lez

satoru’s pushing himself up and down with one hand because, according to you, normal push-ups weren’t enough. but even then, he’s barely breaking a sweat. and he’s grinning, while you stand over him, watching with your arms crossed.

his uniform jacket is folded over the back of a chair, leaving him in his compression shirt, arm bulging and back tensing with each lift and fall of his body.

“i upset my-- hah beautiful, smart-- hah strong, gorgeous, perfect wife,” he pants, “punishment fits the crime.”

he really is right where he wants to be.

megumi doesn’t even bat an eye - this was the least unusual thing that you and satoru do. he slides into a chair with a sigh.

“how many does he have to do?”

“a hundred,” you say. satoru lifts his head to look up at you, mouth parted, little pink hearts in his eyes peering at you over the rim of his glasses. “he’s on seventy-two.”

his grin widens. “you know, this isn’t a challenge for me. why don’t you sit on my back, sweetheart?”

you crouch down in front of him and his eyes light up. “i know what you want, and you don’t deserve my touch.” you push his head down so he’s facing the floor again, and he grunts when you press extra weight, forcing his body down. “only twenty-three left. you can do it, my love.”

if his heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it definitely was now. especially with the saccharine tone you used at the end of your sentence.

god, was he down bad.

“… call us when you’re done,” megumi says, already out of the classroom.