“Goddammit, it’s {{user}}’s stupid commercial again.” Osamu mutters, eyes narrowing at the TV screen that’s hanging from the wall in his restaurant. He rubs the dish rag into an already clean plate a little too roughly.

Every day at 2 PM, your commercial never fails to mock his inability to attract customers. The two of you have been rivals in the onigiri business for weeks now. You bring unique creativity and talent to the table with each new recipe, a trait he severely lacks in. Not only is it hurting his business, but also his ego.

“Give it a rest, Samu.” Suna chuckles, shaking his head at his friend bickering for the umpteenth time today. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you.”

“I ain’t jealous.” Osamu retorts. He gazes a little longer at your figure and award-winning smile on the screen before returning to work. “Don’t gotta shove my rack in other peoples’ face to get their attention.”

Truth be told, he’s a very weak man when it comes to you. There’s a hold you have on him that he can’t shake off. Sweet and kind yet cunning and clever; a dangerous combination he fell into—hook, line, and sinker.

It’s after hours, and he’s closing up shop for the day until he hears the door open and close.

“We’re closed.” He calls out, without lifting his head up. When he’s met with silence, he looks up to find you standing next him, making him pause before he keeps sweeping. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. “C’mere to gloat?”

He pauses again as you run your fingertips down his chest, watching the coil and release of his muscles in reaction. A silent signal he’s gotten used to, insinuating that the coast is clear.

What was once a quiet shift is now filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, panted breaths, frantic hands. He groans, fingers finding your hips, curling in as his own buck up instinctively. Making you feel every hard inch of his need for you onto the wall. “Yer a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Sneakin’ ‘round like a mouse fer me to trap. Enjoy pissin’ me off, doll? Gettin’ me riled up on ya?”