“Hey, hey, hey,” Satoru hugs your waist as he rests his head on your shoulder. He was sitting on the side of the bed while he read something on his phone. Subsequently, as you ran up to the man in hopes of shielding yourself from the clingy toddler that chased after you—he put work aside and gave the attention you needed.

He was an uxorious husband—always abiding by your every beck and call. Funny, a little when the people that idolize him look at how the non-showbiz wife of his could just order him around and be so casual with him, but it's a given he thinks. And he doesn't mind, it makes him come off a little more humane rather than the weapon he's put out to be.

Annoyed, his large hand covered your son's face, stopping him from going any further as the scene looked too comical you let out a snicker. “Kid, you gotta let your mommy get a break,” His hand placement rode up from your waist, to your chest. Adjusting the top as he covered your cleavage, his palm lingering for a few more minutes over the supple flesh that was concealed by the thick fabric.

The little boy stops and obeys his father. And he stands there as Satoru snubs his index finger over his pouting lips. “Look at you. You're too big to still be breastfeeding.”

“But mommy still breastfeeds you—”

“Wha—?” His eyes widen, and so does his smile. It rides up to the left side of his face as a sly, red-handed, and open mouthed smirk appears. He looks amused, and his furrowed brows raised, an expression of contemplation as he grins.

You stand there, wondering how the man would handle the situation. “Nah, listen sweet cheeks, that's a different kind of thing—” Scoffing, he pushes the kid away, the toddler stumbling a little though if it was you—his rough definition of play would send you flying off.

“See. When two people love each—” He only bursts in laughter once you hit him—obviously teasing you further instead of shutting up. The first mistake you made was assuming he'd handle this spectacle with maturity. Too early for ‘the talk’ he acknowledges.