Iroha Isshiki

Part of me is about to faint due to the sheer, heart-melting cuteness of his sleeping face lying atop my thighs. Another more cautious part is already cringing at his possible reaction to getting a ‘lap pillow’ or whatever terrible combination of mangled words he’ll call it.

Seriously. ‘Absolute territory.’

Otakus need to chill down.

“I should be going to work,” Mom says, her voice barely above a whisper from the armchair where she’s sitting.

By my side.

But not sharing the sofa with me and a half-naked Hachi, so at least there’s that much to be grateful for.

“Can’t you take a day off?” I ask, not even trying to know why.

“I wish I could,” she says.

She stands up, walking to the side of the sofa, by the armrest.

And then she pauses.

Her hand hovers above my shoulder for a brief moment before resting atop it, squeezing me reassuringly until I turn my eyes away from my unconscious boyfriend and toward the cougar dressed in a blue bathrobe.

Our eyes meet.

And we don’t smile.

Not until time passes, and I feel the corners of my lips quiver into something hesitating and laborious. Something far from my usual, effortless, practiced mask. Something that I see reflected right in front of me.

“I’m glad. That you trusted me,” she says.

“I’m glad that I could,” I answer with a voice that comes out lower than I meant it to.

Her eyelids lower slowly, almost lazily, until her eyes are closed, and her lips turn the quivering smile into something less strained that still makes my chest ache.

And I stop caressing my lover’s hair to bring my hand up and squeeze hers on my shoulder.

“I still think this is crazy,” she says.

“I never said it wasn’t,” I tell her.

“No. You didn’t.”

Her eyes open, and there’s a question in them.

So I sigh.

“We’re… All four of us? We’re damaged, Mom. In different ways, but maybe not that different. Maybe just similar enough that it works. That we can see in the others what each of us lacks.”

She tilts her head, briefly considering the half-naked, increasingly muscular young man lying on her couch.

I glare at her.

She holds back a bit of a snort, covering her mouth in surprise before making a denying gesture with the hand not on my shoulder.

“No way. Absolutely no way,” she assures me.

“Yeah. That’s what Shizu said. And Yukino. And Yui.”

“Aren’t Yukino and Yui together—”

“Yeah. At the moment,” I say because I don’t trust those two staying monogamous when there’s a Hachi to catch for a goddamn second.

… All right, that’s not fair. I’ve talked to Yui about our respective first times, and the girl couldn’t be more besotted if she was in a shoujo manga with plenty of lilies.

… I need to ration my time with Hachi. It’s starting to have adverse side effects.

Also, no. I’m not miffed at having lost my chance at the Yuigahamas. That’s what I’ve got Shizu and Haruno for.

Seriously.

…

Mom, would it kill you to close your goddamn bathrobe?!

“So. You love him,” she says.

And I stop thinking stupid things to look into her eyes. To see the soft smile with a hint of sadness.

“It’s not… He loves me,” I say, already defending myself without knowing why.

“And you just had to make him spend a sleepless night to prove it?”

“… I was mad at him.”

“Why?”

“Because… He knows. He knows how much everything we share means to me, how I melt whenever he glimpses whatever I try to keep hidden, no matter how half-heartedly. And he still has to pull these little stunts, manipulating me for my own good, and…That’s not really it.”

Her hand squeezes my shoulder yet again, and I squeeze her back.

And then I realize I was once more staring at his calm, tired face, and I force myself to look back at Mom.

“Not really it?” she prods.

I bite my lip and catch myself about to look back at him.

“Because I can’t help it,” I say.

And I don’t quite understand the words, but Mom is now hugging me, cheek to cheek, the smell of coffee and troubled sleep clinging to her, her messy hair almost getting in my eye, her stupid bathrobe opening enough that I will poke Hachi in the eye if he so much as stirs, and…

And I’m returning the hug, clinging to her with as much strength as she does to me.

“My little girl…” she whispers.

It makes me mad.

Because I had to grow up. I couldn’t remain her little girl, not while keeping up the mask, juggling the roles she needed me to play, faking being another person to defend myself at school.

It makes me mad.

But her voice warbles, and that’s enough for me to notice everything else under the long-lasting anger, grudge, and resentment.

Everything else that makes me hug my Mom and bury my face in her shoulder.

***

Mom has taken a shower, dressed into her olive skirt suit, and waved a silent goodbye before leaving me on the couch, still caressing his head, brushing my fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

Feeling warmer and warmer every time he lets out a soft sigh of pleasure and relief, barely moving atop my regretfully covered thighs, breathing just hard enough for me to feel his breath seeping through my checkered pajamas.

It’s late. Too late to get to school on time.

So I slowly lean forward and lay a single, lingering kiss on his forehead before going to his exposed ear, my lips brushing over his skin and hair along the way.

And then…

“Just how much longer are you going to pretend to be asleep for, Senpai?” I say before nibbling on his earlobe and making him squirm.

I take advantage of his eyes being closed to lick my lips at it, but I do have to hold myself back from rubbing my thighs together, seeing as he’s lying on top of them and would hardly miss such a clue.

Not like he would need Haruno’s training to catch that one…

“That obvious?” he asks, trying to grumble rather than gasp.

“I know how you look when you sleep,” I answer, still caressing his hair even as I finally allow myself to run a single finger down his breastbone, between the well-defined chest that I wouldn’t mind licking any traces of cold coffee off.

No matter how much he had it coming.

“I don’t think you realize how terrifying that statement could be taken as…” he mumbles, lazily blinking those eyes of his open to meet mine and hold me as still as he ever does since I allowed myself to understand what I felt when my breathing stopped, and words became hard to find.

“Oh?” I struggle to come up with an angle, my slowly spreading grin a slight subterfuge to buy me time for the speech and build up his expectations. “Senpai, are you telling me that you fantasize about me sneaking into your room at night, watching you sleep for hours, sniffing your neck, touching myself to your face as I plan to bring a rope with me the next time around so that I can hold you down as I fulfill each and every single one of my deranged cravings with your struggling body? That you want me to shatter every single taboo as I take your cock inside of me and force you to fill me up until I finally lean down to whisper into your ear that I am no longer taking my pills? Is that what you want, Senpai, to have me so obsessed with you that I throw away every single thing in my life for a chance to get you to breed me? I’m sorry, Senpai, but that’s impossible! After all, it’s you that barged into my house.”

I feel the usual tingling on my cheeks after one of my speeches. The strain at smiling for so long.

His eyes on me.

And I very carefully smother the inner voice screaming in sheer mortification inside of my head.

I do like being embarrassed, after all.

“Iroha,” he grunts out, standing up, his face right in front of me, his hand buried on the sofa’s backrest right by the side of my head, his eyes burning me.

Oh.

I… I do like this as well.

“Senpai?” I ask with a tremulous, almost scared voice that I tell myself is just me playing a part even as my nipples tent the front of my pajamas.

“You really need to stop playing with fire,” he says.

And then he deliberately pushes forward, tilting his head at the last second to avoid my lips right before reaching the side of my neck, biting down on me, making me whimper.

I don’t even realize when I start clawing at his back, my whole body trembling under his, my eyelids fluttering, my breathing turned to needy moans that can’t even call out his name properly.

He grasps my left breast, his fingers digging into my yielding flesh, the soft pajamas doing nothing to blunt the wave of shuddering motion that has me arch my back, pushing my chest forward into his touch as I struggle to hold onto the bands of muscle between his shoulder blades, heat crawling up both sides of my neck.

He tugs at my pants, and I lift my hips, wiggling to help him strip me, to shed any last protection I can have against him because I want none. Because I want him free to take everything of me that he desires. Because I need him to crave everything.

I force myself to let go of his back with a single hand, tugging at his belt with a gesture that is not half as practiced as I want it to be, the tight waistband slackening before I work on his button and zipper, and I can’t resist sneaking inside of his boxers to grab that cock of his, the thing that is always hard when I want it to be, either for me to grin in smug superiority when he has to shove his hands down his pockets and slouch forward, or when I surrender to him as he spears me open, forcing my whole world to revolve around him, around him and the hard shaft driving me to mind-numbing climax.

He lets go of my neck, and I whine, shamefully, needy, desperate for him to claim me right before he pushes my thighs up, my pants keeping my knees together, his rough, wonderfully caring hands pressing them against my maddeningly covered breasts.

And I feel his cock.

I bite the corner of my lip, staring at him tearfully as he cruelly slides it through the gap of my thighs, the underside pressing down on my open, yearning pussy, and he smirks that thing of his that only makes the heat inside of me all that much worse.

All that much better.

“Senpai… I need you,” I say, the words a struggle to articulate as I rub myself against him, my clit catching on the underside of his glans and sending a spark of traitorous pleasure shooting through my scattered thoughts.

But he looks at me, those eyes of his as dark and intense as they ever are when he takes me, claims me, and my mouth opens as he leans forward, closer, almost—

“Hachi,” he growls, making me shudder yet again, almost cumming under his cock at the push he gives my tattered mind. “Call me Hachi.”

And then, before I can even answer with anything other than a yearning mewl, he kisses me.

His tongue pushes past my slack lips, prodding mine, licking under it to lift me up and guide me to his mouth, where he sucks on me and makes me close my eyes so I can lose myself in his scent, the faint hint of coffee, and his body.

His body, on top of mine, pressing me down against the cushions of my sofa, making me feel like part of the furniture, unable to move away from the indentation that he’s forced me into.

Unable to do anything but squirm, moan, and lick his tongue. The insides of his mouth. Even his teeth.

Then he shifts, the hard shaft sliding away from my thighs, pressing down on me all through the slow, deliberate movement, making me tremble against the cock that I will take inside of me for my entire life.

And he pushes.

I whine, the sounds shorter than I’d want as they keep chaining one after the other as I cum all around him, as I grab his face and push my head up, my lips bruising against his, my legs straightening up while still trapped under his chest and by the side of our faces.

Then he keeps pushing, and the pleasure goes impossibly higher and higher, all the desperate strength in my arms melting as he steals it away from me and makes me…

His.

As if I could be anything else.

“Iroha?” he finally asks, disappointingly, endearingly, bafflingly concerned.

“Unfair…” I mutter, struggling to lift my limp arms from where they’ve fallen by my sides.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” he almost predictably replies.

“This was going to be your punishment,” I mumble.

He arches an eyebrow that, at this very moment, is far more unfair than any speech I could come up with and gives a pointed look at where our hips are joined.

Where he’s spearing me open with that thick, almost uncomfortably large cock of his.

I’m a delicate, slight maiden, after all.

… Oh, dear, he would’ve torn Yukino apart, wouldn’t he?

“If this is your idea of a punishment, I’m almost afraid to ask what a reward would be,” he says with a droning tone that doesn’t mesh, at all, with his being buried inside of a girl he just fucked silly.

With a single thrust.

Okay, now I’m mad.

“I was going to sit on your face and make you eat me out until my brain was too scrambled to remember why I’m so justifiably angry at you,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster while unable to do anything but stay very still so that I don’t end up hissing or moaning.

Then a smirk joins the eyebrow, and I fail at the ‘no moaning’ part.

He doesn’t even speak; he just grabs the exposed sides of my thighs, right above my ass cheeks, and pulls away, making me gasp and then cutting me off with a sudden thrust that has me bouncing between the sofa and his body, my eyes rolling back at the mix between his deliberate, forceful pistoning and the unexpected variety added by a sofa that I’ll have to clean before Mom gets home.

Just… because.

“Senpai…” I start to say.

And he shuts me up.

With his cock.

Which, for some reason, doesn’t make me mad.

I let my head loll back, my slack mouth open, my hips finally joining his with as much strength as I can add, taking him, begging him to come back when he leaves, holding as tightly as I can while I have him inside of me.

“Mine,” he growls.

Utterly unnecessarily.

But very much appreciated.

I clasp my hands behind his nape, pulling myself up to his clavicle, to feel as much of his bare skin as I can with my legs in the way as he keeps me folded in half, unable to do anything but be fucked by the man I love.

“Always,” I say between pecks on increasingly wet skin that no longer tastes of cold coffee.

“Always,” I repeat as I struggle to keep my eyes open when he reaches as far as he can go inside of me and grinds down on my clitoris.

“Always!” I promise and swear and beg when—

Everything goes blank.

I… I barely notice that I seize up, just clinging to him with all my strength as my body goes wild with all the sensation and the feelings and—and him.

And, when the shivers space apart, when the waves of mind-melting pleasure finally slow down, he slowly, carefully, maneuvers me to lie down across my sofa, his arms prying mine open with insulting ease, spreading my legs to the sides of him before…

Before he pulls out.

“Nooo…” I whine, absolutely needy, undignified, and impotent to stop him.

He caresses my cheek, and I immediately nuzzle against his hand, the whine turning into a mewling thing that is pure joy and affection.

And then something hard presses against my lips, and I open my eyes to see his cock right in front of me, his bare body covering everything I can see, his muscles glistening with dewed sweat and morning light.

His hand leaves my cheek and goes to my pajama top, pulling it up until the hem goes past my breasts, my hard nipples brushed by the soft fabric before he pinches me.

“Iroha,” he says, making me squirm, forcing me to rub my thighs together. “I think I’m in the mood to punish you.”

Then he pushes harder against my lips, and I joyfully open them to let his cock in, devotedly licking the opening that has both his precum and my own juices, twirling my tongue around it before he goes too far in and I can only lick side to side under his shaft as I smile around the cock in my mouth and look up to the burning eyes of its owner.

My owner.

I told you, didn’t I, Haruno? Don’t make plans about him.

Or make them. As many as you want.

Because, if you’re lucky, this is how they end.

***

Kanade Isshiki

She’s in love.

All through the disastrous day, as I keep dealing with too much bullshit for my sleep-addled mind to properly process, this one thought keeps popping up.

She’s in love. My little girl.

I… I’d have to be deluded not to recognize that look in her eyes. Not to see just how much the young, shirtless man in my kitchen meant to her.

Not to understand what those constant, gentle caresses and soulful looks at the sleeping boy resting over her thighs are.

So I keep reading the list of emails that I have to go through to try and prepare a semi-consistent account of events regarding a drunken incident near Chiba’s Port Park. Which is actually one of my favorite parts of the job, even if, in a bigger network, with a better salary, I’d never get to do it.

No, I’d get feed already processed lines for me to spew in front of a camera, all investigation and checking of sources made by someone else dedicated to that one role, somebody who would never get in front of a camera.

This much, I don’t regret. Being stuck where I can work on both sides of things, in both discovering and telling, is… maybe not regrettable.

But on days like this, when I’ve barely slept after getting a glimpse of true news and having to bury them for the sake of my little girl and the man who…

…

They are having sex right now, aren’t they?

Damn it.

I’ll have to buy industrial amounts of bleach if I ever want to feel not grossed out in my own house. I bet they will christen every single horizontal surface by the time I get off work.

And quite a few vertical ones.

Oh gods, the stairs.

Going by the height difference… Yeah.

Definitely the stairs.

“Working hard as usual, Kanade?” Tatsuda, my sleazy superior, says from right behind me.

Which means he’s looking over my shoulder and down my cleavage at this very moment.

The fucking creep.

“You know it, Boss,” I say, trying to inject just the right mix of familiarity and formality to draw a line not to be crossed without outright insulting him.

Something that I find much easier to do when I have slept more than three damn hours.

Unfortunately, I must’ve failed somewhere in my attempt because my fakest, warm smile at him over my shoulder is met with a wince, and, as I blink in slight confusion at the reaction—

“Wow, the makeup department is gonna throw a fit. You should take better care of yourself.”

I stare.

At the man who just had the fucking gall to insult my eyebags only to then unashamedly look down at what little exposed cleavage I have.

“Excuse me?” I say, something dark and hot throbbing in my temples.

“You’re at an age that—”

“I’m at an age where I have enough savings to afford a damn good lawyer,” I say.

Cutting my boss off.

Oh.

Tatsuda takes half a step back, his face going from incomprehension to apprehension in the instant it takes me to realize that nobody is writing on their keyboards in the cubicles on either side of me and that the intern walking down the aisle with a tray of coffee has stopped dead in his tracks.

Damn it.

Okay, how can I backtrack this in the least offensive way—

“I—I sure don’t know what you mean, and I expect an immediate apology—”

Fuck it.

“An apology?” I say, slowly standing up, rolling my chair out of the way so that there’s nothing between me and the man who’s made my job a living Hell since I got divorced, and he started considering me a valid target. “All right, how about I apologize right here and now, in front of everyone, so that everybody knows what I’m really sorry for?”

“That would be acceptable,” he says in the tone of somebody who’s pretty sure it won’t be.

And who am I to contradict my dear boss?

“I’m sorry that I’ve spent the past few years trapped here, getting increasingly boring assignments, having to scrap for every worthwhile story on my own, and keeping my mouth shut whenever I feel your oily gaze on my ass. I’m sorry that I’ve done my best to cling to a job that would’ve been a dream come true if you hadn’t ruined it. I’m sorry that I’ve been too scared to do anything other than politely reject your continuous inappropriate advances rather than slap the fuck out of you. And I’m really, truly sorry that I haven’t sued your ass into poverty and gotten you thrown out of this station so that you can’t keep doing the same thing to any pretty young thing unlucky enough to end up in here. I’m really, truly, dreadfully sorry about all those things, Boss. Now, can I get back to work, or do you need me to elaborate on my apology?”

I’m fired.

I’m so, so fucking fired.

“How dare you,” he says, his face red with embarrassment and rage, his hand raised up to slap me—

And he stops.

Because there’s an intern with a phone in one hand and a precariously balanced tray of coffee in the other, filming the whole thing.

“Kintaro, give me that right now,” Tatsuda says, already advancing toward the young, clean-shaven man who looks about to piss himself out of the sheer horrible realization of what he’s doing.

And I’m tired. Sleep-addled. Emotionally compromised after a roller coaster that won’t end until I meet Haruno Yukinoshita face-to-face and confirm that my daughter is in safe hands.

Which more or less can be summarized in that I’m feeling really stupid right now.

So I clasp the shoulder of my boss from behind him, stopping him dead in his tracks and forcing him to slowly turn around to face me.

“I just claimed in front of many people whose job is to be professional witnesses that you have been sexually harassing me for years, and now there’s recorded evidence of you being about to hit me. Do you really want to keep digging?” I hiss.

He pales.

And, without a single word, he scurries away.

I watch him go, thinking that I very well may still get fired, even if not immediately. Some months will have to pass before this blows over and he feels secure enough in his position to ask for my head.

I don’t know why I suddenly feel this… bold.

Except I think I do.

I think that I’m finally free to consider that I’m not the only one fighting for my little girl. That I can fight rather than struggle to keep things going precisely as badly as they have gone since our lives took a turn for the worse.

That I can…

…

Heck, if worse comes to worst? That I can blackmail the Yukinoshitas.

But, before I consider any more stupid, reckless ideas, there’s a trembling young man who just saved me from things getting heatedly violent, and…

I step forward and take the tray off his hand, dropping it on the cubicle desk to his left, by the side of the ever-useless Tsuneo, pointedly staring at the note with names and coffee orders when the desk jockey looks up at me with both confusion and awe.

“Thank you,” I softly tell Kintaro, turning back toward him with a smile that is, for once, warm and not fake.

And then I pinch the hem of his sleeve and tug him to follow me, knowing he’s doing his best not to stare at my ass along the way, until we reach a deserted office that’s been closed down because of issues with the wiring for years.

I pull him inside.

Straighten the lapels of his rumpled suit as I push the door closed with my right heel.

And look up into disoriented eyes that remain on my own rather than dip down to my cleavage.

“This may very well be horribly hypocritical of me, but right now I’m riding a rush of adrenalin that will likely get me to faint after it passes, so, please, rather than argue, just nod or shake your head, okay?” I say, my hands now flat on his chest, feeling just how… how much there is under the thin, blue suit.

He nods.

And I smile.

“Okay…” I whisper, letting out a short sigh as I gather my courage for the next stupid thing of the day. “So. It’s been years since I’ve been with a man, and I’m feeling very grateful, but not enough to go all the way. Not before you get me at least a couple of drinks and dinner. Maybe a movie. But… But I’m about to drop down on my knees and suck your balls dry, then I will expect you to hike my skirt up, tear my panties off, and eat me out until I forget your name. Do you… Do you think that’s a good deal? A good way to show you how grateful I am?”

I tilt my head slightly down and sideways, biting the corner of my lip, the tips of my fringe covering my right eye as I flutter my eyelashes in just the right way.

Kintaro loudly swallows, his eyes as wide as humanly possible.

And nods.

I hold back the grin fighting to surface as I slowly lower myself, my hands dragging down his body till I reach his belt and the prominent tent beneath it.

That’s when I notice that he’s still holding his phone.

And, blushing up to my ear tips, I turn toward it, give the camera an embarrassed smile, and show it a sideways victory sign.

Then I proceed to be very grateful for quite a bit longer than I expected.

 

 

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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 104 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!