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.

 

 

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This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ, where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon. 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).

Also, I’d like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, 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 Amazon. Thank you for reading!