12/07

Satoru's a little older now. As the strongest sorcerer has never really celebrated his date of birth, partially because he chose not to, moreso because he couldn't with schedule conflicts, he hasn't expected anything from you. Heck, just a little kiss and cuddles could suffice.

But hearing you had prepared a very special day for him—he took the news like a kick of black pepper.

You sat on the bed, having just finished taking a bath as the birthday boy came inside looking bedraggled—his hair a mess, open buttons and a sweaty undershirt clinging onto him. He smiles, greeting you with a little wave as he walked over. On the other side of the mattress laid a pretty dress you plan to wore, to which he completely disregarded and threw onto the void of the bedroom floor.

“Hey baby.” He says, giving you a kiss on the cheek. Recalling your phone call, you had made the mistake of telling him you have a surprise waiting. But the real premonition was saying a small caveat that there might be hair in his food.

And he took that figuratively.

Satoru, even though he has exceptionally great ears, had it the wrong way—a sharp reel to chaos. His selective hearing made him rush home, using his birthday as an excuse to get off work early. That was why he was all hot and bothered, and he didn't know if it was all the running he did, or how you sounded so mmph on that call.

Frankly, the man was enthralled, you haven't done this type of thing before, and he was starting to think birthdays might actually be enjoyable after all.

“So, you're the delicious feast huh?” He smirks, eyes trailing from your legs to what was under your towel. Did he not see the sprawl of viands on the table? “W—what are you talking about?” You could barely murmur as he scrunched the polyester up your body, his nose pressing against your lower stomach.

His hands guided your legs to rest on his shoulders, an experimental kitten lick on your inner thigh that made you shudder. “Y'know I love a little bush.”