Work Text:
The harsh sound of your keys jingling against the door in the 2AM calm makes you cringe, as does the crunch of the handle unlocking as you step inside your home. It's dark, quiet—Satoru must be asleep.
With a drained exhale, you slip your coat off after locking the door and kick off your heels, leaving them by the door to be tomorrow's issue. Slinging your coat over the banister, you briefly peer into the living room, making sure everything is in order before padding up the stairs.
The get-together was fun; catching up with old friends from college that have all gone their separate ways in adulthood was refreshing and the food was great, too—who knew there would be a chef amongst your former classmates. It was also a reminder however, that you're no longer built for staying out in a social bubble for that long. So much energy was spent on trying to keep up an acceptable level of enthusiasm all evening that you hadn't even registered how much time had passed. Coming home at two in the morning is diabolical, especially on a work night, and you're absolutely haggard.
Only two things are on your mind now though: checking on Satoru and collapsing into bed.
Pushing the door to your bedroom open to trudge inside, you're met with bright blue eyes staring at you, unblinking and upside-down from the bed. It still manages to catch you off guard even after living with the hybrid for over a year, the way his eyes seem to glow as they look at you has always been a physical trait that has left everyone gawking in either fear or awe, sometimes a mixture of both.
“I should have known you'd be up here,” you mutter, a fond expression creeping onto your features, softening your mood. Walking over with outstretched hands, you cup his face and stroke your thumbs over the soft skin. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Maybe,” he chuffs, stretching his long, agile body with a yawn before soft purrs begin to roll from his throat. Lithe fingers reach up for your waist, gripping tightly while nosing at your palms. Despite Satoru’s affectionate greeting, it doesn't stop his inevitable whining, unfortunately.
“You were gone for ages,” an irritable grunt comes from his chest before he pulls himself away from you, as if he just remembered he's supposed to be playing the victim. That long tail flicks before swatting down repeatedly against the duvet and he sits facing away from you, arms crossed over his chest like a bratty teen. “I could have starved to death. What if I got so lonely I… blah blah blah.”
The lamenting falls on deaf ears, he doesn't mean it. Mostly.
“‘toru, I wasn't even gone for that long,” you roll your eyes, “I'm at work for longer.” He just huffs.
Walking around to the side of the bed, you sit down with a relieved hum now that your feet are finally getting a rest. Reaching out, you thread your fingers into the fluffy mop of white hair on his head, scratching at his scalp before massaging at the base of his ear, watching how he has to fight to stay indifferent. His ears twitch, and you scratch a little harder.
“Awh,” cooing, you lean towards him and press a chaste kiss to the male's temple, then his cheek and his nose, before finally planting a smooch to his lips. "Won't my baby forgive me?”
His position loosens with each new touch until he's leaning his entire head's weight into your palm, purring despite his outward attempt at acting petulant.
“Mn, I guessss,” he drawls, leaning forward and butting his head against yours.
Wrapping your arms around his head, you fall backwards, tugging the large man down with you while he rubs and nuzzles against your hair. Satoru moves to sniff down your neck, pressing his face against your skin and nipping affectionately at you, keeping his jaw gentle so as to not get scolded. Your hands stroke through his hair, one dipping down to caress between his shoulder blades, massaging the ball of your palm over his strong back muscles through his t-shirt.
The heavy weight half on top of you is relaxing, grounding you to the moment until your companion suddenly recoils, eyes wide and ears flattened as he sniffs and licks his lips.
“Satoru? What's–hey!” His face is pressed against your blouse within seconds, mouth open as he tastes the scents coming off of you—your own sweet and familiar smell mixed with something… different? No, wrong.
“Ew, why do you smell like that?” he demands, voice rough as he inhales down to your waist. “It's gross.”
“Excuse me??” Appalled, you push your hand between where he's practically glued his nose to your midsection and attempt to push him up, “lets have some manners maybe?”
You're met with a mean glare; his pupils are blown wide and his hair is standing on end as his tail wraps around your calf, big hands grip at you to hold you in place while he seems to weigh up options in his mind all while your palm is actively covering his mouth and holding him away. The cogs turning in his head are almost visible inside the black pits that have almost completely overtaken the bright baby blue of his irises.
“Some loser put his scent on you.” His tongue, wide and rough, flicks out over his upper lip, seemingly to self soothe as a possessiveness pulses inside his stomach.
“Again with the manners thing…”
“I don't like it.”
“Nobody put their scent on me, honey, that's not how humans really go about things,” you start, trying to explain things in a way that won't aggravate Satoru further. He doesn't tend to get like this—sure, he's a bit possessive and is definitely over protective, but he isn't jealous or insecure. “I was with people that I haven't seen for a few years so the smells are new to you, that's all.”
If looks could kill, it's safe to say you'd be a little ghost floating around the bedroom right now. Satoru doesn't seem to give a single fuck about the reasoning behind the invading smell that, unbeknownst to you, is radiating off of your waist. It's potent in that one spot, he needs it gone, replaced with his own before he bursts a vein.
“I don't like it.” He repeats, anger simmering in his low baritone timbre, “I want it gone.”
“Let me up to shower then—”
“No.” Batting your hand away, he rubs his face against the infected cloth, growling deep in his chest with each turn of his head. The rest of his body comes to slowly cover your own as he shifts up the bed inch by inch, pressing and rubbing his way up to meet your eyes. Every rock or slide of his build against yours feels overwhelming, forcing your eyes to flutter and your hands to grip at his forearms in some attempt to keep yourself grounded.
“I'm getting rid of it,” comes another snarl. His breathing is heavy as he looks down at you before pressing his face into your neck, biting a little too hard for what would be considered acceptable. You don't stop him, though. Any attempt to remove his grip on you would just frustrate him further, and there's no way in hell you're dealing with an angry hybrid in the dead of night again, last time was the first and definitely the last.
Instead, you shush and coo, stroking his hair in reassurance and to make the anger ebb away. Soon, the feeling of teeth digging against your skin lessens into a light pressure before being replaced completely by firm licks of apology and affection.
“It's ok,” humming, you turn your head a little to press kisses to his warm cheek that's flushed from his rush of hormones, “no matter what, I'll always come back to you, and everyone knows we belong to each other.”
Right now, you can blame your lax approach to the fact that it is far past midnight, convincing yourself that if he were to react like this at any other time there would be consequences, but that may be a little white lie. Sometimes, you can’t bring yourself to uphold the rules that were laid out once Satoru started living with you and you let the stubborn and bratty man get away with far, far too much. But how can anyone blame you… The gentle purrs in your ear and wet passes of his tongue over the sore area of your shoulder make you melt—you expect he knows this, but you let it slide, just like you will next time, and the time after that.
“How about we have a shower together, hm?” Nudging his cheek, you coax his heavy head up to look over his face. Big eyes blink down at you, the blue you’re so in love with is no longer being engulfed by the depths of his pupils. Bringing your hands to cup his cheeks, your thumbs press over his eyebrows, soothing over them with a tired tenderness that can only be given to your companion.
“With the strawberry shampoo?” He chirps, already rising from the bed.
“With the strawberry shampoo.”