All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 75 – Iroha Feels Left Out

A kiss.

Just a kiss.

He thinks he can make things right with a kiss.

Damn him for being almost right.

I surround his waist with my right thigh, his hair glides beneath my fingers, and his tongue pushes mine down, making a small sound come out of me that I'm too worked up to regret.

His hands are on my waist, pulling me up, toward him, until I can only move against his body, pressing myself that much closer to the warmth under his clothes, the hard muscle I keep being caught off guard by, the…

The man I love.

The man that keeps kissing me, my lips shifting each time he pulls back and leaves me wanting and aching only for him to come at me from another angle, to pull my lower lip between his as he runs the tip of his tongue over my no longer fresh lip gloss, to lay a single peck on the corner of my mouth before diving right in to have his tongue inside of me, to make my toes curl, to have my fingers clutch at black locks, to have my eyes clenched shut as warmth, firmness, and strength surround me and keep me away from the rest of the world.

I want him. Need him.

I always do.

Since… Since that stupid day when I saw him crumble and cry in front of Yui and Yukino, since I saw what I already suspected was there, since his words reached me and left me flustered and adrift.

Since he kept helping me for intricate reasons that never made much sense outside his labyrinthine mind.

Since he stood by me when I was first rejected.

Since my first kiss.

Since my first time.

I've been drifting, caught in a dreamy haze that never quite dissipated. That never left me truly alone, no matter what else happened. Because he was there. Because he wanted me. Accepted me.

Loved me.

And then came Shizu and Haruno, and I felt so much more that was still not… I…

I let my hand drift down from his hair to his back, and I can't help myself when I pull his shirt out of his pants just so I can slide cold fingers beneath it, caressing the muscles along his spine as he tries to hold back a shiver, the reflex to pull away.

My heart melts once more when he doesn't. When he holds me closer.

And I open my eyes.

We're still in that hidden corner he likes so much. The one near the tennis courts. But in front of me there're only his hungry eyes and the three off-white stucco walls that make up this single, recessed, secluded corner.

I pull back. Just enough that he isn't taking my breath away, but that warm air still washes over my wet, swollen lips.

"Don't make me feel alone ever again," I tell him, trying to be stern with my tone

"Iroha, I…" he says, his eyes holding mine in place, his gaze reaching inside of me to caress me, to hold me.

I close mine, refusing him entry, and his hands roam up from my waist, over my sides, until they cradle my cheeks, and I can't help but nuzzle against him. Against soft, warm skin.

Against the hands that always hold me when I need it most.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"You should be," I answer, looking away at the… [trying] to look away at the concrete steps leading up to this corner, but finding my eyes caught on his wrists and the lines of well-defined tendons that disappear into his sleeves, that lead me down his black jacket, over his chest, toward his neck, his cut jawline, his…

His eyes.

Always his eyes.

The creepy eyes that look with disdain at everything that doesn't live up to his ideals of what the world should be like. The dead, dispassionate eyes that could easily dismantle anything and anybody they cared to subject to the cold logic behind them.

The burning eyes that don't look away from my own.

I let go of his hair, and my left hand drifts down those very lines I just traced up, caressing the side of his face with trembling fingertips, delaying on his sharp jaw, pressing my palm on his neck for a fleeting moment, and then…

Then I grasp the lapel of his jacket, the white ribbing on its edge satin-smooth, so unlike the thick wool that makes up the black of it.

I grasp, and I clutch, and I struggle not to bury my face in it.

"I… I had to hear from others that you went ballistic. That you made a scene. And then I heard that Shizu hadn't come to school. And I had to call [Haruno] so she would explain what you two morons had been up to. Because nobody thought to keep me in the loop," I tell him, trying to look away as his hands hold me steady.

"I… I have no excuse. I just panicked and—and this is making excuses. It won't happen again. I promise."

He promises.

And, if this was another man, one who left Mom and me behind, I would laugh in his face.

But it's him.

Hachi.

The man I love.

And he promises.

The wool isn't that coarse, after all.

"Iroha?" he asks, now holding the back of my head, his fingers tracing soothing lines on my scalp as I just breathe in his scent, rubbing my face against his chest like I tried not to do.

"I'm still angry," I say. Lying once again.

"I know," he says. For once not catching me, both pleasing and disappointing.

"You'll have to make it up to me," I say, my voice carrying a slight plaintive note. A hint of a whine.

"I will," he tells me with not a hint of a lie.

"All three of you. You owe me," I push as I hold him closer, my right hand now warm under his shirt.

He pauses.

"You're going from sincerely distraught to milking this for all it's worth, aren't you?" he says, [finally] catching on.

"It's worth [a lot]," I say, not quite refuting him.

"It is," he says, leaning down to kiss the crown of my head, yet again making my toes curl, if for entirely different reasons.

Well, maybe not [entirely]…

I may have forgotten to stop holding my leg around his waist through this whole thing.

Tee-hee. I'm such a forgetful, clumsy junior…

…

Gross. That sounded like his sister. Ugh. Way to kill the moment.

"I… I just did not think about anything other than the problem to solve. You know how I get," he says, clearly wanting to say 'how I am.'

"I know," I mutter into black wool heated by my own breathing.

"It's not an excuse," he insists.

"You [can] make excuses, Senpai. I'll have plenty ready myself when it's my turn to screw up."

"I don't want to screw up. I [shouldn't] screw up. I should just—"

I go from clasping his right lapel to pulling on his tie until his eyes are once again in front of mine.

Then I pretend I am angry rather than all the things I am. The things he makes me.

"You [will]. This is your—[our] first relationship. And I want it to be our last. I want this to be what you promised me, but it will take a lot of work because none of us know what we are doing, and the most experienced of us is a woman who's famous around the entire school for being [awful] at romance. The second most experienced is [Haruno], and I don't want to listen to her own stories of failed relationships unless the lights are on, it's high noon, and you're holding my hand. I may also want a blanket to hide under."

"… Somehow, with the two of you involved, I'm pretty sure that blanket would be hiding plenty of things by the middle of the speech."

"And then there's [you]," I continue, magnanimously ignoring the vile, unfounded accusations regarding me, Haruno, our next hypothetical team-up, and a blanket that would go straight into the laundry right after. "You, [Senpai], the one man who managed to string along four lovely schoolgirls only to end up breaking the hearts of two of them and thoroughly confusing a third one—"

"Wait, [four?"] he asks, sincerely baffled.

…

I'm sorry, Kawasaki. It's just too funny to keep him in the dark.

"Women are bad at math, you know?" I tell him with utter sincerity.

His eyes narrow at me. Which reminds me, for entirely mysterious reasons, that my thigh is still tightly pressed to the side of his hip.

"Tell that to [Haruno]," he says.

"… Isn't she studying to be a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Why does that have anything to do with being good at math?"

"She's Haruno. I assume hidden genius skills on any subject until proven otherwise."

I blink at him.

Then I pout.

His cheeks tinge with a hint of pink that makes my heart race, so I assume all that practice in front of the mirror paid off.

"Senpai, we were having a serious discussion about how unlikely it is that you won't keep blindly stumbling along while trying to make sense of your first romantic relationship; this is not the time for you to brag about your college-aged, rich, beautiful, nearly aristocratic girlfriend."

"I can't help but feel that the fact that she's also [your] girlfriend has something to do with all those qualifiers you just added."

"Tee-hee," I flippantly answer.

And immediately regret it.

Darn it, Komachi, stop getting in the way when you aren't even here!

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?" the brocon who has noticed absolutely nothing wrong with my quip says as he [fraternally] pats my hair.

I narrow my eyes at him.

And then I [grind].

His eyes fly open as the front of his pants is subjected to what I feel to be the [ideal] amount of pressure for a very delicate and sensitive part of me that is inadequately shielded by mere panties and a winter skirt that is currently too thick for my tastes, as it keeps me from feeling the [details] of something that is steadily hardening against me, growing with every beat of his heart as my fingers slacken on his tie, and I…

I bite my lip. Go back over my mental notes.

And [smile].

"Oh? Senpai, are you getting hard at your cute, younger girlfriend acting the slightest bit affectionate toward you? Are you really getting a rock-hard erection on the school grounds, barely hidden, in a place that everybody who's close to you would know to look for you? Are you telling me that you want to [take me], right here and now, no matter the chances that some other, flustered girl may walk in on us to see me with my hands grasping behind your neck as you [rail me] against a shadowed corner, my lustful, yearning moans echoing all around us? Are you saying that you want to [fuck me], to fill me with your cock and your cum? To make me gasp, moan your name, and finally scream as yet another of your loads overflows down my thighs? That you want to make me forget everything but you and your cock inside of me, that you want to [conquer] my whole being? I am sorry, Senpai, but that's impossible! After all, we only have time for a quick blowjob before the bell rings."

He blinks at me.

He isn't breathing.

His cock is rock hard against my very wet panties.

And he picks me up.

"Eeep!" I can't help but embarrassedly yelp as he [carries me] toward the actual shadowed corner and presses me against a stucco wall that I can feel through my own black jacket.

I try to think of something else to say. Something witty, or enticing, or maybe playfully chiding.

His eyes.

His eyes hold me, burn me.

Silence me.

… He must [never] know.

"I don't even know if this is what you were planning for," he mutters, apparently to himself, right before his lips take me, his hands squeezing my ass as I surround his hips with [both] legs and hurry to untuck my skirt from between us so I can slide my panties to the side and unzip his trousers as his tongue pushes mine down yet again, then I [moan] into his mouth while I manage to fish his rigid cock out of—damn it. Logistical difficulties.

I (reluctantly) let go of him, and I struggle to undo his belt even as my hips keep moving up and down as if he already was inside of me, stretching me, [filling] me as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of his mouth like he should be—

[Damn it!]

It's [bras] that are supposed to be complicated! Why is it so hard to just get him out of the stupid boxers and—

The metallic clink of his belt buckle announces his pants falling down to his ankles.

He shifts around, his right hand momentarily leaving my lonely lower cheek.

And his cock slaps [up] right below my wet panties.

I throw my head back, stopping right as my hair brushes the wall behind me, and I bite my lip to let out just the right amount of a desperate, needy, yearning moan for him to grasp his cock and swiftly get it right at my opening.

My jaw falls open as I gasp, as my breath leaves me in ragged, pleading things that have my chest rise up and down fast enough to drag his eyes away from my own for just a moment that I relish triumphantly before I delight in how quickly he goes back to look at me.

"You can't, Senpai," I say, managing to tilt my head down to look at him through long, batting, perfectly innocent eyelashes. "We're too exposed, and your thick, hard, long[ cock] is going to make me moan so loud when you impale me on it and make me cum until I forget how to do anything but [beg you for mo—]!"

My jaw snaps shut.

My eyes roll back.

He's [inside me].

Inside me, where he belongs, where he should [always] be.

And he's mauling my ass yet again as my back rubs up and down on the off-white wall behind me, and I can only see the pale blue of a late winter's sky even as his heat spreads inside of me, his thickness stretches me, his scent fills me, and Hachi [fucks me].

"This… This doesn't make up for earlier," I manage to say as I look up at him, at black hair and eyes framed by matte paint shimmering with the high Sun, the tennis courts to his left, my right, perfectly lit even as he remains in just enough shadow to give me yet another thrill.

His eyes burn once again, holding me, caressing me, going inside of me.

Almost like his cock.

"I love you," he growls in that tone he gets at times that makes me [mewl]. "I love you, and I'll keep showing you as long as you let me, you infuriating, frustrating, [maddening,] wonderful woman that you are. And if the day ever comes when you hesitate to let me, I'll have to keep sending you the videos that show you precisely where and who do you belong with."

The tone makes me mewl.

The words? The words that he somehow always finds in these moments?

Those make me melt.

They tear through all the masks that are no longer there and through the ones that I only put up playfully for him to shatter. They [reach me].

Fill me.

…

Much like his cock.

I try to laugh at the inappropriate thought. At the joke.

I can't.

I just smile as widely as I am able, my eyes watering yet again at him saying just the right thing. The right thing to say to me.

"I love you," I manage to whisper through my rough throat. "I love you, and I'll keep showing you until you grow tired of me. Until you get frustrated, and get hilariously mad, and decide to show me my place—preferably with good lighting."

"Your place is by my side," he says, his lips closer with every second.

"Forever," I tell him. Like I have told him so many times before, meaning each and every one.

And I kiss him.

My hands glide through his short hair yet again, keeping him hunched over me even as his arms tremble despite how much I cling to him with my legs, how I surround him with my bare thighs, black sock hooked behind him, and how I move my hips up and down, along his cock, fucking myself on him.

Or how I try to.

Because it's too much. It's too [intense]. It's his words running inside my head, his fingers sinking into my ass, his arms trembling around me, his hips moving between my thighs, his cock stretching me, making me feel him in a new, wonderful way with every thrust that seems to reach past my chest.

It's his lips branding mine, his tongue wrestling my own, the air coming from his nose burning me, his hair brushing over my forehead, his weight pushing me against the wall behind me.

It's [him].

It's Hachi taking me.

As if I could ever not be his.

But I still drown in it. In the attempt at making a claim that can never be undone. In the way he shows me just how much he means it, just how much he…

Cares.

Loves.

So I try to move sensually, to fuck him back, to give him as much as he gives me.

I can't.

I just can writhe and moan into his mouth, receiving all that he wants me to take, greedily accepting feelings too intense and precious to properly return without…

I…

I clench his hair and pull him away, something dark and thrillingly frightening flashing through his eyes when I force him away from me that sends yet another rush of wet warmth down my core and over our thighs.

"I am yours," I say. "I am yours, and will always be, and this is not me asking you not to leave. This is not me begging you to love me even when I don't deserve it. This is… This is…

"I…

"I love you more than I thought I could, Hachi. More than I…"

My eyes are lost on his as he holds me steady, no longer rushing in and out of me.

"Iroha… I know. I know, and I feel the same—"

I kiss him.

Because I won't be able to hold myself together if I hear the words that come after. Not when he says them with that clear, crystalline voice that he would use to tell me about what's genuine. The voice that wells up from inside of him and that carries nothing but truth and belief.

Because it's already making me sway to hear him say he loves me with that voice.

Even if he already has at other times.

So, while I hold back everything that tries to come undone, while I plaster on a new mask for him to shatter, while my lips drink of him and my hands cradle his cheeks…

I come up with a little something.

I pull away until the back of my head rests on the uneven wall behind me, and I smirk at him.

"Oh? Senpai, are you asking me to be with you forever and ever? To be by your side no matter what? To love you and be loved with you until we—"

"Iroha, you already convinced Komachi that we're married. There's not much more I can do until I have a job."

I… blink at him.

"Unfair…" I mutter.

"It's [you]. Everything is fair game, as far as I'm concerned."

I narrow my eyes.

And [clench].

"Hn!" he lets out as his mouth snaps closed, and my triumphant grin slips out without me being able to stop it.

"Oh? Senpai, are you saying that your cute, foxy junior's tight little pussy can make you—[ah!"]

He—[fuck].

"Oh? Iroha, are you saying that me fucking you roughly enough that your tight little [ass] bounces against me is enough to—fuck! How do you even manage to—?" he says, hissing at the last moment when he bottoms out inside of me.

"I practice!" I tell him, knowing perfectly well what the question is. "I imagine you and the face you'll make, and that makes all the practice worth it!"

"You're a devious, cunning, little—"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I am everything you'll ever want me to be!"

And…

He kisses me.

Just as planned.

Except I can't even keep my eyes open as his tongue swirls inside my mouth, and my thoughts drown in the barrage of sheer sensation rushing across my whole body, making my nipples painfully protest their confinement behind my bra's cups as he thrusts into me hard enough that my back moves up and down against the stupid wall that should be cushioned so that he could be [rougher].

So that he could fuck me however he wanted until I was a limp pile of girlflesh unable to do anything but take him and mewl.

So that he could fill me again and again until I…

Until I felt like he left a piece of himself behind so that we would never be apart.

And the thought hits me right as the wave of heat coming from down below does, the pressure building and building, reaching a crest that I know is about to fall, to sweep me away, to drown me.

I manage to open my eyes, and I find his. Lidded. Studying me.

Judging just how close I am.

My mouth is still open, but I can't speak. I can only gasp pitifully to the rhythm of his cock driving the breath out of me.

So I nod.

And he dives forward, his teeth grazing the side of my neck, and everything falls down, crashing, drowning me right before new warmth fills me in spurts that echo with every new crashing wave, as if each spurt of Senpai's cum inside of me was enough to give me another orgasm, and—

And then he shoots a last spurt, and there's only warmth, and pleasure, and [him].

***

I don't know how long it's been.

He's still inside of me.

He's sitting down, his back resting on the wall he just fucked me against, and I'm kneeling over him, my arms wrapped around his neck, my mouth resting on the crook of his neck.

"I love you," I mutter with a broken voice that it takes me a moment to find.

"I love you," he answers.

"I love you," I murmur, lazy and drowsy, a slow smile spreading over lips that I'll have to reapply gloss to.

"Thank you?" he says.

"I love you," I say, a bit of a giggle coming through at the end of it as feelings keep bubbling up and up, drowning any thoughts other than me being here. With him. Now.

"Iroha, I swear, if I just mind-broke you, we're going to start taking precautions—"

"I love you," I say, pushing away from his shoulder so I can see his eyes in front of mine, so he can stare through me once again, so that he can hold me like—

"Gah! Gross, gross, gross! What the fuck?! [Why?!"] Minami Sagami says.

…

I look at the greenish redhead already turning away and covering her eyes, then at Hachi's eyes going wider than usual as his cock deflates inside of me more swiftly than it ever has.

And I try very, [very] hard not to show any hint of disappointment at him not being up to indulging my recently discovered exhibitionism fetish.

… I guess that's what Haruno and Shizu are for.

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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 96 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!