya, and if you know something I don't—"

Damn it.

I am not good at this.

I am good at digging up weaknesses. At coming up with ways to [attack.] To make people confront how awful and terrible they are under their nice masks. Not to realize it, but to face it, because it wouldn't work if they didn't, on some level, [know]. If they didn't shy away from all the parts of themselves that shame them.

I am good at that.

I am not good at what should come after.

So it's a wonder that my cold, wet hands are clutching a woman's cheeks, holding her steady as her ragged breath washes over my bare chest.

It's a wonder that I search her eyes for any hint of deceit. For anything other than a mother who has spent a night flagellating herself for the failures that Iroha heaped upon her before asking her for that favor that we couldn't ask of anyone we didn't trust absolutely.

It's a wonder that I smile.

Gently.

"I could've spared you all of this, you know? This is all my fault," I offer.

She shakes her head minutely, staring at me all the way.

So I allow the bitterness to sour my smile.

And continue.

"I told Iroha that Yukino and I could search the files but that we weren't knowledgeable enough to properly leverage them. That it would be better if you did. And she… she understood what I was doing."

She blinks.

Because she doesn't.

"I… She has told you. Not everything, because I don't think there has been enough time for Iroha to tell you everything that she would consider important to tell you about us. Me. But… you know. Enough. You know that I see people as problems, and that I keep trying to solve them because that's the particular way in which I'm damaged. And so, while I was conspiring to commit a series of felonies, I saw a chance to solve [another] problem. To twist my plan and include a little detour that would make my girlfriend confront her mother about things they haven't talked about in years."

"We talked," she finally says, the words tortured. "Plenty of times."

"No," I refute as gently as I'm able. "You pretended to be all right and carefully chose the words to keep that charade going."

Her eyes close, and it's far too easy to imagine luminous honey behind the lowered eyelids and over the purple-black bags under them.

"I… I thought I was [helping] her. I thought… I just wanted to protect her. To keep her away from—"

I let go of her cheeks and lay a single finger on top of her lips.

I hope she doesn't bite.

"From the truth," I say, finishing her line in the way she didn't mean to.

The way that hurts.

Because that's what I do.

And then her eyes open, and the illusion is broken as chestnut wavers, searching my own eyes for something other than my attempt at being gentle and comforting and failing miserably—

"So, should I go look for my camera? Set up a good lighting rig?" a voice [slightly] less playful than usual says from somewhere to my right. And behind me.

So, about as slowly as if I was trapped in the nightmare my exhausted brain insists the situation is, I turn toward the kitchen door by the side of the counter.

To find Iroha in utilitarian, checkered pajamas that, nonetheless, do a wonderful job of conveying the allure of a domestic girlfriend—fuck.

I've read [too much] incest-themed manga.

Yes, Domestic Girlfriend counts, even if it's the bullshit, non-blood-related kind. The intent is what matters.

"You're thinking something dumb," my girlfriend of the not-domestic variety says, right before sighing in exasperation after the conclusion of the ritual that she often partakes in with my two other, not-at-all incest-themed girlfriends.

"As unfair as I find that accusation, it may be slightly truer than usual given my state of sleep deprivation," I answer, slowly retracting the finger on top of her mother's lips and hoping against hope that motion-tracking vision is now a thing.

Would that work if I asked her to cosplay as Godzilla? I mean, it's not precisely my fetish, but if it would get me out of this, I may even consider adding American Godzilla to the scenario.

Just, you know, so that I can incinerate the costume afterward.

['Some things aren't worth the sacrifice.']

We're talking about my survival here.

['Oh, now you worry about Self-Preservation-kun.']

"This isn't what it looks like!" a panicked middle-aged woman who I just now realized broadly fits into the Christmas Cake mold shouts as she pushes me away, and the back of my head hits the cupboard above the sink.

"Hey! I've got voices living inside this cranium!" I say, as stalwart a defender of squatter rights as ever.

"Senpai, I'd rather you keep seducing my mother. It would make things less awkward than explaining that."

"I was [not] seducing your mother. Heck, I didn't seduce [Yui's] mother, and that was more tempting—[ghk!"]

"I should have grabbed that knife…" the woman stabbing her fingers just below my ribcage says.

"I mean, you haven't met Yui's mother, Mom…" Iroha defends me.

For a given value of 'defending.'

That, given the twitching eyebrow the recently revealed kunoichi sends her trainee, may not have landed that well.

"I [could] seduce your boyfriend," she says.

"I mean…" Iroha answers, waggling her hand in a doubtful manner.

"He's into older women, and I look like you with better curves."

"Hey!" Iroha says before her eyes dart down to her [perfectly adequate], not at all Yukinoshita, hopes and dreams.

['Please, please, please, for the love of JoJo, shut the fuck up—']

"Abundant doesn't mean better. A flat chest can be a status symbol, and—"

"All right, now I don't want to seduce your boyfriend."

"Look, the actual concern is him seducing [you]—"

"I'm not so fickle in my affections that I could so easily fall for you mother—"

"Oh? Tell me, Senpai, how would you feel if I started talking about a middle-aged yet still sexually appealing woman who has struggled with betrayal and a hostile world for years, doing her best to raise her daughter by herself, [maybe] having a bit of an issue with going for drinks after work, who only needs a gentle, guiding hand to get out of her depression and—"

"Stop! My penis can only get so erect!"

"If it gets even [slightly] erect, I'm kneeing you in the groin," The elder Isshiki says.

"You're just making it worse, Mom…"

"Wha—he gets off on that?"

"Don't look so happy about it, please," I beg of a cruel, indifferent world deaf to my desperate pleas.

"I mean… He's more of an S, but he has this thing for domineering, older women into martial arts, so…" Iroha says, the hand waggle making a surprising comeback that is sure to be foreshadowing for a secret move about to be unleashed.

I think.

Look, either the sleep deprivation is catching up with me, or accumulated Brain-chan damage is.

['Does that mean damage to me or damage done by me?']

Yes.

"And just what, precisely, does he being an S mean?" the icy tone of what should be a kitsune kunoichi elder but may actually have some yuki-onna blood states.

Which ends up with me licking my lips right before I catch Iroha's affected mask of indifference letting a single glint of mischief through.

"I mean, I have videos—"

Somehow, a distant part of my mind realizes, tackling her and covering her mouth with my palm right before she bursts into giggles only to then lick my hand, this may all have been part of her plan.

Luminous honey right in front of me and flushed cheeks under my fingers confirm my suspicions.

And a heavy hand falling down on my bare shoulder from behind reassures me that I haven't heard the last of it.

"You're taking revenge. This is all you taking revenge for me making you confront your issues with your mother," I mutter.

Iroha's eyes narrow into the only visible sign of a cheeky grin, and a small finger runs up the middle line of my abs.

This is just going to make my scarousal thing worse, isn't it?

***

"We don't have Damage Control. I hope the Mixed Signals blend will be good enough," a perfectly polite woman who's still wearing her bathrobe says as she deposits a steaming cup of expresso in front of me.

"As long as it isn't meant to be consumed topically, I'm game," I say, lying through my teeth.

Seriously, an expresso? What, do I look like a detective character who, somehow, decided to go shirtless after losing their trench coat?

… Darn it, I miss Haruno.

['Yeah, I also miss shirtless Haruno.']

… Okay, that too.

"I will have—" Iroha starts.

"Orange juice," her mother finishes. With finality. As is often the case with finishers.

The demon in clearly-not-disguise pouts from the chair to my left, and the mother of the spawn of Satan briefly (and unwisely) turns her back on us as she goes to the fridge to retrieve the offensive carton of juice.

"So. I presume this whole thing was your misguided attempt at making sure that none of your plans backfired?" she says, taking a seat in front of me.

"I'm a caring, loving boyfriend who would never desert his girlfriend in the face of adversity—"

"He speaks like he's being sarcastic. He isn't. The only reason I'm not madder at him right now is because I know he was worried sick all through the night," Iroha points out before taking a sip of industrial orange liquid.

"You [could] have sent me a message to tell me how things were going," I point out, not at all resentfully.

"And how would you have been worried sick all through the night then, Senpai? Seriously, it's like you're missing the point entirely."

… I think I may be about to develop a tick.

Iroha's mother giggling is [not] helping.

"Oh, she has you right where she wants you," the older woman whispers in that way actors have of not whispering at all.

"That is a lie," I confidently answer. "I'm not panickily reading parenting guides—"

"If you get my daughter pregnant, I'm [murdering you on live TV."]

"Before ending college! She means if you get me pregnant before ending college!"

"I most certainly fucking [don't—"]

The next hour or so is spent with me trying to defend myself from the chaotic, dizzying tag team of the Isshiki mother and daughter duo.

It ends, more or less, when I fall unconscious on top of the kitchen table, only to wake up at the pain on my forehead.

Then Iroha gets concerned, starts fussing over me, and her mother leads me to the sofa for me to lie down.

Because real-life all-nighters have, after all, a magnificent advantage over their anime counterparts:

They are a wonderful way to get out of arguments.

==================

This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/all-right-fine-ill-take-you-oregairu.15676/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 105 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Brain-chan's intrusions into Hachiman's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!


章節 94: All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Dietary Restrictions – Omake

[Author's Note: So, this was supposed to be an omake prompted by a comment on the main thread of this story on QQ. A small extra to write if I had the time through a week that went not according to keikaku ™. It would contain a subject matter that some readers may be turned off by, but no big deal for an omake.

Now it's almost 5k words.

… I'm sorry.

We'll come back to our regularly scheduled train wreck next week. For now, this is a look at an alternate timeline where Hachiman and Iroha's lack-of-sleep-induced filter malfunction went a bit further than in the original.

May the gods of shounen have mercy on my soul.

And enjoy!]

In the life of a young reader of manga, there comes a turning point. A moment when things irrevocably change, and the world becomes a different place.

It's when they first come across a word that they understand, but that references something they very much [don't].

Let's say that, for instance, you're reading a hearty, polite, and based on objective claims debate about the merits of a waifu over another. First, there's that term: "waifu." It already tickles something in the back of your brain. You're almost certain that it just means "wife" spelled in a peculiar way, but… it leaves you feeling vaguely dirty, as if something sacred has been polluted.

But you, young, voracious reader that you are, remain engaged because this concerns one of your favorite characters (Maybe a waifu? No, you still aren't that far gone). You trudge on, trying to ignore the worst of the voices yelling at you from the screen of a computer still unpolluted by the presence of tags.

And then you stumble upon another word.

Absolute territory.

You're young, but you still have done your due diligence. You have watched the classics and studied them devoutly. You [know] what Absolute Territory (or Absolute Terror, or even Anti-Tank Field) is.

What you don't get is what the twin-tailed brunette with the short skirt and high stockings has to do with extraterrestrial angels set on mass genocide.

Which points at two dramatic discoveries: the first one is that the Fate timeline is convoluted enough that absolutely [no one] would blink at genocidal, extraterrestrial angels being a thing.

The second is your introduction to the world of seemingly innocuous terms that otakus everywhere use as their own proto-language to make it even more crystal clear that being a part of the society that surrounds them was never an option.

The spiral quickly accelerates downward. There are some wholesome terms thrown into the mix, like lilies being used as a sign of love of the (usually) non-penile persuasion, but then there are more obscure ones, like yaoi being actually an acronym for "please, stop, my butt hurts," and that means love of the definitely penile persuasion inflicted on somebody equally penile yet being persuaded.

There are quite a few more terms that grow ever more obscure, but something niggles at the back of your head as you learn about them. As you discover that shotoclones have very little to do with Shotokan karate, or, at least, with [actual] Shotokan karate. As you discover that masked weirdoes in a giant robot setting have a particular nomenclature specifically for their very precise circumstances. As you learn that there's a crucial difference between super robot and real robot stories, even if both make engineering students crouch forward with their hands in their pockets. As you elucidate on your own that isekai, literally translated as "another world," actually means "the author likes money and dislikes character depth."

So, you go from being comparatively innocent, somebody who thought that the term fanservice would be the most embarrassing thing to explain about his newest obsession, to somebody who just realized how deep the rabbit hole goes and is actually scared to check what "rabbit hole" could mean in his adopted subculture.

You learn this new, intriguing language couched in references, euphemisms, and outright mysteries.

You start to speak it, despite yourself.

And then, one day, you wonder precisely what the Hell does the name of a chicken dish mean in a context where food should only appear if it's being consumed by a busty blonde prone to stripping while indulging the schizophrenic breaks that assault her when taste testing weird dishes.

"I [could] seduce your boyfriend," Iroha's mother says.

"I mean…" Iroha answers, waggling her hand in a doubtful manner.

"He's into older women, and I look like you with better curves."

"Hey!" Iroha says before her eyes dart down to her [perfectly adequate], not at all Yukinoshita, hopes and dreams.

And I can only think about how utterly ridiculous it would be for this situation to feature a rice bowl with chicken and egg.

['That's a lie. You're thinking about a lot of other things. I should know.']

Well then, can't you, I don't know, [stop doing that?!]

['I'm a victim of my upbringing.']

"You still have years to mature, sweetie," Iroha's mother says, trying to come across as reassuring rather than patronizing and smug.

Let's just say that kitsune genes are spectacularly unsuited for such an approach.

"You're not [that] busty," Iroha says, glaring, her cheeks red and her eyes traitorously straying to the line of cleavage peeking between a blue bathrobe's enticingly angled lapels.

At that, her mother arches a single eyebrow as the left corner of her mouth slowly climbs upward.

[Then], she crosses her arms under her bust and leans forward.

For reasons entirely divorced from such actions, I myself end up leaning forward with my hands in my pockets, like an engineering student confronted with a masked weirdo piloting a super robot.

Iroha is now glaring at me.

"You've been awfully silent for a while, [Senpai]," she says, her own arms crossing under a pajama-covered bust that, while not as endowed as the Yuigahama bloodline limit, can still make Yukino cry.

"You're both very beautiful women, and any man would be lucky to have you," I say, reflexively resorting to one of the lines I've been rehearsing just for these very circumstances.

Except in my mind, those circumstances involved some combination of Shizu, Haruno, and Iroha, not, you know, Iroha and [her mother].

"Such a charmer," she comments with what's clearly becoming undisguised amusement.

I swear, me and my propensity to end up with people prone to yelling 'How amusing!'…

['Now picture her with pauldrons—']

Isn't the traditional garb for a kitsune temptress a kimono sliding down bare shoulders and a kiseru pipe?

['Yes. Yes, it is. And now you're leaning farther forward.']

This is not my fault. There's absolutely no way anybody could fault me for this. It would take the height of hypocrisy and disregard for any kind of fairness to—

"This is all your fault," Iroha mumbles.

And then, before I can even mutter a single 'Just as expected,' she grabs my head and pulls me down into a kiss.

Which would already be somewhat compromising, what with us being in front of her mother and me being shirtless, but it goes [slightly] beyond the pale when she surrounds my hip with a slender leg and pushes herself right up against something inadequately covered by me shoving both hands down my pockets—hands that are now pressed against something warm and maybe a bit moist that keeps rubbing tiny circles against me as Iroha lets out her customary short whines and moans that make waves of heat waft up the sides of my neck.

That make me close my eyes, sink into whatever it is that lies under the thoughts muddled by lack of sleep and abundance of anxiety, and take my hands out of my pants to grab her [ass]. To sink my fingers against fuzzy fabric and into tender flesh and make her whimper. To lift her up, making her breasts press against my bare chest as I spin us around and set her on the kitchen counter, by the side of the sink, both of her legs going around me, and—

And a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.

From behind me.

"Really?" Iroha's mother asks.

"I'm completely blameless in all of this. I am just reacting to my Pavlovian conditioning," I sincerely answer.

"Your Pavlovian conditioning is to try and breed my daughter after a single kiss?" she says.

"Not at all. She's on the pill," I explain, defending myself from unfair accusations.

"Actually…" a young, tiny voice says from in front of me.

I blink.

Iroha's mother's chestnut brown eyes imitate mine.

And we both turn around to face a blushing, out-of-breath girl fidgeting with the hem of her pajama top.

"No," I tell her.

"Absolutely [no way]," her mother adds.

"I'm just joking!" Iroha answers, waving both hands between our chests.

I narrow my eyes.

"… Really," she says, blushing harder for some mysterious reason.

"No sex until you give me a blood test," I tell her.

"Wha—you can use a condom! Really! I won't even needle it!"

"… I never wanted to hear this line from you," her mother laments.

"No sex," I say, as unwavering and strict as I've ever been with rambunctious younger girls unheeding of healthy boundaries who may or not steal my manga from my room when I'm not looking. "This is a [punishment]."

Iroha looks up at me.

Her mouth is half open, her lips drawing a perfectly imperfect circle, her eyes wide, her chest rapidly rising and falling.

And her hands are slowly crawling up my body, the back of her fingers sending cold thrills through my bare chest and neck until she cups my cheeks and holds me intensely enough that I don't even think to recoil from eyes that wouldn't look amiss on the Yuno Gasais of the world.

"Are you… going to [punish me], Senpai?" she asks, almost breathless.

"Wha—" her mother starts, unaware of what's been set in motion and the futility of any struggle.

"Are you going to deny me your [cock]? To make me beg? Are you going to stand over me, your hard member right over my lips as I whimper? As I touch myself and go mad with the need for you to be inside of me? Are you going to rub the purple head of your thick, throbbing penis right over my lip, forcing me to smell the barest traces of your precum but not leaving enough for me to taste you? Are you going to watch, strict and impassive, as I bring myself past the edge over and over, losing my mind as I think about you inside of me, but never satisfied, always craving for what you can give me and my hands can't? Are you going to drive me insane with need and desire? I'm sorry, Senpai, but that's impossible! After all, you'd need to tie me down so I wouldn't jump on [your cock."]

Blood pounds in my ears.

A harsh breath washes over my chest.

And a hand on my shoulder twitches.

"What the fuck," Iroha's mother mutters.

"See what I have to deal with?" I ask as something uncomfortably hard does its best to rip my pants open.

"What you have to deal with?" she says as Iroha keeps staring into my eyes, [slowly] licking her lips in a circle traced with the very tip of a pink, [agile] tongue.

"This. She does this. [A lot]," I clarify.

"And you haven't bred her?"

"It's been a [struggle]," I say.

"I can see that," she answers.

And only then do I notice my second girlfriend's mother staring at the clearly defined bulge trying to escape my pants.

"This isn't what it looks like," I stupidly claim.

"No," Iroha agrees. "It's [much] better."

And she unzips me.

I don't even think to stop her before my member leaps free from the open pants and now lowered boxers. I can only stare at the inevitability that is Iroha grabbing me by the base of my cock and pulling me toward her, toward where she's sitting with her legs open on top of gray granite, guiding the tip of my member straight to a damp spot on her checkered pajamas, between her thighs—

"You are not seriously going to—" her mother starts to say.

"Oh? Are you [jealous], Mom? I don't see why; after all, you're like me but with [better curves]."

"I don't think getting competitive right now is going to—" I start to say.

Only for the hand on my shoulder to [caress] its way up to the still-tingling side of my neck.

"You [really] want to go there?" the owner of the hand asks her daughter.

"I don't," I say to the two women staring at one another with narrowed eyes. "I really, [really] don't."

"I don't know what you mean, Mom. After all, you just said that you could easily seduce my boyfriend, didn't you? That he's into [older women."]

The hand on my neck twitches.

And, out of the corner of my eye, right after a flash of something that I'm pretty sure would herald a thunderstorm and a change in hairstyle were we on an alien planet, I see a [grin].

A grin that I know disturbingly well, even if it's usually been inflicted on me by the girl still pulling me toward her by my cock.

"Hikigaya…" a breathy voice whispers in my ear, making my erection very confused. "No. Hachiman? Maybe you'd like me to call you Hachi—"

"What are you doing?" Iroha asks, her grip on me worryingly tight.

"[Punishing you,"] her mother answers in a tone that makes me reflexively swallow and has Iroha widen her eyes.

And then she steps around me, the tips of her fingers dancing over the side of my neck as she sashays through what should be the short distance from my side to being in front of me and to Iroha's left, the hand that is not on my heated skin tracing the edges of exposed flesh framed by her blue bathrobe.

"Are you really…?" Iroha asks.

And her mother's eyes gleam.

"Are you asking me if I'm going to fuck your boyfriend right in front of you, Sweetie? If I'm going to make him taste a body you still don't have? If I'm going to help him punish you, keeping you staring at us while he does to me everything that he's promised not to do to you until your punishment is over? If I'm going to take his thick cock [raw], inside of me, and beg him to fill me up, to give you a [sibling] right in front of you? To not stop breeding me until we're both sure I'm pregnant? I'm sorry, Sweetie, but that's impossible! After all, pregnancy tests take weeks to be effective."

My lips are dry.

There's a slight buzzing noise between my ears.

And I'm pretty sure that my face looks about the same as Iroha's right now.

"Wha… [how?"] she says.

"My job involves speaking to a camera. I've got plenty of practice giving little speeches on the fly."

"Your ratings must be [spectacular]," I say, taking a mental note to blame Brain-chan for my malfunctioning filter at a later date.

"Oh…" the woman says, looking pleasantly bashful for a single moment, with her chin tucked in and glowing cheeks, before that foxy grin makes a comeback and her eyes gleam at me. "Well, I do believe these were called spectacular at some point."

And then, that devilish hand that had been playing with the lower point of the triangle of creamy flesh framed by blue cloth… pulls down.

Her bathrobe slowly parts, her belt keeping it closed until the daring finger reaches it and tugs the knot undone.

And…

Well, she's no Yuigahama.

But she's most definitely not a Yukinoshita.

"Mo—Mom…" Iroha says, staring at the exposed globes of flesh covered only by a blue bra that look about as firm as—

"Hn!" she says.

Because, yeah.

They look about as firm as they feel.

It takes me a moment to stare at my hands lifting her breasts up, the minimalistic, lacy blue bra offending me in its attempt at depriving me of the proper feeling I'm looking for even as my thumbs unerringly find the nipples trying to poke through the shielding fabric.

"I… Uh…" she says as her daughter keeps staring.

I take a step forward.

She walks back.

Or, at least, as much as the granite counter lets her.

So I push her until she climbs on top of it, sitting on her open bathrobe, her legs parting as I step between them to get closer, to kiss the side of her neck, to hear her [whimper].

"Ah! Wha—I was… I was teasing!" she says.

"That's… A bit too late, Mom. He won't let you stop when he's like this."

"You mean he's going to—has he ever—" she says, an edge of panic creeping into her voice.

"Oh, no. Nothing like that," Iroha says with a hint of bewildering disappointment. "It's just… Senpai, do you remember Mom's name?"

Something clicks inside my head.

"[Kanade]," I growl over a wet stretch of her slender neck.

And the woman with the marvelously firm breasts shudders.

"Yeah. That," Iroha says, taking her top off, her left hand slowly traveling down a tummy that I've enjoyed licking and caressing too few times.

And I grab her wrist.

She struggles a moment before she meets my eyes and freezes, her mouth once again in that perfectly imperfect circle of surprise and something else.

"You are being [punished]," I remind her as I slide further away from whatever my usual self would consider common sense and into something dark and warm that is always right under the surface.

Iroha shudders.

So does Kanade.

"I… I'm really not sure I…" she starts to say.

"I can be sure for both of us. For the [three] of us," I say.

"I am… You… I'm [old]. You don't want someone like me to—"

I regretfully leave her breasts unattended as I grab her wrist as tightly as I just took her daughter's, pushing her hand down.

To my cock.

"I want you. Of course I want you," I say.

And she grabs me.

"I'm out of practice. It's been… [years] since the last time," she says, her hand belying her words, sliding around me in up and down motions that have her hand circle side to side around me, taking a bit of my precum each time she reaches my tip so she can more easily glide. So she can make me grunt in approval and need.

"You've got a fantastic memory," I say.

Which, going by the glint in her eye, may not have been the most complimentary thing I could've told her.

"I could teach you a thing or two," she says in the same tone one could offer a friendly talk behind the school after classes.

… Note to self: never again picture her wearing a sukeban.

"I have faith in you, Senpai," Iroha whispers, her wrist turning inside of my grip so that she can grab my arm in return.

So I lick my dry lips, stare into chestnut brown eyes.

And go [deep].

"I'm a terrible student. You'll need to be thorough."

"I'm sure I can get through to you."

"I'm sure I can push [through] you[.]"

"… That was terrible," Iroha mutters.

"Shut up, I haven't slept at all."

"Our first night, you didn't sleep that much, and I don't remember a line that bad."

"Maybe because you were too busy acting like a brat so I would dote over you."

"Well, [excuse me] for being needy after having your stupidly thick cock spread me open until my eyes rolled back and I could only scream your name—"

"You two are adorable, and maybe that's a sign that we should stop before this goes any fur—[hn!"]

"Mom? You're going to get fucked. In front of me. You're going to take my boyfriend's cock so deep inside of you that it will rewrite any lingering memories of anything [lesser]. You're going to cum over and over until you can barely even plead for him to stop. Are we clear?" Iroha says while tugging on an exposed nipple that doesn't belong to her unless we apply the kind of reasoning that gets a lot of people to click on a doujin link and many others, not so Oreimo-oriented, to ignore it.

I raise an eyebrow.

Iroha looks at me, returns my gesture, and very pointedly looks at where my cock is near enough to a wet pair of blue panties that I can feel the heat coming from inside of them.

I shrug.

She glares.

['Look,'] I don't say, but think loud enough that she should be able to get it, ['I like her. She's smarter than I thought she would be, and she does look like you—'

'If the next words are "but with better curves," we're going to have a problem,'] she likely answers, going by the sharp look of displeasure.

['But she's not you,'] I hastily amend.[ 'And, as horny as you two have made me, I still have enough sense to—']

"Senpai… are you going to punish me or not?" she says.

Pouting.

And I don't know how or when, but suddenly, Kanade's panties are pulled aside, and half the head of my cock is pushed past her lower lips.

"Ah! Ah, [fuck], it's… it's been so [long]…"

"It's about to get a lot longer, [Mom]."

Taking my cue, I push.

The mature woman whines in a way that is disturbingly familiar as I keep pushing past her folds, as I twist my hips to corkscrew inside of her when her thighs spread farther apart, the left one grabbed by Iroha and set over my girlfriend's lap.

"Ha—Hachiman, are you—oh, [fuck]—are you [sure] you—"

I lay a single finger on her lips as I lean over her, forcing her to look up so that her eyes can meet mine.

"Call me [Hachi]," I growl.

She whimpers.

And I push.

Deeper inside, her lubrication abundant enough that I don't have to retreat, that I can keep forcing her open as she bites her lip under my silencing touch.

"Senpai," Iroha whines in a clear demand.

So I let go of her wrist.

But, before she can go back to touching herself, I take her hand, interlacing our fingers, making her whimper turn into something joyful and tender.

As I reach as far inside of her mother as anyone could ever reach.

Both women gasp at once as I try not to shudder, pushing harder forward to grind my pelvis on top of Kanade's, to make her close her eyes and take a shuddering breath that buffets the finger on top of her lips.

And then I pull back.

Iroha stares in fascination at where we're joined. At my cock emerging wet with her mother's fluids. At the folds clinging to my shaft, begging me to come back in.

So I take my finger away and lean forward.

Kanade's eyes open, looking at me with as much shock as they have since this all started.

And I kiss her.

Her lips have a familiar taste, something that takes me back to a love hotel and a morning filled with the voice of a young girl complaining about every single thing until I was forced to spray her with the cold shower before we rested one last time in each other's arms.

But her tongue is entirely different.

Hesitating, almost shy, she comes into my mouth to ask for something that she's afraid to get.

So I give it to her.

I circle her tongue, suck on it, trace as much of her as I can reach it.

And then I push back inside of her as fast as she can take it.

I swallow the moan of surprise and pleasure that she lets out at that. The sound of mindless joy that keeps going and going until I pull back out and it's sharply interrupted, only to return again at my next thrust.

I fuck her, and kiss her, and [take] her.

And I only let go when her hands clutch at my neck, as if desperate for something to hold onto, and I open my eyes to meet hers, wide and maybe fearful.

"Call me Hachi," I repeat over lips I just kissed.

"Hachi," she answers, lost yet obedient.

… I shouldn't have done this.

Because now there's something rumbling in my chest, and I just have to push. To turn her around on the counter until she lying on it, and I half climb on top of her, only my right foot remaining on the kitchen floor as Iroha hugs me from behind and sticks as tightly to me as she ever has.

"Fuck her," she whispers in my ear. "Fuck my mother, Hachi. Make me watch as you give me a [sister]."

I very carefully don't say that nobody here has made Iroha do [anything at all].

But I still fuck her mother.

Kanade looks up at me with wide eyes, her right hand buried in my hair as she bites the knuckles of her left one, muffled moans escaping each and every time I bottom out and rub against her clitoris.

And her legs wrap around me.

And Iroha.

So I keep moving despite the weight on my back and the pull of her legs. I keep pulling out only to rush back in, to make the spectacular woman slide back and forth over her blue bathrobe.

"I'm going to—again!" she says.

Ah.

I guess being a quick shot runs in the family.

"Do it! Do it, Mom! Cum around his cock and suck his seed right out of his [balls]!"

"Yes! Yes! Give it all to me! Make me feel [warm!"]

I'm in danger.

['Geh. You think?']

This is [not] helping.

['Oh? Are you asking for my help, Hachiman? Are you saying that you want me to whisper in your ear precisely what you should do to the mewling woman wrapped around your cock? That you want me to guide you as you fill her up and make the duo of kitsune blissfully aware of how your seed feels inside the both of them? I'm sorry, Hachiman, but that's impossible! After all, when have I ever given you the impression that I wanted to be helpful?']

… I miss Self-Preservation-kun.

['If it's any consolation, breeding instincts are quite related.']

But, before I can continue my endearing banter with the voice inside my head, Iroha's hands travel up my chest as she nibbles on the side of my neck, and Kanade keeps muttering something about warmth, and seed, and she feels really fucking [good], and her eyes are rolling back, and there's nothing in this world that turns me on like having a woman cum because of me, and—

And I come.

The heat throbs from what feels like a ball of fire right under my belly, and it pours out in a single burst that is longer than usual, that seems to never end as Iroha thrusts her tongue in my ear canal right as I fill her mother up.

Right as Kanade screams.

The hand on my hair pulls me down roughly, her lips finding mine, eager and hungry, her tongue no longer shy nor afraid as it thrusts into my mouth in search of mine, vigorously twirling right before she lets out a final whimper and goes limp under me.

It… It takes me a while to pull back. To straighten myself up despite Iroha's weight on my back.

And I see a woman with her underwear askew, with a single nipple peeking above a misplaced cup. With a broad smile and lidded eyes.

And with my still somewhat hard cock inside of her.

"[More],"[] Kanade purrs.

And I'm suddenly confused about whether foxes are supposed to do that.

Sadly, it's not the only thing I end up confused about through the rest of the morning.

==================

This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/all-right-fine-ill-take-you-oregairu.15676/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 105 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Brain-chan's intrusions into Hachiman's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!


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