hazel's blog ‎ꫂ᭪

You turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen, knowing full well he was following. Hakari was somewhere in the bathroom running the shower, loud as hell and singing some dumb pop song like he didn’t have two people with main character syndrome under the same roof.

Hajime dropped into a chair like he belonged there. “What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Ask the grown-up who invited you over,” you said sweetly, pulling a drink from the fridge. “Unless you want to cook, Daddy.”

He choked. “You did not just—”

You smiled over your shoulder, cocking a hip. “What? Too spicy for your bland little circuits?”

“Swear to god,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “You’ve got a death wish.”

“No, I’ve got a you’re-not-gonna-do-shit wish.”

That got him. He stood, slow, walked up until he was too close, too smug, way too Kashimo. “You always this bratty?” he asked low, tone dipped in trouble.

You shrugged, sipping slowly. “You always this easy to rile up? Thought you had more self-control, sparky.“

“You know, most people are scared of me,” he said, eyes locked on your mouth.

“Most people aren’t Kinji’s sister,” you replied, reaching up to tug his hoodie string just to be a menace. “And most people don’t have a baseball bat under their bed.”

He huffed a laugh, actually licked his bottom lip. You almost kissed him just to shut him up. But Hakari yelled from the hallway, “If you two are being weird again, I will kill myself.”

You both stared at each other for a beat.

Kashimo looked you dead in the eye. “Your brother’s a cockblock.”

“Yeah and it is working,” you replied without missing a beat.

He looked two seconds from losing it.

But instead, he walked off with a huff, only to come back after Hakari finally got into the shower. You were curled up on your bed, doom-scrolling, when the knock came. Then a slow creak of your door.

You looked up. There he was. Leaning in your doorway.

“Are you lost?” you said dryly, not bothering to sit up. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Big white door. Your bestie’s in it.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared. “I should kiss you just to shut you up.”

You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

His gaze dragged down your body like a matchstick. “Oh?” He stepped just inside your room. “I wouldn’t?”

You sat up slowly, pulse skipping. “Hajime. My brother is literally singing Dua Lipa twenty feet away.”

“And your door’s unlocked.”

You stared. He stared harder. A beat of silence. Then he smiled. “You’re scared.”

You scoffed. “Scared you’ll finally admit you like me?”

“Scared you’ll like me too much,” he shot back.

You threw a pillow at him but he caught it, of course he did, then grinned and backed up, one foot still in your doorway. “I’m gonna shut this door one of these nights,” he warned, voice playful, dark. “Just a little. Just enough.”

“Better bring snacks,” you muttered, heart racing despite the smirk on your face. “I don’t entertain guests without food.”

He laughed. But before he turned to leave, he said, under his breath: “You’re not ready for how good I’d be to you.”

Then he was gone. And you were left staring at the open door, pillow in your lap, mouth dry and heart pounding.

You were still sitting there, pillow hugged to your chest, door half open, when the bathroom light flicked off and the hallway filled with footsteps. Heavy, careless, Hakari footsteps.

You didn’t even have time to fix your face. “Yo,” Hakari’s voice came from the hallway. “You good? That gremlin wasn’t trying to corrupt you again, was he?”

You rolled your eyes just as he stepped in, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet and dripping onto his collarbones. One eyebrow raised, fully suspicious. “I’m fine,” you said flatly. “Didn’t know I needed security clearance to sit on my own bed.”

“Yeah well,” he muttered, scanning the room like he expected to find Kashimo hiding under your blanket, “you get that look on your face every time he’s around. Like you’re two seconds away from either kissing him or stabbing him.”

“Maybe I’ll do both,” you muttered under your breath.

Hakari stopped. “Excuse me?”

You smiled too sweetly. “I said maybe I’ll roast some toast. You really need to clean your ears.”

He pointed at you with mock warning. “If I find his crusty shoes near your bed again, I’m throwing both of you out. Through the window.”

“I’m not even in the room anymore,” came his voice—from the goddamn hallway.

Hakari flinched like he’d heard a ghost. “Bro?!”

Kashimo appeared again in your open doorway, leaning against the frame like he hadn’t just tried to start something five minutes ago. Arms crossed, shirt untucked, a devil-may-care smirk on his stupid face.

Hakari turned to him, scowled. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I like the view,” Kashimo said, not even pretending to look at Hakari. His eyes were locked on you. “She’s funny. You’re just loud.”

Hakari’s mouth opened. “You little electric roach—”

“Do I live here?” you cut in loudly, raising your voice over both of them. “Or am I just a referee for your bromance?”

“She’s defending me,” Kashimo said smugly.

“She’s defending her peace of mind,” Hakari snapped. “Which you’re disturbing by breathing near her.”

“I’m gonna disturb a lot more than her breathing,” Kashimo muttered under his breath.

You choked. Hakari blinked. “What did you just say—”

“I said,” Kashimo said louder, “I’m leaving. Like the respectful best friend I am.” He winked at you. You picked up the second pillow and threw it again. “Out!” you snapped, heat in your cheeks.

Kashimo backed away, still grinning. “Night, sweetheart. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’m gonna taser him,” Hakari muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “You got one? No? I’ll buy one.”

You flopped back on your bed with a groan. Hakari walked to your desk and swiped your phone. “What are you doing?” you asked.

“Blocking his number,” he said casually. “And deleting that selfie where he looked like a male model. I know how your brain works.”

You screamed into your pillow.

The morning sunlight bled through the blinds, slashing over the living room couch like it owed Kashimo money.

There he was. Dead ass asleep. One arm flung over his eyes, hoodie ridden up just enough to show the v-line peeking out of his sweatpants, mouth slightly open like he was dreaming about chewing through drywall.

You padded into the kitchen in your oversized tee and fuzzy socks, hair still messy from sleep. Your brother was already there, half-dressed and aggressively shaking his protein bottle like it owed him child support. He didn’t even look at you as you entered—just jerked his chin toward the couch with disgust.

“He seriously slept there. The whole night.”

You snorted, eyeing the tangled limbs on your once-clean couch. “Look at that dumbass.”

“Yeah.”

You walked past the counter, pretending to stretch, but your steps slowed as you approached the couch. He didn’t stir, his breathing steady, muscles slack in rare, peaceful quiet. A faint flicker of dried drool glinted at the edge of his mouth.

Creeping closer, you dropped to your knees beside him.

He looked so innocent. So annoyingly cute. Unfair, really.

You lifted your fingers over his wrist, smirking as your cursed energy began to hum—low, crackling with potential. Your technique interacted with electrical signals—nothing painful, nothing that would really hurt him. Just enough to give his nervous system a poke. A tiny zap. A rude, bratty nudge.

Your finger hovered. Then—tap. A soft pulse of energy zipped into his wrist. The effect was instant. Kashimo’s hand snapped up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that was firm and hot. His eyes didn’t even open. “Stop.”

His voice was low, half-gravel, like he’d been awake the whole time. The word rumbled through his chest, deep and warning but underneath it, a thread of amusement.

You froze, eyes wide, lips parted. “Good morning to you too,” you whispered, trying not to laugh.

He still didn’t open his eyes, but his thumb moved slightly, brushing against your pulse point. “Wanna get zapped back?” he murmured, barely audible. “’Cause I can make that a two-player game.”

You licked your lips, pulse jumping. “You talk real big for someone with morning breath.”

“Still talk better than your brother,” he said lazily.

From the kitchen, Hakari is still humming tunelessly to himself, slammed the shaker bottle on the counter and muttered, “I heard that, asshole.”

You twisted your wrist playfully in Kashimo’s hold. “Let go before I fry your nervous system like a cheap toaster.”

He smirked, eyes still shut. “Try it. See what happens.”

You yanked your hand free with a final little zap, just enough to make his shoulder twitch. He groaned. “God, you’re feisty.”

You stood, stretching again, biting your lip so he wouldn’t see your grin. “And you like it.”

Hakari turned around finally, sipping his shake with a dead stare. “If I catch either of you being weird again before 8AM, I’m calling Yuta.”

Kashimo sat up slowly, groaning, scratching the back of his head. “Call Yuta. Maybe he’d let me stay over without threatening to castrate me every time I breathe near his sister.”

“I’m gonna break your kneecaps with a dumbbell,” Hakari muttered.

You were already halfway back to your room, voice light over your shoulder: “Don’t fight, boys. There’s enough of me to go around.”

Kashimo choked on air. Hakari dropped his shake.

Yep. It was a great morning.

At noon, the bathroom door was cracked open, faint steam still curling out. You peeked in, because it wasn’t technically locked, and you needed your skincare bag.

Except Kashimo was inside. Shirtless. Brushing his teeth.

Hair messy. Slouched over the sink. Just sweatpants and a smug, sleepy aura like he hadn’t almost electrocuted your hormones last night. His abs flexed slightly as he leaned forward to spit. Minty foam clung to his bottom lip.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “I came in for moisturizer, and now I’m moisturized emotionally.”

He choked mid-brush, eyes flicking to you in the mirror. He didn’t even pause, just kept brushing like the cocky bastard he was, cheeks puffed slightly, eyes narrowed in mock warning.

You stepped inside, casually reaching past him for your stuff, brushing against his bare arm. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But he did grin with that damn toothbrush still in his mouth. You leaned in, teasing, whispering, “You want me to sit on the counter, or do you wanna lift me up yourself?”

CRASH. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

You both turned.

Hakari stood in the hallway, hair damp, wearing a black tank top and rage. His eye twitched like he’d just caught a glimpse of a demon trying to seduce his sister with a Crest-approved curse. You blinked innocently. “I said do you want me to sit the container somewhere else or should I lift it up myself?”

Kashimo full-on froze. Toothbrush in mouth, head tilted slightly, calculating. Hakari pointed. “That’s not even CLOSE to what you just said.”

“I said exactly that,” you replied, voice calm, grabbing your serum. “You good? Your hearing’s off.”

“I need a lobotomy,” Hakari muttered, backing up slowly.

But Kashimo? Still brushing. He gave you a long, slow look. Up, down. Chewed on that toothbrush like it was loaded with sin.

He stepped toward you, just a bit. Close enough for the air to spark. Still foamy, mouth full, he mumbled, “You want me to what with the counter?”

You batted your lashes. “I said you should wipe the counter. You’re making a mess.”

He looked at you. Then at Hakari. Then—he spat the foam into the sink dramatically. Turned to Hakari and said with a straight face, “She said I should wipe the counter.”

Hakari squinted. “No the fuck she did not—”

“I absolutely did,” you said, walking out like the devil in socks.

“You two love making stuff up in the mornings.”

Kashimo leaned against the sink, still grinning as he watched you leave.

Hakari stood there, broken. “…Am I hallucinating?”

Kashimo shrugged, rinsing his mouth. “Dunno, bro. Might be the protein shake.”

After that, you were perched on the kitchen stool, robe loose around your thighs, calmly buttering the last pancake like you didn’t just terrorize your brother into an existential crisis.

Kashimo walked in shirtless, towel slung around his shoulders, hair still dripping down his neck. Boxers riding low. You glanced up at him, chewed your bite of pancake real slow, and just smiled. He grinned back like he’d been waiting for that look. Hakari sat across the table, head in his hands.

“Morning,” Kashimo said, plopping down beside you and immediately reaching for the syrup bottle—despite the fact that you had the last pancake.

Your eyes narrowed. “Try it, and you lose a finger.”

Kashimo leaned in a little too close, eyes sliding down your bare leg under the robe. His voice dropped. “I’ll bite something else instead.”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Careful, you might choke.”

From across the table—“WHAT THE FUCK.” Hakari dropped his spoon. “Did you two seriously just—again?!”

You turned to him, calm and wide-eyed. “What? He said he’d get toast.”

“I said I’d pass the syrup,” Kashimo added smoothly, licking a bit of it off his thumb like a war criminal.

Hakari pointed wildly. “You just said you’d bite something else!”

“I said I might fight for the shelf, Kinji,” Kashimo said, straight-faced. “Relax.”

You sipped your juice, unfazed. “You good? You seem tense.”

“I need therapy,” Hakari muttered, stabbing his protein oats. Then, while he was distracted arguing with the microwave for some reason—Kashimo leaned in toward you, lips brushing your ear, voice low enough to vibrate straight down your spine.

“Bet if I dropped this robe off your shoulder, you’d moan so soft no one would hear it but me.”

You froze, lips parting. The fork in your hand twitched. You turned to him slowly, sweet and unbothered. “Say it louder.”

He grinned, whispering again: “You’d beg without saying a word, wouldn’t you?”

Before you could respond Hakari turned back around. “Okay. Why do you both look like you’re committing crimes?”

You blinked. “We were talking about the eggs.”

“Yeah,” Kashimo added, licking syrup off his wrist like a menace. “She said she prefers them runny.”

You both locked eyes. You couldn’t stop the smirk.

Hakari stood up. “NOPE.”

“I love a good runny yolk,” you chimed cheerfully, sipping your juice. “You okay, Kinji? You look pale.”

“I’m moving out. One of us has to.”

Kashimo raised his hand. “Not me and I don‘t even live here.”

You raised yours too. “Definitely not me.”

Hakari stared, betrayed and suffering. “…Am I the only person in this apartment with a functioning moral compass?”

You and Kashimo, in perfect unison: “Yes.”

Hakari had officially hit his limit. He stood abruptly, chair scraping back. “I’m done. I’m going to my room. If I hear one moan, one whisper, one syllable that even sounds horny—I’m bleaching this entire apartment.”

You and Kashimo both turned slowly, blinking like you were completely innocent. “Kinji, we’re literally just eating breakfast,” you said sweetly, licking syrup from your fork with the slowest, most incriminating motion known to mankind.

Kashimo nodded, eyes locked on your mouth. “Yeah bro, you need to calm down. Your cortisol levels are insane.”

“I swear to God,” Hakari muttered, already storming off. “You two are like the devil split into horny twins.”

His door slammed. Silence.

Kashimo leaned toward you across the counter, syrup bottle in one hand, and flirting in his eyes like it was his full-time job. His voice dropped low, amused and dangerous. “You really like driving him insane, don’t you?”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze with a smirk so smug it could get you arrested. “You’re the one stalking around like static in a thunderstorm,” you murmured, letting your fingers brush his wrist where the veins pulsed. “Dangerous little flicker.”

Kashimo’s grin twitched wider. He stepped in closer. Just a breath away now. His voice was all gravel and voltage, teasing but dark: “You callin’ me dangerous?”

You shrugged one bare shoulder, licking your lips slowly. “You’re one spark away from burning this whole place down.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, eyes flicking from your mouth to your throat. “I’ll light you up before the fire alarm even goes off.”

Suddenly, from down the hall: “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU.”

You both burst out laughing. “Go jerk off and drink your sad little shake, Kinji,” you shouted.

“I WILL,” came the muffled reply. “AND IT’S VANILLA.”

You turned back to Kashimo, breathless from laughing, forehead pressing against his shoulder. “He’s gonna move out.”

Kashimo’s hand slid onto your waist casually. “Then I’m taking his room.”

You pulled back slightly, smirking. “Oh? Planning on sleeping there?”

His eyes gleamed. “No.” Then louder, for Hakari’s benefit: “I SAID—I LIKE THE VIEW. From the kitchen.”

From Hakari’s room: “I’M GOOGLING HOW TO FIGHT GOD.”

You pushed your empty plate away and stretched, feigning nonchalance even as Kashimo’s hand still lingered on your waist. “Alright, I’m gonna—” You began to stand.

But before you could finish that sentence, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. “Nooo,” Kashimo whined, but his voice was so velvety-soft, like melted butter dripping off a knife. Not desperate. Just… dangerous. Too smooth. Like he knew you’d sit back down just from that tone alone.

You paused. And then he tugged you. Not hard, not rough. Just enough to make you lose your balance and fall right back— Straight into his lap. You landed with a soft gasp, one knee pressed against the table, straddling one of his thighs. His arm settled casually around your waist like this was always going to happen.

And now? Now his face was inches from yours.

His long hair had fallen slightly forward, strands brushing over his cheekbones, some curling into your face like static-charged silk. He looked up at you like you were his favorite problem.

Then he smiled. Not smirked. Smiled. All teeth. All trouble. “You look like you put your finger in a power outlet,” he murmured, voice thick and syrupy. “So messy. Hot.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You raised your chin with a smug little, “Mm, yeah?”—but your voice was breathier than you wanted it to be. Kashimo tilted his head, brushed his nose against yours, barely there. A little tease. A soft spark in the middle of all that static.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Like if I kissed you, I’d taste electricity.”

You grinned, lowering your voice to a purr. “Try it and you might get fried.”

“I’d risk it,” he said instantly, not breaking eye contact.

From down the hall. “WHY IS THERE SILENCE. ARE YOU BREATHING INTO EACH OTHER’S MOUTHS?!”

You screamed into his shoulder laughing.

Kashimo, deadpan, still holding you: “I said we were watching TV, Kinji.”

“No one’s watching TV, Hajime!”

“You’re just mad you weren’t invited.”

“INVITED TO WHAT, THE HORNY OLYMPICS?!”

You looked at Kashimo, still grinning from the high of it all. “We really might kill him.” Kashimo laughed under his breath, curling his other hand around the back of your knee. “Worth it.”

You were still straddling his lap, his hand still on your waist, the air practically humming between your bodies. Kashimo’s thumb idly traced the curve of your hip as his eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, that crooked smile never fading.

He tilted his head again, slow and loose, like a cat sizing up its prey. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “and I’m gonna forget your brother lives here.”

You leaned in closer, so close his breath tickled your lips. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna make you forget.”

His lashes dipped. Forehead nearly touching yours now. You were a breath away from kissing him—BOOM. Hakari’s door slammed open so hard it ricocheted off the wall. “I KNEW IT!”

You didn’t even flinch. Kashimo blinked once. Calm.

You turned your head slowly toward Hakari, still in Kashimo’s lap like it was a throne. He pointed at you both, disheveled and furious. “I knew it! That silence wasn’t normal silence! That was pervert silence!”

You blinked. Then—“Oh! Hajime, hold still.”

You reached up and plucked something invisible from his hair with a frown of faux concern.

“What—” Hakari sputtered.

Kashimo furrowed his brows. “You see it too?”

“Yeah,” you said seriously. “You had a piece of lint in your hair. From the couch, probably.”

You held up absolutely nothing between your fingers and flicked it into the void.

Hakari’s voice went up an octave. “You expect me to believe you were sitting in his lap—face to face—to get lint out of his hair?!”

“Yes,” you both said at the exact same time.

Kashimo even added, “She’s very thorough.”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs and smiled at your brother. “It’s called hygiene, Kinji. Ever heard of it?”

Hakari looked deranged. “You’re dressed like a robe goblin and he looks like a sexy storm god and you’re telling me this is about a lint ball?!”

Kashimo tilted his head at him, completely unfazed. “You’re the one with the dirty mind, man. Kinda projecting.”

“You’re gaslighting me right now.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Kashimo replied, brushing invisible lint off his shoulder. You nodded in solemn agreement. “Same. I just care about keeping my people lint-free.”

Hakari turned in a full circle like he needed divine help. “I hate this house. I hate this timeline. I hate you.”

Kashimo grinned at you. “You see it too, right? Like right there—there’s another piece…”

You leaned in again, hand on his chest like a professional lint inspector. “Oh, you’re right.”

Hakari stormed out. “IM GETTING A HOTEL!” The door slammed.

You both collapsed into laughter, forehead to forehead, shoulders shaking. Kashimo’s smile softened, breath brushing your lips. “You know,” he whispered, “you’re kinda scary when you lie that well.”

You smirked, brushing his hair back from his face. “You like it.”

He nodded. “I love it.” His laugh was still warm in your ears when you moved. You threw your arms around his neck in one smooth, easy motion, grinning down at him like you owned the room—and maybe you did, because the second your arms draped over his shoulders, Kashimo’s entire body shifted beneath you. Eyes flicking to your lips. Breathing still.

“Well,” you said, voice dipped in honey, head tilted slightly, “we’re alone now, aren’t we?”

Something flickered across his face—cocky, yes, but also hesitant. Soft. Like he was waiting for the punchline.

But you didn’t tease. You didn’t joke. You just looked at him. And held him there.

Kashimo’s hands slid up your waist, fingertips brushing under the hem of your robe, until they settled just below your ribs, and then—he tugged you higher on his lap. A gentle but firm shift, like he wanted you closer. Closer than skin. Closer than air. And you let him.

You sat there, pressed chest-to-chest now, his breath ghosting over your lips, his eyes searching yours like he wanted to ruin you but forgot how. “You look a little confused,” you whispered.

He huffed a laugh. “I’m not used to wanting something this slow.”

“Too slow for you?”

His voice dropped, a little bratty: “You’re teasing again.”

“You like it.”

His hand flexed on your hip. “I hate how much I do.”

Your noses brushed. Just barely. Neither of you moved for a second. Not a word. Not a breath too loud. Just that moment—too delicate for the two of you, like a glass bell in a thunderstorm.

He leaned in. And your lips met. But it wasn’t rough. Or messy. Or greedy. It was quiet. Soft. Like he was scared he’d break you—or maybe scared he’d break. The kiss was tender, drawn out, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure you’d kiss him back even though you already were.

His thumb brushed your jaw. Your fingers curled in his hair. He kissed you again. And again. Slower. Sweeter. Too sweet. Too gentle. So good it made your chest ache.

When you finally pulled back, just slightly, your forehead rested against his, your lips still barely grazing his as you whispered,

“You kiss like someone who never got to.”

He exhaled slowly. A little shakier than before. And said nothing. But his arms stayed around you, tighter than before.

Later that Night—the lights were low. Your bedroom bathed in soft warm hues from the small lamp on your nightstand. You were curled on your side, blanket tangled loosely around your legs. Kashimo lay beside you—on top of the blanket, shirtless, arms behind his head like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were something to be held.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Just… silence. But the kind that buzzed with everything unspoken. “You’re still awake,” you murmured, not even looking.

“So are you.”

You hummed, shifting to your back, eyes flicking over to him.

His gaze found yours in the dim light. “You really drive me insane, you know.”

You smirked softly. “You like it.”

“I think I do,” he admitted, voice quieter now.

You blinked at him. “Wow. Hajime Kashimo, emotionally available after 10pm. This is new.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Shut up.” A pause. Then you reached over and slid your fingers through his, resting your joined hands on the blanket between you. You didn’t say anything about it.

Neither did he. But he held on like you were the first thing that grounded him in years. It was soft. Too soft. Almost unbearable.

Then: Door slam. Of course. Hakari was back.

You could hear the shuffle of his keys, the sound of him kicking off his shoes and muttering something like, “This isn’t a home. This is a fuckin’ simulation.” Footsteps. Closer. Your bedroom door creaked open.

You and Kashimo looked over so slowly, like teenagers caught stealing wine.

Hakari stood in the doorway. Eyebrows high. Expression dead. “You’ve got two seconds to explain why this man is half-naked in your bed.”

You blinked. “Oh, I had a nightmare.”

Kashimo nodded immediately. “I was offering emotional support.”

“With your tits out?!”

“They comfort her,” Kashimo said calmly.

“I’m gonna lose my mind,” Hakari muttered, stepping into the room. “If I hear one sound—one groan, one breath, one wink—I will go full domain expansion straight into your ass, Hajime.”

Kashimo held up a hand. “I’m emotionally present, not physically engaged. Chill.”

You snuggled into your blanket. “He was helping me with breathing exercises.”

“Bitch what kind of breathing sounds like moaning?!”

“I have allergies, Kinji!”

Hakari just stared at both of you for a full ten seconds. Then threw his hands in the air. “That’s it. I’m done. This place is cursed. I’m moving in with Panda.”

He slammed your door shut. You and Kashimo slowly turned back toward each other. “I think we broke him,” you whispered.

Kashimo smirked, lacing his fingers through yours again. “Good.”

The next morning, the world was still quiet. Hakari, for once, hadn’t made a sound. Sunlight was barely peeking through the blinds, casting soft stripes of gold across your bed.

You were still half-asleep, wrapped up in warmth—your robe had slid open in the night, and now the thin camisole underneath was clinging to your body. One leg tossed over Kashimo’s hip. Your face tucked under his jaw.

And Kashimo? Kashimo was not okay. He groaned softly, arms tightening around you like a reflex. His nose nuzzled against your hair, breath hot and heavy. You shifted a little in your sleep and felt it. Thick. Hot. Hard against your thigh. “Mmh,” you murmured, still sleepy. “Morning, Hajime.”

He groaned again. “Fuck.”

You lifted your head, hair mussed, blinking lazily at him. “You good?”

He cracked one eye open, voice rough, low, still rasping with sleep. “Fuck, I’m so hard it hurts.”

You smirked immediately, biting your lip. “Aw. Poor thing.”

“Not funny,” he grumbled, rocking his hips slightly. “You’ve been on me all night. Soft and warm and fucking perfect and—” He groaned into your shoulder. “This isn’t fair.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose along his. “I was just cuddling.”

He gave you a deadpan stare. “You were cuddling with your thigh pressing against my dick.”

You tilted your head, all fake innocence. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh my god.”

You laughed softly, then leaned down and kissed him—slow and hot, the kind of kiss that promised nothing but implied everything. His hands instantly slid down your back, fingers bunching the thin fabric at your hips as his mouth opened under yours, tongue brushing against yours, needy.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You wanna do something about it?”

He growled, bucking up against you once, forehead pressed to yours. “I wanna ruin you.”

You smiled, devilish. “That’s not a no.”

Then—knock knock knock. “IF I HEAR ONE SINGLE TOUNGE FLIP, I’M GOING TO PUT MY FIST THROUGH THE DRYWALL.”

Both of you paused. Kashimo didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Then under his breath: “I will tase him in his sleep.”

You bit your lip, giggling against his mouth. “You were saying something about ruining me?”

He kissed you again—hotter this time, frustrated, almost growling. “I’ll wait.”

You grinned, rolling your hips against his just once before whispering: “Good. Make it worse.”

You hadn’t stopped touching him since. He was flushed now, chest rising and falling fast, arms tight around your waist like if he let go he’d float straight to hell. “God, you’re killing me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled against his mouth. “Mm. You love it.”

Your fingers trailed down his stomach, past his waistband. You didn’t grab him but your hand hovered, brushing the edge of his boxers like you had all the time in the world. He choked on a groan, jaw tight. “Don’t. You said we’d go slow.”

You tilted your head. “I lied.”

Then—a knock at the door. Polite. Two taps.

Kashimo froze under you. Mouth parted. Hands stiff on your thighs. You didn’t move. Just grinned like the devil.

“Yeah?” you called sweetly, voice clear and innocent.

“Just checking if you’re alive,” Hakari said from the hallway, his voice dry. “Didn’t hear you leave.”

You leaned closer to Kashimo’s ear, lips brushing the shell of it as you whispered, “Don’t make a sound.”

Then you palmed him through his boxers—slow and firm. Kashimo exhaled like he’d been punched. You looked toward the door again, voice still casual. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… relaxing.”

“You sure? Need anything?” Your hand squeezed. Kashimo bit his lip hard.

“Nope,” you chirped, brushing your thumb along the thick outline in his boxers, loving the way his head dropped back against the pillow, silently suffering. “I’m being taken care of.”

“Uh-huh,” Hakari replied. “Well, don’t forget we have groceries coming at ten.”

You stroked up his length again, slow, watching Kashimo struggle not to move. His eyes were glued to yours now, pleading, burning. “Groceries. Got it. Thanks, Kinji.”

You waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then leaned in, nose brushing Kashimo’s, lips a breath away. “You were so good,” you whispered. “Didn’t make a sound.”

His voice cracked. “You’re evil.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Mm. And you’re still hard.”

He growled low, hands sliding up your waist again. “You better finish what you started.”

You smiled. “You better earn it.” You moved over to straddle him now.

His hands gripped your hips like he was trying to stay tethered to reality, but his eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and hungry. Your fingers rubbed slow, just enough to make him twitch under you.

Kashimo exhaled sharp, a low, ragged sound escaping his throat as his hips bucked instinctively—just once. Just enough to betray him.

Still, he held your gaze. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just groaned, deep in his chest, like he could feel it in his spine.

Your smile was pure wickedness. So close now your noses almost touched. “Mm,” you whispered, stroking him again, your palm dragging down the length of him with unbearable slowness. “You’re so stiff, Hajime.” His jaw clenched. Your voice dropped to a purr. “Like a rock.”

He blinked once. A tiny, helpless twitch of his lip. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then pulled back just enough to whisper—“You’re not gonna come in your pants, are you?”

You circled your palm over his tip through the fabric. His whole body tensed. A deep groan ripped out of him as his head dropped back, throat bobbing.

You leaned in again, brushing your mouth across his jaw.

“Just from touching, Hajime?” you murmured. “That all it takes?” His hand flew up, fingers wrapping around your wrist to stop you, shaking slightly. “Don’t,” he growled. “I will—fuck.”

You grinned. Breathless. Drunk on control. “You’re gonna make a mess,” you whispered, kissing just under his ear.

His voice was low, wrecked, broken in your hands.

“Then fucking kiss me and take responsibility.”

You kissed him hard this time, hot and open, tongue sliding against his as he moaned into your mouth, rocking up against your hand even as he held your wrist. One thrust away from falling apart. And you hadn’t even taken his boxers off.

You had him right there, lying flat on his back now, his legs spread slightly, boxers tenting with zero shame, his skin flushed all the way to his chest, jaw locked, hands gripping the sheets like a man about to lose it. His voice was low. Tight. Raw. “Please.”

You smirked slowly, hand still hovering over him, not touching, just letting the heat between you do the damage. “Please what, baby?”

His eyes snapped open, glazed and wild, looking up at you like you were both his savior and his executioner. “Please let me come.”

You just… laughed. A soft, breathy sound that made him groan in defeat. Then you leaned down, kissed him—tongue and all, slow and filthy, tasting his desperation as you gripped his jaw between your fingers. And when you pulled back? “I’ll shower now,” you whispered sweetly, brushing your thumb across his lip. “You can wait here.”

“What?!”

You slid off his lap, completely unbothered, hips swaying as you walked toward the door in nothing but your camisole and panties.

Behind you: “Oh my—FUCK,” he groaned, hand dragging down his face like he was physically holding himself back. You closed the door behind you with a little click and smiled to yourself.

In the hallway.

Of course, the minute you rounded the corner, you ran right into your brother. Hakari stood there, hoodie on, hair messy, clutching a mug with the words “this is hell” printed on it. His eyes narrowed. “You look… smug,” he said slowly. “Why?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He pointed down the hall. “He slept in your bed, didn’t he?”

You blinked again. “Who?”

“Kashimo.”

You gasped. “You think I’d let him sleep in my bed?!”

“He’s still in there, isn’t he?”

You scoffed. “You’re so paranoid. Get therapy.”

Hakari stared. “Was that his groan just now?!”

“I was stretching.”

“Stretching your soul?”

You were already walking away. “I’m going to shower. You need to sage this house or something.”

Hakari muttered something about priests and psychological warfare as he shuffled into the kitchen.

You? You grinned to yourself.

The water was already running. You stepped inside, pulling the curtain halfway, steam starting to rise. Peace. Finally. You reached for your shampoo—and then a hand wrapped around your mouth.

You gasped. Chest slammed into the wall of the shower as a familiar heat pressed up behind you, lips brushing your ear.

His voice? Low. Wet. Deadly calm. “You think you can leave me like that?” Kashimo growled, now in his soaked boxers and t-shirt, plastered to his body, dripping water. “You made me wait.” His hand slid up your thigh, slow, cruel, already sending sparks up your spine. “I waited.” He licked along the shell of your ear. “Now you beg.”

You barely had a second to react.

One moment you were smirking to yourself beneath the water, proud of the wreck you’d left behind in your bed—And the next? A wet, rough hand slammed over your mouth from behind, and your bare back collided with a solid, soaked chest.

You gasped, but the sound was swallowed instantly by his palm. Your eyes flew wide. Kashimo’s soaked shirt was plastered to your back, boxers heavy and clinging, his whole body pressed up behind you like he wanted to fuse into your skin. His lips brushed your wet temple, voice low and breathy, almost calm. “I told you to wait.”

You whimpered into his hand, but he didn’t ease off—not even slightly. “You think I wasn’t gonna come for you?” he murmured, teeth grazing your ear. “You think you can walk out like that after what you did to me?”

You tried to speak. He pressed his hand tighter over your mouth. “Uh-uh,” he whispered. “You don’t talk now.”

The steam made everything slick—your skin, his shirt, the air between you. His hand that wasn’t gagging you was already everywhere. Gliding over your stomach, your hips, the curve of your thigh.

“God, you’re so soft,” he breathed, grinding against your ass now. You could feel it, his cock, hard and heavy, pressed to the small of your back through soaked cotton. “So warm.”

His fingers trailed lower, ghosting down to your inner thigh. You twitched, instinctive. Kashimo groaned low in your ear. “I’m still fucking hard, you know that?” he growled. “I stayed like that. The whole time. Just for you.”

You whimpered again, chest rising, breath catching against the pressure of his palm.

“Shh,” he hissed. “Your brother’s still home.”

You froze. Right. Hakari was still in the apartment. Kashimo’s hand moved lower, cupping between your legs, not even hesitating. “You gonna be quiet now?” he whispered, dragging his fingers through your folds. “You gonna let me make you come with his sad little music playing down the hall?”

You shook under his grip, body arching helplessly into his hand.

“You made me wait,” he growled again. “Now I get to play.”

And with that, he pushed two fingers inside you. Deep. Curling. Slow. You moaned into his palm.

Your body was trembling now. Water still poured down over both of you, steam clouding the air, your palms pressed helplessly to the slick tile as Kashimo worked you open with his fingers, deep and slow, curling with that dangerous precision like he knew every spot inside you already.

His chest was heaving against your back. His soaked shirt clung to every ripple of his body, and his boxers were heavy, wet, and tented against your ass with zero shame. His voice was right at your ear, low and shaking with restraint. “You’re so tight,” he growled. “Fuck—can feel you clenching.”

You moaned—tried to—and he tightened his hand over your mouth again, the slickness of your skin and his grip making your head spin.

“Stay quiet,” he hissed. “Be good.”

Your legs were shaking now, knees nearly buckling under the weight of how close you were. His fingers sped up, deeper, rougher now, the pads of them rubbing that perfect spot over and over and—You were about to fall. About to come. And then he pulled his fingers out. You gasped under his palm, panicked, but before you could even protest, you felt him line up behind you, the tip of his cock dragging through your slick heat.

And then he pressed inside. Slow. Firm. Steady. You arched, gasping under his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit,” he groaned into your neck. “You’re… fuck… you’re perfect.” His length stretched you open slow, thick and hard, his hips pressed flush against your ass now, body trembling with the effort not to lose it all at once. And he held still there. Letting you feel all of him. Letting you adjust. His hand never left your mouth. “Shh,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you.” Then—he started to move. Not fast. Not sloppy.

Just deep. Controlled. Each thrust was deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before rocking back in, pressing against every spot that had you whining under your breath, your body melting against the tile. You were dripping, legs shaking, his name screaming in your throat—but you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t say anything.

His hand stayed tight over your mouth, the other holding your waist, grounding you as he fucked you slow and hard, gritting through every groan so he wouldn’t get caught. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice shaky. “You made me wait for this… all fucking night.”

You nodded frantically under his hand, tears starting to well at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, from how full you felt, from the way he held you like he’d burn down the world if you disappeared.

“I’m not stopping till you come for me,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

And with one deep, perfect thrust, your body shattered. You came with a muffled cry, twitching in his arms, walls fluttering around his cock as he hissed. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t let go. Just kissed the side of your face, breathless. Still holding your mouth like your moans might kill him.

The water was still running. Steam rising in thick waves.

Kashimo stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped around your waist now, his soaked shirt clinging to your back like a second skin. His forehead was resting on your shoulder, lips parted, breathing hard—but he hadn’t finished.

He was still holding on. Still holding back. You could feel the tension in him, his body shaking slightly, cock twitching inside you, muscles taut like wires pulled to snapping.

“You didn’t come,” you whispered breathlessly, still dazed, still trembling.

“I’m fine,” he rasped against your neck. “You first. Always.”

You turned in his arms, moving slowly, water cascading over your bodies, and kissed him. Long and slow. Your hand slid down, wrapping around the base of his cock where it still pulsed against your inner thigh, thick and hot and aching. He groaned into your mouth, forehead pressing to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” you whispered.

You stroked him slow, your other hand slipping up the back of his neck to pull him closer. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, hips jerking into your touch even though he tried not to.

“You were so good,” you murmured. “So patient. So careful with me…” You tightened your grip. His breath caught. “I want you to come.”

He opened his eyes, blown wide, pupils dilated, jaw slack as he started to lose it. You kissed him again. “Let go for me, Hajime.”

His entire body tensed, groaning through clenched teeth as he came, spilling everything on your stomach in hot, slow pulses, body trembling hard, his head falling against your shoulder. You held him through it. Gently. Smiling to yourself.

And then—Knock knock. You both froze like fucking criminals.

“Hello?” Hakari’s voice, muffled through the door. “Is the water broken or are you just being weird in there?”

You pressed your finger to Kashimo’s lips to stop his growl. Then raised your voice, perfectly steady: “I’m exfoliating!”

“You’ve been in there for twenty minutes!”

“I was conditioner masking!” you shouted back.

Kashimo leaned close to your ear, voice hoarse: “Your body is literally conditioned with my cum.”

You slapped a wet hand over his mouth and giggled. Then turned back toward the door, too sweet: “Kinji, not everyone showers in two seconds with 3-in-1 soap like a war criminal!”

Silence. Then, from the hallway: “…I hope you both step on a Lego.”

You both laughed under your breath as the footsteps faded. You turned to Kashimo, still catching his breath, eyes soft now, thumb brushing his cheek. “You okay?”

He nodded slowly. Pressed his forehead to yours. “I think I’m fucking in love with you.”

You blinked. Then grinned. “Of course you are.”

The water had started to cool, steam thinning as the high of it all softened into something quiet. You stayed there for a few minutes longer—bodies close, heads leaned together, Kashimo’s breathing slowly calming, his fingers tracing lazy shapes along your spine like he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let go.

Finally, you sighed and pulled back gently, nudging his soaked boxers down with a smirk. “Come on, static boy. Time to rinse off the crime scene.”

He chuckled, flushed, and stepped out of them with a wet peel. Then he tugged off his wet shirt. You reached for the bottle of Hakari’s cheap-ass body gel on the shelf and gave it a squeeze into your palm—way too much on purpose—then turned back to him.

You looked him over once. Wet hair slicked back, skin flushed from heat and afterglow, chest rising slow like he was still trying to believe this wasn’t a dream. His cheeks were pink. Not just from the water. “You look so beautiful,” you said, almost thoughtlessly.

Kashimo blinked. His eyes opened a little wider, lips parting—but he didn’t speak. He just looked at you. Still. Quiet. Soft in a way that felt too private to be witnessed. His blush deepened, flickering over his cheekbones and the tips of his ears like you’d kissed him there. “…Shut up,” he mumbled, barely audible.

You laughed gently and stepped closer, dragging your hands over his chest with the lather. “Never.”

He stood there, letting you wash him with that stupid citrus-mint gel that smelled exactly like Kinji’s failed masculinity, eyes half-lidded, arms loose at his sides like he’d melted under your touch. It was quiet.

You pressed a final kiss to the middle of his chest before stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel. “I’ll go first,” you said, drying your shoulders, half-turned toward the door already.

But before you could even take a step, his hand snagged your wrist. You looked back, confused—and he was already moving. Wet feet on tile, towel half-draped over his hips, water still dripping from his hair as he grabbed your waist and kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet. Rough. Hot. His tongue pushed into your mouth like he’d needed this part—the part where it wasn’t gentle, where he could press you back into the wall again and kiss you like he’d die if he didn’t.

You gasped into it, grabbed his jaw, kissed him back with everything he left you wanting. He pulled back barely an inch, eyes dark, lips red and wet. “I should’ve done that last night,” he whispered.

You smiled against his mouth. “Then do it again.” And he did.

The smell of burnt toast and existential dread hung in the air as Hakari poured himself a sad cup of coffee—black, bitter, and full of regret. The morning was quiet, deceptively normal.

Until you stepped into the kitchen. Wearing Kashimo’s hoodie. Nothing else. Your legs were bare, wet hair dripping onto the oversized fabric, the hem brushing just past your thighs. You didn’t even try to look subtle. You padded across the room like you owned it.

Hakari stared.

Then Kashimo strolled in behind you, also wet-haired, shirtless now in a pair of sweatpants like nothing happened, scratching lazily at his collarbone. “…No,” Hakari said immediately. “No.”

You blinked at him innocently. “What?”

“No no no no—don’t give me that look!” he pointed at your hoodie. “That’s not your hoodie!”

“It’s cold,” you shrugged, sipping your water.

“You were in the bathroom for 30 minutes.”

“I was shaving.”

“You don’t even shave—!”

Kashimo wandered over, opened the fridge, looked inside like this was his actual home. “Hey, bro, you got any eggs?”

“Don’t ‘bro’ me!” Hakari barked. “You were in there too!”

Kashimo blinked. Looked at you. Looked at Hakari. “…I had to pee?”

“For twenty minutes?!”

“We showered separately,” you said, calm as ever.

“There’s one bathroom!”

“There’s imagination, Kinji,” you replied. “Maybe try it sometime.”

Hakari just—stood there. Coffee in hand. Looking at both of you like he had aged five years since sunrise. He pointed again. “Why is your hair wet?”

“I slipped,” Kashimo said instantly. “Had to rinse off.”

“Rinse off what?”

“…Shame.”

You snorted into your glass. Hakari looked between the two of you, squinting like he was trying to see through time. Then turned to Kashimo and said—dead serious: “If I hear so much as a moan—”

“I moan when I do yoga,” Kashimo cut in smoothly.

“You don’t do yoga—!”

“Maybe you should,” you offered. “Help with the tension in your shoulders.”

Hakari screamed into his mug. Then walked away muttering, “I’m done. I’m moving. I’m gonna live in a monastery. With rice and silence and men who don’t touch my sister.”

You watched him go, then turned back to Kashimo, still smug beside you. He raised a brow. “You wearing anything under that?”

You leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered: “Not a thing.”

Noon—You were curled into Kashimo’s side, face tucked beneath his jaw, one arm flopped over his stomach. Bare thighs tangled with the sheets, hair still damp from the shower. His hoodie draped over you like a blanket.

Kashimo was leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out, one arm under your head, the other resting lazily on your hip. His fingers idly traced patterns against your thigh as he stared at the ceiling in that half-aware post-orgasm coma.

You were fast asleep. Peaceful. Warm. And the door was wide open. Hakari passed by in the hallway. Then stopped. Slowly backed up. He stood there. Silent. Just… staring. Kashimo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. They made direct eye contact. A long pause. Then Hakari finally said, low and tired, “You’re in her bed.”

“Wow,” Kashimo replied softly. “You’re observant.”

Hakari’s eye twitched. “You said you were just crashing on the couch.”

“I was.”

He glanced down at you sleeping peacefully against him. “But then she crashed on me. So here we are.”

Hakari inhaled through his nose like a man holding back the urge to summon a cursed technique. He looked at you again—so peaceful. Your cheek against Kashimo’s chest. A soft little sigh escaping your lips. “…She’s smiling in her sleep,” Hakari mumbled. “She never smiles in her sleep.”

“I make people happy,” Kashimo replied without shame, gently brushing your hair back from your forehead. “With my words. And sometimes my tongue.”

Hakari visibly short-circuited. “WHAT—”

“She had a sore spot on her back,” Kashimo added casually. “I used my mouth therapeutically.”

“You’re the worst human being alive.”

Kashimo smirked. “She said the same thing. Right before she came.”

Hakari just stood. One vein pulsing in his temple. Coffee forgotten. Existence unraveling.

Kashimo raised an eyebrow. “You good, man?”

Hakari stared at him. “You’re touching her right now.”

Kashimo looked down. Lifted his hand off your hip for a second. Then put it back. “…Yeah.”

Hakari sighed, ran a hand through his hair like this was somehow his fault. Then turned around. Muttering under his breath: “I’m getting earplugs. And a shovel.”

Kashimo grinned, leaned down, kissed the top of your head, and whispered: “Totally worth it.”

The world was warm. Quiet.

Then Kashimo shifted slightly, kissed the top of your head, and whispered—still raspy from sleep: “Gotta pee, babe.” You hummed in acknowledgment, not even opening your eyes. You heard him shuffle out, the floor creaking, his quiet groan as he stubbed his toe on the dresser. “Fucking furniture,” he mumbled.

The bathroom door clicked shut. You drifted back to sleep. Ten minutes later. Raised voices. Distant blender rage. Chaos.

You blinked awake, stretched under the covers, and sat up just in time to hear: “YOU WERE IN THERE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES.”

You padded toward the hallway, hoodie falling over your thighs, peeking around the corner of the kitchen door.

Hakari stood near the fridge, holding a banana like a weapon. Kashimo was shirtless, smug, sipping your water from your “Men Are Cursed Energy” mug.

“I was peeing,” Kashimo said flatly.

“You moaned!”

“I exhaled.”

“You said ‘fuck’—twice!”

“I was reflecting on mortality.”

Hakari’s hands flew in the air. “You were reflecting on my sister’s ass.”

Kashimo blinked. “Well. It is… very reflective.”

“OH MY—”

You walked in, yawning dramatically. “Why are you two always fighting like divorced parents?”

“He’s lying,” Hakari snapped, pointing like he was presenting evidence to a jury. “He left your bed, went to the bathroom, and moaned for fifteen minutes!”

“I stretch when I urinate,” Kashimo said calmly.

Hakari blinked. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m hydrated.”

You leaned against the counter, rubbing your eyes. “It’s literally too early for this.”

“YOU’RE IN HIS HOODIE.”

“I was cold.”

“IT’S JULY!”

“I run cold, Kinji.”

“She runs hot internally,” Kashimo added, finishing your water. “She’s like a crockpot.”

Hakari just stood there. Jaw open. Visibly glitching.

Kashimo walked past him and slapped him gently on the back. “Try deep breathing, bro. Anger shortens your life span.”

Hakari muttered something about “life span” and “shovels” and stormed off down the hall, clutching his smoothie like a weapon. A door slammed in the distance.

Peace. Again. Then Kashimo looked at you, grin curling slowly.

You stepped into him, arms sliding around his bare waist, the hoodie sleeves swallowing your hands. “Still tense?” you whispered.

His hands slid to your hips. “Always.” Then he kissed you. Hard. Loud. Open-mouthed, filthy, deep. Tongue and teeth and no shame.

And just as you pulled back, breathless— From down the hall: “ARE YOU KISSING?! I’M STILL IN THE FUCKING HOUSE!”

You rested your forehead on Kashimo’s chest, laughing as he shouted back: “WE’RE RECONNECTING!”

Hakari’s muffled voice came through the walls. “I hope your cereal’s soggy forever.”

The apartment was quiet again.

After the blender drama, the accusations, the banana violence, and the loud post-argument kiss heard around the world, you and Kashimo had wandered back to your room like you hadn’t just mentally unhinged your brother.

Now? You were both out cold.

Kashimo was shirtless, lying on his back, one arm lazily draped around your shoulders. His other hand rested over your hip like a seatbelt. His hair was still damp, stuck to his temple, lips slightly parted as he snored just faintly.

You were curled into his side, your leg thrown over his, face buried against his chest. His hoodie had ridden up a little over your thighs, one bare knee poking out from the tangle of sheets. Your breathing was slow. Safe. One of your hands rested over his heart.

And for once—Silence. Until. Footsteps.

Then. A door creaked. Hakari poked his head into the room with the full intent of either yelling, sighing dramatically, or pretending to be the bigger person. But he stopped. Stared. There you both were. Asleep. Entwined.

Kashimo’s fingers unconsciously twitching where they held you. Your lips barely parted in sleep. A tiny little smile tugging at the edge of your mouth.

Hakari opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it. He squinted. Like if he looked hard enough, maybe it would turn back into just casual fuckery. Just morning-after mess. Just a hoodie and a mistake. But it wasn’t. You looked safe. Kashimo looked soft. And neither of you were faking it. “…God fucking damn it,” Hakari muttered under his breath, slowly backing out of the room like he’d walked in on an emotional crime scene.

As he closed the door, he sighed. Then mumbled to himself, defeated: “First the moaning, then the hoodie, now the cuddling—next thing I know, she’s gonna put a ring on his dick and call it a ceremony.”

Late Afternoon. In the living room.

You were draped across Kashimo’s lap like sin in a hoodie.

Nothing but his oversized hoodie covering you, legs spread lazily over his thighs, one bare foot hooked under the blanket—his hand deep between your legs, working slow, two fingers curling up inside you like he knew what he was doing too well.

He was so hard under you, smug, shirtless, and whispering filth into your ear while the TV played some children’s baking competition you weren’t even pretending to watch. “God, you’re so wet,” he murmured. “I can hear it, baby. I could fuck you with three fingers and still slide in like butter.”

You gasped softly, biting into your knuckle as his thumb dragged over your clit with sickening precision.

“I’d ruin you on this couch,” he whispered, licking your earlobe. “Push you down, spread you open, fuck you slow until you’re crying into the cushions—”

You whimpered—too loud.

“—but not if you keep being a loud little slut.”

You shoved your face into his neck, body trembling as he added a third finger, stretching you, stroking just right. You whispered, breathless: “Hajime, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Hakari. Doorway. Arms crossed. Face pale. Soul exiting body.

Kashimo didn’t stop moving his hand. You made eye contact with Hakari. And—insanely—you smiled. “I said ‘Pass me the chips, I dropped one!’” you chirped.

Kashimo nodded. “Real deep under. She’s helping me find it.”

“You just said ‘I’m gonna fuck you until you cry.’”

“I said ‘I’m gonna fluff the couch, it’s dry.’” Kashimo replied smoothly.

Hakari blinked. “I heard moaning.”

You tilted your head. “I burned my tongue on soup.”

“You’re breathing like you’re dying.”

“I have childhood asthma.”

Hakari’s voice cracked. “His fingers are moving.”

“I’m checking for more chips,” Kashimo said. “Could be several.”

“You’re literally—LITERALLY—doing something under a blanket in my living room!”

Kashimo pulled his hand out slowly, wet, and licked his fingers while holding eye contact with Hakari. “Sour cream and onion, my favourite” he said thoughtfully.

Hakari dropped his smoothie. “I’m gonna call Gojo,” he said, turning around in horror. “I’m gonna call Gojo and tell him you’re both spiritually unwell.” He stormed off. From the hallway: “I hope your sheets never dry and your socks are always wet!”

You turned to Kashimo, breathless, half-laughing. “You’re going to hell.”

He licked his fingers again. “Then I’ll bring you with me.”

The door had barely slammed behind Hakari when silence fell again—just the sound of your ragged breathing and the TV still playing some upbeat jingle about cupcakes.

You were trembling in Kashimo’s lap, thighs twitching, your whole body flushed under the blanket. He leaned into your ear, lips brushing your skin. “You didn’t finish,” he whispered, voice low and smug.

And then—his fingers slid back in.

You gasped, spine arching as your nails dug into his back, dragging red lines down his skin. Your head dropped to his shoulder, moaning into his throat. “F-Fuck, Hajime—”

He kissed just under your jaw, fingers sliding slick and slow as your cunt clenched desperately around them. “God, you’re so soaked,” he groaned, voice cracking. “Shit—I’m gonna shoot in my pants if you keep gripping me like that—ugh—fuck.”

You rolled your hips helplessly against his hand, chasing it.

“You’re a fucking problem,” he growled, thrusting his fingers harder, the wet sounds absolutely criminal. “One pretty little moan and I’m two seconds from coming untouched like a teenager.”

You whined, legs trembling, hips bucking. “Then do it. Come with me. Make a mess.”

His breath hitched. “Oh you love it when I lose control, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, please—”

And then you came. Hard.

Clawing at his shoulders, back arched, jaw dropped in a silent scream as your whole body locked up in his lap. Kashimo hissed, biting your shoulder, grinding up against you as he rutted once, twice and then he came too, groaning low into your neck, cock pulsing against his sweatpants, a deep guttural noise like he was possessed.

You collapsed against him, breathing heavy, hearts racing in sync under the TV’s cheerful baking outro. He leaned his forehead to yours, chest still shaking.

“Best chip I ever fucking found,” he muttered.

You started laughing so hard you nearly cried.

15 minutes later you were in the kitchen, stirring honey into your tea like the most innocent girl in the world. Barefoot. Kashimo’s hoodie still half-zipped down your front. Your hair a little messy. You were humming softly. Relaxed. At peace.

He walked in. Shirtless. Eyes on you like he was about to start something again. He leaned into the counter behind you, smirking.

“I still haven’t decided,” he murmured, voice low. “If I liked it more when you were coming on my fingers… or when you were whispering my name while I rubbed my cock against your pussy like a needy little bitch—”

SLAM. The front door swung open. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You choked on your tea. Kashimo? Didn’t even flinch. He turned toward Hakari like he’d been expecting him. “I said,” Kashimo repeated smoothly, “I haven’t decided if I liked it more when she was… humming to my dinner playlist, or when she was whispering my name because I rubbed… rosemary on the chicken like a chef.”

He nodded to himself. “Yeah. Real culinary moment.”

Hakari’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. “You were just talking about rubbing your dick on her—”

Kashimo gasped. “Hakari. That’s disgusting.”

You nodded slowly, tea in hand. “He was talking about poultry, Kinji.”

“HE SAID ‘NEEDY LITTLE BITCH.’”

“I was quoting Gordon Ramsay,” Kashimo added. “MasterChef reruns. You should watch something besides your reflection sometime.”

Hakari stepped further into the apartment, seething.

Kashimo just casually slung his arm around him, big brother style, like they were teammates on the same spiritual baseball team. “You look tense,” Kashimo said softly. “Need me to rub your chicken too?”

Hakari snapped. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME.”

He tried to shove Kashimo away. Kashimo didn’t move. Not an inch. “I’m just trying to bond,” he said innocently, like a golden retriever with a sex addiction.

Hakari finally wiggled free, stormed past you both toward the bathroom like he was about to baptize himself in ice.

You sipped your tea. “I think he’s warming up to you.”

Kashimo grinned, licking his thumb clean. “Only thing getting warm in here is your pussy, babe.”

You nearly spit your tea all over the sink.

The apartment was now calm. Miraculously. The TV was playing something normal, your tea was fresh, and you were actually wearing pants for once—Kashimo’s sweats, but still. Progress.

Kashimo lay on the couch, head in your lap, hair loose, hoodie tossed over the armrest. His fingers lazily traced shapes on your thigh. You were scrolling on your phone, cheeks finally not flushed.

And Hakari? Hakari was at the kitchen table. Staring into his protein shake like it held the meaning of life. Or maybe just his will to keep living in this cursed household.

“…You’re still mad?” you called sweetly.

He didn’t look up. “I’m not mad. I’m numb.”

Kashimo tilted his head to look at him upside-down. “You want a hug, bro?”

Hakari turned slowly. “I will shove you into the microwave and press popcorn.”

Kashimo grinned, then looked up at you and whispered, dead serious: “I could microwave you for exactly 3 minutes and 30 seconds and still eat you raw.”

Hakari stood. You gasped. Kashimo winked. Hakari didn’t scream. He just… sighed. “I’m going to Gojo’s.”

“Tell him hi,” you chirped.

“And if either of you fuck while I’m gone—”

“I’ll light a candle and pray,” Kashimo said solemnly, hand on heart.

Hakari didn’t even respond. He just grabbed his jacket, keys, dignity—what little remained—and walked to the door. But before leaving, he paused. Looked over his shoulder. And said: “You know what? You two are made for each other. Psychotic. Unhinged. Horny in public.”

You and Kashimo looked at each other. Smiled. Looked back at him. “I mean… thank you?” you offered.

Kashimo gave him a lazy salute.

Hakari opened the door. “I hope the next time you come, it’s while choking on a fruit you’re allergic to.”

And with that, he was gone. The door shut. Silence.

You looked down at Kashimo. He looked up at you. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive us?” you asked.

Kashimo shrugged, smug. “No. But at least he’ll miss the show.”

You snorted, leaned down, kissed him once. “Come on,” you whispered, brushing hair from his face. “Let’s not fuck for like… six hours.”

“Six whole hours?” he teased, pulling you down with a groan. “You’re gonna kill me, babe.”

The lights dimmed. The room quiet. For now.

Until tomorrow. Because if there was one thing that was certain in this apartment—Peace?

Was always temporary.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.

© ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ