All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 38 (Patreon)

Cooking mangas are, by necessity, incredibly creative. The reason for that is as simple and straightforward as the plots of said mangas isn’t: the whole thing hinges on a sense other than what a manga can adequately convey.

Mangas are a visual medium. One can conceive of one without words, but not one without drawings (that’s what we usually call ‘a book,’ which I understand can be a bewildering notion for modern audiences), and thus it is up to the artist to make images convey the meaning of ‘taste.’ It’s fairly straightforward for a mangaka to portray a woman as beautiful (indeed, you can draw anatomical monstrosities and, as long as they have big enough breasts, the reader’s depraved imagination will do the rest, One Piece), but to portray good taste? The notion itself is inimical to most mangas. In more than one sense.

Which means said genre usually leans heavily on psychedelic imagery the likes of which makes Westerners think Japan legalized drugs decades ago.

Still, there’s another way in which said mangas can capture the audience’s imagination and make the subject matter appealing and entertaining. It’s a traditional technique that has been honed over years of non-standard narrative, something all of us fans of the medium have learned to expect and often enjoy.

I’m talking, of course, about the fanservice.

“That is surprisingly Western of you,” Haruno points out as I plate the latest fried egg to make it off boiling oil with the yolk unbroken.

“Shizu doesn’t have much in the way of proper ingredients. And I still don’t think you need an apron just to spread camembert on open croissants,” I point out, trying to have both my hand and voice steady enough not to tremble.

“Oh?” Haruno says from her side of the kitchen counter, a knife playfully twirling in her hand. “You would deny me of the last barrier protecting my chastity so readily, Hachiman?”

The last barrier is the frilly, white apron that kinda looks like a miniskirt she’s wearing. Why is it the last, you say? Because it’s the only thing she’s wearing, of course.

A follow-up question would be: did Haruno bring her own, almost indecently cute, apron because she planned to cook for Shizu, or did she bring it because she predicted I would open the door in my own version of the naked apron and planned her perfect counter since the very beginning? And that is a stupid question, because to answer it I’d need to get into Haruno’s head, and I’m pretty sure what I’d find in there is the kind of stuff most writers describe with words such as ‘ineffable,’ ‘cyclopean,’ and ‘The End of Evangelion.’

‘Haruno in an Asuka cosplay.’

I’m trying not to get an erection, Brain-chan.

‘Shizu in a Misato cosplay.’

Fuck you.

‘Iroha in whatever cosplay she damn well pleases.’

What have I done to you?!

“Not even some white rice, really?” Haruno intrudes in my inner struggle by leaning toward me, her hands clasped behind her back, and a terrifyingly alluring, shadowed line of cleavage is properly displayed by the apron’s square hemline doing absolutely nothing to constrain her dangling breasts.

Aaaaaaand I just thumped the underside of the countertop.

For fuck’s sake.

“I decided to go all continental on them. And your croissants look like they will go better with eggs and toast than with rice,” I drily point out. Mostly because all the moisture in my body seems to be gathered in a very specific, very counter-thumping place.

She hums in a wordless answer, her eyes glittering in amusement (I mean, obviously), and she turns back to her croissants before she decides she needs something from the bag she brought in and carelessly left on the (not quite suspiciously) grey, tiled floor.

And by ‘carelessly,’ I mean she obviously planned for it. How do I know, you say? Well, because the way Haruno turns her back on me before bending over as she slowlyrummages through the said bag while her round ass sways from side to side, offering me brief glimpses of the other thing hidden between her legs I desperately want to feast my eyes on… That can’t be anything other than deliberate.

And cruel.

And… I’m regretting very much my words about she and Shizu needing to be together first.

Wait, that was only about having a date.

…

‘Don’t.’

She’s right there! Non-verbally asking for it!

‘First, as a somewhat feminine version of you, that line is creepy to a degree that would have Komachi invent new “gross” tiers. Second… you know what she’s doing.’

Making me have an aneurysm?!

‘She’s being playful, returning your opening shot. Trusting you. You know how hard it is for her to trust.’

… You take the fun out of everything.

‘Yup. Now slap that ass.’

What.

‘You heard me. Slap it! She’s bent over and swaying it! Do something!’

As a feminine part of—

‘I’m bisexual! Now do it!’

Fine! I’ll slap the springy, round, bouncy flesh of Haruno’s tempting backside and—

Huh.

“Ahn! You brute…” she murmurs, shooting me a devilish grin over her shoulder as she slowlystraightens up, holding a head of lettuce in her hands that she definitelydidn’t need about two minutes to find.

I’m sure there are layers of meaning to find in the whole thing, but really, I’m too busy trying not to ever forget the feeling of Haruno’s naked flesh on my hand.

…

It is glorious.

It is—ah!

“Turnabout is fair play,” Haruno cheekily mutters, her face right in front of me, her left hand groping tingly backside.

So I grab the wrist of the hand holding up a lettuce between us and push it aside before I step forward and kiss her as thoroughly as I can, only two white aprons making sure this doesn’t turn into outright sex in Shizu’s kitchen.

“Hachiman…” she whispers, her eyes closed when I briefly abandon her lips to nip at her neck, “the oil’s going to burn…”

…

Shit!

Speedily turning back from the alluring college student out of a Lovecraftian eroge, I manage to lift the pan out of the fire before it smokes, and—

And she giggles from behind me.

“Nice view,” she comments, obviously leering at my exposed backside.

… This is going to be a long cooking session.

‘Well, look who has a good opinion of his stamina—’

Not like that!

***

Finally, after enough gropes and pinches exchanged between the two of us that I don’t know whether to be aroused, pained, or awakening a terrible connection between the two notions, we take two trays and walk into Shizu’s bedroom with four camembert, croissant, and lettuce sandwiches, four eggs on toast, and four cardboard cups of green tea that are, thankfully, not brewed from Shizu’s dreadful supply, but from a nice café Haruno bought them in after having predictably learned not to trust Shizu’s pantry on previous visits.

She truly honors the label of ‘genius.’ Mostly, because I didn’t think of it, and if she thinks of something I haven’t, she must be, by necessity, a genius.

‘Praise me more.’

Only when it reflects on me.

Still, maybe we should focus not on our endearing banter and your newly proclaimed bisexuality, but on Iroha’s wide eyes from where she’s petrified while clutching Shizu’s side and on said Christmas Cake gaping mouth.

“Good morning! I brought croissants!” Haruno cheerfully announces as if she wasn’t a walking wet dream come true.

“She did, carelessly intruding on my own breakfast preparations. I apologize if the results are subpar,” I drily comment, very carefully not bringing attention to our state of dress or my obvious, rock-hard erection.

“Maybe if you weren’t so easily distracted, you wouldn’t need to come up with excuses,” she comments while nudging my ribs with her elbow.

“Maybe if you didn’t put so much effort into distracting me, this would’ve been finished quite a bit earlier,” I grumble back.

“Maybe if you weren’t so easily… distracted,” Oi, what does that lidded, downward gaze mean, woman? I demand an explanation! “We both would have already… finished…”

…

I am in danger.

“Food now, panty-wetting banter later,” Iroha intrudes as she shuffles to the side of the bed to make space for Haruno and I between Shizu and the… the girl who just threw the cotton, lilac sheets down to reveal that, while I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen, she’s come up with the brain-braking idea to wear my undershirt and no bra at all, and now her round, perky breasts are almost pushing out of the round opening of my wife-beater.

…

Shizu’s wearing my shirt.

You know, the usual appeal of the girlfriend wearing the boyfriend’s shirt is that it hangs loosely off her, visually displaying the size difference between them and alluringly emanating an aura that demands the care and protection of the physically stronger mate.

Shizu’s taller than me.

And, no matter how many push-ups I keep daily adding to my training routine, it will be years until my chest can compete with that.

Which means Shizu’s prodigious bust is straining the buttons almost to the breaking point, leaving gaps of uncovered, bursting flesh between them that I now have the urge to explore with whichever available parts of my anatomy may do the job.

Something’s wrong. Haruno isn’t making any jokes.

… Ah.

That may be because Haruno.exe has stopped working, if I’m correctly interpreting the wide eyes, trembling tray, and open mouth.

Twice in one day. Must be a record.

Already a bit more used to my girlfriends' frequent attacks on what can charitably be called the last dredges of my self-control, I step behind her and nudge her forward with my tray. I’m also thankful for said tray blocking my view of her lower body, because the way she turns over her shoulder to look at me with utter, defenseless confusion may have pushed me over the edge and into growlingterritory.

“They’re waiting for you,” I manage to tell her with a soft, warm smile that still feels foreign, even if comfortable.

She blinks at me, her own mouth curling up into a frail, caring, warm thing that breaks my heart before she turns forward and confidently walks to the bed, handing her tray to Iroha and crawling on all fours over the mattress toward Shizu in a way that has my counter-thumper jump up yet again, much to Iroha’s visible delight.

A delight that doesn’t abate in the slightest when I lean down exaggeratedly to lay my own tray on Shizu’s bedside table before, no less slowly, I crawl over Iroha (and brush against her) to lie between her and Haruno on a bed that is currently quitecrowded. Enough so that it’s impossible for me not to bump against either of the two beautiful girls at my sides.

I know, I know. How uncomfortable. How inconvenient. How impractical. This is terrible. My day’s ruined.

‘I hate you. I am you, and that much smug is making me hate you.’

Thank you, Brain-chan; you don’t know how much that means to me.

***

I admit it: croissant sandwiches are the one thing I never knew I needed.

I also admit it, Iroha’s eating noises are the one thing I already knew I needed. That is, if I ever need a last straw to break my sanity and self-control.

“Stop that,” I mutter, not for the first time.

“But it’s sooo gooood,” she whines in a way that is no better for my mental health. At all.

“So, you decided to cook for them knowing that would be the result,” Haruno comments through what I’m pretty sure is a dry mouth.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” I reply to the college girl with a glare that doesn’t, at all, linger on the side of her breasts spilling from beneath her frilly apron.

“I’m gonna need to change my sheets, aren’t I?” Shizu despondently mumbles.

“Because of all the crumbs?” I gently inquire.

At that, she leans forward to glare at me over Haruno’s breasts, her own, no less interesting ones pressed between her arms as she keeps balancing her dish in front of her.

My shirt is going through Hell, and I envy every second.

“Yes. Because of the crumbs. Obviously,” Shizu tells me in a tone that some detective-like character may infer has very little to do with unhygienic food remains.

Seeing as there’s currently a wet spot at the front of my borrowed apron, I don’t have the slightest clue what she’s talking about.

“This was even better than the last time,” Iroha dreamily comments. “You two should always cook together.”

“And that doesn’t have anything at all to do with the eye candy, of course,” I tell her.

“Well, if you’re somehow able to cook while doing whatever it is you did in there—”

“We did nothing! I am not—”

“You slapped my butt,” Haruno drily points out.

“You were waving it at me!”

“And you just slapped it rather than grab her hips and—”

“Iroha! We are eating!”

“I am not,” she tells me with a bright, cheerful tone that sends shivers down my spine.

And then she drops her empty dish on the bedside table and crawls beneath Shizu’s lilac sheets.

“Is she…” Haruno hesitatingly starts to ask right as Iroha grabs my erection and licks up the whole length.

“Yup,” Shizuka says, almost resignedly.

I feel it’s my turn to answer with one of the witty quips I’m renowned for.

“Ffffffuck!”

There, that should do it.

Iroha gets me inside her mouth, holding herself up for a moment as she twirls her tongue around my head before she decides to go lower, massaging every newly conquered part of my body that is devoured by her as I give up on the rest of my breakfast and set it on the newly vacated spot by my side.

Which means I don’t have enough room to separate myself from Haruno while Iroha gives me a delayed morning blowjob. How terrible, what an awful situation. How inconvenient.

“You’re… really enjoying that, aren’t you?” said girl asks, her hand frozen midway to putting a piece of toast in her mouth.

A mouth that I’m suddenly far too focused on.

Damn it, Iroha.

“She… learned from the best,” I manage to blurt out.

“I’m not the best—wait, I don’t even know if that’s insulting,” a very red Shizu protests while awkwardly fidgeting.

“It isn’t. Oh gods, it isn’t,” I reassure her with a voice that verges on religious devotion.

She then proceeds to blush harder.

And Haruno throws down the sheet.

Iroha’s nearly at my very base, and cheekily winks up at me as soon as the barrier between us is dispelled by Haruno’s eldritch sorcery. She then makes the very same kind of noises she was making while obscenely enjoying her breakfast, and I…

I caress her hair, softly, as I lose myself in those luminous eyes of hers, as I pet her as if afraid of breaking something precious and irreparable as her eyes relax and she turns her head to the side, resting over my toned belly with my cock inside her mouth as she purrs in contentment and affection.

“Right. I can’t take this anymore,” Haruno mutters.

And then turns to the side and straddles Shizuka, two dishes clattering on the mattress before she leans down to devour the older woman’s lips.

Iroha lifts her head up, still keeping me inside her mouth, and gives the two writhing, moaning women at our side a considering look before her eyes turn to mine, and I can feel both our smiles echo one another as we see Shizu accept Haruno’s love and passion almost as helplessly as she usually accepts mine. Their hips are dancing together, their chests pressing on one another, and Haruno’s hands are on Shizu’s cheeks, holding her still as she kisses her like she has years of hidden affection to give back to her.

Iroha pulls back, the tip of my cock suddenly meeting cold air rather than scalding tongue and lips, and her smile turns soft and tender.

“I love you,” she says, and that ‘you’ could be a plural, even if it’s mostly aimed at me.

“I love you,” I answer, caressing her cheek, feeling the peach fuzz once more tingling on my palm.

And that is a plural, and aimed at the three of them, but mostly at the girl who’s now licking my slit, eagerly swallowing every drop of precum to come out of it.

Her grasp on me grows tighter, her strokes longer and faster, and she leans back into a seiza position that has her press her breasts together between slender arms, the flesh I’ve grown to desire and adore once more bulging out of the circular collar of my borrowed shirt.

“I… don’t want you to hold back… Hachi. I want you to cum as much as you can, as quickly as possible,” she says.

“I… don’t think that will be—hn!—a problem,” I tell her, lost as much in her eyes as in the rough pleasure she’s giving me.

“Good,” she says in a voice that makes me want to bend her over and take her from behind, to have her scream in pleasure and release, to have her writhe beneath me as she comes over, and over, and over…

Until I do.

Her eyes broaden as she feels my hips lift off the mattress, and she speeds up, her movements so intense, so demanding, that I close my eyes as I feel the bolt of pure sensation slam into me.

It voids all my senses, overwhelming me with bliss until I hear the shriek.

A high-pitched, surprised thing that forces me to open my eyes as the third burst of my ejaculation leaves me, and I can see the white fluid arching over the air and splattering on top of Haruno’s arched back as she looks at the two of us with shock mirrored by Shizu below her.

Then, after the last few drops come out of me to weakly dribble down onto Iroha’s gentle grasp, the Strongest Junior licks them off while shooting me a smoldering gaze that is almost disturbing when her tongue trails along her spread fingers.

And then she winks and crawls on all fours toward Haruno, her gorgeous behind waving exaggeratedly and showing me she isn’t wearing anything but my shirt.

Then she leans over Haruno and licks her clean as the older girl writhes and moans.

“Shizu already did that to me,” Iroha explains, briefly pausing in licking up Haruno’s arched spine. “So now we two match. Welcome to… to us.”

Iroha’s voice started sultry, seductive, smoldering.

And then she hesitated.

And it became just… warm.

And I could love her just because of it.

Going from Haruno’s shocked expression softening into a tender, watery smile, I’m not the only one.