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Motoya’s fingers gripped the knob of his front door until his knuckles turned white. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with after losing his job not even thirty minutes ago.
Broken glass and upturned furniture gave away just what happened there. Someone had broken into his apartment.
The tv and expensive moveable appliances appeared to be missing; he was terrified to look into the kitchen and see his good kitchenware gone.
Everything was destroyed or damaged and really it was a mirror image to the current state of his life.
He knew exactly who to blame for this though—he had thought Arata would be more mature than this. After all, he was the one who dumped Motoya earlier that day. It seemed like he grabbed his things and ditched the apartment, forgetting to lock the door in his wake.
Now—
Motoya had nothing. No boyfriend. No job.
A whimper escaped his lips as he slid down onto the ground and brought his knees to his chest, tears falling down his cheeks.
For the first time in years, Motoya reached for his phone and clicked on a familiar contact.
Kiyoomi had been off the radar for a while now, taking dangerous, secretive jobs here and there. Last he heard, his cousin was in Osaka as a bodyguard for a mysterious client.
But Motoya knew that out of everyone in the world, Kiyoomi would be able to help him.
“Toya?” Was the first thing he heard when Kiyoomi answered the phone and embarrassingly, the waterworks began.
“H-hey Kiyo.”
There's shuffling and Kiyoomi murmured something to someone in the background before speaking again. “What happened? Are you alright?” He demanded.
Always the protective one.
“No. Yes? I don’t know.” Komori sniffled. “Someone broke into my apartment, took everything. I don’t know what to do.” He ducked his head down between his knees.
Kiyoomi swore under his breath. “Fuck. Where’s that boyfriend of yours and why isn’t he taking care of you?”
Motoya sighed. “Dumped me. Today actually. He was the one who left the door unlocked…”
“Shit.” Kiyoomi said and Motoya could picture him running a hand through his hair. “Please tell me you’ll at least be alright for the night?”
Motoya winced as he looked at the broken lock on his door. “I’ll…be fine. It’s not the safest part of town but I can manage.” He looked at the clock and saw that it was nearing midnight. “I’m sorry for calling so late, I shouldn’t have—“
“Don't apologize.” Kiyoomi interrupted, firmly. “You’re my family and you can call me anytime. Look I don’t think you should stay at that apartment anymore, I’ll be there tomorrow to help you pack your things.”
“Wait, I can't just leave, I have a lease and what abou—“ Motoya attempted to protest.
“Do you trust me?” Kiyoomi asked.
Motoya answered quickly, with no hesitation. “Of course.”
“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll take care of everything. See you in the morning, Toya.”
Holding the phone tightly in his hand, Motoya nodded his head even though his cousin couldn’t see it. “Okay. Thanks Kiyo. Goodnight.”
Once the call ended, Motoya moved the largest, heaviest piece of furniture he had left and pushed it in front of his door in lieu of a lock.
It would work, at least for the night.
The next afternoon, true to his word, Kiyoomi arrived at Motoya’s apartment with a blond man in tow. The moment Motoya opened the door, his cousin pushed past him, eyes scanning the damage with a dark expression.
“Toya,” There was barely restrained anger and a hint of reprimand in his cousin’s voice.
Motoya swallowed hard, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It looks worse than it is,” he tried to downplay, but Kiyoomi shot him a glare that made him snap his mouth shut.
“Holy shit,” the blond man whistled lowly, stepping inside with wide eyes. “Ya weren’t kiddin’, Omi. Place got wrecked.”
Motoya looked at him properly for the first time. The man looked much younger than him, dressed in ripped jeans and an expensive-looking bomber jacket, golden hair styled messily but still somehow artful. His honey-brown eyes were perspective and assessing as he scanned the apartment, but when he turned to Motoya, he smiled—lazy and almost playful.
“Hey there,” he greeted with a two-fingered salute. “Name’s Miya Atsumu. You must be Komori, huh?”
Motoya blinked, still caught up in the whirlwind of Kiyoomi’s sudden arrival and this stranger’s presence. He glanced at his cousin, whose expression was unreadable. “Uh… yeah. Nice to meet you?”
Kiyoomi sighed, already moving toward what little remained of Motoya’s belongings. “We’re packing up and leaving, I already spoke to your landlord. You don’t have much, right?”
He really hoped Kiyo didn’t scare Renji-san too much.
Motoya hesitated. “I… guess not. But—where exactly are we going?”
Kiyoomi didn’t look up from where he was gathering scattered books into a bag. “Osaka. The Miya Estate.”
Motoya tilted his head in confusion. “Wait—the Miya Estate? Your name is Miya…it’s your estate?” He gestured toward Atsumu, whose smirk widened.
“Yep,” Atsumu said, plopping himself onto the one chair that hadn’t been knocked over. “Well, technically it’s my brother’s place, but same thing.”
Kiyoomi shot him a look before turning back to Motoya. “It’s safe. You’ll be looked after.”
Motoya frowned. Something about this didn’t sit right. Why was Kiyoomi bringing him to some estate in Osaka? And who exactly was this Miya family?
“I don’t get it,” he said slowly. “Why there? Where do you work, Kiyo?”
Kiyoomi paused for only a fraction of a second before resuming his task. “All I can say is that it’s somewhere I can protect you and help you get back on your feet.”
That wasn’t an answer.
Motoya narrowed his eyes. “Kiyoomi—”
Atsumu clapped a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. “Look, I know ya got a lotta questions, and ya know Omi here ain’t exactly the talkative type, but trust me, yer better off just rollin’ with it for now.” His tone was easygoing, but there was an edge underneath. A warning, maybe.
Kiyoomi exhaled and finally met Motoya’s gaze. “Toya, please. Just trust me on this.”
Motoya stared at him, then at Atsumu, whose smirk had dimmed into something more serious.
Something was off.
But… this was Kiyoomi. His cousin. His family.
And if there was one thing he knew, it was that Kiyoomi would never put him in danger.
So, with a resigned sigh, Motoya nodded. “Alright. I trust you.”
Kiyoomi’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good. Then let’s get you out of here.”
As they packed up the last of his things, Motoya couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking into something he was not prepared for.
Motoya realized, sometime during the duration of the trip, that there was definitely something going on between Kiyoomi and Atsumu. He could see it in the way his cousin looked at the other man; fond and dare he say, full of love.
He liked Atsumu though; enjoyed the way he was able to keep Kiyoomi on his toes in more ways than one. And he was warm and welcoming, treating Komori like he was also his own family. It’s…nice.
Motoya hasn’t felt like he had a family in years. Ever since Kiyoomi moved on with his life and his own parents passed when he was in his early twenties…he’s sort of only been…alone.
The train ride is long and grueling, Motoya found himself dozing for most of it, occasionally glancing over at Kiyoomi who seemed as vigilant as ever while Atsumu laid his head on his shoulder, sleeping soundly.
When they finally arrived in Osaka, just as the sun was setting, there was a car waiting for them at the station.
The trio halted when he saw a tall, lithe figure leaning against the car, watching them with an amused smirk on his face.
Kiyoomi seemed annoyed by his presence and Atsumu winced at the sight of him.
“Osamu is pissed.” The man said simply once they neared. “Are you two idiots or something? You know better than to run off without saying a thing to him. He nearly tore the city apart looking for his precious brother.”
Atsumu huffed and crossed his arms. “Omi had a family emergency. We’re fine, Rin. Tell him to call off the dogs.”
“Oh?” Rin said curiously, his fox-like gaze landing on Motoya, studying him in an almost bored fashion. “This must be the emergency. I’m assuming you’re bringing him back to the estate? Osamu won’t be too happy about that.”
“I’ll handle Osamu, Suna.” Kiyoomi said before gesturing for Motoya and Atsumu to enter the car. “Just get us back home.”
Suna let out a mocking laugh and held his hands up in surrender. “I tried to warn you.”
Motoya had a sinking feeling in his gut as he sat inside the very expensive car. What the hell did Kiyo get him into?
The ride to the Miya Estate was tense.
Motoya kept sneaking glances at Kiyoomi, whose jaw was set tight, eyes dark and unreadable. Atsumu, on the other hand, was noticeably fidgeting—his usual easygoing demeanor dimmed as if he knew of whatever trouble awaited them.
Then there was Suna, who lounged in the passenger seat, seemingly unbothered, fingers lazily tapping against the door as if he were waiting for the fireworks to start.
By the time they pulled up to the estate—a sprawling traditional Japanese manor fortified with modern security—Motoya’s nerves were shot. He barely had a second to take in the imposing sight before they were ushered inside, walking through dimly lit hallways lined with guards.
And then, they were led into a large office.
Motoya didn’t know what he was expecting, but the moment his eyes landed on Miya Osamu, he understood exactly what Kiyoomi had brought him into.
Yakuza.
Osamu didn’t look like just some businessman, some powerful corporate figure—everything about him screamed crime boss. It was evident in the way he carried himself, broad and unmoving like a mountain, arms crossed over his chest.
The tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, stretched up his throat, bold and unapologetic. His dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp cut of his features, and when his steel-gray eyes landed on them, Motoya felt like they could cut through bone.
The air was suffocating.
Osamu had yet to speak, but the storm brewing in his eyes was enough to make even Kiyoomi brace himself. He stood behind his desk, arms crossed, shoulders squared—exuding nothing short of pure authority.
Atsumu shifted beside Kiyoomi, looking anywhere but at his twin.
Then—Osamu finally spoke.
“Are you two outta your goddamn minds?” His voice was dangerously low, crashing through the room like thunder.
Atsumu winced, but Kiyoomi remained still, jaw tight.
Osamu’s gray eyes burned into them. “You vanish without a fuckin’ word, don’t respond to a single message, and I have to hear from Suna that you just waltzed back in here like nothin’ happened?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I should put a bullet in both of your legs just to make sure you don’t run off again.”
Atsumu huffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, come on, ‘Samu, don’t be so dramatic.”
Osamu’s gaze snapped to him so fast that Atsumu actually took a step back.
“Dramatic?” Osamu repeated, voice deceptively calm. “Atsumu, I had half the fuckin’ city lookin’ for you. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”
Atsumu’s bravado wavered.
Osamu continued. “After your boyfriend’s little revenge spree, you have a target on your back, both of you do, and you think you can just disappear? Do you realize the risk you put us in? The shit I had to deal with because of your little adventure?”
Atsumu’s shoulders slumped slightly. “…I wanted to go with Omi.”
Osamu scoffed. “So that’s it then? You’re just gonna follow where he goes without a second thought? Are ya his little pet?”
Kiyoomi, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said, calmly.
Osamu turned his harsh gaze onto him. “Then explain it to me, Sakusa, because from where I’m standin’, it looks like you abandoned your fuckin’ post.”
Kiyoomi exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression unreadable. “My cousin called me,” he said simply. “He was in trouble.”
Osamu arched a brow, unimpressed. “And that was worth leavin’ my brother unprotected?”
Kiyoomi met his gaze evenly. “I brought him with me.”
Osamu’s nostrils flared. “That’s not the point.”
Kiyoomi clenched his jaw but continued. “His apartment was broken into and was left with nothing. He had nowhere to go. He’s my family, Osamu—my only family.”
Osamu stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Atsumu, finally finding his voice, muttered, “We weren’t even gone that long…”
Osamu shot him a glare. “Long enough for me to lose my goddamn mind.”
Atsumu looked down, guilt flickering across his face.
Osamu sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “I should kill you both.”
Kiyoomi remained silent.
Osamu’s gaze flicked to Motoya, assessing him once more and sitting down on the leather chair behind him. “…So this is the cousin.”
Kiyoomi straightened. “Yes, Komori Motoya and he needs a place to stay—“
Osamu’s expression didn’t shift. “And you thought my home was the place for that?”
Kiyoomi didn’t flinch. “Only for a while.”
Osamu didn’t look impressed. “The Miya Estate is not a place for wayward strays, Sakusa. Everyone earns their keep here, and I doubt this man can offer us anything useful.”
Motoya swallowed, his throat dry. He knew Kiyoomi was about to argue, knew his cousin well enough to see his hackles rising—but before he could, Motoya forced himself to speak.
“I can cook,” he blurted out.
Osamu’s gaze snapped to him, eyes hard as steel.
Motoya felt his pulse hammering in his throat, but he kept going. “I’m good at it—I can…help.”
He shrunk under the heaviness of Osamu’s gaze, but he didn’t look away.
For a long moment, Osamu didn’t move, simply watching him. Then, something flickered in those gray eyes—interest.
A slow smirk curled onto his lips.
“You can cook?” Osamu repeated, the interest much more evident in his voice.
Motoya nodded quickly. “Yes. I trained professionally, worked in kitchens for years. I—I can work in yours. Earn my keep.”
A pause.
Then, Osamu leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest.
“Sakusa,” he said, gaze still locked on Motoya. “Your cousin better be telling the truth.”
Kiyoomi didn’t hesitate. “He is.”
Osamu hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Fine,” he said at last, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “You’ll help in the kitchen. We’ve never had a chef before and my men are shit at taking care of themselves. If you’re half as good as you say, we’ll see if you’re worth keeping around.”
Motoya exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging with relief.
But Osamu wasn’t done.
His smirk faded, replaced by something more serious. “But make no mistake—this isn’t charity. You’re here because I allow it. Step out of line, and you’ll wish you never set foot in my home.”
Motoya stiffened, a cold chill running down his spine. He wasn’t stupid. That wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.
Osamu held his gaze for another moment before finally looking away. “Suna,” he called, “show him to his room. He starts tomorrow.”
Suna let out an amused hum, pushing off the wall. “C’mon, pretty boy,” he drawled, waving for Motoya to follow.
Motoya cast a quick glance at Kiyoomi and Atsumu, both of whom looked relieved in their own way. Kiyoomi gave him a small, reassuring nod.
Taking a steadying breath, Motoya turned and followed Suna out the door.
As they walked through the dim hallways of the Miya Estate, he knew his life had just changed. Whether it was for the better—he wasn’t so sure.
Motoya’s room was much bigger than the one in his apartment–hell it might have been bigger than the apartment itself. There’s a large bed in the center of the room with fresh linens and a dark wooden wardrobe pushed against the wall. The space was minimalistic but luxurious, and it made him feel just a little out of place.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped his bag onto the bed and began unpacking what little he had brought with him. His hands lingered over an old photo tucked into his bag—one of him and Kiyoomi as kids, grinning ear to ear.
The soft knock on the door startled him. He turned quickly, his pulse spiking for a second before he forced himself to relax.
When he opened the door, Kiyoomi stood there, arms crossed, exhaustion evident.
“You could have warned me,” Motoya muttered, stepping aside to let his cousin in. He didn’t need to explain what he was talking about.
Kiyoomi glanced away, lips pouting slightly. “I couldn’t—not without Osamu’s okay. I know it’s scary, but it was your best option.”
Motoya studied him for a moment before nodding. He knew Kiyoomi well enough to recognize the unspoken apology.
Silence stretched between them before Motoya decided to steer the conversation somewhere else. His lips curled slightly as he leaned against the door. “So… you and Atsumu, huh? Didn’t think you’d be interested in someone so much younger than you.”
Kiyoomi snorted, shaking his head. “Neither did I. But the spitfire managed to get my attention and keep it. We’ve been together for six months now.”
Motoya’s amusement deepened. “How did your boss handle that news?”
Kiyoomi scoffed. “Oh, he nearly killed me. But one look from Atsumu was enough to calm him down.”
Motoya laughed. “So, Osamu’s got a soft spot for his brother, huh?”
Kiyoomi smirked. “Biggest one I’ve ever seen.”
Motoya shook his head, still grinning, before a thought sobered him. He looked around the room and then back at Kiyoomi. “Be honest with me… did I just sign up for something I can’t walk away from?”
Kiyoomi’s smirk faded, and his expression turned serious. “You’re safe here, Toya. But this isn’t a world you can just dip your toes in and leave whenever you want.”
Motoya swallowed hard. He had figured as much, but hearing it confirmed made his stomach twist.
Still, he nodded, pushing down the uncertainty clawing at his chest. He had nowhere else to go.
“I guess I better be the best damn chef they’ve ever had, then.”
Kiyoomi’s lips twitched slightly. “You better.”
With that, Kiyoomi clapped him on the shoulder before turning to leave. Motoya watched him go, exhaling deeply once the door shut behind him.
Tomorrow, he would step into the kitchen. And with it—into this world he wasn’t sure he belonged in.
It’s obvious that no one told the rest of the men in the estate that Motoya would be providing meals from now on based on the lingering stares he felt when each person entered the kitchen.
There were several bowls and plates of eggs, miso soup, and fish prepared for everyone to pick through. He'd forgotten about supplies and things he would need to use to cook until he entered the kitchen that morning, only to be stunned by the state-of-the-art appliances neatly arranged around the expansive space. The countertops gleamed, the knives were sharper than any he’d used before, and everything looked pristine—unused, even.
Which made no sense.
“I thought you guys have never had a chef?” he asked, glancing at Suna, who had accompanied him to the kitchen before breakfast.
Suna, lounging lazily against the doorway, merely shrugged. “We haven’t.”
And with that cryptic response, he turned and left, leaving Motoya with more questions than answers.
Now, as he wiped down the counters, the lingering scent of grilled fish and fresh miso soup still heavy in the air, he tried not to let his nerves get the best of him.
It had gone well—better than expected, even.
The men had been skeptical at first, eyeing the food as if unsure whether to trust it. But after the first few bites, skepticism turned to appreciation. Even Kiyoomi and Atsumu had wandered in midmorning, eager for breakfast, Atsumu happily stuffing his face while Kiyoomi silently nodded in approval.
The only person he was still waiting on—the only person that really mattered—was Osamu.
He had set a plate aside for him, knowing better than to assume the kumicho would come down with everyone else. But as time passed and the men finished their meals and scattered, he wondered if Osamu would even bother eating at all.
He was nearly done cleaning when he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. He turned just as Osamu entered the kitchen, his gray eyes sweeping the room before settling on him.
Osamu looked… surprised.
Like he hadn’t actually expected Motoya to still be here.
“I saved you a plate,” Motoya said quietly, keeping his eyes downcast as he gestured toward the neatly prepared dish he had set aside.
Osamu was silent for a moment, and Motoya couldn’t help the way his fingers tightened slightly around the dish towel in his hands.
Then, finally, Osamu stepped forward. Without a word, he picked up the plate and moved toward the table. He sat down, took the chopsticks in hand, and lifted a piece of fish to his mouth.
Motoya held his breath.
The room was quiet, save for the subtle clink of chopsticks against porcelain.
Then Osamu exhaled slowly, eyes still on the plate as he took another bite.
“Tastes real good,” he finally said, voice not giving anything away.
The tension in Motoya’s shoulders unraveled, and he found himself exhaling too, relief washing over him.
Osamu’s gaze flicked up then, meeting his directly for the first time that morning.
“You might be able to earn your keep here after all,” he said.
Motoya swallowed but nodded. “Thank you.”
Osamu hummed, continuing his meal in silence, while Motoya turned back to his cleaning, heart still pounding from the subtle but unmistakable approval he had just received.
Life continued on the same after that. Motoya would wake up early to begin cooking breakfast before anyone—except the ones who worked the night guard shifts—make sure everyone was fed, cleaned up, and wandered the estate until it was time to make lunch then repeat until dinner came around.
The only time he ventured out of the estate was to buy more food supplies with a shiny black card in his hands and Suna as his guard.
To say he was shocked the day Osamu approached him and handed the card over with a simple. “Get whatever ya need.”
Motoya stared down at the card with ‘Miya Osamu’ right there on the front. He glanced back up at Osamu, having to crane his neck up to look at him. “Are you…sure?”
Osamu raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
And that was that.
Most of the men have gotten used to seeing Motoya around, some have even timidly made requests for specific meals. No one had made any demands and a part of Motoya thought Osamu had something to do with it.
He hasn’t seen the clan leader since that first morning but Motoya made sure to leave a plate for Osamu after each time he cooked.
And each time, he found the plate empty and washed.
For some reason the act alone made his stomach flutter.
After another long day of cooking, cleaning, and aimless wandering around the estate, Motoya had expected to collapse into bed and sleep through the night.
But as he stared up at the ceiling, tangled in the sheets, exhaustion refused to claim him. His mind wouldn’t quiet, thoughts running in loops, replaying the past week—how quickly his life had shifted, how surreal it felt to be here, living among yakuza, cooking for dangerous men who had surprisingly begun treating him with something akin to respect.
And then there was Osamu.
The man barely spoke to him, yet Motoya found himself hyper-aware of his presence whenever he was near. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t like Osamu had been particularly warm toward him. But still, there was something about him that made Motoya’s stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.
Giving up on sleep, he slid out of bed and wandered toward the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea or a small snack might help settle him.
The estate was eerily quiet at this hour, only the occasional distant footsteps of night guards patrolling the halls. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and short shorts, he padded barefoot down the dimly lit corridors, the cool air brushing against his skin.
When he entered the kitchen, he expected to find it empty.
Instead, a familiar figure stood at the counter, his broad back facing him, strong arms moving with practiced ease as he shaped rice in his palms.
Osamu.
The dim lighting cast shadows across his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength in his tattooed arms. His dark t-shirt clung to his frame, the sleeves tight around biceps that flexed slightly with each movement. Motoya found himself staring, warmth creeping up his neck.
He must have made a sound, because Osamu’s hands stilled, and he turned his head slightly, gray eyes catching his own.
Motoya’s breath hitched.
“Oh—sorry!” he blurted, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his state of dress, about intruding on whatever this was.
Osamu didn’t look bothered. If anything, he seemed entirely unbothered by Motoya’s presence, as if he had already expected him to show up.
“Stay,” he said simply. Then, after a brief pause, he nodded toward the counter. “Join me.”
Motoya quietly padded over to stand beside Osamu. There was an array of fillings set in bowls and Osamu expertly filled the rice ball then rolled it into a perfect shape.
Motoya narrowed his eyes at the clan leader. “You’re good at this.” Almost too good. He wanted to say. Almost…professional.
Osamu chuckled knowingly. “I enjoy cooking when I have the time for it. You’re not the only one with skill, you know. Are ya just going to stand there?”
Motoya blushed and got to work making his own rice balls. They work in relative silence, their shoulders brushing every so often.
“I’ve got a question for ya.” Osamu said, breaking the silence and turning his attention to Motoya.
He tried not to fidget under such an intense gaze. “Okay.”
“Why aren’t ya working in a restaurant? I wasn’t joking when I said ya had skill.” The younger man inquired.
Motoya bit his lip and kept his focus on his task. “I did work in one. I got let go the same day my apartment got broken into and I was dumped.”
He winced at the mention of that unimportant detail.
“That wasn’t your luckiest day, huh?” Osamu’s gaze bore into him.
“No, not really.” Motoya sighed.
Osamu hummed, his fingers still deftly working the rice in his palms. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”
Motoya swallowed nervously. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, I do, but… it’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
The steady confidence in Osamu’s voice made something uneasy twist in Motoya’s gut. He shouldn’t be telling him this, shouldn’t be letting his emotions get the better of him. But something about Osamu—the way he listened without judgment, the way he spoke so certain—made it hard to hold back.
He let out a slow breath. “I just… I’ve never really felt wanted anywhere,” he confessed quietly. “Not at home, not in my relationships, not even in my job. I always felt like I was just—there. Tolerated at best. Like if I disappeared, it wouldn’t really matter.”
A beat of silence.
Then Osamu scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”
Motoya blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his response. “Excuse me?”
Osamu turned to face him fully, his expression almost incredulous. “You don’t see it, do ya?”
Motoya felt his breath hitch at the way Osamu was looking at him—steady, certain, like he was seeing right through him.
Osamu’s shoulder leaned just a little further into his, the warmth of his presence sending a shiver down Motoya’s spine. “You don’t realize just how wanted you actually are.”
Heat flared in Motoya’s cheeks, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Osamu didn’t press for an answer. Instead, he merely smirked and went back to his task, as if he hadn’t just turned Motoya’s world on its axis with a few simple words.
When they were finally done making the onigiri, Motoya hopped onto the counter, taking a bite of one of the rice balls. His eyes widened as the flavor hit his tongue.
“This is amazing,” he said, genuinely surprised.
Osamu chuckled, clearly pleased. “Glad ya think so.”
He glanced at the clock and exhaled through his nose. “We should head to bed. But maybe I can make ya something again soon.” His voice lowered slightly, softer in a way that made Motoya’s stomach light up with butterflies. “Ya should get taken care of too.”
Before Motoya could react, Osamu’s fingers brushed against his cheek, a brief, fleeting touch—so light it could’ve been imagined.
Then he turned and left the room, leaving Motoya sitting there, heart pounding, lips still tingling with the lingering taste of Osamu’s cooking.
Motoya was in the kitchen cutting up some vegetables and humming to himself when Atsumu stormed into the room.
He paused seeing the younger man head towards the fridge, yank it open and grab a drink before slamming it closed.
“Um—are you okay?” He asked cautiously.
Atsumu’s drink hit the counter with a loud bang. “Your cousin is an ass.”
Motoya couldn’t hide his laugh at that. “Yeah, I know. But what did he do this time?”
Atsumu pouted and ran a hand through his hair. “Teamed up with Samu about keeping me within the estate for the next week.” He paused, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. “There have been…rumors about some plans within our rivals.”
Motoya offered him a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like it’s justified.”
Atsumu scoffed, “Nah. They’re just rumors. Half the time, none of that shit is true. They’re both just protective of me.”
“That’s understandable, they love you.” Motoya said simply and resumed cutting his vegetables.
“Tch. Sure. It’s easy for you to say that now, but just ya wait. Samu becomes the most unbearable when it comes to the ones he loves.”
Motoya nearly sliced his finger. “Why would he—“
“Do ya wanna do something tonight?” Atsumu asked, cutting him off. “I wanna get out of this place.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to stay in the estate?” Motoya asked.
Atsumu waved a hand. “They tell me that all the time. I’ve only had trouble come my way once and it was because I wasn’t careful.” His eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. “I’ll never let that happen again.”
“I don’t know.” Motoya said hesitantly, “Won’t Osamu and Kiyo get angry?”
“I’ll deal with it if it comes to that.” Atsumu replied. “Besides, something tells me Samu could never actually be angry with ya.” He winked knowingly at the older man.
Motoya felt his face heat up. “Atsumu-“
“Look, it'll be fun. We can hit up a club, have some drinks, and dance a little! We won’t even be gone that long.” Atsumu bargained. “When was the last time ya had any fun?”
He paused at that. When was the last time he had any fun?
Motoya sighed, setting his knife down and leaning against the counter. Atsumu had a point—he couldn’t even remember the last time he let loose, did something for himself.
Ever since his life had flipped upside down, all he’d done was cook, clean, and exist in the background of a world he didn’t belong in.
The idea of escaping for a night, even just for a few hours, was tempting.
He bit his lip. “Fine. But what about Kiyo? He’s your bodyguard, right?”
Atsumu waved a dismissive hand. “Relax. He knows I’m mad at him right now. He won’t come looking for me for a while.”
Motoya didn’t quite believe that. Kiyoomi didn’t seem like the type to just let Atsumu slip away unnoticed. But Atsumu seemed confident, and for some reason, that reassurance was enough to make him shove down his worries.
“Alright,” he relented.
Atsumu’s grin widened. “Good! But uh, no offense, ya can’t go out wearin’ that.” He gestured vaguely at Motoya’s comfortable, loose-fitting clothes. “C’mon, I’ll help ya find something.”
Later that night, Motoya stood in front of the mirror, heart pounding as he stared at his own reflection.
The crop top Atsumu had dug out for him was tight, hugging his torso in a way that made him feel exposed. The loose skirt swayed around his thighs, showing off more leg than he was used to. He barely recognized himself.
“You look hot,” Atsumu said, appearing behind him in the mirror with a smirk. “Trust me, ya fit right in for a club night.”
Motoya wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t have much time to argue.
Soon, they were sneaking through the estate, dodging guards and slipping through the back entrance. Just as they made it to the courtyard, a familiar figure appeared in their path—Suna.
Motoya’s breath hitched, but Atsumu didn’t even pause.
“Yo, Rin,” Atsumu greeted casually, barely breaking stride.
Suna narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between the two of them.
Motoya held his breath, waiting for Suna to call them out, to drag them back inside.
But then, after a long, agonizing pause, Suna simply let out a bored sigh and turned the other way.
Atsumu grabbed Motoya’s hand, yanking him forward. They sprinted out of the estate, laughter bubbling between them as they slid into the cab they had called.
As the car pulled away from the estate, Atsumu turned to him, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Are ya ready to have some fun tonight?”
The nightclub, Kuroyuki, was a little ways away from the Miya’s territory but Atsumu claimed it was to keep people from recognizing him.
They hadn’t had to wait in line long, all it took was Atsumu batting his lashes invitingly while shooting the bouncer a charming smile and soon, they were let in.
True to the younger man’s word, they had a drink, a couple of shots and found their way to the dance floor.
The bass thrummed beneath Motoya’s feet, the flashing lights casting fleeting colors across Atsumu’s grinning face as they moved to the music. The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in his veins, loosening the tension he had carried for weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking—wasn’t worrying.
He laughed as Atsumu spun him around, hands light on his waist, guiding him through the beat of the song. The club was packed, bodies swaying in tandem, the energy infectious.
But then—
A rough hand latched onto his arm, yanking him away from Atsumu’s grasp.
The pleasant buzz in his head evaporated in an instant.
“Hey,” a deep voice rumbled near his ear. “Dance with me.”
Motoya tensed, trying to jerk his arm back. “No, thanks,” he said firmly.
The grip tightened. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”
His pulse spiked. He twisted, attempting to free himself, but the stranger wouldn’t let go.
“I said no,” Motoya snapped, louder this time, panic creeping into his tone.
Atsumu noticed.
Motoya barely had time to process before his friend was shoving between them, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something cunning, more dangerous.
“Let him go.” Atsumu’s voice was cold, his golden eyes dark under the strobe lights.
The man hesitated, his brows furrowing as he took in Atsumu’s face. Then, something shifted—recognition.
“Wait, I know you. You’re a Miya,” the man said, his grip loosening slightly but not fully letting go.
Atsumu’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. So unless ya wanna have real problems, I suggest ya back off.”
Motoya felt a shiver crawl down his spine at the way the man’s expression twisted, something cruel flashing across his features.
“Actually,” the man murmured, “you just made this a whole lot more interesting.”
Before Motoya could react, before Atsumu could lunge, a group of men closed in around them.
And suddenly, they weren’t on the dance floor anymore.
Everything happened too fast. A firm grip on his wrist, the sensation of being dragged through a door, down a dark hallway, shoved into a room that smelled of old liquor and sweat.
Motoya’s heart pounded as he knelt beside Atsumu, their captor looming over them with a smug expression.
Atsumu glared up at the man, defiant despite the situation. “Who the hell are ya?” he spat.
The man chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You don’t recognize me, Miya?” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Not surprising. My cousin didn’t live long enough for us to be properly introduced after you had him killed. My name is Kasai, kumicho of Guen-Kai.”
Atsumu froze, his jaw tightening.
Kasai crouched down, bringing himself level with the two of them. “Ring any bells?” His gaze flicked to Motoya. “Your little friend’s bodyguard slaughtered my cousin and his crew. Left their bodies as a message. And all because of him.”
Motoya inhaled sharply, his stomach twisting. He didn’t know much about what Kiyoomi did for the Miya family—he never asked—but he knew enough to piece it together. Someone had hurt Atsumu, and Kiyoomi had taken revenge. Brutally.
And now, revenge was coming back for them.
“Ya don’t wanna do this,” Atsumu said, measured, careful. “I get it—you lost someone. But if ya lay a hand on me or him, my brother will come for ya.”
The man sneered. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Then he moved.
A blur of motion, and then Atsumu was gasping as a fist crashed into his ribs.
Motoya yelped as Atsumu doubled over, coughing, but he barely had time to react before another hit sent Atsumu sprawling onto the floor.
“Atsumu!” Motoya reached for him, but a rough hand yanked him back.
“Not so fast,” the man drawled. He grabbed a fistful of Motoya’s hair, forcing his head back until he was staring up into cold, unforgiving eyes. “I wanna know something first.”
Motoya clenched his teeth, refusing to let the man see his fear.
“Who exactly are you, sweetheart—” the man’s lips curled in amusement. “I’ve never seen you around the Miyas before. Are you a new pet?”
Motoya stiffened.
The man laughed. “Hard to believe someone like Miya Osamu would kill for you.” His grip tightened. “Let’s see if he actually gives a damn.”
Cold metal pressed against Motoya’s temple.
“Call him.”
Motoya’s breath caught in his throat.
Atsumu groaned on the floor, his voice weak but furious. “Don’t touch him, ya bastard—”
The man lashed out with his boot, striking Atsumu in the gut.
Atsumu cried out, curling in on himself.
Motoya’s hands shook as his phone was shoved into them—he hadn’t noticed the men had taken it in the first place.
The screen blinked at him, Osamu’s name staring back.
“Call Miya,” the man ordered, pressing the gun harder against his head.
With trembling fingers, Motoya dialed.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then—
“Took ya long enough to call, darlin’.”
Osamu’s voice was smooth, lazy as ever, but there was something else in it that he didn’t have time to place.
He wet his lips, trying to ignore the cold press of the gun against his skull. “Osamu—” He whimpered.
The phone was ripped from his hands before he could say more.
“Ah, Miya,” the man sneered into the receiver. “Took in a new stray, huh? Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.”
Osamu’s voice was like ice. “Who the fuck is this?”
“You don’t remember me?” The man clicked his tongue. “Hurts, really. You’d think after your attack dog massacred my cousin, you’d at least remember the family name.”
Silence.
Then—Osamu laughed. Low. Cold.
Motoya shivered due to never having heard Osamu sound quite like that before.
“Ah,” Osamu hummed. “Another cockroach crawlin’ out from under the floorboards. Should’ve expected it.”
The man’s grip on Motoya’s hair tightened. “You’re cocky for someone who doesn’t know where I am.”
Osamu’s tone didn’t change. “You’re cocky for someone who just touched what’s mine.”
The man froze
Motoya's eyes widened, heart hammering. Did he just say—
Osamu sighed, sounding almost bored. “I’ll give ya one chance, and one chance only. Let them go, and I might make it quick for ya.”
The man scowled. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“No,” Osamu said, voice dropping to something lethal. “I think ya should be.”
A moment of silence stretched between them.
Then—
A crash.
The door slammed open.
Gunfire erupted.
Motoya barely had time to register what was happening before he was yanked backward, the grip on his hair releasing as his captor stumbled away.
Gunfire cracked through the air, sharp and deafening. Motoya hit the ground hard, his head spinning as he scrambled to push himself up.
Dark figures moved in the doorway, and through the haze, he saw them—Osamu, Sakusa, and several of Osamu’s men, weapons drawn, faces carved from stone.
The rival gang barely had time to react. Osamu’s men moved with deadly efficiency, shots fired with terrifying precision. The room reeked of gunpowder and blood.
Motoya flinched as a body dropped beside him, the life already gone from its eyes.
He barely registered the blood spattering across his cheek before a strong hand grabbed him.
“Motoya!”
Osamu.
His voice was rough, urgent.
Motoya blinked up at him, dazed.
Then suddenly, he was being pulled into a firm grip, Osamu’s hands skimming his arms, his waist, checking for injuries.
Motoya exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into Osamu’s jacket as the reality of what had just happened crashed over him.
“Atsumu,” he gasped, twisting in Osamu’s hold. “Atsumu—he’s hurt—”
“I got him,” Sakusa’s voice cut in, low and tight.
Motoya turned, eyes locking onto Sakusa, who was crouched beside Atsumu’s slumped figure.
Atsumu groaned weakly, blood staining the corner of his mouth.
Sakusa’s hands shook slightly as he brushed the hair from Atsumu’s face. “Idiot,” he murmured under his breath, his usual controlled demeanor cracking. “You fucking reckless idiot.”
Osamu’s grip on Motoya’s waist tightened.
“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, strained.
Motoya swallowed hard.
He wasn’t sure.
He wasn’t sure how to process any of this—the near-death experience, the bloodshed, the way Osamu had looked at him the moment he stepped into the room, like the very sight of him alive had kept him grounded.
Osamu exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before cupping the side of Motoya’s face.
Motoya’s breath hitched.
Osamu’s fingers, calloused and warm, tilted his chin up. His storm-gray eyes locked onto Motoya’s filled with so much relief it nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
“Never,” Osamu murmured, dangerous and possessive, “run off with Atsumu again.”
Motoya doesn’t remember much of what happened between Osamu lifting him into his arms and carrying him out of the club and into the SUV that was waiting outside for them and the drive back to the estate.
The adrenaline had worn off and all he could do was lay his head on Osamu while he dozed off. Not that the kumicho would let him do anything else; Osamu’s hands hadn’t left him since his rescue. He could hear Kiyoomi and Atsumu whispering to each other but pays them no mind.
“How did you find us?” Motoya asked quietly as they neared the estate.
A large hand ran through his hair soothingly. “Rin told me that you and Tsumu had snuck out but it was Sakusa that found your location. We were already on our way when that bastard called.” Osamu said, teeth gritting at the thought of what happened moments before.
Lifting his head, Motoya cupped Osamu’s cheek. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He traced his fingers across the other man’s cheekbone. “I’m right here.”
Osamu’s eyes darkened, his jaw tense under Motoya’s gentle touch. He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if trying to steady himself, but his grip on Motoya’s waist betrayed him—it was too firm, too desperate, like he still wasn’t convinced Motoya was really there.
“Shouldn’t have happened,” Osamu muttered, voice tight. “Should’ve kept a better eye on ya. Should’ve—”
Motoya shook his head. “Osamu.”
That made the kumicho pause. His eyes flicked up to meet Motoya’s, and whatever he saw there seemed to chip away at his resolve.
Motoya gave him a small, tired smile. “You came for me. That’s what matters.”
Osamu stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he clicked his tongue and turned his head away, but not before Motoya caught the faintest trace of pink dusting his ears.
The SUV rolled to a stop, and Osamu’s hand instinctively tightened around Motoya’s side again, steadying him as the doors opened.
Suna was already waiting for them.
His sharp gaze swept over Osamu first, then landed on Motoya, his expression unreadable but there was tangible relief in his eyes.
Then his attention snapped to Atsumu, who was groaning as he climbed out of the car with Sakusa at his side.
“Dumbass,” Suna muttered, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”
Atsumu, still wincing, flashed a lopsided grin. “C’mon, Rin, ya act like this is the first time someone’s wanted to kill me.”
Suna’s glare darkened, but before he could say anything else, Osamu stepped past him, Motoya still securely in his arms.
“Samu—” Atsumu called weakly.
Osamu stilled for half a second.
Atsumu’s gaze flicked between them before he exhaled. “I'm sorry.”
Osamu didn’t respond—he simply continued walking, carrying Motoya inside without another word.
Motoya, still half-dazed, expected Osamu to take him to his room.
But the path they took was different.
And when Osamu finally stopped, the door that swung open wasn’t to Motoya’s room.
It was to Osamu’s.
“Osamu.” Motoya said after lifting his head up to examine the room around him.
Osamu didn’t set him down right away. Instead, he stood there for a moment, holding Motoya close like he was afraid that if he let go, he’d disappear.
“I’m not ready to let ya go just yet,” Osamu admitted.
Motoya’s breath hitched at the pure honesty in his voice. Gods above this man.
Before he could utter a word, Osamu finally moved, carrying him past the bed and toward the adjoining bathroom. He set Motoya down carefully on the counter before grabbing a washcloth and first-aid kit from the cabinet.
“Let’s get ya cleaned up,” Osamu said, voice softer now, the tension from earlier starting to ease. He started by washing the dried blood from his face, cautious around the scrape on his forehead.
Motoya let him work in silence, watching as Osamu gently dabbed at the light scrapes along his arms, the careful way he examined each bruise as if memorizing them.
It wasn’t until Osamu crouched slightly to inspect a mark near his knee that he finally took in the full sight of Motoya’s outfit.
His hands stilled.
Then his eyes slowly dragged downward, taking in the loose skirt that barely brushed Motoya’s mid-thighs, the soft crop top that left little to the imagination.
A slow, controlled exhale left Osamu’s lips.
“Ya let Tsumu get a hold of ya, huh?” His said, low and teasing, mingled with a hint of hunger. His fingers ghosted along the hem of the skirt, almost absentmindedly.
“If I would’ve known ya were dressed like this tonight,” Osamu murmured, gaze lifting to meet Motoya’s, “I would have made sure your cute ass stayed inside the estate.”
“You-you can’t just say things like that…” Motoya gasped as Osamu leaned forward to place a kiss on his inner thigh, his hands travelling up beneath the hem of his skirt. He shouldn’t cause…there’s no way he would ever…
Whatever happened back at the club surely had to be an act. Osamu just needed to make them think…
Well he wasn’t sure what but…
It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
Osamu rose to his feet and settled between his thighs, face centimeters away from Motoya’s. “And why not, baby?”
Motoya’s brain froze at that, “B-because.” He stuttered feeling his pulse spike and panties grow embarrassingly wet. “You’ll make me think I’m actually yours.”
Somehow, through sheer will, he managed to keep his eyes locked with Osamu’s. The kumicho smirked and cupped his cheek and leaned in once more. “Oh sweetheart.” He murmured, lips brushing his own. “You’ve been mine from the beginning.”
Motoya hardly had a chance to reply when Osamu captured his lips in a heated kiss—one that was messy, desperate, and goddamn sinful.
Their breaths mingled, the warmth between them intensifying as Osamu deepened the kiss. His hands roamed Motoya’s body, savoring every inch of him. Motoya clutched at Osamu’s shoulders, dizzy from the way he was being touched, kissed, claimed.
Osamu pulled back just enough to meet Motoya’s gaze, his fingers gently tilting Motoya’s chin up so their eyes met. His voice, thick with restraint, was quiet.
“I’ve wanted ya since the moment ya walked into the estate,” he admitted, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles along Motoya’s jaw. “But if ya don’t want this, me—” he swallowed, forcing himself to say the words, “then I’ll take ya back to your room, and we won’t have to talk about it again.”
Motoya’s breath came fast, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in Osamu’s honest words.
He had a choice.
And he made it.
“…I want to stay.”
Osamu surged forward as soon as the words left his mouth and their kisses grew desperate once more. The younger man’s hands traveled up Motoya’s torso, lifting the crop top off his body and tossing it over his shoulder.
He placed heated kisses down his chest and stopped to flick his tongue over his hardened nipple, drawing out a soft moan from Motoya before moving down. He briefly stopped at the faded scars beneath his pecs and pressed the softest, gentlest kiss on the pink skin that left Motoya reeling.
Once again, Osamu was on his knees, peering up at Motoya with pure want as he yanked the older man to the edge of the skin counter and spread his legs wider. “Fuck, sweetheart.” Osamu murmured, his eyes glancing down to catch sight of the white cotton panties that were hidden beneath his skirt. “Lift this up for me, okay, baby?”
Motoya nodded his head breathlessly and reached for the hem of his skirt, revealing himself to the kumicho.
Osamu looked like he didn’t know where to start, almost like a child in a candy store. So he settled with trailing kisses of fire up his inner thigh, occasionally nipping at the skin to leave a mark.
“Osamu.” Motoya breathed out, his hand coming up to weave into shaggy dark hair. “Don’t tease.”
Osamu chuckled, “This ain’t teasing, baby doll.” His fingers gripped the hem of Motoya’s panties and slowly pulled them off his legs. “Next time, I’ll show ya.”
Motoya gulped and tightened his hold on Osamu’s hair as he used his fingers to spread him open and dip his tongue inside.
“Shit!” Motoya swore nearly falling back against the mirror and used a free hand to cover the moan that fell from his lips.
Osamu huffed a laugh into his pussy; the sound sending pleasant vibrations through him. He’s languid with his movements, alternating between laving at his enlarged clit and dipping his tongue inside.
Motoya spread his legs wider and muffled another moan as the obscene sounds of Osamu eating him out hit his ears. The slurping seemed much too loud in the bathroom, bouncing off the bare walls and echoing around them. Heat curled inside of Motoya’s core and he knew he was close to coming already.
“Osamu, please, please. I’m—“ Motoya tugged on Osamu’s hair, nearing his peak only to wail when the other man pulled away. “Why’d you stop?” He demanded, scowling at his lover.
The image of sin is in front of him as Osamu made a show of licking at his lips, getting one last taste of Motoya then wiped his glistening chin. Oh god.
Osamu stood to his feet and kissed him roughly. “I want to feel this pussy coming around my cock, Angel.” He reached for Motoya’s hips and lifted him off the counter. “Up we go, baby. Now turn around for me.”
Motoya helplessly obeyed swayed by the petnames and burning touch from Osamu. He leaned over the counter and pushed his hips back.
“Fuck.” Osamu muttered while running his large hand up Motoya’s spine. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin ya, Toya.”
The sound of a belt buckle clattering to the floor followed by fabric was deafening and it only pushed Motoya’s urgency. He needed Osamu inside of him now.
“Osamu—“ Motoya whined, wiggling his hips as if to entice the other man. “Hurry.”
A palm striking his ass has him keening then suddenly, Osamu is right there pressed against his back, breath hot on his ear as he murmured. “Have a little patience, baby. I’ll take care of ya.” His hard bare cock rubbed against Motoya’s slick folds, teasing the entrance.
“Promise?” Motoya asked and the question came out much more loaded than intended. Still…
He needed to know.
Was he truly Osamu’s?
Time stilled for just a moment before.
“Always.”
Then Motoya is gulping air through his mouth as Osamu slid his cock slowly into him. His mind spun as he was completely and utterly filled. “Fuck.”
“Ya feel so good around me, sweetheart.” Osamu lavished his spine and neck with kisses while sinking himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight.”
He knew Osamu was trying to give him a moment to adjust and be a gentleman but it was all too much, too soon and all he wanted was for Osamu to
“Move.”
The order was sudden but not unwelcome and pushed Osamu to finally start moving. He pulled out until just the tip was left and slammed back in.
Motoya’s cry of Osamu’s name was amplified in the near empty room, so loud that he was afraid the entire estate could hear him. But his mind wouldn’t focus on the lingering embarrassment, instead his world narrowed down to the breathtaking and toe curling feeling of the cock thrusting in and out of him.
“Fuck, you’re so loud, Toya.” Osamu panted as he lifted his body to press a single hand to his spine, deepening his arch.
“I’m sorry!” Motoya managed to utter out between each heavy thrust.
“Nah.” Osamu chuckled breathlessly. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. In fact.” He reached for Motoya’s hair and like he’d done moments before, tangled his fingers into the strand and yanked him up. “I want ya to scream for me. Let everyone know who ya belong to now.”
“O-Osamu.” Motoya gasped as his cock brushed against a spot that had the familiar fire burning deep inside of him. “W-wait-Ah!”
“Louder, sweetheart.” Osamu demanded and nipped at his ear, the hold on his hair never ceasing and his thrusts growing faster and harder.
“Ohyesyes!” Motoya cried out, mouth dropping open in pleasure. “There! Right there! Oh god. Osamu!”
The pace was punishing and Motoya was sure he wouldn’t be able to feel his legs after this. “Louder, Toya.”
Close.
He was so fucking close.
Motoya was unprepared for the teeth that sunk into his neck, hurdling him over the edge and making him release a scream that he was sure the entire estate heard.
His body shook and trembled as his pussy squirted around Osamu’s cock, soaking them both and dribbling down his thighs.
There’s a broken groan from the man behind him and suddenly he’s filled with Osamu’s hot cum.
They stay there for a moment, breathing heavily and bodies shaking from exhaustion. Motoya was the first to move, nearly collapsing against the counter as his legs gave out.
Osamu was quick to catch him, pulling him back against his chest as he slowly pulled out of him, groaning at the sight of his cum dripping out of Motoya’s ruined cunt.
“God, Toya. You’re a fucking wet dream.” Osamu muttered in disbelief. “You’re making me—“
“Don’t.” Motoya croaked out as he glanced over his shoulder to playfully glare at the other man. “I don’t think I could go another round.”
Osamu snorted and kissed his neck, right on the bite mark he left. “Yikes. I’m sorry about that, baby. Remind me to clean it up after our shower.”
Motoya glanced in the mirror at the reddish purplish mark on his neck and blushed. “I look like I got attacked by an animal.” He deadpanned, fully turning to face his…
Whatever Osamu was to him.
Osamu smirked, utterly unapologetic. “Can’t say that’s too far from the truth.”
Motoya rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when Osamu reached out, fingers grazing over the mark with surprising tenderness. “I’ll put some ointment on it,” He promised. “Don’t want ya hurtin’ because of me.”
A warmth spread through Motoya’s chest at that. Osamu was rough, dangerous even, but never with him. Never when it mattered.
They eventually dragged themselves to the shower, where Osamu helped him clean up—hands lingering a little longer than necessary, lips ghosting over freshly dried skin as if already memorizing him.
By the time they were dressed and tangled together beneath Osamu’s sheets, exhaustion had finally settled in.
The room was quiet, the only sound their steady breaths as they adjusted to the unfamiliar comfort they felt with each other. Motoya gingerly ran a finger down Osamu’s face, taking his turn to memorize every detail.
Then, after a long pause, Osamu broke the silence.
“Will ya be mine?” His voice was quiet, almost nervous. “Officially?”
Motoya’s breath hitched and his movements halting.
“I know we just…” Osamu exhaled, fingers tracing lazy patterns along Motoya’s spine. “But I need to know. I don’t think I could go without havin’ ya like this ever again.”
Motoya blinked up at him, his heart hammering against his ribs.
And then, with a slow smile, he responded, “Yeah, Osamu. I’m yours.”