Shokugeki no Souma ➳ Bottom! Souma One-Shots

➳ Akira × Souma

《《 Hey guys! Surprise! I'm not deactivated or dead! Or deleted. Anyways. This is my second SnS book and first SnS story. This is just self indulgent, alright? No flame.》》
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Lovely Cinnamon

Category : Smut

➳Daddy kink, Nipple play, Ass worship, Deepthroating, Dirty talk, Slutty Souma

If instead Hayama wasn't in charge of bringing down Souma in the Hokkaido test but Souma knew in hindsight what Hayama had become. He goes after him without the consent of his dorm lady and close friend. Hayama greets him nonchalantly and he returns the gesture with something more. Would Hayama come back to the way he was without Souma's cooking?
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Alright. Souma thought as he looked up at the run-down looking Shiomi Seminar building. He sucked in a breath, hoping to calm himself down, before he entered the home of the two well-known people within campus. The redheaded student-chef trudged into the halls and paused at the weary door that would probably be easy to break through, and finally mustered the courage to rap on the door three times before he personally stepped back and waited for the response.

  Nothing.

  He figured.

  Besides, what would the 'oh so high up in the clouds of Central' Hayama Akira would want to do with a feeble chef like him, right? The host of the ninth seat, Hayama Akira. The thief of his feelings, Hayama fucking Akira. The one who seemed to be content in burying himself in the warmth that his friends offered. Friends. How pathetic. How naïve of him to think that the Hayama Akira, the wielder of the gifted sense of smell that would rival Nakiri Erina's God Tongue, would want anything to do with them. More so, him. He mentally smacked himself upside the head and stood there, still like a marble statue that he would probably vandalize as a kid, and patiently waited.

  He heard a squeak of hinges and the rattling of a doorknob, knocking him out of his trance and that seriously made him notice that his eyes were glued to his feet as he had a hand in his pants' pocket and the other that was seemingly awkward, just hanging there at his side. His gaze snapped upwards to meet the sad eyes that Shiomi-san had put up for the obvious. He suddenly felt out-of-place under her scrutinizing stare. He saw her lips move, his ears ringing, words tumbling out of her mouth like a memorized script, her face could not mirror that of her actual emotions that was buried deep within her soul. He saw through the flimsy façade that she put up with and bowed before pushing past her. He also heard a tone of distaste behind him and a small shut of the door, the same squeak that he wonders if she knew she should change the doors soon. Maybe to a wooden one? Or a metal one? Now that was a distracting topic he would gladly submerge in if he wasn't that persistent on finding the white haired male. He insisted on looking for the guy ages ago, especially to Fumio-san and Tadokoro--

  Tadokoro and Fumio-san looked at him as if he were an extraterrestrial being that presumably appeared out of nowhere. Well-- not that he wasn't, he thought. Maybe he was? Or not? He shouldn't be that caught up in his own head next time, they look like they were waiting for his response. To whatever they said, he just shrugged. They still looked impassive as ever -- a very deterring look, even for someone like Fumio-san who probably has a load of expressions in her back pocket. Tadokoro was just simply unpredictable. She's kind and thoughtful, gentle and sweet. 'This expression just doesn't suit her personality at all', he concluded in his mind.