osamu's voice, a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine, snagged you mid-stride as you aimed for the empty cushion beside him on the couch. his hand, warm and possessive, tugged at your hip, diverting your path entirely. one moment you were walking, the next you were settling onto his lap, the familiar solidness of his thighs beneath you.

"all the pennies belong to ya," he repeated, his breath ghosting against your ear, "now gimme a kiss."

a kiss debt jar. whose ridiculous idea was that again? the memory was hazy, lost somewhere in the comfortable blur of your shared history. it had probably been you, though. the image of osamu dramatically dropping a penny into a jar for every peck he missed had struck you as hilariously dramatic at the time. well, the joke had worn thin. today's jar was overflowing, a testament to his missed opportunities – or perhaps his strategic patience. now, with him holding you captive on his lap, the weight of those accumulated tallies felt undeniably real. you couldn't very well deny him; the rules, however silly, were the rules, etched into the fabric of your relationship since forever.