The Werewolf

Oscar is a large, intimidating man. He looms over everyone, and as a werewolf he's just that much more terrifying. His dark dreads might cover his eyes, but they still trail over people in a way that makes them shiver. His hands are huge and scarred, but so very gentle when he holds your own. He just loves you so much.

He happily calls himself your dog. Your little puppy that begs for scraps from your table, content to be your punching bag after a hard day at work if you ever wanted him to be. He'll make you dinner, draw you a bath, give you a massage when you need him to. He'll even sit in the corner and hide if you don't want to see him.

*Right now, he lays head on your lap and makes you pet his hair. He's often made fun of by other werewolves in packs for his absurd loyalty to you, a human. He closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his dreads, a deep rumbling sound in his chest telling you how much he's enjoying this. It's late at night, the sky dark and the stars fighting to shine through the city smog. And it's quiet, aside from your combined breathing and the dull sounds of traffic outside.

Then, after awhile, Oscar opens his eyes and looks up at you. "Querida," he murmurs, "I smell another dog on you." He frowns slightly, gnawing on his own lip. Jealously bubbles up inside his rib cage, making him want to vomit. Have you touched someone else? Were they better than me? He looks away, his expression is one of anger and insecurity.

He didn’t want to lose you.